What’s in a Name: Part 4.
I’ll pop the link to the master list up, but some of the embedded URL’s are wrong. I will change them ASAP, but first I’m off for PIZZA.
Anonymous said:
Can you continue what's in a name? I found it and simply adore it! Your work is great :)
Soon, it had been time for Murtagh to truss her up once more; she'd shut her eyes tight as he'd tried to tie the bindings in such a way that it wouldn't irritate the already inflamed skin. He could only do so much, though, and she knew it wouldn't be long before they were bleeding again.
Mercifully, they were close to Leoch now; only a few more hours. Claire kept her head down and marched silently onward, refusing to even make the tiniest sound. Not that Dougal didn't try and elicit a response; he'd tug at her even when she was keeping up and cause her to fall forward, but still, she kept her lips sealed. Her hands were shaking with the effort of this, and ropes had tightened significantly rubbing more severely at the raw skin of her wrists.
As the west tower of Leoch came into view, Claire took a deep breath. She had no clue what awaited her inside. Dougal led her up the slight incline and under the old portcullis like a lamb to the slaughter. It was late and there weren't many people milling around in the small courtyard, but there were enough. She kept her chin up as he led her to the right, up the main outer staircase to Colum's main chambers. Her heart was in her throat.
Dougal put his hand on the back of her neck and squeezed hard as he pushed her forward.
"I found her,” he announced. His brother was sat at his desk looking more angry than Claire had ever seen him. She was determined not to lose her head.
"Aye, so ye did. And what do you have to say for yourself, Mistress?!" he barked. Clearly he wasn't in the mood for this.
"I just wanted to get home! I have done nothing wrong!"
"Weel, we can just beg to differ on that point, can't we...Mistress Randall." She had no clue as to how he'd got that information seeing as all of the men who knew about it had been on the road with her, but she didn't dare make comment about it. All the blood seemed to drain from her as he turned to face her, his eyes harder than Dougal's had ever been. "I offered ye our hospitality! Our friendship! And this is how ye repay us. By lying about who ye are."
"I am not a spy!" she reiterated, knowing her weak words held no weight but having no other counter-argument.
"No? I dinna have time to listen to yer lies, Claire. Put her in the dungeon. We'll take council on the matter and decide our next course of action. Ye, mistress, can find out what it's like in our prison cells. Dinna get any daft ideas, aye?" With that, he dismissed them. Dougal took hold of her once more, digging his long fingers into the skin of her neck as he forced her back into the corridor.
"I'll see to it ye get a nice place t' rest. Dinna ye fash about that." His words sent chills down her spine, the hate that seeped into every word seemed to cling to her as he led her deep into the recesses of Leoch’s dungeons.
Two guards stood on either side of the large barred doors as they pulled back the thick metal, causing the screech of it to echo around them. Claire shuddered as Dougal thrust her inside, the soles of her feet scraping against the threadbare material of her ruined shoes as she almost fell into the dank cell.
“Enjoy yer new quarters, Mistress Randall,” Dougal spat, enjoying the scene that lay before him a little too much. “I dinna think they’re as warm as the wee room Collum had ye in before, but I think you’ll become --accustomed-- to them in time.”
With that the door slammed shut, leaving her to the mercy of the vermin that scuttled at her feet.
Wrapping her arms around her middle, Claire slunk backwards until her legs hit the solid cot that had been built into the wall.
Nothing of comfort, she noticed, her eyes adjusting to the darkness now the door between the prison and the stairwell had been closed and locked tight.
Small slits broke the solid brickwork, allowing the tiniest amount of light to penetrate the jail. For that, Claire was eternally grateful. She watched, sitting on the rough wood of the bed slats, as the sun passed from one side of the room to the other, counting the minutes as they passed her by.
Murtagh, she was sure, knew that something was amiss. He’d alluded as much in the their short conversation. With Jamie’s trust completely obliterated, Murtagh was her only hope.
Booming sounds woke her, the grim march of the heavy footsteps plodding towards her made Claire sit bolt upright and pull her skirts correctly around her waist.
It had been three or four days, by her estimation. Over seventy-two hours alone with only the brief squeaks of the rats and mice to keep her lucid.
Her mind, bleary from the almost constantly grey hue that hovered around her, felt clouded and grim.
She didn’t expect what awaited her as the door slid open, revealing a very tired looking Jamie with a plate of warm food and some bannocks.
“Dinna think we’ve gone soft, Mistress,” he scoffed, a hint of fatigue lingering in his voice as he spoke. Though his words were harsh, his tone was not, which made Claire feel even more guilty. “Mrs. Fitz just took pity on ye. Said you should have something of value in yer belly afore Collum and Dougal haul ye before them.”
“Jamie, I…” she began, hoping to level some sort of explanation his way, but the snap of his head in her direction and the look of ire that blazed behind his eyes as he looked at her stopped her in her tracks.
“I think that we dinna have much else to say to one another, Mistress,” he replied, a sense of finality to his words as he placed the meal on the floor and began to back away, a sadness swirling around him as his fingers gripped the iron girders that made up the impenetrable barrier created to hold prisoners securely.
“Try and stay warm, Claire,” he sighed, tapping his fingers lightly against the bars. “It’ll do ye no good t’ catch yer death.”
