His gaze had been locked with Randall's during the painful trip across the room, and did not waver now. He nodded briefly in my direction without looking at me and said, "Let her go."
The knife-hand seemed to relax a trifle. Randall's voice was amused and curious. "Why should I?"
Jamie seemed now in complete command of himself, despite his white face and the sweat that ran unregarded down his face like tears.
"You cannot hold a knife on two people at once. Kill the woman or leave her side, and I'll kill you." He spoke softly, a steely thread beneath the quiet Scots accent.
"And what's to stop me killing both of you, one at a time?"
I would have called the expression on Jamie's face a smile only because his teeth were showing. "What, and cheat the hangsman? Bit hard to explain, come morning, no?" He nodded briefly at the unconscious hulk on the floor. "You'll recall that ye had to have your wee helper bind me wi' rope before ye broke my hand."
"So?" The knife stayed steady at my ear.
"Your helper is no going to be much good to ye awhile yet." This was undeniably true; the monstrous orderly was lying on his face in the corner, breathing in ragged, stertorous snores. Severe concussion, I thought, mechanically. Possible cerebral hemorrhage. I couldn't care less if he died before my eyes.
"You can't take me alone, one-handed or no." Jamie shook his head slowly, appraising Randall's size and strength. "No. I'm bigger, and far the better fighter, hand to hand. Did ye not have the woman there, I would take that wee knife from ye and cram it down your throat. And you know it, which is why you've not harmed her."
"But I do have her. You could leave yourself, of course. There's a way out, quite near. That would leave your wife—you did say she's your wife?—to die, of course."
Jamie shrugged. "And myself as well. I'd not get far, with the whole garrison hunting me. To be shot in the open might be preferable to being hanged in here, but not enough to make a difference." A brief grimace of pain crossed his face and he held his breath for a moment. When he breathed again, it was in shallow, panting gulps. Whatever shock had been protecting him from the worst of the pain, it was apparently wearing off.
"So we seem to be at an impasse." Randall's well-bred English tones were casual. "Unless you have a suggestion?"
"I have. You want me." The cool Scottish voice was matter-of-fact. "Let the woman go, and ye can have me." The knifepoint moved slightly, nicking my ear. I felt a sting and the warm ooze of blood.
"Do what ye wish to me. I'll not struggle, though I'll allow you to bind me if ye think it needful. And I'll not speak of it, come tomorrow. But first you'll see the woman safe from the prison." My eyes were on Jamie's ruined hand. A small pool of blood under the middle finger was growing, and I realized with a shock that he was deliberately pressing the finger into the table, using the pain as a spur to stay conscious. He was bargaining for my life using the only thing he had left—himself. If he fainted now, that single chance was gone.
Randall had relaxed completely; the knife lay carelessly on my right shoulder as he thought it through. I was there before him. Jamie was meant to hang in the morning. Sooner or later, he would be missed, and the Castle would be searched. While a certain amount of brutality might be tolerated among officers and gentlemen—I was sure it would extend to a broken hand or a flayed back—Randall's other inclinations were not so likely to be overlooked. No matter what Jamie's status as a condemned prisoner, if he stood at the foot of the gallows come morning and claimed abuse at the hands of Randall, his claims would be investigated. And if physical examination proved them true, Randall's career was at an end, and possibly his life as well. But with Jamie sworn to silence…
"You'll give me your word?"
Jamie's eyes were like blue matchflames in the parchment of his face. After a moment, he nodded slowly. "In return for yours."
The attraction of a victim at once completely unwilling and completely compliant was irresistible.
"Done." The knife left my shoulder and I heard the susurrus of sheathed metal. Randall walked slowly past me, around the table, picking up the mallet as he went. He held it up, ironically questioning. "You'll allow me a brief test of your sincerity?"
"Aye." Jamie's voice was as steady as his hands, flat and motionless on the table. I tried to speak, to utter some protest, but my throat had dried to a sticky silence.
Moving without haste, Randall leaned past Jamie to pluck a ha'penny nail delicately from the reed basket. He positioned the point with care and brought the mallet down, driving the nail through Jamie's right hand into the table with four solid blows. The broken fingers twitched and sprang straight, like the legs of a spider pinned to a collection board.