Page 18 of Laird of Sighs (His Highland Heart #5)

CHAPTER 18

A nders took his turn picking apples early the next day. The weather was still fine and the fruit was ripening nicely. A few more days and they might finish. Then what? With tensions growing and Sinclair starting to take away the few small comforts the men in the dungeon had enjoyed thanks to Ailsa, Anders was forced to focus more and more on escape. Some were being put to work helping with the stables or cleaning up the accumulation of things in the bailey that were now harder to dispose of. They didn’t seem to mind the work, and were grateful to be out of the dungeon, so Raghnall continued to be willing to assign men to guard them. Anders didn’t expect that largesse to continue either. The longer the siege went on and the hungrier the people of Sinclair got, the less welcome their appearance out of the dungeon would be.

And with blankets having been taken from the men in the dungeon and cooler weather on the way, the dungeon would become a frigid death trap. Anders couldn’t see any other option than to break out, but nor could he see a way to make an escape work for all the Sutherlands that Sinclair held. If only Raghnall had agreed to allow all the Sutherlands out at once, but he hadn’t. Of course. In his position, Anders would have done the same rather than risk more than a dozen men fighting for their freedom. They might die in the attempt, but it was better than dying slowly in a cold, dark dungeon. He glanced about and located the handful of Sutherlands out with him, tempted to signal them to make a run for it. But if having a few able to go over the wall meant leaving some of their men behind, Anders didn’t think any of his would do it. Nor would it end the siege if Sinclair still held Sutherlands.

The idea of Ailsa marrying him would never be acceptable to Sinclair.

His gaze kept straying to the back wall and the gate he’d found within it. The temptation to rush to it and climb over was overwhelming, but he fought it down. He would never go alone or without all of his men getting over the wall and into the woods to meet Sutherland’s forces before the Sinclair could be told what had happened.

And Anders would never see Ailsa again.

That thought made his heart hurt. He’d sworn to his twin on Stellan’s wedding day that he would never settle, and would marry only when he found a lass whom he could love as Stellan loved Mariota. Anders believed he’d found that lass in Ailsa. How could he walk away from her?

Yet he and Stellan had sworn a vow to each other when they were but nine years old and facing fostering apart for the next seven years. They would return to Sutherland to rule it together when the time came.

And they would not marry any lass they could not bring home with them.

Stellan had found a solution to that problem in Mariota’s willingness, even eagerness, to abdicate her inheritance as Laird MacKay to her friend Seamus. Stellan had found the love of his life. Anders couldn’t bear to settle for anything less.

But if Ailsa’s father wouldn’t see past old clan rivalries to the opportunity an alliance with Sutherland would bring him, Anders would have to find a way to wed Ailsa with or without his permission. He had only the choice of risking clan war, or he would have to walk away from her.

He couldn’t do that.

A shout, followed by a sickening crunch and a thud, pulled Anders from his musing. He turned toward the source of the sound and saw one of the Sinclairs on the ground, his leg splayed at an impossible angle and one shoulder crowding the man’s ear.

Two other Sinclairs started to pick the man up, but Anders shouted for them to stop. “Go get Maighread. Run!” One of the men ran for the keep. The other stood over his fallen clansman, glaring at Anders. “Who are ye to tell us what to do?”

“If ye move him, ye might kill him,” Anders said. “See that blood? That bone?” The injury was severe and sickening to look at. Anders suspected the two Sinclairs had avoided the sight of it. “The shattered bone will cut his leg, and Maighread may no’ be able to stop the bleeding. Leave him be and let her decide what is best to do.”

“We could take him to her.”

“Nay, ye canna,” Maighread’s sharp tones startled the Sinclair into jumping back.

Anders hid a grin.

“Trust ye to be the only one here with the sense God gave one of these apples,” she said and pitched aside one from the ground where she knelt by the injured man. “Help me. This man is a favorite of the laird’s, the son of a friend of his from Orkney.”

Anders dropped down beside her, heedless of the blood on the ground that soaked into his trews. The Sinclair man dropped onto her other side.

She studied the injured man’s leg and shoulder, then nodded. “The shoulder must wait. I’m going to wrap his leg to stop the bleeding. Ye’ll help me straighten it and get the bones back in line, or he’ll never walk again and his da will never forgive the laird for keeping him here long enough past his fostering for this to happen.”

“What do ye want me to do?” Anders asked. A glance aside told him the other Sinclair wouldn’t be much help. He looked green and had started to sweat. He caught Maighread’s gaze and nodded toward the man.

“Ye can go,” she told him. “Now, before ye make things worse.”

The man jumped to his feet and rushed away, one hand over his mouth and nose. “Weak in the belly,” she muttered and turned back to her patient. “We’re lucky the grass is thick here. Ye should be able to get yer hands under here,” she said and pointed to his thigh, “and lift—just a wee—so I can tie a rope around it and stop the bleeding. Once that’s done, I can decide what to do next.” She sent one of the men after the things she needed.

Anders followed her instructions, vaguely aware they had gathered an audience while they waited as the other workers clustered around them to see how the healer worked to save their friend.

“Back up!” Maighread groused. “I canna see what I’m doing with all of ye blocking my light. Go fetch something sturdy so we can carry him inside when I’m done here. A tarpaulin or some sail cloth, no’ a soft plaid.”

The men obediently took a few steps back and two of them ran for the keep.

“Now, Anders, lift.”

He did it slowly, no more than a thumb’s width. It was enough for her to accomplish what she needed to do. She nodded and he let the upper leg back down, then pulled his hands from beneath it.

She tied off the rope, tied a thin branch atop it and twisted, tightening the binding around the leg. Anders was pleased to see blood stopped seeping from the break.

Only then did he glance up and see Ailsa among the crowd that had gathered. She smiled and nodded, then turned her attention to Maighread, so Anders did, as well.

“I’m going to straighten his lower leg and will have to pull on it to line the bone up where it belongs. I need ye to kneel over him to keep the upper part of the leg from moving, and ye may need to help me by pushing from where ye are on the lower leg.” She lifted it enough to get two ropes underneath, then said, “Ready?”

Anders nodded. “Aye.”

The movement went amazingly smoothly. Maighread was an experienced healer, and it showed. She positioned the leg where she wanted it, tied two sturdy branches on either side to hold everything in place, sat back, and studied her work. “Very well, let me look at the shoulder before we try to move him.”

Satisfied, she presided over rolling the man aside for the sailcloth someone brought to be laid at his back, then rolling him back onto it and carefully lifting him up. It took six men clustered around him so tightly, afterward Anders wasn’t sure how they moved the man and didn’t trip over each others’ feet, but they got him into the herbal where Maighread could take care of him.

“Thank ye, Anders. Because of ye, this lad may yet keep his leg.”

“I only did as ye asked, Healer,” he objected, “but ye are most welcome.”

She made that announcement in front of all the men who’d carried in the injured man, and when Anders turned, he realized not only was Ailsa still there, but her parents were, too.

“What happened?” The laird’s voice cut through the sudden silence.

“He was climbing after some apples,” one of the Sinclairs said, “slipped and fell. That Sutherland saved his life, no’ just his leg. Two of us was about to pick him up.”

“With a wound like that,” Maighread said and pointed at the leg, “he wouldha bled to death. Anders kept that from happening. This lad will live—and walk again—if he doesna take a fever.”

Lady Sinclair laid a hand on her husband’s arm.

The Sinclair cleared his throat. “Well done.”

Anders thought it pained him to say so, but he’d take the praise over what else the laird might have done had Anders been found standing over an injured man without so many witnesses.

Anders’ morning picking apples ended with the accident and caring for the injured man. Instead of escorting him back to the orchard, one of the guards returned him to the dungeon, where he filled everyone in on what had happened. “The other Sutherlands are still out there. Nothing has changed, so far as I ken. Since the Sinclairs told the laird what happened, he isna likely to confine us here. We’ve earned our time outside. If the siege continues, I hope that doesna change until the harvest is done. But we canna predict how long this will go on, or how scarce food will become. All we can do is endure until we get ourselves out of here, have help getting out of here, or the siege ends.”

That started several discussions, the low rumble of male voices filling the dungeon while Anders and Stellan talked.

“That couldha gone very badly for ye had the Sinclairs no’ spoken up,” Stellan said.

“Aye, but they gave the laird nay chance to draw the wrong conclusion. I’m grateful for that.”

“I, too.”

Anders glanced up to see Ailsa coming down the stairs. Surprised, he must’ve stared at her a beat too long without speaking.

She tilted her head and gave him a hesitant smile. “Good day, Anders. Stellan. Am I disturbing ye?”

Anders backed up a step and swallowed a laugh. Disturb him? Her presence was the high point of his day, and filled his dreams at night. The guards had placed the extra torches they provided during daytime hours, and the firelight lit her hair adding more red to the gold in it. He could stare at it for hours. “Nay, ye never could. What can I do for ye, Ailsa?” He gestured her to a seat one of the guards had left in the open space between the rows of cells.

“Ye made a good impression on my da today,” she told them. “I hope that will make him reconsider some of the things he’s been most stubborn about.”

Anders could think of several. But beside the betrothal he wanted, little else mattered as much.

“I only did what was needful,” he answered.

“Maighread made certain Da understood the danger of the injury and how yer actions saved the lad’s life, especially when the Sinclairs nearby did little or naught to help.”

“Maighread arrived almost immediately. There was naught for anyone to do save obey her. I did that. If my actions make yer da rethink anything that led to the siege or that is prolonging it, so much the better.”

Ailsa nodded. “I want to talk to ye about the siege. How do ye and the other Sutherlands think it can be ended?”

Anders glanced aside at Stellan, who nodded for him to go ahead. “Why do ye ask?” It seemed a strange question for a lass.

“Something my mother and I discussed.”

“Aye?”

“There are many options and just as many opinions. I thought it might help if ye had a say.”

“So, ye will take my words to yer father? Ours?” He indicated Stellan.

“If I think they will help sway him, aye, I will.”

Anders settled on the bench behind him so that she did not have to keep craning her neck to look up at him from her seated position. Looking at her, he could see the stairs out of the dungeon off to the side. The view gave him too many ideas, too many longings, for freedom and for her. He needed to pay her the respect of focusing on her questions and giving her a well-thought-out answer. “The first thing that comes to mind is trading Sutherlands for yer hunters I’ve heard were caught in the woods by one of our allies.”

“How did ye hear about that?”

“We overheard the guards discussing it. ’Tis true Sutherland wants to trade all of us for a handful of Sinclairs?”

“’Tis what he wrote in a missive I saw. Da wasna pleased.”

“Would that no’ say to yer da that his men are worth more than two or three Sutherlands, each?”

“’Twould certainly appeal to my brother’s vanity,” Ailsa said after an unladylike snort. “But I dinna think Da would fall for it.”

“He would still have our birlinn . ’Tis worth a great deal,” Stellan said.

He’d been so quiet, Anders was surprised to hear him speak.

“I ken that is true, but Da asked for cattle and gold,” Ailsa reminded him. “Ye dinna think the Sutherland would buy it back in the coin Da demanded?”

“I dinna ken,” Anders said. His father would be more likely to find a way to steal it back, but Anders didn’t want to plant that idea in her mind.

“Sinclair is well-supplied, but it canna withstand a siege forever,” Stellan said quietly.

“Da thinks we must only wait until winter sets in, aye? Men in tents willna fare well against the weather once ’tis cold and dark.”

“If the siege lasts that long, they will have built a village out of yer forest and have supplies put in to last till spring or longer,” Stellan insisted.

“I told him so,” Ailsa said and crossed her arms.

“And they can be resupplied by land and by sea. How long will Sinclair’s supplies last when ye canna hunt nor fish?”

“’Tis a concern.” Her gaze dropped to her hands. “But it should be a concern for ye, as well.”

“It should be,” Anders told her. “’Tis.” He wanted to reach out and take her hand, but her gaze was on the floor and if he wasn’t mistaken, her thoughts were on how hungry her clan would be by spring. “Yer da must be made to see that holding us is a fool’s errand. Sutherland and its allies can outlast ye.”

Suddenly, she looked up, tears in her eyes. “No’ if he starts killing yer men to force Sutherland to relent. If our people are starving, he willna feed yers.”

“Lass,” Anders said and reached for her, a futile gesture given the space—and the bars—between them. He didn’t know what to say to that. It had always been a possibility. Even a probability. No warrior wanted to die a prisoner, but rather honorably, on the field of battle, protecting his home and his loved ones.

“Besides yer other men, he holds ye and yer brother,” she continued, fighting to speak as she stood and began to pace. “I canna bear to see any of ye killed for old men’s pride.”

Anders stayed seated, letting her walk off her frustrations, for he was certain that’s what he was seeing. She had always cared for him, and now she had others of his clan she felt responsible for, too, and a situation that looked dire for all of them. He wished he had words of comfort to offer—and a solution to offer everyone. “’Tis more than that, and well ye ken it. On both sides. ’Tis blood. And history. And the future.”

“There is another way,” she said after a few calming breaths. She turned to face him and stepped up to the bars of the cell he shared with his twin.

“Marriage,” Anders supplied quietly as he joined her at the bars. “Is that what ye want, Ailsa?” Hope was a bird, fluttering its wings in his chest, trying to beat its way out into the world.

“’Tis better than the alternatives. We like each other.” She glanced aside at Stellan, who politely turned his gaze away. “We want each other,” she added even more softly. “’Twould harm nay one, and would link our clans for that future ye mention.”

“I will ask yer da for yer hand. ’Tis an alternative I like well.”

“’Tis a fool’s errand.” She dropped her gaze. “He willna give his aye. He returned from Orkney with a betrothal offer from the Norse king for one of his sons.”

“Is he fashed about an alliance with the Norse?”

“Nay, I dinna think so. But a betrothal …”

“Aye, well, he would find Sutherland important, as well, if he stopped to consider it. Or look out over his walls at some of the number of allies we can call upon.” He took her hand again. “We could handfast. Even through these bars, we could do that.”

“We could, but how long do ye think he’d let ye live once he found out?” She pulled her hand away.

“Ye, my love, are worth the risk. Even the sacrifice.” He could die a happy man after even one night with Ailsa. Nay, he couldn’t. He would want more. All of their nights and all of their days, as long as they lived.

“Nay, I am no’,” she insisted, brow furrowed. “It willna end the siege. And if ye are dead, what good was a hand fasting with a ghost? I willna allow ye to do something so foolish, even if ’tis brave, even if ’tis for both our clans. Da must agree to our marriage. So must yer da.”

“Mine will, never fear. If he has any doubts, Stellan and I will convince him.”

She eyed him. “’Twill be hard to do from in here.”

“No’ if I can get a missive out to him,” Anders said and glanced around at Stellan, who nodded. “Who takes missives from yer da outside the walls?”

“I dinna ken.”

“Could Tasgall?” Anders would ask him the next time he saw him.

“I’ll ask him about it, but ’twould be dangerous if Da found out and thought ye were sharing Sinclair secrets with Sutherland.”

“Let Tasgall read it. Give it to yer mother to read it first, if ye think she will support our betrothal.” If Ailsa was right and she truly was an ally, she could make the difference. “I dinna want anyone ye care about harmed if yer da finds out.”

“ When he finds out. Surely he will. In fact, Mother might be the one to tell him, hoping ’twill be enough to convince him to accept our union to end all this, though she kens Da favors the Norse betrothal offer. She has tried without success, but if she keeps at him—perhaps he’ll see reason. If he learns of this, I fear he will make certain we canna see each other. He’ll forbid me visiting ye or any of yer men here.” She cupped his cheek. “I dinna ken what to do, save that I will dream of ye tonight, Anders.”

He took her hand and kissed her knuckles, holding his lips to her skin as if he could draw strength from her soul. “As I dream of ye every night, Love. I want ye more than anything. And if our marriage is the answer to ending the siege, even better. But we must find a way to make yer da accept it. Only then can it happen.”

“Get down there and get him out. Now!”

The moment Anders heard Boden Sinclair’s voice, he knew trouble was coming. But for which Sutherland?

He and Stellan traded a look, then he stood and moved to the bars of the cell he shared with his twin. Stellan joined him. Their movement alerted the rest of their men. They stood, too.

It took only moments for four guards Anders had never seen to troop down the steps and shove Raghnall’s man aside from his post at the bottom of the stairs. Boden followed them down, the smirk on his lips promising something more than an opportunity to taunt the Sutherlands.

“Anders Sutherland,” he said, “I’ve come for ye.”

“Really?” Anders slouched against the bars between him and Boden’s men. They had to be Boden’s and none of Raghnall’s. From the corner of his eye, he noticed that Raghnall’s guard was gone. To fetch his guard chief and the laird, Anders hoped. “Is there aught ye wish to ask me?”

“Ask ye? Nay. I’ve other plans for ye. Ye think ye have earned the laird’s good will after what ye did in the orchard? Ye’ll soon find out ’twill change naught.”

Anders glanced aside at Stellan and lifted his chin, his gaze making it clear he wanted his twin to move back out of range of whatever was about to happen. Their men couldn’t help. It was up to him to protect the brother their father considered his heir from whatever Boden had planned.

Anders was certain he knew. Ailsa had mentioned several times that Boden was eager to start tossing Sutherland captives over Sinclair’s walls. But she’d always thought if he managed to talk their father into the foolishly bloodthirsty scheme, they’d save the twins for last. So, what was Boden doing now, asking for him first? Did the Sinclair know he was down here?

One of Boden’s men unlocked the cell door. Two more entered. Anders moved to block them from Stellan. They grabbed Anders by the arms and shoved him out into the space between the cells.

Stellan rushed forward, swearing, but the fourth guard slammed the cell door in his face.

The two with Anders yanked his hands behind his back and tried to bind them there.

Anders fought, twisted out of their grip and knocked one against the cell bars they’d pulled him from, then kicked the legs out from the other. He had no doubt his life was at stake. He could not lose, even though he’d lost strength and stamina. His injuries and time fighting a fever slowed him, and when the other two guards joined the fight, it was only a matter of time before all four subdued him. He didn’t intend to make it easy.

Four against one was hardly fair. Clearly, Boden never intended for any fight Anders put up to be fair. Boden laughed at every blow one of his men landed. He also laughed at every blow Anders landed on his men. Anders did some damage, but not enough.

The Sutherlands did what they could to help, grabbing at the Sinclairs through the bars. Tomas got an arm across one guard’s throat and yanked his head against the bars hard enough to draw blood. One of his fellows abandoned beating on Anders to rescue him from suffocating. He slammed both fists down on Tomas’ arm to loosen his hold. The Sutherlands in the cell with Tomas pulled him back out of reach, cradling his arm.

In the end, despite the curses the Sutherlands rained down on Boden’s men, they succeeded in binding Anders’ hands behind his back. Then each of them landed another blow to his midsection, doubling him over.

“Where are ye going? What are ye going to do with my brother?” Stellan demanded as they forced Anders upright and turned him toward the stairs.

Anders shook his head, trying to clear it. It spun and his belly threatened to erupt. It would serve Boden right if he spewed all over him. Failing that, any of those four guards would make a good target.

“Naught to do with ye,” Boden answered and jerked his chin upward. The guards with Anders shoved him toward the stairs. “I’m the only one with the cods to do what my da willna do himself.”

Given what Boden had argued for with his father, Anders hated the sound of that threat. He fought to keep his feet under him. The beating had given him a new set of injuries and played havoc with his balance, especially with his hands bound behind him. But he refused to be dragged anywhere. He fought to get his battered body under control or he’d have no hope at all of protecting himself.

“Does the Sinclair ken ye are doing this?”

Boden rewarded Stellan’s question with another laugh.

The other Sutherlands began beating on the bars holding them prisoner, tugging and shoving with their combined weight on the doors to their cells, and shouting invectives at Boden as he followed Anders and his men up the stairs.

Anders hurt everywhere. If he survived this, he’d be back in Maighread’s herbal for another indefinite stay. He hoped Boden was so excited by the Sutherlands’ reaction that he would fail to notice the missing guard. Anders’ life might depend on whether the guard who’d disappeared had made it into the keep to raise the alarm. When they reached the top of the stairs and no more of Boden’s men guarded the dungeon’s entrance, Anders let himself hope.

The bailey was empty save for a lad headed from the stable toward the keep’s main door. Boden grabbed him by the arm and dragged him with them.

So, Boden didn’t want the lad to be able to report what he and his men were doing.

Where was everyone? The day was dim with clouds thick enough to obscure the sun and hide whether it was morning or midday or later. Midday would make sense if most of the clan went in for their meal, leaving none outside but the guards on the wall walk. Anders looked up. He could see three of them nearby, all with their attention on the ground outside the wall, not the men crossing the bailey with him.

“What do ye think ye’re doing?” Anders raised his voice, hoping they would hear him. Even if they saw them, they wouldn’t be able to get past Boden’s group into the keep, but perhaps any guards further along the wall would be able to. And these three would at least delay whatever Boden had planned.

“Ye’ll see,” Boden said as they reached the stairs to the wall walk. “Climb.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll kill ye here and these lads will carry yer body up and toss it over.”

Something in Boden’s eyes told Anders he was eager to do it.

At the top of the stairs, Anders looked for a way out of this, but Boden’s men followed on his heels and surrounded him. There was nowhere to run. Where were the three guards he’d seen on the wall? He spotted them headed for another set of stairs. One started down and the other two kept going. They were too few to fight Boden and his men, Anders hoped they were going after help.

Boden swaggered up to the wall without the stable lad and shouted for the Sutherland. “I’ve got one of yer bastarts here,” he taunted. “Surely ye’d like to get a last look at him alive before I toss him down to ye.”

Anders fought the men shoving him toward Boden and the wall, but they still outnumbered him. He fell forward over the crenellation, bent at the middle so that he hung halfway out of the wall. Before someone could finish pushing him over, he forced himself upright with a groan as his abused body protested.

His father came out of the trees, flanked by several men, including Seamus MacKay. “What do ye think ye are doing?” Sutherland’s outraged tone didn’t give Anders any hope that the conversation about to happen would calm whatever madness drove Boden to defy his father so openly.

“Ignore him,” Anders shouted, wincing as his shout tore his split lip. “Go back to yer camp.”

“I’m the Sinclair,” Boden shouted. “Ye will hear me.”

Every head on the wall twisted to stare at Boden, including Anders’. Had Boden killed his father? Was Sinclair truly in his hands now? If so, Anders would not survive this day, and the rest of the Sutherlands might not last much longer. Think , damn it! And stay alive.

Where was Raghnall? And Tasgall?

Where was Ailsa? Had Boden murdered his whole family? Anders’ knees nearly failed him at that thought.

“In case ye had any doubts about who we hold, now ye ken,” Boden shouted. “Pack up and leave Sinclair territory. No’ with my men. I ken ye have a few. I’ll be happy to give this one to ye in trade. ’Twill take only one wee push.” He started poking at Anders, more like a small child tormenting a pet than a grown man threatening death to a captive.

Anders braced himself and held his ground, fighting not to reveal his pain. Boden’s blows grew harder as his expression changed from boastful to enraged. Unable to budge Anders, he turned back to the Sutherland. “Leave or I’ll send him out to ye. If ye are still there by sundown, ye can collect his body at the base of Sinclair’s wall.”

“The hell ye say!”

When Sinclair’s voice rang out, Anders sagged against the cold stone at his side. So, Boden had lied. His father was still alive—and still laird.

Raghnall and several of his men mounted the stairs. The guards Anders had seen on the wall, plus a few men they’d gathered, ran back along the wall walk to join them. Anders had only a moment to look down at his father and nod to tell him despite the blood, he was all right, before Raghnall’s men took charge of him.

“Return him to the dungeon and fetch Maighread to him,” Sinclair ordered once he got a closer look at the damage Boden’s men had done. “Put those four under guard in a stall in the stable,” he ordered, his disgust plain in his grimace. “I dinna want them anywhere near the other Sutherlands. They’ll answer to me when I’m done with that one,” he added and gestured at his son. He shouted up at Boden. “Get down here. Now.”

For a moment, Anders thought Boden would disobey, but he had nowhere to go except over the wall to the fate he’d promised Anders. After what he’d just put Anders and his father through, that would be too easy an end for the Sinclair heir. Anders paused long enough to see Boden start down the stairs, then turned toward the entrance to the dungeon. As his gaze swept the keep, his heart leaped. Ailsa!

She ran toward him from her place on the keep’s steps, pushing through the gathering crowd, including men much bigger than her, to reach him. She stopped short and gasped. “What did they do to ye?”

“’Twas a friendly wee encounter with yer brother’s men,” he managed to say before she flung her arms around his neck.

“I dinna ken where ye are hurt, but Maighread will soon set ye to rights,” she promised softly, laying her cool palm on his bruised cheek and staring into his eyes.

He dropped his head to her shoulder, suddenly wanting nothing but to be held in her arms. Forever. He took a deep breath, inhaling her sweet scent. Along with the smell of his own blood and sweat. Chagrined, he straightened. “Lass, yer da can see us.”

“I dinna care.”

“He does, and I dinna want any of his men to add to what Boden’s already did.”

She gasped and stepped back. “I’m so sorry, Anders. I wasna thinking. Go. I’ll send Maighread to ye.”

“I’m here,” the healer said, as the crowd parted to let her through.

Anders hadn’t noticed her arrival, but he’d been focused on Ailsa, and on the threat her father might pose. Maighread took a moment to look over his obvious injuries, then nodded to his guards and followed him. As they returned him to the dungeon, Anders’ last glimpse of Ailsa was of her standing with her hands over her mouth, her eyes brimming with tears. For him.