Chapter 11
After 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It gave Ailsa another chance to ensure her orders for their comfort were still being followed and had not been rescinded by her brother.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.”