Chapter 18 #4
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.