Page 52 of The Beast

It took quite a long time for the man to finally have him upside down, his head just a short distance from the ground. Farlan sat next to a tree a short distance away regaining his breath from the exertion.

Duncan was muscular and tall; his weight could not have been easy to pull up. And yet here he was, in a predicament that made him shake with fury. Of all the people who should sympathize with him, it should be Farlan.

It was a long moment before Farlan stood and walked closer. “I know what ye are thinking, of all people ye never considered that I would do something like this. But ye should understand. It was because of ye that I am no longer fully a man.” Lowering to his haunches, Farlan’s crazed gaze met his. “We were closer than friends. I loved ye.”

Duncan’s eyes widened. Was it possible that this man had fallen in love with him? Whatever interactions they had, had never been physical. If Farlan’s feelings had grown to the point of love, then it made his misguided actions clearer. He wished to alienate Beatrice by making up a past relationship, and now he was taking vengeance like a scorned lover.

A dagger flashed when Farlan held it up to Duncan’s face. “Unlike the others, ye can withstand pain. Ye will not cry out, nor will ye care what I do to ye physically.”

Duncan glared at him.

“I will watch ye bleed out. Watch yer life ebb as ye realize what all ye are losing. I believe that will hurt ye more than pain.”

A sob escaped and Farlan began to cry. “All I wanted was for us to be together. To find happiness somewhere away from people. Why did ye abandon me?” he cried out and sunk the knife into Duncan’s side.

It wasn’t too painful. Then again, he was used to pain. What worried him was the blood loss. Mentally he wondered if he would bleed more or less by being suspended upside down.

Warm trails of blood traveled down his body until dripping onto the ground. The smell of it took him back to captivity.

The last smack of the whip barely registered. He was half-crazed with pain already and too hoarse to cry out. Laughter rang out when someone cut the rope that bound him to the pole, and he slipped on his own blood falling face-first into the red pool.

A bucket of salty water splashed over him, the water burning his skin to the point of agony as he attempted to crawl away. But he was grabbed by the ankles and dragged back.

Once again, another bucket was poured over him, and he howled with pain. Someone pushed rags into his hands. “Limpia.” Clean. They wanted him to clean the deck.

Seeming to no longer find him entertaining, the men walked away, except for one. An old man who always took pity on him. The man neared and helped him to sit. “Do what they said.”

“I did…not under…stand,” Duncan replied past chattering teeth. “I tried to do it. I-I tried to.”

Tears flowed down his face at the injustice of his life. They’d wanted him to beat another man who’d been tied to the post with one hand. But the man was healthy and fit and had beat Duncan easily.

The older man looked around, pulled a piece of dry flatbread from his shirt, and gave it to Duncan. Once he gobbled it down, the man brought him ale. “Drink, pronto.”

Once he ate, they cleaned the deck. The old man did most of the work since Duncan could barely move without crying out in pain. When they were done, the man motioned for him to follow back to his cell.

“Can I watch the sky for a few moments?” Duncan asked pointing to the sky.

“Si. Un momento.”

Duncan lifted himself to sit on an upturned barrel and looked across the expanse of the sea. He had no idea where he was or how long he’d been gone. The old man, who was the only one to speak a bit of English, did not know enough to tell him the date.

For a long moment he stared at the sky, taking in the clouds floating in the blue expanse.

“Vamos,” the old man said and walked him down the stairs where he would remain forgotten, and perhaps not fed for days.

Once he sat in the cell, the old man handed him a small sack and a wineskin.

Inside the sack were two pieces of flatbread and some dry meat. He didn’t bother to see what the wineskin had because all he could do was shake from pain.

He lay on a layer of rags he’d collected each time he cleaned and prayed that he would be rescued soon.

Duncan looked to Farlan, who seemed to be mesmerized by the blood. The blade sliced through the fabric of his tunic. For a long time Farlan inspected his bare chest and ran a hand down from his stomach to between his chest muscles.

Unfocused eyes slid to meet his. “Ye stopped bleeding,” he stated matter-of-factly.

When he stuck the dagger into the same wound, this time it hurt a great deal and Duncan moaned. The sound seemed to take Farlan aback because he stumbled backward. “It hurt?”

It was as if he’d truly not expected him to feel anything. Rounded eyes traveled from his wound to his face. And he hurried over and untied his gag.