the rest of his days. He will have no power. Over anything.” When it looked as though the word had little meaning to the man, he realized he must elaborate. “Neither will be able to bed a woman. Ever again.”
Percy's eyes widened and he stood and walked away. He was buying it. The only risk, which Quinn realized too late, was whether or not Percy was interested in bedding women. One never knew.
Percy paced, which stirred up the smell from the poor man in the next cell. He seemed to notice it too, for his nose curled and he stopped pacing. A moment later, he nodded, as if he’d come to some conclusion, then he walked to the torch and removed it from its ring. Instead of coming back to let Quinn out, which was too much to have hoped for anyway, he headed for the archway.
“Wait a moment,” Quinn called. “I answered your question. We had a bargain.”
“Nay, Ross,” he called, without turning back or slowing his step, “I have yet to decide whether or not I believe ye.”
Quinn was once again left in the dark.
He tried to remember the details of his cell and crawled to his right, putting as much distance between himself and the rotting corpse as possible. In truth, he was getting used to the smell unless someone stirred the air.
He rested his back again to alleviate the soreness of his stomach muscles. He was thirsty, but alive, and if all went well, his little prophecy would keep Cinead alive long enough for history to unfold as it was supposed to. And hopefully, he’d planted enough fantasy in Percy’s brain that the man would be coming back to place a request for the future—hopefully before Quinn was thin enough to slip through the bars, but too dead to do so.
He closed his eyes, content to sleep for a while.
***
Quinn hadn’t quite drifted off before the inside of his eyelids turned red, then orange. Someone was coming.
Only it wasn’t Percy. It was the violent little man, Cinead.
Shite!
Two large guards entered Quinn’s cell and took him by the arms.
“I’ve just saved your life, you know.” Quinn needed the future head of Clan Gordon to think kinder, gentler thoughts about him. The fact that the man had come so closely on the heels of his younger brother gave Quinn hope he might have overheard the end of their conversation. The rough handling by the guards took that hope away.
The small man seemed none too proud to carry his own torch and held it aloft while Quinn was brought before him.
“I’m aware of that,” he said. His voice was quite normal, though Quinn didn’t know what he’d been expecting. “Percy willna be killing me in me sleep, but that willna keep the others from killing me in the bright light o’ day, will it?”
So. The man had heard the conversation after all.
As Cinead stuffed a rag into Quinn’s mouth, he noticed swelling across the smaller man’s face. There was a good chance the curve of his nose was new.
Quinn nodded, accepting the blame for the other man’s beating. He just hoped Percy might share the prophecy with the rest of his brothers. Of course, if he hoped his brothers would become impotent in all things...
Shite!
“It’s time to meet yer maker, Laird Ross, be he god or devil.” Cinead led the way out of the dungeon, and as relieved as Quinn was to get away from the smell, he’d gladly go back and wait for Percy to come ‘round.
The little parade proceeded out of the castle proper, past the inner bailey, and into the wider outer bailey where a makeshift gallows had been erected in the moonlight. Next to the gallows, a pole rose out of a stack of wood and Quinn had seen the drawings of enough such constructions to know it was meant for the burning of a witch.
And witch burning seemed all the more barbaric when one found himself to be the witch in question. He should have kept his mouth shut. The Gordon hadn’t been impressed by his fortune telling but he’d recognized a grand opportunity to rid himself of an enemy. But why send
Percy's eyes widened and he stood and walked away. He was buying it. The only risk, which Quinn realized too late, was whether or not Percy was interested in bedding women. One never knew.
Percy paced, which stirred up the smell from the poor man in the next cell. He seemed to notice it too, for his nose curled and he stopped pacing. A moment later, he nodded, as if he’d come to some conclusion, then he walked to the torch and removed it from its ring. Instead of coming back to let Quinn out, which was too much to have hoped for anyway, he headed for the archway.
“Wait a moment,” Quinn called. “I answered your question. We had a bargain.”
“Nay, Ross,” he called, without turning back or slowing his step, “I have yet to decide whether or not I believe ye.”
Quinn was once again left in the dark.
He tried to remember the details of his cell and crawled to his right, putting as much distance between himself and the rotting corpse as possible. In truth, he was getting used to the smell unless someone stirred the air.
He rested his back again to alleviate the soreness of his stomach muscles. He was thirsty, but alive, and if all went well, his little prophecy would keep Cinead alive long enough for history to unfold as it was supposed to. And hopefully, he’d planted enough fantasy in Percy’s brain that the man would be coming back to place a request for the future—hopefully before Quinn was thin enough to slip through the bars, but too dead to do so.
He closed his eyes, content to sleep for a while.
***
Quinn hadn’t quite drifted off before the inside of his eyelids turned red, then orange. Someone was coming.
Only it wasn’t Percy. It was the violent little man, Cinead.
Shite!
Two large guards entered Quinn’s cell and took him by the arms.
“I’ve just saved your life, you know.” Quinn needed the future head of Clan Gordon to think kinder, gentler thoughts about him. The fact that the man had come so closely on the heels of his younger brother gave Quinn hope he might have overheard the end of their conversation. The rough handling by the guards took that hope away.
The small man seemed none too proud to carry his own torch and held it aloft while Quinn was brought before him.
“I’m aware of that,” he said. His voice was quite normal, though Quinn didn’t know what he’d been expecting. “Percy willna be killing me in me sleep, but that willna keep the others from killing me in the bright light o’ day, will it?”
So. The man had heard the conversation after all.
As Cinead stuffed a rag into Quinn’s mouth, he noticed swelling across the smaller man’s face. There was a good chance the curve of his nose was new.
Quinn nodded, accepting the blame for the other man’s beating. He just hoped Percy might share the prophecy with the rest of his brothers. Of course, if he hoped his brothers would become impotent in all things...
Shite!
“It’s time to meet yer maker, Laird Ross, be he god or devil.” Cinead led the way out of the dungeon, and as relieved as Quinn was to get away from the smell, he’d gladly go back and wait for Percy to come ‘round.
The little parade proceeded out of the castle proper, past the inner bailey, and into the wider outer bailey where a makeshift gallows had been erected in the moonlight. Next to the gallows, a pole rose out of a stack of wood and Quinn had seen the drawings of enough such constructions to know it was meant for the burning of a witch.
And witch burning seemed all the more barbaric when one found himself to be the witch in question. He should have kept his mouth shut. The Gordon hadn’t been impressed by his fortune telling but he’d recognized a grand opportunity to rid himself of an enemy. But why send
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