be attacked. But it was Percy, the one with long legs and a short kilt. He stood with his hands fisted and his face as red as his father’s.
McKiller. He might be able to get away, or something. “How dare you,” he hissed at her. Then he gave her a look that turned her blood cold—a look that said she’d pay. She’d been in plenty of danger in the last three days, but this time she didn’t have shock to numb her. This time, she believed she was screwed.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and meant it. Of course she’d been insensitive to the father. She hadn’t meant to hurt the son.
“Father,” he called out. “She is protecting your prisoner, Laird Ross. They’ve had hours of...private speech...since she arrived. She’s spoken to none else.”
No! Quinn was in no shape to fight anyone. He’d told her he was already suffering from a serious concussion!
Low murmurs filled the hall. Laird Gordon laughed at his tall visitor. McKiller glared at her, but she could tell by the lifted corner of his mouth he was pretty pleased with himself; the glare was just part of his act.
Laird Gordon gestured wide with one arm. "Oh, by all means, Mister Bond. Have yer revenge. Here, in the hall for all to enjoy. Be warned, he used to be a grand fighter. But of late, he's gone soft in the mind and likely the middle." He looked over her shoulder. "Percy! Return the hellcat to the dungeon. Bring up the old Ross laird. Perhaps we can dispense with the hanging and go straight to the burnin’."
Holy shit. It was Quinn they had planned to burn as a witch? Hang him? Burn him? Beat him to death? He had to get out of there!
Jules ran forward. She had to do something, to say something that would make them listen to her.
“Bond! I’ll do whatever you ask! I’ll go along quietly, I swear. Just don’t hurt him!”
“Come,” Percy barked behind her and grabbed her arm.
With one hand on her elbow, he bent her arm up behind her and steered her in a circle, then headed her back the way she’d come. She had no choice. She’d never taken a self-defense class that might help her get out of the hold he had on her. She tried to move faster, to gain a little slack, but he stayed right on her.
"Why can't I stay and watch?" Jillian whined as loud as she dared. There was no way Gordon missed it, but he ignored her and hollered to someone to bring him a drink. If she provoked him, she might just end up chained next to his son. Then she wondered if it was that threat that kept the rest of his clan in line.
Once they were in the side passage, Percy took her wrist and released the painful hold on her arm. Only when the pain subsided did she realize how much it had hurt.
“Come,” said Percy again, almost gently.
Had he already forgiven her? Was he regretting his outburst?
“Please,” she said softly. “Don’t let them kill him.”
Percy didn’t even blink.
She let him lead her to the stairs instead of trying to make a break for it. That had been the goal, after all, to return to the dungeons to be with Quinn. But they wouldn’t be together for long. As much as she didn’t want to be left down there in the dark, however, she held on to a little morsel of hope that Quinn might beat
Something. Please, God, anything.
She could worry about herself later. After all, in a place where so little was expected of a woman, she could surely catch someone off guard and get away. But would it be in time to do any good? And would she and Quinn ever have the chance to finish that dream the way she wanted it finished?
CHAPTER TWENTY
At the first landing, Percy handed her off to the tall guard, then followed them down the steps. Jules felt the others hesitate just a fraction of a second, just as she had, when the smell of a rotting body hit them. Continuing on, everyone walked a little slower, in no rush to be immersed completely in that invisible cloud.
Had Skully been the only one to die there? Probably not. And his bones looked far too bare for him to have died recently.
She shook her head to keep from imagining of what other atrocities the laird of Clan Gordon might be capable of. That head