Page 11 of Laird of Sighs (His Highland Heart #5)
CHAPTER 11
A fter another hour of work in the garden, Ailsa was ready for something to drink and some shade. Helping the clan survive what her mother feared was coming gave her a sense of accomplishment, but didn’t keep her dress from sticking to her back. The warmth in her face told her the sun had reddened her skin. But her fatigue evaporated when she came inside and discovered that her father was about to question the new captives.
He nodded as she joined the group headed out into the bailey, accepting her presence.
She was thankful she and Maesie had finished before her father decided to do this. It gave Ailsa another chance to ensure her orders for their comfort were still being followed and had not been rescinded by her brother. She wouldn’t put it past Boden, who was also in the group with her father. He was quick to judge, and if someone was in the dungeon, his philosophy was that they must deserve to be there and suffer for it.
Raghnall and a few of his men stood off to the side at the guard post, keeping an eye on everyone. More of his men waited at the top of the stairs. Ailsa knew the prisoners were not armed. They’d been searched before they were brought inside Sinclair’s gates. But that didn’t make them helpless. The iron bars between them and the Sinclairs did.
The men were unharmed. Her and her mother’s early morning meeting with her father had accomplished what she wanted for Anders and for these men. But for how long?
How they answered her father would make the difference, and if this did not go well, she would not be able to help them. All they’d told her and Raghnall was that they wanted to be released to go home. If they refused to tell her father where they came from and why they were on Sinclair land—a reason he could accept as the truth—she feared he would deal harshly with them.
“I’m Laird Sinclair,” her father began. She appreciated that he kept his tone mild, even friendly. “Ye have met my guard captain Raghnall, my son and heir, Boden and my daughter Ailsa, aye?”
“Aye, we have, and we’re grateful for the comforts yer daughter insisted we be given,” the older man answered.
“And ye are?”
“Tomas.” He named the other men without hesitation, but first names only. As before, he didn’t mention a clan.
“What were ye and yer men doing in Sinclair territory?”
“We didna intend to be. We were sailing by when a storm blew up. Some of the men dinna have their sea legs for weather like that. By the time the sea calmed, they were exhausted. As were we all. We put to shore to rest.”
“’Tis a believable tale, Tomas, but ye are no’ telling me everything. What is yer clan?”
Tomas shrugged. “Our clan has naught to do with our presence here, Laird Sinclair. Only the storm and the rough seas. There is naught more to tell save that we needed fresh water. Our barrels were either lost in the tossing or sea water got into them.”
“Sea water and no’ rain?”
“Likely both, Laird Sinclair.”
“Ye said ye were sailing by. From where? And where were ye bound?”
“Around to the isles. I thank God the storm caught us here and no’ in the Pentland or we wouldna have made it out alive.”
“So, ye came from?—?”
“The storm blew us south.”
Ailsa’s stomach was starting to knot. Tomas was being evasive and her father was starting to toy with him like a cat with a mouse.
“Ye dinna sound like Orkneymen.”
“I didna say we are, Laird?—”
“Sinclair. Aye, I ken my name. These are all yer men?”
Tomas’ eyes widened for a split second, then he dropped his gaze. “Aye, laird.”
Ailsa clenched her fists at that evasion. Her father’s question could be taken more than one way. But she knew he hadn’t been asking if any of the men in the dungeon did not belong with Tomas’ group. She was certain Tomas had not interpreted it that way, either. Had Tomas simply been surprised by the question? Or had Anders also been on their birlinn , and her da’s question made Tomas hope Anders was here?
“Very well. Since ye willna answer me fully, ye will remain where ye are until ye do,” her father told them, making Tomas frown.
“Laird, we’d like to go home. We’ve wives and bairns who’ll be anxious for our return.”
“How long they wait is up to ye. Unless ye are willing to tell me the truth, they will have to wait a wee longer.” He signaled to Raghnall, then caught Ailsa’s gaze and lifted his chin toward the stairs.
The message was clear. They were leaving. Or she was. Nay, he was also waving Boden out, and moving toward the stairs himself. Her da had learned all he needed to for now. But what had he learned?
Once they were back up in the fresh air of the bailey, he stopped them and turned to Raghnall. “Their reluctance to reveal their clan concerns me. But that also tells me they may be useful to us. I believe there was much that Tomas carefully didna say. They may have been headed from Orkney and around the Pentland before the storm caught them. Or something else entirely. I do believe him when he says they didna mean to land here. Ailsa, I strongly suspect yer Anders is one of theirs, whether he kens it or nay.”
Ailsa nodded, reluctant to answer. But the time was right, and prevaricating to her da would only make things harder for Anders. “I have wondered about that, but Maighread insists he’ll be harmed in the dungeon.” She cut her gaze to her brother, who, as she suspected, was glaring at her. Because of her early morning meeting with their father, she’d stolen his chance to spring the news about Anders on him and blame her.
“I’ve already agreed he can stay in the keep as long as he causes no trouble. He’s yer responsibility.”
She met his gaze, determined to show him he could count on her. And respect her. “He has been since he collapsed at our gate.”
“Good, ye ken what to do.”
“’Tisna safe to have a man that size in the keep,” Boden objected.
“I’ve given my permission,” their father said and turned away, headed for the keep’s heavy oaken door.
Boden turned to Ailsa with a smirk. “I’m glad Anders is yer problem. When he does something violent, it’ll be ye that Da punishes.”
It hadn’t taken Anders long to settle in to his new chamber. His relief at not being consigned to the dungeon felt like an escape of a sort. He had a hearth, a warm bed, and comfort that would not be available anywhere else. As Ailsa had pointed out, he had no belongings save the clothes on his back and one change of clothes she had found for him when his clothes were being repaired, but never used. And though the four walls here were much like the four walls in the herbal, at least the view from the window was different.
He crossed to it and compared its width to his size and shape. Unless he was sorely mistaken, the window was large enough for him to squeeze through, should he decide he needed to. That thought cheered him. Aye, the drop to the ground was long enough for him to break a leg or worse. Even if he didn’t get hurt, how would he escape the guards’ notice and get free of Sinclair’s walls? If he’d misunderstood what Maesie had implied about another postern gate on the outside of the orchard, the only other way out was through the main gate. Even the seaside walls dropped below the cliff to the beach, or at best to shallow water. A fall from there would be as damaging or deadly as a fall from the land-side walls.
Those thoughts kept him pacing, alternating between worries and gratitude for his new abode until he heard a knock on his door. He opened it, expecting a new guard to introduce himself.
Ailsa stood in the open doorway. “I need to speak with ye.”
“Come in. Thank ye for this.” He waved a hand to encompass the room. “’Tis good to have a window large enough to allow in fresh air.” Not to mention a slice of view of what happened in the bailey—and a possible way out if all else failed, by climbing down the tower. It surprised him that the Sinclairs would allow him such access, but Ailsa—or her mother—had worked magic.
“Aye, some of Maighread’s potions can make yer eyes water,” she said as she crossed to the chair by the hearth. “She’s asked for the mason to expand the window in the herbal, but he’s yet to make time to do it.”
“I heard some excitement in the bailey a while ago,” he mentioned, hoping for more information than he’d been able to glean from the noise. He sat on the edge of the bed, across from her, so she didn’t have to crane her neck looking up at him. Being alone with her was giving him ideas. He wanted to pull her from her chair onto his lap, then lay her down on the bed and finish what they’d started in the herbal. But he couldn’t. Not just because he’d promised. Because he still couldn’t remember if he was unattached.
“Do ye recall my telling ye the dungeon was full?”
Anders frowned. Why was she asking about that? Had her father changed his mind? Was she here to see that he was escorted down to join them? “Aye, I do. Why do ye ask?”
“Ye didna ask who might be there. There are nearly a dozen men who put to shore after the storm that brought ye to us. They might be yer clansmen. Or they might have been hunting ye.”
He folded his arms over his chest, pondering her surprising suggestion. What if he had been hurt while being hunted? That would change everything. He could be an escaped prisoner of his own clan, or any number of other things. Were the men he’d seen in his flash memory of being on a boat now also in Sinclair? His vision of them had not given him any sense of trouble. He’d thought he was just part of their crew. Once again, he cursed his lack of memory. Glimpses and hints did not help him, not when peril surrounded him. And the fact that he had a memory that might fit with those men? But the glimpses he’d gotten hadn’t shown him bound, or bound to an oar. He’d bet he was crew. He’d be wise to keep that to himself for now, but their predicament angered him.
“Ye should ken that the men in the dungeon might recognize ye. If Da finds ye do belong with those men, he’ll move ye there. Maighread willna be able to prevent it.”
Anders had turned to look at the window while Ailsa spoke. He was glad of it now. She couldn’t see his face and the irritation on it. There was trouble, and he might wind up in the middle of it. Likely those were his men. His problem was now compounded by their presence—and how to get all of them, himself included, out of Sinclair.
“They’re being taken care of,” Ailsa continued, still unaware of the effect her words were having on him. “Treated more as guests than prisoners, with good food, water and blankets.”
“So, ye made the decision to put them in the dungeon?” This time, Anders did turn to face her, and he let his displeasure show in his expression.
Ailsa frowned.
Anders realized in all the time he’d been in Sinclair, he’d never once shown her this side of him. Yet she needed to know he was a real man, with real feelings. Not just hopes and longings, but irritation and even anger.
“Raghnall advised it,” she said. “I had to agree. There just wasna any other place to put that many men.”
“Ye couldha let them go.”
“The Laird was away—but we kenned he would want to speak with them. Boden wouldna let them go either, so nor could I.” She stood. “My father will send for ye soon. Mother, Maighread and I spoke to him. He agreed no’ to send ye to the dungeon unless ye cause trouble.”
Anders sighed. Another worry eliminated, though looking at Ailsa made Anders want to cause the kind of trouble that could get him killed. He dared not—for her sake. As long as her father kept his word, he’d keep his hands to himself. The rest of him, too.
“Why now?”
She shrugged. “Ye are different. They wouldna identify themselves save for first names. Ye canna. A man named Tomas seems to be their leader. But so far, they willna name their clan. I dinna ken what they’re hiding, or why, but ’twillna help them with my da.”
“Lass, if they ken me, they could take me home.”
“Is that what ye want?” Her face fell. “Of course, it is. Ye have a life somewhere. No’ here.”
“But here, I have ye to console me,” he told her, trying with his tone to tell her how much she meant to him. He couldn’t use the words he would say if he knew he could have her. If there was no one else in his life. “No’ as much as I could wish for, but leaving ye would be … difficult.”
She wrapped her arms around her middle. “Seeing ye go would … hurt.”
“Ailsa.” He reached for her.
She raised a hand. “Nay, dinna say it. We will deal with that possibility if it comes to pass. I will be happy for ye, but heartbroken as well. And sad that I didna get to ken the real ye, with yer memories intact.”
“This is the real me,” he said, stood, and reached again for her hand. “All we have is now. Nay the past, nor the future. I am the man ye ken. The rest is history and possibility. Nay more than that.”
“Nay? The rest is family, and friends, and possibly a lass of yer own. We canna forget that.”
He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I havena. I willna, or ye’d be in my arms instead of standing there.”
She gave him a wan smile, pulled back her hand and turned toward the door. “I should go.”
“Aye, if ye must. ’Tis no’ what I want. Nor ye, I think.”
She took a step toward the door, turned back to him, leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Nor I.”
After riding under escort most of the rest of the day, Stellan wasn’t happy about entering the Sinclair keep as a prisoner, but it was the only way to discover if there were any men being held here, and if they were Sutherlands. The birlinn the Sinclairs found might not be the Sutherland birlinn , but the coincidence was too great to ignore. The guard hadn’t indicated it was wrecked. Perhaps he didn’t know. But if Anders had time to beach it, he and his men were somewhere in Sinclair territory. Or here, in this keep.
He still hadn’t sensed any distress from Anders, so if he was here, he was in no immediate danger. That gave Stellan some comfort as they passed under the iron-barred portcullis and entered the Sinclair bailey. Tormund exchanged a look with him that he couldn’t mistake. This was risky. Perhaps even foolish. If Anders was here, Sinclair held the future of Sutherland within its walls, both heir and spare, possibly along with a significant number of its most valued men. Sinclair could demand of Laird Sutherland anything he wished, and probably get it.
Another man approached their guards as they dismounted.
Stellan stayed on his horse, so the rest of his men did the same. For a moment, Stellan thought the new man would be enough of a distraction that the Sutherlands could turn their horses and ride out, but he dismissed the idea. The Sinclairs would remount and be on them in moments. They knew their territory. The Sutherlands didn’t. And they wouldn’t leave any of the men imprisoned behind.
“What have ye here?” The new man frowned at the Sutherland prisoners, still astride their horses.
“Men we picked up in the woods a few miles west. Looking for a missing birlinn and its crew.”
“They’ve come to the right place.” The man turned to regard them. “I’m Raghnall, the Sinclair chief guard. Ye lot may as well dismount. Ye’re going nowhere until the laird gives his leave. I’ll take ye to yer men. Filib, go tell the laird we’ve caught a few more fish.” He paused and eyed them again. “Nay, no’ fish. Fishermen, I’d say.” He laughed at his own wit.
Stellan fought not to roll his eyes. “They are here—the birlinn ’s crew,” he said, relief a warm blanket thrown over the cold uncertainty of allowing himself and his men to accept being captured.
“Aye, I believe so. Ye will be the judge of it, or they will, once they see ye.” Raghnall studied him for another moment. “One of ’em looks a lot like ye. Like brothers, aye? Laird Sinclair will be pleased to hear that.”
Anders! His twin was here! Stellan fought to keep the jubilation bubbling in his chest from his face. He dared not look at Tormund, but hoped he and the other men had kept their expressions impassive, too. A lot alike? He must look rougher than he imagined after several days of riding. He rubbed his bristly jaw, then swung a leg over his horse, dismounted smoothly and stood calmly, waiting for Raghnall’s next move. Inside, his gut was churning with the need to take action. Anders was here. And Sinclair had to know about the Sutherland twins. Tales of them had spread around the Highlands since their boyhood. The price for their lives and freedom had just escalated, probably drastically. But at the moment, he didn’t care. He wanted to see Anders and the rest of his men, to make certain they were well cared for and unharmed. As valuable prisoners, it behooved Sinclair to see they remained that way.
“Come along,” Raghnall said and waved Stellan forward. Sinclairs escorted the rest of his group, but Raghnall stayed by Stellan’s side as Stellan got the last glimpse of daylight he expected to see for the foreseeable future, and they descended the stairs.
Voices revealed the presence of prisoners below. Stellan recognized most of them. But he didn’t hear Anders, which surprised him. His brother would normally be in the thick of any discussion. Raghnall had seen him. Where was he?
Stellan and his men entered the dungeon hallway, the several conversations among the prisoners there ceased, replaced by shocked expressions, perversely amusing him.
“Ye’re late arriving at MacKay,” he announced, then more softly added, “Where the hell is my brother?”
A few men paled at that question. Tomas glanced around, stood and approached the bars of the cell that held him and three others. “Stellan, lad. I must beg yer forgiveness. The news I bear is the worst possible for ye to hear.” Tomas looked aside and pressed his lips together, then continued. “We lost him during the storm. Swept overboard by a rogue wave. We spent days searching up and down the coast before we came ashore to search for him on land. Some of these lads’ men,” he said and gestured toward the Sinclair guards, “found us and brought us here. If Anders is still alive, he’s out there, somewhere.”
If Raghnall hadn’t mentioned having seen his twin, Stellan’s heart would be in pieces. As it was, he felt sadness and anger for the pain in Tomas’ and his other men’s eyes. They didn’t know.
He whirled on Raghnall and stepped close. “Ye didna tell them the man they searched for, the man they mourn for,” he said, took a breath and shouted, “ has been here the whole time ?”
“What?” Tomas’ voice rang clear above the outcry from the other men. Joyous whoops and cheers made the walls ring. “Anders is here?”
Raghnall pushed Stellan away from his person. “Until I saw ye, I didna ken he was one of yers,” he said to the group, then turned back to Stellan. “But I have bad news. Yer brother was hurt. A blow to the head. He has nay memory of who he is.”
Stellan took a step back and reached for the bars behind him, needing their support, his desperate grip holding himself up. Without the cold iron in his fist, he’d be on his knees. “None?”
“He remembered the name Anders, but didna ken if ’twas his own, but that’s what he’s been using. Ye lot never admitted ye were missing a man. A man named Anders. Other than that, I dinna ken. I havena seen or spoken to him in days.”
“How has he been cared for?”
“Our healer, and the laird’s daughter Lady Ailsa, allowed him inside to be cared for when he collapsed at the gate while the laird and lady were gone to Orkney. Yer brother made his way this far on his own, though he was in bad shape.”
“Dear God,” Tomas muttered.
Stellan now understood why he’d felt nothing from his twin. It could be that his twin was all but gone. No longer present in his own head. “I must see him.”
“When the laird allows it.”
Stellan released his grip on the bars and grabbed Raghnall. “Now.”
Raghnall inclined his head to his men. They opened a cell door and pushed Stellan’s escorts inside. Two of Raghnall’s men pulled Stellan off him and shoved him inside another cell. “Ye will be well-treated,” Raghnall announced, “as yer other men have been. But make no mistake. Ye are prisoners of Sinclair, no’ guests. The laird will decide when and where and how ye spend the rest of yer time here.”
And possibly the rest of yer lives. Raghnall left the words unsaid, but Stellan heard them, all the same. He gripped the bars of his cell and swore at Raghnall. “Damn ye, take me to Anders.”
“Ye will see him,” Raghnall promised. “When the laird gives his aye.”