Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in the following story.
Author's note: Yes I have resurfaced, sorry for the long wait. I had a full plate this past semester.
Reminder: Once again my characters have more of a Scottish accent, except Remy (I’m not good at French accents though)
****Flashback****
Dedicated to: All who have been patiently waiting for so long
Chapter 9:
The Interrogation
Logan took a carriage to Pikeshead, gritting his teeth against the jostle and jolts of the horrid contraption. The streets of Portshaven deteriorated as they wound their way southward. The buildings became shabbier and the children dirtier. He scowled out the window and disembarked after a final jolting halt in front of Pikeshead Prison. It loomed over him like a gray, full cloud.
Logan stepped out of the carriage. He had insisted that he come alone, but he knew better than to think his wishes had been met. Remy Lebleu, master cardsman and frequent pain in the ass, was nearby.
Pikeshead gate master was a tall man with hair gone gray and a somewhat ghoulish expression. He bowed at Logan’s approach
“My Lord,” he said and straightened. “I swear I did not know there had been a mistake. I was told to imprison the girl, and I did. Had I…”
“Tell me,” Logan interrupted. “Do you keep such watchful care over all your prisoners?”
The warden licked his lips and shifted his eyes from side to side as if debating if this was sarcasm or a question truly asked. “I am not certain of your meaning, my Lord.”
“I mean, do you simply throw every prisoner to the wolves, regardless of their crime or station?”
“They are…” he paused for a moment as if baffled. “…criminals, my Lord. Incarcerated as a punishment for their crimes.”
Logan swallowed and straightened slightly. The man was right, of course. They were criminals, here to be punished. Logan had never been squeamish about punishment.
“It matters not if they are female or male, hardened criminals or tender maids?” he asked though he supposed it would have been a fine time to keep his mouth firmly shut.
“Tender maids.” The warden looked affronted at best. “my lord, ‘tis true, the sometimes look mild, but this I know from experience “ they would as son rip your heart from your chest as do an honest day’s labor. But…had I known you favored her, my lord…”
“I do not favor her.” He made certain his tone was chill. “But I am Lord of this isle and ‘tis my duty to look after even the lowest of my subjects.”
The warden looked confused. Logan gritted his teeth and exhaled between them. This was getting him nowhere.
“Did you recognize her?”
“Your pardon my Lord?”
“The girl,” he said. His impatience was mounting. “Did you know the girl who was brought here last night?
“I believe the lieutenant said her name was Megs.”
“But you hadn’t seen her before.”
“No, my Lord, but as I said, there are brigands and vermin aplenty in Portshaven. I cannot know them all.
Logan drew a deep breath. “I need to speak to the girl’s cell companions,” he said instead
When they were led in to the cell, there were 2 blubbering and incoherent cellmates. Logan asked them much that same questions he’d asked the warden, but they knew nothing, or at least, in his glowering presence, they professed to know nothing of the girl called Megs. They had thought her just another cell rat. They’d had no intention of harming her. Just fooling they were.
Memories knotted in Logan’s mind. The stench, the screams, the sight of tiny Megs unconscious. He was tempted to wring their scrawny necks, but they were so pitiful, so low and wretched already that he could do nothing but send them back to their cell.
Logan gritted his teeth as they were led away, and a slight growling sound escaped his lips. He turned back to the guard. “Were there any others here last night?”
“No, my Lord, just the two.”
He scowled remembering. ****Even in prison you called me Megs**** But he hadn’t called her. God only knew if he had spoken at all. Rage was a primeval thing.
“Was there another she might have spoken to?” he asked
The warden looked nervous, shuffled his feet and blinked. “There may be others she spoke to in the adjoining cell.
“I want to see them.”
“My Lord?”
“Anyone who may have spoken to the girl, but don’t’ tell them my title.”
His wish was granted, but not happily. Five people were ushered into a barren, rough-stoned room. They came one at a time: a tattered old man, a woman who cackled when she spoke, two boys barely into puberty, and a young woman.
“What’s your name?” Logan asked her. The corner of her mouth lifted with a grin. Her hair might have been brown, but there was clearly a single white streak in front. It was matted and her face dirty, but under other circumstances, she might have been pretty.
“That depends,” she said. “On why you be askin.”
“I am asking because I wish to know.”
“Oh,” she sounded bored, irritated even. “And who are you that I should be sharin’ my name?”
He paused a moment, taking in her appearance. Her gown might have been blue at one time. Now it was an undistinguished grayish hue, faded almost white at the ends of her ragged sleeves.
“Howlett,” he said, and let the word sink in for a moment. “My mother called me Logan.”
She paled, but she didn’t cower. “Bloody hell,” she murmured, and he chuckled despite himself.
“What’s your name girl?” he asked again.
She straightened her spine. “I don’t need ta…” Remy shifted his feet, settling his weight more comfortably against the wall. The girl looked nervously past Logan to the Frenchman.
“They calls me Marie,” she said
He repeated the name with a nod. “Do you know a lass named Megs?”
“Megs you say?” She glanced and Remy again. He was like an unsightly wart. Hard to ignore and harder to get rid of, thought Logan.
“No me Lord, I don’t believe I do.”
“Why are you at Pikeshaed Marie?”
“Me?” a corner of her mouth lifted as she glanced about the room. “I enjoy it here, guvner, don’t you?”
“We usually hang murderers,” he said. He would play her little games.
“Murder! I didn’t do nothing but steal some bloke’s snuffbox.”
“Really?”
“Aye. Bloody lot of good it did me, too, cause it weren’t even silver.”
“Are you saying that’s the only thing you stole, Marie?”
“On my honor, guvner, I never took nothing else.”
He smiled. “I hope you’re a better thief than you are a liar, Marie.”
“You callin’ me a liar?” her hands were balled into to fists, her bright mouth pursed.
“Aye,” he said, and nodded once. “I am that.”
She watched him for a moment, lifted her gaze to Remy, watched him again, then shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Logan smiled. He had forgotten how much he enjoyed common thieves. “About Megs…” he began.
“There was a chit named Megs brought here last night. Or so I was told.”
“From whom?”
I ‘eard the warden say it.”
“So you’ve not heard of a lass called Magical megs?”
“Was that Megs herself!?”
“You’ve heard of her then?”
“Magical Megs? Of course I have!”
“Could you identify her?”
She shook her head slowly, her eyes widened. “Like I told you I only stole one time.”
“The snuffbox.”
“Seems a harsh sentence for one foolish mistake don’t it?”
“Your lying skills seems to be approving already.”
Anger flashed across her mobile features, but one quick glance at Remy, and she shrugged again. “I does what I can.”
“Aye,” he stood, turned away, then slowly swiveled back. “How long will you be visiting Pikeshead?”
“Six months, if’n I live that long.”
He let her words sink into the silence. “What if I set you free?”
“What?” She started suddenly, but her eyes narrowed a moment later.
If you come to Westheath and identified the thief called Megs, I’d see that you went free.”
“Magical Megs is at the castle?”
He gave her a noncommittal stare.
“Is she alive?”
“Would you care?”
A rainbow of emotions crossed her face, but finally she shrugged. Like I said guvner, I don’t know her personal.”
He nodded once, then turned away. A moment later he could hear her heckling the guards as the transported her back to her cell.
Remy was silent as he fell in beside Logan.
“What is it?” Logan asked.
“What is what?”
“You going to ask why I spoke to the girl?”
“I assume your improving your circle of friends.”
“She’s lying,” Logan countered.
“Maybe she’s afeared of you. After all, you are the Lord of this isle.”
“For today.”
Remy grinned.
“Why do you think she lied? Even if she didn’t know Megs, surely she’d say she did, just to get a chance to be free of this hell.”
“She’s naught but a thief.”
“A onetime thief.”
Remy snorted. “You come around asking bout a ‘petite named Megs. Showing a good deal of interest. She hears you got the cher’e at the castle.”
They exited the stifling confines of the prison. Logan scowled across the cobbled street toward the waiting carriage.
“Anyone in their right mind would be scared,” Remy said
Logan flashed his gaze from the restive stallions to the Frenchman.
A smile lurked just below Remy’s handsomely roguish features. “I’m talking about the girl,” he said.
“Of course.”
Remy grinned.
Logan swore in silence. “She didn’t seem scared.”
“Maybe she’s a better actor than your Megs even.”
A liveried footman lowered the carriage steps with a bow and a flourish, as if swinging wide the pearly gates of heaven.
Logan grabbed the window with a deadly grip and levered himself into the rocking casket. Remy followed in suit, wedging his body in the opposite seat.
Logan scowled. “Curious about my visit here?”
“Not at all.”
“Really?”
Remy gave him a baleful glare and pulled a curved pipe from somewhere inside his vest. “ ‘Tis pitifully obvious.”
“Oh?”
“The cher’e has bored beneath your skin.”
Logan carefully controlled both his anger and irritation. It was best to show Remy no emotion whatsoever, but Logan was not the stoic sort. Emotions and actions rode hand and hand in his world.
“The lass,” Remy sighed as he leaned back against the plush upholstery of the red velvet cushion and put a light to his pipe. “She’s made you sit up and take notice.”
“Interesting theory. You know she stole my mother’s brooch.”
The other shrugged.
“And she’s Creed’s accomplice.”
“Ahh. So we finally get to the Crux of the matter.” Remy said, and puffing once, thrust his arm out the window to rap twice on the carriages sleek mahogany siding.
There was a word from the driver, and the vehicle lurched forward. Logan gritted his teeth. Remy’s eyes seemed strangely bright as if he were enormously happy.
“Your making less sense than usual, Lebleu. I didn’t know it was possible.”
The other man smiled. “You want me to speak plain?”
“It’d be a change.”
“Very well then.” He leaned forward and looked Logan in the eyes. “The young Lord of Scotland is enamored.”
“Enamored.” Logan said the word dryly.
“Yes, he’s met a wee maid. Beautiful and fair, with a quick wit and bold manner. A maid who stirs his interests and blood like none of his highborn ladies which have come before.
“Remind me to check for vacancies for Portshaven’s asylums.”
If Remy heard him he gave no indication. “But the pirate Lord dare not let his guard down, so he proclaims her to be a thief and a…”
“She is a thief,” Logan reminded him. “She stole my brooch.”
Remy held up one long slim finger. “And not just a thief, but Creed’s accomplice. In case one death sentence isn’t satisfactory for the isle’s grand sovereign.
“Perhaps it is you who is enamored,” Logan suggested.
Remy raised his brows as if considering. His forehead wrinkled. “She is a bonny piece. If you have no use for her, I’ll…”
“Stay away from her!” Logan growled.
Remy grinned. “You’re almost too easy.”
Logan ground his teeth and managed a rough smile at the same time. “She’s my link to Creed.”
“Ahh, so that’s it. You’re not aching to have her for yourself then?”
“I’ve little use for conniving women.”
“Had your fill with Jean then?”
Logan’s stomach churned. “Leave her out of this, Lebleu.”
“Dammit!” the grin was gone. “It’s been all of two years. When might you be planning to cease your brooding?”
Logan clenched his teeth. He desperately wanted to take a swing at his lifelong friend.
“You know what you need?”
I can only hope you will enlighten me.”
Remy nodded his agreement. “You need to be bedded.”
“I’m flattered,” Logan said, careful to keep his tone dry. “But your not my type.”
“And what is your type? Some milk-fed princess who speaks of everlasting love, then spreads her legs for every handsome liar that smiles her way?”
“She was my wife,” Logan growled.
“We,” he nodded curtly. “That she was, but she’s dead now. Dead and gone.”
“You think I hadn’t noticed?”
“Yes, you’ve noticed. But little else. Since her death you’ve been a walking corpse, but it’s time to wake up now. You’re not some wayward bastard, leaping with the waves anymore. You’ve a country to rule now. Open your eyes.”
“I’m awake.’
“And the guilt is eating you every minute.”
“Guilt?” he stared at Remy in honest surprise. “Why would I feel guilty?”
“Because you wanted her dead.”
“Besides the whirring of the carriage wheels the world had seemed to go silent.
“If you’ve an accusation to make, Remy, you should take it to the magistrate.”
“Damn Hank and all those fancy words he put in your head. There was a time when I could get a straight answer from you.”
“I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“You must think me the daftest man in Portshaven. Of course you didn’t kill her, but you might as well have for the flogging you give yourself.”
“You’re a far cry off course, Remy, I feel no guilt.”
“So it wasn’t your fault she went to Creed’s bed?”
Logan tightened his grip on the window and said nothing.
“She would have lain with the devil himself if she thought it would hurt you.” Remy’s voice was suddenly quiet.
Logan turned to look out the window, but he saw nothing except Jean’s face, twisted in anger, in hatred. It was entirely possible there had never been another human being who had despised him with such hot intensity. Funny, as a young, ragged lad, he had believes a lady’s every thought would be filled with peace and light. Her smile would be radiant, her love would be pure. Jean had taught him much.
“I didn’t resent her affairs.” Logan said to the blur of passing trees.
“She was a whore, hom’e, everyone knew it.”
Logan turned slowly toward his oldest friend. “She was my wife.”
The Frenchman nodded once. “But it’s not your fault that she chose her bedmates poorly.”
“I should have stopped her.”
“How?’
“I am Lord of Scotland.’
Remy snorted. “Since when does a laird overrule a woman? You couldn’t have stopped her, not without killing her yourself.”
“Maybe I should have.”
“Maybe. But Creed beat you to it, and so you make others suffer.”
“The girl knows where to find him.”
“Does she?”
“Aye, and she’ll say eventually.”
“Planning some torture are you?”
“I thought I’d leave that up to you.”
“You’ve always been generous.”
The wheels lurched, launching the into the air. Logan gritted his teeth and swore between them.
Remy shook his head and grinned. “I love them bays.”
Logan turned his head to his companion and allowed a thin smile.
“What is it? Remy asked, his brow furrowing.
“I have a plan.”
“Does it involve me risking my life?”
“Aye.” Logan said. “That’s my favorite part.”
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