The Sapphire Brooch (The Celtic Brooch Trilogy Book 2) by Logan Katherine Lowry

Author:Logan, Katherine Lowry [Logan, Katherine Lowry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Time Travel
Publisher: Katherine Lowry Logan
Published: 2014-11-13T05:00:00+00:00

55

Richmond, Virginia, April 1, 1865

Braham awoke, and immediate pain reminded him of his present condition. Instead of opening his eyes, he squeezed them tighter, as if not looking would change his situation. He had lost track of the days, but he thought the invasion was close. Maybe today. Maybe tomorrow. Could he take another day of the warden’s tenacious interrogation? At the thought, his mouth moved soundlessly, his face contorting in a rictus of agony.

One more day. He could survive one more day, unless they resorted to bucking again. He had heard of the torture device, and knew it left no tell-tale marks, but had never seen it used until they did it to him. They forced him into a sitting position on the ground with bended knees. His wrists were then bound together and tied to his ankles, his arms cradling his legs. When the guard picked up a tobacco stick, Braham doubted his constitution would withstand another beating. The sergeant had laughed with calm callousness as he passed the stick over Braham’s elbows and under his knees. He had then been forced to remain in the position for hours. When they finally removed the stick, his joints and back were frozen in the unnatural position, and were screaming in agony.

The door to the stairs leading to solitary confinement cells squeaked open. Fear crawled coldly through his empty stomach. Boot heels scraped across weathered floorboards. They were coming to interrogate him again. The warden always dragged out his approach to the cells, playing on the prisoners’ fear until they sometimes pissed themselves. At first Braham had tried to hide his dread behind a mask of indifference, but soon enough it had been pitilessly stripped away. Now he only tried to survive.

Someone whistling outside his door brought him fully alert. It wasn’t a sharp whistle to get someone’s attention. It was a recognizable tune. He puckered his parched lips, but his swollen face made it impossible for him to whistle in response. He blew out a steady stream of air, but no sound. Then he heard the whistle again, and in his haze, he thought he knew the whistler.

Not Charlotte. Dear God, not in this demonic hold. It must be his imagination.

Thoughts of her had kept him sane during these long, cold nights, as did one of his favorite Robbie Burns songs which described her to perfection. She’s sweeter than the morning dawn…Her hair is like the curling mist…Her cheeks are like yon crimson gem…Her lips are like yon cherries ripe…

God, he wished he could see her one more time. But what could he tell her that he hadn’t already said?

A rat crawled over his shoulder and nudged its mouth into the open wounds on his back. He swatted at the creature until it scurried away. Braham rolled over onto his wounds to keep the rat from burrowing back in. The straw pricked at the cuts made by the dozen lashes he’d received within hours of being arrested. He sucked air through his teeth and rolled onto his belly, sucked air again, and switched to his side.

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