over.”
He understood. He understood at once. “You want me to find them.” He straightened his shoulders. “Very well, but first you must help me retrieve my kingdom.”
Mouth puckered, she shook her head slowly. “I think not.”
“But my people are suffering! A tyrant cruelly rides them for taxes—”
“Find my granddaughters, bring them home.” She leaned forward, her eyes gleaming intently. “When you do, I give you permission to wed whichever one you want. Then, and only then, will you be able to use the powers of Beaumontagne to recover your kingdom. That is the deal I offer you, Prince Rainger.”
The old lady was implacable—and she held the trump card.
He made his decision. “Done.”
She leaned back. It was almost as if his ready agreement changed her mind about him.
He laughed. Dear God, he laughed with dark, harsh amusement. “Did you think I would rail against your decree? Throw a tantrum and pout? Do you know what I’ve done for the last eight years? I’ve lived in a dungeon, always dank and cold, usually dark, tapping messages to my friends in the next cell, digging a tunnel with my fingernails, existing on the edge of despair. Once a year, the tyrant whose traitorous ass sits on my throne came down to mock me and watch his men beat me.” Lifting his shirt, he turned his back to her.
“Jesu. He did that to you?” As she viewed the mass of scabs and scars that crisscrossed his back, her voice shook with revulsion. “It’s one thing to flog a man, but once only. More breaks his spirit, makes him an animal who knows nothing but loathing or—” Her breath caught.
He faced her. “Or madness.” He allowed the raw hate to seep into his eyes... and perhaps she saw that edge of madness in him.
But whether he was mad or not—and he didn’t know—she needed him. She had no one else.
He knew it.
She knew it.
“Yes, Grandmamma,” he said, “I am Rainger, but not the Rainger you knew before.”
“No. I see that now.” Slowly, she put the pistol on the table.
“After the lessons in patience and control I’ve been forced to learn, do you imagine I see difficulty in bringing you your granddaughters? That is nothing compared to what I’ve already done. You have the troops. I’ll do as you say—but after that, you will do as I demand. I’ll find your granddaughters. I’ll wed the one of my choice. And you’ll give me the men and troops to win my kingdom back.”
“Agreed.” She beckoned him closer.
Cautiously he came forward, staggering a bit, and leaned over her.
Her claw settled on his arm, and she squeezed it hard enough to bruise. “But be aware—you’re not the only one who’s hunting my granddaughters.”
Chapter 6
M acLaren was a worm—and not just any worm. He was a cheap, spiteful, malicious worm who enjoyed having a prisoner in his dungeon, keeping Rainger down in the dank cell, feeding him gruel and water, giving him nothing except a thin wool blanket to keep away the chill of night. Making someone miserable let MacLaren feel like a man of power.
What he didn’t realize was that Rainger had been in this situation before. The walls oozed moisture when the tide came in—that was a new irritation, but other than that, Rainger recognized the bars, the sneers, the darkness.
The first day, he explored his cell beneath MacLaren’s miserable castle. Rainger found no way out, but he knew how to bide his time. Hell, he’d bided his time for eight years in a deeper, darker dungeon than this one.
Only one inexorable torment visited him here.
His princess . Where was Sorcha? He could find her again—only one road wound away from MacLaren’s castle. He knew from MacLaren’s taunts that he’d rowed her to shore and sent her on her way. But could that wide-eyed innocent fool of a girl survive long enough for Rainger to rescue her?
She hadn’t recognized him. The voyage to Edinburgh, the ride through Scotland, the sail across in the tiny vessel, had
He understood. He understood at once. “You want me to find them.” He straightened his shoulders. “Very well, but first you must help me retrieve my kingdom.”
Mouth puckered, she shook her head slowly. “I think not.”
“But my people are suffering! A tyrant cruelly rides them for taxes—”
“Find my granddaughters, bring them home.” She leaned forward, her eyes gleaming intently. “When you do, I give you permission to wed whichever one you want. Then, and only then, will you be able to use the powers of Beaumontagne to recover your kingdom. That is the deal I offer you, Prince Rainger.”
The old lady was implacable—and she held the trump card.
He made his decision. “Done.”
She leaned back. It was almost as if his ready agreement changed her mind about him.
He laughed. Dear God, he laughed with dark, harsh amusement. “Did you think I would rail against your decree? Throw a tantrum and pout? Do you know what I’ve done for the last eight years? I’ve lived in a dungeon, always dank and cold, usually dark, tapping messages to my friends in the next cell, digging a tunnel with my fingernails, existing on the edge of despair. Once a year, the tyrant whose traitorous ass sits on my throne came down to mock me and watch his men beat me.” Lifting his shirt, he turned his back to her.
“Jesu. He did that to you?” As she viewed the mass of scabs and scars that crisscrossed his back, her voice shook with revulsion. “It’s one thing to flog a man, but once only. More breaks his spirit, makes him an animal who knows nothing but loathing or—” Her breath caught.
He faced her. “Or madness.” He allowed the raw hate to seep into his eyes... and perhaps she saw that edge of madness in him.
But whether he was mad or not—and he didn’t know—she needed him. She had no one else.
He knew it.
She knew it.
“Yes, Grandmamma,” he said, “I am Rainger, but not the Rainger you knew before.”
“No. I see that now.” Slowly, she put the pistol on the table.
“After the lessons in patience and control I’ve been forced to learn, do you imagine I see difficulty in bringing you your granddaughters? That is nothing compared to what I’ve already done. You have the troops. I’ll do as you say—but after that, you will do as I demand. I’ll find your granddaughters. I’ll wed the one of my choice. And you’ll give me the men and troops to win my kingdom back.”
“Agreed.” She beckoned him closer.
Cautiously he came forward, staggering a bit, and leaned over her.
Her claw settled on his arm, and she squeezed it hard enough to bruise. “But be aware—you’re not the only one who’s hunting my granddaughters.”
Chapter 6
M acLaren was a worm—and not just any worm. He was a cheap, spiteful, malicious worm who enjoyed having a prisoner in his dungeon, keeping Rainger down in the dank cell, feeding him gruel and water, giving him nothing except a thin wool blanket to keep away the chill of night. Making someone miserable let MacLaren feel like a man of power.
What he didn’t realize was that Rainger had been in this situation before. The walls oozed moisture when the tide came in—that was a new irritation, but other than that, Rainger recognized the bars, the sneers, the darkness.
The first day, he explored his cell beneath MacLaren’s miserable castle. Rainger found no way out, but he knew how to bide his time. Hell, he’d bided his time for eight years in a deeper, darker dungeon than this one.
Only one inexorable torment visited him here.
His princess . Where was Sorcha? He could find her again—only one road wound away from MacLaren’s castle. He knew from MacLaren’s taunts that he’d rowed her to shore and sent her on her way. But could that wide-eyed innocent fool of a girl survive long enough for Rainger to rescue her?
She hadn’t recognized him. The voyage to Edinburgh, the ride through Scotland, the sail across in the tiny vessel, had
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