Page 12 of Laird of Sighs (His Highland Heart #5)
CHAPTER 12
A nders wasn’t surprised when, rather than Ailsa, one of Sinclair’s guards fetched him to meet with the laird. He didn’t expect she would be privy to their conversation. So, he was surprised when she greeted him at the door to the solar.
“Da’s inside,” she told him. “I was going to talk to ye earlier and bring ye here, but Mother wanted a word with me.” She nodded to the guard who’d escorted him downstairs and the man moved away.
“Is everything alright?” Anders’ knew this interview was crucial. Had something happened to harm his chances of coming out of it alive?
“Aye. I just wanted ye to ken that Da will question ye closely. Ye must answer as best ye can. Mother, Maighread and I are on yer side, and Mother will speak to him in yer favor, but ye mustna lie to him.”
She seemed especially concerned for him, yet nothing he could see had changed.
“I willna.” It was the only answer he could give. It might not be true, but she didn’t know that, and he hoped he would not have to lie—or stretch the truth too far—in the coming interview. His supply of answers was slim indeed.
“Let’s go in,” she said and reached for the door.
He grasped her arm before she could touch the handle. “Ye have come to be very important, very special to me.”
Her gaze asked the question he dared not answer—not here and not now. How special? How important?
“Ye must remember that, no matter what happens,” he added, wishing he could answer the question in her eyes.
At her nod, he released her arm.
She opened the door and stepped through. “We’re here, Da. This is Anders. Anders, my father, the Sinclair Laird.”
“Sir,” Anders said. He would have said more, but knew from his experience with his own father that it was best to wait for the laird to speak. That bit of knowledge came to him like others had, lacking a face or any context. But his father’s lesson in respect gave him a warm feeling in his chest. It might yet save him.
The Sinclair sat behind his work table, Lady Sinclair and Maighread sat on the other side. He was a large, imposing man, but Anders sensed more curiosity from him than malice.
“Anders, ye are a puzzle.”
“To myself as well, Laird Sinclair.”
“Ye have spoken to my wife as well as my daughter and our healer.”
“I have.” He moved his gaze from the laird long enough to nod to Lady Sinclair and the healer. He would have turned to Ailsa as well, but given the way she could capture his gaze, that would have taken his attention from her father for too long.
“Ye have persuaded them to yer cause. That is quite an accomplishment.”
“Sir?”
“They have advocated for ye, argued for ye to have a chamber and a measure of freedom not normally granted to a stranger within our walls. I have agreed to their demands on yer behalf, but with reluctance. I warn ye. Dinna do anything ye will come to regret.”
“I wouldna expect to, Laird Sinclair.”
“Lying to me will be yer first and last mistake. Now tell me, what do ye recall of yerself?”
With that question, Anders was on familiar ground. He told the laird what he’d told the man’s wife. The faces he’d glimpsed but could not name, the places that could be anywhere, none of which he could identify. Even the name he was using was a guess. The first one that came to him. “Meeting yer people, moving from yer herbal to another part of the keep, those have made new glimpses appear to me. But I still dinna ken enough to put the pieces together. To ken who I am.”
He knew his voice conveyed sincerity. He was telling the truth.
Sinclair listened to him with a crease between his brows. Was it a frown of disbelief or a sign of concentration? Either way, he’d listened closely, and watched the same way.
Anders felt studied, examined, and found lacking. He didn’t like the feeling.
The laird remained watchful for a few moments after Anders fell silent. His gaze shifted from Anders to his wife, and to his daughter. “I will speak plainly. Since ye arrived, ye have been given extraordinary freedom for a stranger in our keep. It may no’ seem that way to ye, but ’tis true. So far, ye havena abused that privilege. But let me make myself clear. I’m told ye have spent considerable time with my daughter.” He held up a hand, silencing Ailsa’s quick intake of breath. “I’m speaking now, Daughter.” He turned narrowed eyes back to Anders. “Hear me well. I dinna care if feelings have developed between the two of ye. If ye ruin my daughter, ye are a dead man. Even if her feelings lead her to … cooperate.”
Anders didn’t risk a glance at Ailsa. He wanted to know how she reacted to her father’s threat, but any move on his part would only make the man suspicious.
“Ye have swayed the womenfolk, but I warn ye, I am no’ so easy to influence.” He leaned forward and now Anders could see the determination in his gaze. “Now, there are men in my dungeon who may be able to identify ye. They may ken ye and try to protect ye—or may have been searching for ye to capture or kill ye. Either way, I will have the truth of who they are, and who ye are.”
Anders was suddenly grateful that Ailsa had warned him about those men. If she hadn’t, he would have reacted, and his reaction would have told the Sinclair too much about his hope that they could help him. “I canna speak for them, but I would tell ye more about myself if I could.”
“See that ye recall what I have said as the rest of yer memory comes back. Have I made myself clear?”
“Perfectly, Laird Sinclair.”
He waved a hand. “Ye may go.”
Anders nodded and glanced at Ailsa. She motioned toward the door, letting him precede her out. Once the door was closed, Anders stopped her. He took her father’s threat seriously, but as long as he had a say in it, he had no intention of staying away from her. He wanted to ask what she made of her father threatening him if he ruined her, but since he would never harm her that way, he asked, “What do ye think he learned from that?”
“I dinna ken. I’m sorry for his threats. Ye have treated me with naught but honor.”
Anders nodded. “I wanted to ask ye what ye thought, but didna wish to cause ye any discomfort.”
“Ye can be honest with me, Anders. Always.”
“I have, and I will. And ye with me, lass.”
She reached out and took his hand, squeezed it, then let it go. Anders tensed as his body reacted to her touch, wanting more than the touch of her hand on his. Much more. But her father’s threats were too fresh in his mind, and he knew being caught alone with her, touching her, would be dangerous.
“Forget my da’s threats,” she told him. “He wants to protect me.”
“As he should.”
She waved that away. “We need to get ye to the dungeon to see the men being held there. I’d rather ye had the chance before ye must do it with Da present. Once those men see ye, I dinna ken what will happen, but I believe much will change. I’ll escort ye back to yer chamber. Give me a few minutes to arrange something.”
Ailsa’s friend Tasgall caught her as she came back down the stair. “Ye willna believe what I just saw. Ye need to get Anders down to the dungeon right away.”
“What do ye mean? What did ye see? I was about to find ye and ask for help doing just that. ”
“I think ’tis best if ye see for yerself. Fetch the lad, and go through the kitchens. Raghnall is going to be talking to yer da as soon as he can get away from the guard who noticed a weak spot in the outer wall.”
“A weak spot?”
Tasgall grinned. “’Tis likely naught, but ’twill keep Raghnall busy for a few minutes and delay him from fetching yer da. Now go.”
Ailsa ran back upstairs and in moments had Anders moving. The great hall was empty when they crossed it. If Raghnall wasn’t still outside, he was in with her da and time was short. Tasgall’s grin had made her eager to see what excited him, so she hurried Anders along.
Anders came with her willingly enough. She was glad his leg had healed well enough by now that he could keep up with her, but his expression was puzzled. “What do ye think yer da will do?”
“I dinna ken, but ye would rather meet these men without him, aye? Apparently something has happened to make that meeting urgent.”
They cut across a back corner of the bailey and went down the dungeon stairs. Tasgall met them at the bottom. “Ye probably have only a few minutes. Dinna waste them.”
He stepped aside.
Anders turned to Ailsa. “Perhaps ye should wait at the top of the stairs in case yer da comes. Ye might delay him. At least ye can claim ye dinna hear what was said below.”
She nodded and turned to go, but paused as he moved away, ascended a few steps and stopped again. What had Tasgall been talking about? Unable to resist, she went back down and followed Anders far enough to see the men in the cells.
Anders stood, transfixed, his profile to her as he looked at a mirror image of himself behind the bars of a cell. A twin! These were his men. His clan. His family.
The realization made her heart leap in her chest with joy for him. They could help him much better than she could. And they could take him home, where he belonged. Where familiar people and places would help restore his memories. But that thought also saddened her, making her body feel too heavy to support as she quietly stepped away. With a hand on the stone wall beside her for stability, she ascended a few more stairs, but she couldn’t bear to move out of earshot. She had to know. The rumble of voices followed her up as the shock of the reunion wore off. Cheers and glad cries of Anders’ name made her smile, despite her knowledge that this might be the end of any chance the feelings they seemed to share would grow into a love both real and lasting like her parents’.
Anders’ first view of the men in the dungeon stopped him cold. He knew them. All of them. And himself. He’d been right about his name, the part he’d been using. He was Anders Sutherland, minutes-younger twin to the laird’s titular heir. Memories flooded back, from the ill-fated night when he was swept overboard in a storm to the next morning crawling up the hill and begging … begging! … for entry into Sinclair. And further, to the discussion with his father about making the trip, daily events and familiar people at Dunrobin swooped through his mind like startled birds bunched together and swirling against the arrival of a hawk, diving and twisting, leaving him breathless and weak. All the way back to the man standing before him, but as nine-year-olds, swearing a blood oath to each other that they would always return to Sutherland and would rule it together some day.
Now that they both stood in the Sinclair dungeon, would they ever have the chance?
“Thank God ye are here,” Stellan said, softly. Even reverently. “Damn ye, ye are alive!” His voice rose as he reached through the bars to grab Anders and pull him closer for an awkward hug and the men around them threw off their shock and cheered. When the noise died down, Stellan pounded on his back. “A perfectly good birlinn and ye couldna stay on it?”
Anders took Stellan’s face in his hands. His twin. The face in his dreams, his visions. Not his own, but his brother’s. “I’d forgotten how much ye look like me.”
“Ye mean, ye look like me,” Stellan insisted. “I arrived first.”
Anders grinned, his pulse steadying at Stellan’s humor. He made a fist and took an easy swipe at Stellan’s bristled jaw. “How long have ye been looking for me? Weeks, from the look of ye.”
Stellan sobered and dropped his hands from Anders’ shoulders. “We rode for three days from MacKay. Always watching the coast below us for any sign of ye men,” he said and glanced up to take in the Sutherlands in the other cells, “or a wrecked birlinn that would at least tell us where to search for bodies.”
Anders grabbed one of the bars between them and held on. “Thank ye Brother, and the rest of ye, too,” he told them as he twisted around, his gaze moving from Stellan to Tormund to Tomas to the others and back to Stellan. “Seeing ye has brought me back to myself. I remember ye and why we made this ill-fated trip, all of it.” But he kept his grip on the cold iron, the only thing anchoring him to the ground. He had his memories back! All of them? He didn’t know or care at this moment. He had his brother, men of his clan, his past, present and, he prayed, all their futures, once again.
“They ken who we are now, since I arrived,” Stellan said. “Who ye are. Everyone kens about the Sutherland twins. I think Sinclair will demand a king’s ransom from Sutherland for our release. We’ll be here a while, but we should be safe.”
“Privately, we grieved for ye,” Tomas said, joining the conversation when Anders turned away from the hope in Stellan’s eyes. There was so much at stake. The future not only of Sutherland with its heirs in unfriendly hands, but Sinclair’s as well. Each of them knew the Sutherland laird would not let this detention go on for long. And if the twins’ lives were lost while in Sinclair, Sutherland would destroy Sinclair and damn the consequences.
But Tomas was speaking.
“Since our search of the coast failed, we believed ye were lost at sea. We dreaded telling yer father and brother. We believed if ye were here, someone would mention ye, and feared asking because we would have to reveal more about who we are to an unfriendly clan. Worse, once they brought us down here, we hoped to hear ye in another of the cells, but of course, we didna. We asked when we were brought down if we were the only prisoners, and they told us aye.”
To protect him from more unfamiliar men in case they were enemies searching for him? Or to keep the new captives off balance and ignorant until more about them came to light? What else didn’t they know? Anders’ crew quietly filled him in on their search for him and told him they’d heard the Sutherland birlinn had been confiscated by the Sinclairs.
They conversed in low tones that Anders hoped did not carry up the stairs to any Sinclairs waiting above, including Ailsa and Tasgall. He told them briefly about how confusing the memory loss was. How frustrating to see bits in dreams and visions and not recognize anyone. “But I ken ye all, and yer names. If I’m no’ entirely back to myself, I am close. Seeing all of ye helps, and so will going home. I’m no’ betrothed or married, am I? I keep seeing a lass with a hawk.”
“Mariota, my wife,” Stellan told him, frowning, while all the other men laughed.
Anders laughed, then laughed some more, unable to contain the elation that filled him. He feared he might look like he’d lost his mind rather than just his memory, but his joy broke through his efforts to quell it in front of the men. He was unattached. He could love Ailsa. He did love her. He could have her if he could convince her—and gain her da’s permission—to wed with him. If she would have him. She cared about him. She had spent hours, days, caring for him. She was attracted to him. Having lived his life as a man who enjoyed being with women, he knew those signs very well. But did she love him? He thought she must. He hoped so, but he swore before he left Sinclair, he would know. And he would have her promise to wed with him.
“Why would ye remember her and no’ any of the other lasses ye are, ah, more closely acquainted with?” Stellan asked when Anders calmed down.
“If I kenned that, I might have remembered more before now.”
“Will they put ye in here with us?” one of the men asked.
“The healer has insisted I remain in the keep to help my recovery. They have treated me very well. I canna complain other than there’s little difference between being a guest and being a captive. I still think I’ll be more useful there.”
“How so?” Tomas asked.
“I can see and hear more there.”
Stellan nodded. “How they have treated ye is to their credit. Now, how do we get out of here?”
“I’ve seen much of the keep and have a few ideas for where and how to get away once we find an opportunity. ’Twillna be easy. We must wait and watch and listen.”