The Next Day
THE kitchen routines were nearly second nature by her third day. At every meal, there was an order to who and what everyone did. Beatrice passed the days baking and chopping.
On any given day or hour, some of the servants would sing while they worked, but on this day, their cheeriness had been disrupted by shouting. Something was verra wrong. Beatrice and the others were silenced when a maid came dashing in and closed the door behind her.
“Oh dearie, me! Ye’ll never believe what just happened. Lady Rowena is pitching fits over the guest not wanting to marry her.”
They were then interrupted when a manservant entered the kitchens.
“Beatrice, yer presence is requested in the dungeon.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thank ye, Keith. I’m just finishing a few things here for the evening meal.”
“Cook can finish it off. Ye’ll need to bring items to cleanse wounds.”
“Right away, Alec.”
The manservant left the kitchen, and she sighed.
“I best be going before the laird finds reason for me to be flogged.”
“About that, lass…The laird is in quite the mood today. Try not to anger him further.”
Beatrice dashed down the hall to acquire the items requested, trying to avoid being discovered by Lady Sinclair. Sooner or later the woman would find out that she was here, and what then? Would she find her means to escape then? Or would she be hauled into the dungeon and be tortured?
When she had collected the items required for healing and found the secret hallway leading to the dungeon, Beatrice quickly closed the door behind her.
As she stepped down from the last step, she heard the whip, slicing the air and stripping flesh from where it landed. The commander’s voice echoed around her.
“Ye will submit to the Sinclair. Yer land will be ours, and there willna be a McIntyre left alive to defend it if you deny him.”
The whip cracked several more times, and the groan of its victim grew louder and louder. Beatrice teetered a moment, trying to find her balance while holding a pitcher of water and washcloths. She felt a sudden eeriness wash over her.
The scents of decay and damaged flesh burned her nostrils. She gasped for air. How could anyone survive such cruelty?
“Ah! Look who has finally decided to arrive. I hope ye realize because of yer tardiness I continued on with the lashing.”
Beatrice turned the corner to find the prisoner shackled and suspended, and barely alive.
“Yer to treat his wounds and make sure he lives. Ye’ll be moved into the dungeon until he’s recovered.”
“What of my other duties?”
“The kitchen will manage without ye.”
“I’ll need to change the water, clean cloths…”
“Alec will return periodically for anything ye might need, or the guards can fetch what ye need. In the meanwhile, ye might want to get accustomed to sleeping on the straw. Disobey me, and this will become yer permanent home, or I’ll toss ye to the soldiers, and once they’ve all had a turn, I’ll finish ye off myself.”
Beatrice faltered and swayed on her feet.
The commander turned to soldiers standing off to the side. “Get the prisoner down and into his cell,” he bellowed and turned on his heels. “If he dies from his wounds, Beatrice, make no mistake. I will make ye suffer.”
A guard rushed forward, removing the prisoner’s manacles, and dragged him into his cell.
Her skin crawled with a thousand needle pricks. She stayed in her position until every last soldier had left her in peace. The man groaned in his cell. A torch had been placed in his cell for better light. Satisfied that she was finally alone, Beatrice got to work in cleaning the wounds.
She knelt down next to the man, slowly lifting him until he lay on his side.
“I’m so sorry they did this to you. The Sinclairs are a sinful and wretched lot. Their only satisfaction comes from going to great lengths in making others suffer.”
Inch by inch, she patted the torn strips of skin, praying to God that his flesh wouldna open with discolored fluid or rot. With each wring of the cloth, she shed a tear. How could any man deserve this treatment?
Did this man have a wife, children, or anyone to return home to? His clan would be worried. The inked markings on his shoulder noted he might have been a chieftain.
“Ye poor man. I will endeavor to help ye recover, and when this is over, I will attempt to get word to yer clan. That is just as soon as I figure out who they are, sir.”
Beatrice, satisfied with her work, she turned him over to have a look at his injuries on his front.
The trace of dark hair from his chest to just below his kilt took her breath away. She couldna do anything for the bruising but pressed gently to check for cracked ribs. With every compression, the stranger winced.
“I am sorry, but I must verify how injured ye are. Be still and I will wash ye up.”
The man kept his eyes closed. As she was about to walk to the other side of the dungeon, the stranger gripped her ankle. She looked down, and he released her.
“What is the matter? Can I get ye some water?”
“Th-thank ye,” he stuttered.
Beatrice ran to the other side of the room to see if any clean water had been brought down earlier, but there was nothing. She ran up the stairs to see if she could get something, only to be stopped by a guard.
“What do ye need, lass?”
“The prisoner needs something to drink.”
“I’ll fetch Alec for ye.”
She returned to the stranger and knelt at this side.
“I cannot leave the confines of the dungeon, but someone is fetching some water.”
He opened his eyes to reveal crystal-blue pools of pain. Shadows of facial hair lined his cheeks and chin.
Beatrice ran her hand along his jaw line. “I wish things would have been different for ye, but they’re not. What have ye done to deserve this?”
Moments later Alec joined them with a pitcher of clean water and some bread.
He passed her the pitcher. “Cook thought ye might want something to eat more than stale bread and handed me some cheese.”
Beatrice accepted the items and smiled. “Thank ye, Alec. Please tell Cook I will return as soon as I can. I’m under orders to remain here until the prisoner heals.”
“I will let her know. She suspected as much. If ye need anything, have the guards fetch me. We will do what we can to keep ye safe.”
“Safe? What do ye mean safe, Alec? What I have done to deserve this treatment?”
“Cook is worried and will do what she can to keep ye out of harm’s way.”
He left her in the darkness without saying another word. She took the pitcher into the cell where the man lay and poured him a drink. She lifted his head and pressed the tin to his lips.
The stranger opened his eyes and took a generous gulp of the fluid, but just as quickly as he’d opened his eyes, they closed again.
Beatrice set the tin down and laid his head back. Satisfied he wouldna move throughout the night, she left the cell for a darkened corner that had straw. The idea of finding anything remotely comfortable was lost in the disgusting pit. It would be days before she’d see any light, so she’d have to get as much rest as she could during her confinement.