McDougal’s face grew mottled with anger, and for a moment, Arran thought he would be the one with a sword in his neck for showing off so. But the other laird started to laugh, his shoulders shaking.
“I have tae admire yer mouth, Mcaiwn. Even though ye have naw chance tae get out of this keep alive, ye still have a sense of humor.” He then turned back toward the door. “’Tis naw matter. I will break ye, and ye’ll wish ye had been left for dead. Find him clothes. Laird Mcaiwn will be dining with me this evening.”
The healer inclined her head, and the laird strode out, shutting the door behind him. Arran loosened a breath, scrubbing a hand over his face wearily.
“Why did ye antagonize him so?” the healer muttered. “He will surely kill ye now.”
“’Tis was his plan all along,” Arran grumbled. “I need sustenance and clothing.” He would need to start building his strength if he were going to withstand McDougal’s torture.
She eyed him. “Ye do know that ye are the prisoner here?”
Arran narrowed his gaze. “Aye, but ye are here because of me, and I demand that ye see me healing through, woman.”
She huffed as she crossed the room toward the door. “I will be back.”
Arran waited until the door was shut before he fell back on the bed, his body screaming in pain. He felt useless in his condition but was not about to let his enemy know. McDougal thought he could break Arran, that he could humiliate him and force him to beg for his life.
Well, he did not know his enemy all that well. Arran had allowed his walls to be down before, and he had learned a valuable lesson because of it. Now McDougal would be dealing with a man that he had not encountered.
One that would have his head on a platter for the hurt he had caused Arran’s clan.
He just had to bide his time until there was an opening and he could avenge his men’s deaths as well as the deaths of the original battle. It was his fight now, not anyone else’s.
Later that evening, Arran found himself chained to a wall once more, this time in the great hall of the McDougal keep. Mere feet away sat the laird himself, surrounded by his clan as they enjoyed the ale and whiskey at their disposal. Heaping platters of food sat on the table, and Arran’s stomach growled, wishing that he could have just one mouthful of the delicious food. The soup the healer had brought him earlier had not been enough, though it had dulled the pain in his leg and allowed him to stand on his own, much to her chagrin.
When the laird’s guards had come for him, the healer had protested, stating that Arran was not strong enough to be subject to whatever the laird had planned, but, in the end, he had been escorted there. For two hours, he had watched the party, forced to withstand the greedy touches of the women as they passed or the occasional splash of ale that was thrown in his face. His arms strained against the weight of having to hold his body upright. Sweat trickled down his back under the rough linen tunic he was wearing, the heat of the fire at his back.
Still, he would not show his weakness.
McDougal broke apart from the party and walked over to Arran, a greedy smile on his face. “Enjoying mah clan, are ye?”
Arran gave him a slow smile. “Am I here for ye tae show off, McDougal?”
The laird laughed. “’Tis time for ye tae see yer fate, Mcaiwn. I have gained the upper hand in this war between us. I have killed yer warriors, taken ye as mah hostage, and soon I will take yer clan as mah own. Yer brothers will be under mah tutelage, and since I dinnae have any sons of mah own, I am inclined tae raise them as such.” He then leered. “And yer ma. I hear she is still a strong lass. I enjoy breaking strong lasses.”
At the mention of his ma, Arran growled. “I will kill ye if ye touch her!”
McDougal lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “Ye will struggle tae do so when ye will be dead, but that is for another time.” He then turned back to the crowd. “Friends! ’Tis time for tonight’s entertainment! I have before me the great Laird Mcaiwn! He has been our enemy for years but naw longer!”
Cheers went up in the hall, and cups were raised, the ruckus hurting Arran’s ears and growing the headache he had started to develop.
“As mah gift tae ye, I give ye the chance tae wage yer own war on our enemy,” McDougal continued, looking back at Arran. “There will be no weapons used this evening but feel free tae let this laird know how angered ye are with him. I will stop ye if ye get too rough with him.” McDougal lifted his tankard to Arran, a sinister smile on his face. “Good luck tae ye, Laird Mcaiwn. Dinnae worry. I wilnae let them kill ye.”
Arran swallowed, wishing he had a pint of ale or a draft of whiskey in him as the clan started to form a line in front of him, cracking their knuckles as gleeful smiles showed on their faces. He would suffer greatly this evening, but Arran would remember each face for when he had his chance to take his revenge out on them. They thought they had him cornered, but he was not giving up.
He would not let this defeat him.
4
This was a disgrace. Ainslee stood in the shadows of the great hall, a whiskey trembling in her grasp as she watched the proceedings happen from afar. When she had followed her brother’s guards and the laird into the great hall, she had not known what his intentions were, and for the first part of the night, at least, her brother had left the laird alone.
Now there wasn’t much left of him. The sound of a fist striking flesh would stay with her for a long time after this night.
But to her surprise, the laird was still breathing. His blood ran in rivulets along the stone floor, but that didn’t deter the crowd from continuing their assault on him. Most spat in his face or poured their ale on him, but there were a few that had taken their fists to his body. Ainslee had winced as the punches had found their mark.
For a man who was barely healing from his first wounds, she wasn’t sure he would survive this.
When she had heard his name, Ainslee had known precisely why her brother had wanted her to heal him the first time. Liam likely thought that he had finally gained the upper hand on his enemy and was on the cusp to becoming Scotland’s leader. Before she had fled this keep, Liam had boasted how one day he would have all of Scotland bow before him. It was quite ridiculous to think in that matter, but not at all surprising to Ainslee.
