Chapter 11 #3
“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.”