Page 70 of Hollow Court
“Then help us understand,” my father entreated him.
Dougal only clamped his lips shut, just as Scottie had, just as they all had.
I was at a loss.
Underprepared. Underqualified. Unable to do anything to root out this rebellion that had spread through my men, my home, and my life, right in front of our eyes.
My father stilled at my side, studying the men for several long moments before he gestured for us to leave.
“Why are we stopping?” Gwyn hissed at him.
She had never been angry with my father before, but desperation and the sting of betrayal were doing strange things to us all.
“We haven’t even really tried questioning—” she began.
My father held up a hand, cutting her off.
“He’s afraid,” he said, quietly enough for only us to hear.
“They all are,” I added. “And not for themselves.”
If they had been afraid only for their own lives, they would be talking now to avoid the noose. Hell, even if they were afraid of torture, it stood to reason that they would break before the situation could escalate.
It wasn’t just fear in their eyes, though, especially not for these four. It was desperation. A silent plea.
“You think their families have been threatened?” Gwyn asked.
My father and I nodded at the same time. Gwyn spun on her feet, marching back toward the cell, her auburn braid streaming behind her.
“We can help you.” She gripped the bars as if she would rip them from where they were welded into the floor. “We can protect your families.”
Dougal stepped forward, giving the barest shake of his head.
He had served Gwyn and her parents for over a decade before being transferred here from Alech. Something softened in his gaze as he looked at my cousin. Was he remembering, as I was, a time when he had sparred against the fiery twelve-year-old duchess, laughing when she demanded round after round?
“No, lass,” he whispered.
Her shoulders rose and fell with each furious breath that poured from her lungs. Finally, she hit the bars with a loud clang, storming down the hallway and back to her brother.
If I hadn’t known her better, I could have sworn I saw a single tear track down her cheek as she passed me. But that was impossible. Gwyn didn’t cry, not where people could see her.
He shook his head at her retreating form, his soft voice echoing off the dungeon walls. “You won’t even be able to protect yourselves from what’s coming.”
* * *
Defeat hungheavy in the air between us when we finally climbed the stairs from the dungeons. We had gotten nothing further from the prisoners, nothing we could use.
No one said a word as we made our way to the family wing, all of us still parsing through the events of tonight.
“We’ll try again tomorrow,” my father finally said when we made it to the first bisecting hallway. “And in the meantime, I’ll send a bird to Chridhe and Alech.”
He offered us a wan smile before turning to head to his and Mamá’s rooms while the three of us descended the stairs to the family hall.
“I wouldn’t want to be the one sending that bird,” Gallagher said after a tense few steps.
He gently grabbed his sister’s injured hand in the privacy of the stairwell. When he pulled away, the wounds on her knuckles were already noticeably improved.
He usually refused to heal small wounds, saying it raised too many questions without cause. It was a mark of his concern for her that he was trying to ease whatever bit of her pain he could, trying to lighten the mood for us both.