Chapter 18
Anders 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.