Page 77 of The Laird's Masked Passion

Interesting.

Murdoch shifted. “Let me have him.”

Lachlan went rigid.

Colin did not look away from the prisoner. “Nae… yet.”

Lachlan’s relief was small but visible.

Foolish man.

Colin saw it and almost smiled. Brutality had its uses, and men expected it from him. They expected the Black Lord of the Passes to come with blade, fist, and blood. Some men prepared themselves for pain and found pride in surviving the first blow. Colin preferred not to grant a man the comfort of expectations.

“He eats,” Colin ordered.

Lachlan blinked. Breac’s gaze sharpened from near the door.

“Enough tae live,” Colin continued. “Nae enough tae mend. Water enough that he daesnae die of thirst. Broth thin enough that his belly remembers hunger. Nay fire near enough tae warm him fully. Nay company beyond guards who dinnae answer questions.”

The relief drained from Lachlan’s face.

“And when he decides that silence has nay reward, he will speak.”

Lachlan shook his head. “I dinnae ken anything.”

Colin looked back at him. “Then ye will have a dull few days proving it.”

The man’s lips trembled, whether from cold or fear, Colin did not care.

“Please.”

The word was small.

Colin stepped away. “Begging works better with truth attached.”

He turned toward Murdoch. “Two guards always. Change them often so none grows friendly or careless. If he sleeps, wake him before comfort finds him too deeply. If he speaks, I am told at once.”

Murdoch nodded, though disappointment still sat plainly on his face. “Aye.”

“And Murdoch.”

“Aye?”

“Nay marks unless I order them.”

Murdoch’s mouth flattened, but he obeyed. “Aye, me laird.”

Then he left the chamber. The door closed behind him with a heavy scrape of wood and iron. In the passage beyond, the air felt no warmer, but it was cleaner. Colin stood a moment beneath the torchlight, flexing his hand once, then stilling it.

He could have broken Lachlan quickly. Part of him wanted to. That was why he had not.

His father loved quick cruelty. It was the immediate satisfaction of pain given and power proven. Colin learned better, though some days he was uncertain whether better meant mercy or merely colder discipline.

Either way, Lachlan Kerr would speak. Sooner or later, hunger, fear, and loneliness would turn silence into a burden too heavy to carry.

And when it broke, Colin intended to be there to hear every word.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN