The laird shrugged, clearly as puzzled as everyone else. "Take him away! Lock him up. This court is adjourned."
"Tell them not to damage him!" she said sharply. "I have no use for a cripple."
CHAPTER FOUR
Six soldiers took Toby to the dungeon; they left him in no doubt that he was much in debt to Lady Valda. Without her final remark and the laird's resulting orders, they would have made him pay dearly for what he had done to Godwin Forrester. They did debate whether they should hang him up by his feet or his elbows, and outlined several other entertaining possibilities, also. They were obviously apprehensive of his strength, testing the shackles carefully, but in the end they merely attached his ankle chains to one wall and his neck chain to the wall opposite, leaving him sitting in the middle of the rock-hewn floor. Then they went away. The gate creaked and clanged. A lock clicked faraway at the top of the stairs.
He was alone in the dark and the silence and the bone-freezing cold. It could have been much worse. By no human contortion could he ever free himself, but he could sit up or he could lie down. As his hands were still fastened behind him and the chain from his collar dangled down his back, that was not the most comfortable of situations. There was not enough slack on his leg tethers for him to roll over, facedown, which was how he preferred to sleep, and he could not wrap himself up in his plaid. But he was still alive and uninjured.
As he shivered himself to sleep, he wondered briefly why the prospect of swearing loyalty to that woman should be so unthinkable. He concluded only that it was, and that strangling in a noose would be preferable. Whose man… Never hers! Perhaps in the morning he would change his mind.
Either a rattling of chain wakened him, or he became aware of the light. He could not have slept long, but his wits were muddled. He did not understand where he was, or why he was on his back with his arms twisted under him. He blinked in bewilderment at the robed, cowled figure holding the candle. Memory began to return. He looked the other way and saw two more of them…
Argh! He tried to sit up and almost choked himself. The chain from his collar had been drawn tight; he was staked out, helpless.
"Who are you?" he mumbled with parched mouth. "What are you doing?"
The man did not respond. Although he was standing motionless, clasping a black candle before him, only a steady glitter of eyes showed within his cowl. Toby's hair rose on his scalp. "Who are you?" he screamed.
"They will not speak," Lady Valda said.
He twisted his head until he located her. She was standing at a small table near the stair, busily unpacking a metal casket. Her four cowled associates stood in a square around Toby. Each held a black candle, and the steadiness of the flames suggested that the men were not breathing.
"Who are you?"
"My name is of no importance to you," she said calmly, intent on what she was doing. "To be truthful, nothing is of importance to you anymore." She closed the lid and laid the box on the floor, then began rearranging the miscellaneous objects she had removed from it. He saw a golden bowl, a scroll, and a dagger, but there were other things, too.
He was shivering shamefully. There was a tight knot in his belly.
To scream would be useless. The guardroom would be deserted. The house was far away, its residents doubtless asleep. The sentries on the walls would neither hear nor come to investigate if they did.
He stared again at the four men. Four flames, eight eyes unblinking. Masks! They all had thick black beards and wore black masks above them. So they were mortal men and that was trickery. But he was not cynic enough to believe that it would all be trickery. Hamish had been wrong about these men being hexers, or not right enough. Lady Valda was the hexer. Toby's recognition of evil had been a true instinct.
"What do you want of me?" His voice emerged as a hoarse whisper.
"Your body, of course. I came hunting a stalwart young man and see what I caught!"
She came across to him, her shoes scraping softly on the rock, the hem of her gown whispering around her ankles. He thought it was the same garment she had worn earlier, although it looked darker in the dim light — that shameless neckline was breathtakingly memorable. Her breasts seemed even larger viewed from below, above an astonishingly narrow waist. Unbound hair floated in a sable cloud around her, almost to her waist.
She crouched down beside him and stroked his cheek. He twisted his head away and the rusty collar scraped his throat.
"Relax!" she purred. "You're a big, brave boy, remember? You'd rather die than serve me, and you have the courage of a cornered badger."
He could see the burning evil behind the mockery dancing in her eyes. He tried to speak in a normal voice. "What are you going to do?"
"Conjure, of course. But you needn't worry. You will not be eaten by demons. You will not even see a demon, I promise you, not the teeniest, wispiest demon. You will feel no pain — or only a very tiny amount, nothing a strong young lad can't grit his teeth through. And when we are done, you will walk out of here a free man! Now, isn't that an exciting prospect?"
"I don't believe you!" His heart raced in terror and yet he was conscious of her closeness, her musky perfume. He was a man and a desirable woman had a hand on his neck. He noted the long, deep crease between her milk-white breasts.
Seeing his gaze wander, she chuckled. "Not that exciting prospect, boy! Admire, by all means, but those are not for you. To work! All I require of you is that you lie there and be silent. I repeat — you will not be hurt, even by this." She raised a dagger above his eyes. Its blade shone steely blue and was long enough to reach all the way through him. She unpinned his plaid to lay bare his chest, then stroked it playfully with soft fingers.
"I need you conscious, but silent. Must I gag you, or can you be trusted?"
He hesitated and the soft fingers curled. Nails dug into his flesh. "You will be silent! If you cause me trouble, I shall make you endure such agony as you have never imagined. Is that clear, Toby?"
"Yes," he whispered.
"You do believe me now?"
"Yes."
"Good. Remember that you are destined to hang. I am saving your life. Cooperation will cost you nothing except minor indignity." Her scarlet lips curled in mockery. "And you have so very little dignity left!"
With a chuckle of satisfaction, she rose and returned to her table. The four men showed no sign that they had heard a word.
Demonic possession? As a kid, he had believed stories of demons taking over people's bodies. Later he'd decided that being possessed by a demon would make an excellent excuse for doing anything at all, so he'd stopped believing. Now he wasn't so sure. When the hexer said he would not see the demon, she implied that she was going to conjure it inside him. In the morning Toby Strangerson might inform the laird that he had changed his mind and would be a loyal servant to Lady Valda; the laird would let him depart as a free man — but how free? And would he be a man at all? What were these four voiceless, masked figures? Were they really human? Would he be another of those?
Lady Valda returned, clutching a vellum scroll. "Hold your breath and lie still." She placed a shod foot on his chest and put her weight on it.
He heaved with his shoulders and dislodged her. She stepped down hurriedly to regain her balance. She made a tutting sound of annoyance. "Don't be foolish, boy. This is your last chance! If you do not cooperate, I shall make you scream at the top of your lungs for a solid hour. A husky lad like you can endure my weight for a few minutes."