A Fearless Rebel

by McQueen, Hildie

  Waking on the dungeon floor had been surprising. Taking shallow breaths because it was impossible to breathe deeper, he lifted his head and looked around. There was no one there. The guards had been so convinced of his inability to move, they’d not bothered to close the cell door.

  They were right. Even if he managed to leave the cell, the thick door out to the courtyard was closed and that would be impossible to breach.

  As far as he could tell, his left leg was possibly broken and the throbbing of his right shoulder signaled it was displaced. Whatever else was wrong, Keithen decided was not worth taking inventory.

  Although there were slits that allowed for feeble amounts of sunlight in, along with a lit torch, it was impossible to tell what time of day it was. From his calculations, it had to be one day later.

  Alastair Mackenzie had pronounced he’d be hung the following day, so it was to be his last day living. Keithen grunted and attempted to swallow past his parched throat. Death was not something he feared. At that point, hanging would be the least painful of what he’d gone through since being captured.

  It was good that his mother and father would not be present to witness it. They probably had no idea where he was at the moment.

  Had he told anyone? The stable lad would have probably been questioned. If the lad told anyone he’d gone after Ava, then perhaps Frasers would be arriving soon. He prayed his father stayed behind. As much as he wished for a familiar face upon death, he would not ever wish for his father to have to witness it.

  A mouse scurried close to him, sniffed at his clothing and nibbled on the bloody edge. Keithen watched it for a long time, wondering how long the rodent had lived there. It actually surprised him that only one had appeared since he’d been there and awake. He’d thought the Mackenzie would have a dungeon full of prisoners and rodents. Instead, the dank place was riddled with spiderwebs.

  They’d not bothered to put straw down for him as he was not expected to be imprisoned for long. In actuality, Keithen was more than ready for the guards to come for him. Better to know one’s fate than to remain without knowing, beaten, thirsty and hungry.

  He closed his eyes and imagined Ava. Just the night before, he’d held his wife and been grateful for their marriage. As much as he’d avoided feeling something for her, he’d begun to look forward to time alone with her. Like a young lad, he’d done things to get her attention. Light touches, kisses, and even volunteering to help with her dress ties.

  At night, she often stayed awake longer than he did. He knew this because her movements woke him sometimes and he’d catch her looking up at the ceiling, seeming to ponder things.

  “What are ye thinking of?” he’d asked her once. She’d smiled softly.

  “How grateful I am to be here in this moment. Sometimes, I wish for time to stand still when we are here in bed together where it is safe.”

  He’d kissed her and gone back to sleep. Now, he wished he’d have stayed awake and spoken more about her thoughts and dreams. The fact he’d lost an entire year by sending her away weighed heavily on him. Although the decision had been his father’s, Keithen hated to have humiliated her in such a horrible manner.

  Ava was kind, caring, and beautiful and now would be widowed. If there was one reason not to die, it was that he wasn’t sure what would happen to her. Hopefully, the Mackenzie would allow her to remain. If so, would he demand she marry again?

  Anger surged at the thought. He would be the second husband killed by her family. Ava was treated like a pawn and now she was once again left to fend for herself.

  Keithen prayed his father would offer her asylum, but he doubted it. If anything, his family would blame his death on Ava.

  He allowed sleep to claim him and prayed for a quick end to the day.

  Footsteps woke Keithen and he tried to sit up, but barely managed to push up from the floor. His head hung down and he took several breaths, gearing for straightening up. In his estimation, it would be easier and less painful if he was sitting and pulled to his feet than if lying flat.

  Finally, he managed to sit and groaned when bolts of searing pain surged down his leg and shoulder.

  “Ye look well rested,” a guard said with a chuckle.

  Another grunted. “Did they say to feed him?”

  “No, just to get a look at him and let them know if he’s living or not.”

  The first guard neared, and Keithen braced for what would come. The man grabbed his hair and tilted his head up. “Looks alive to me.” The guard then slapped him across the face so hard, Keithen fell backward onto the ground and cried out in pain from the jostling to his leg and shoulder. “Aye, he’s alive all right.”

  The men laughed.

  “Bring him then?”

  “Not yet,” the first man replied, and they went to the doorway.

  “He’s alive and squirming,” the guard informed someone outside and then settled into a conversation.

  Keithen’s face burned, but he barely felt it. His leg hurt worse than any of the other injuries.

  It was much later that he heard voices outside. People were gathering to witness his execution. That people bothered to come was probably because they’d been promised food or something. A battle had just recently occurred. Surely, people were not interested in seeing more death.

  Keithen continued listening intently for any familiar voice, but all the voices melded together.

  Footsteps neared and he prepared to be jostled. Taking one last moment to pray for his soul, Keithen was more than ready to face what was to come.

  “Time to be seen,” one of the men said and he was pulled up to stand. Keithen groaned in pain as both his shoulder and leg hurt so horribly, he could not stop a second scream. The guards hesitated. Perhaps it wouldn’t look good for the prisoner to scream louder at being moved than at the prospect of hanging.

  Finally, he was half-carried, half-dragged out of the dungeon, up some steps and outside. By the time he could see the sky, he was crazed with pain, barely able to keep from blacking out.

  “Do not pass out,” one of the guards shouted. “We need ye aware of what is about to happen.”

  “I am very aware,” Keithen muttered. “Will ye go on and get it over with?”

  Another guard neared. “Should we tie his hands behind his back?

  “He only has use of one arm,” came the reply. “He can’t do much with one hand to save himself. It may be more entertaining actually.”

  They didn’t tie his hands. Instead, they half-dragged him to where a rope had been thrown over a wooden arch.

  Although some people had gathered, most seemed uninterested in what was happening. They’d been ordered to be there, but Alastair could not force them to show interest. For some reason, it made Keithen feel better. Guards were lined up in a semi-circle, in case someone came and tried a last-minute rescue. He could not turn to see, but suspected archers were in place atop the gate for the same reason.

  There would be no rescue. Any attempts would be impossible. He wavered when one of the guards released him and fell sideways onto the ground.

  Alastair stood next to the wooden arch and looked over. “Pick him up and hold him so he does not fall,” he shouted. “Do something right for a change.”

  Once again, he was yanked to his feet. This time, the pain was so intolerable, he became sick and vomited. Both guards released him as the spillage hit their boots and then scrambled to pick him up again.

  This time, people began to laugh, and Alastair sent two other guards to take the place of the first two. Darkness edged near and Keithen could feel the pull of it. He’d not fight it. It would be better to be unconscious than to feel the squeezing of his neck.

  Cold water splashed on his face and he came to. He was under the arch now and placed atop a wooden box on a newly built platform. People had quieted and, now, most looked bored. Women tried to quiet children who’d began to complain of being hungry, while men rolled their eyes in their direction.

  F
inally, Alastair, who now also stood on the wooden platform, held up his hands.

  “Punishment for killing a Mackenzie is death by hanging. Today, Keithen Fraser pays for killing our loyal guardsmen, by preying on them like animals.”

  He paused for dramatic affect. Someone coughed.

  “Ye have one last chance to tell me who killed my father.” Alastair neared and stared at him. “Tell me.”

  Keithen met the man’s gaze. “Whoever killed yer father will come for ye next.”

  The man sneered and lifted his hand as if to hit him. But then a child began screaming and he whirled around.

  “Let us get this done with. I grow bored.”

  The noose was slipped over his head. Keithen didn’t struggle as he hoped it would be quick and over. Instead, he focused on the horizon.

  There was a strange haze in the distance, like mists that came down from the mountains on some mornings.

  “One moment!” A vicar rushed up the steps. “I must speak to the prisoner and see about his soul.”

  “There is no time,” Alastair screamed. Then, upon the people murmuring about damnation, he relented. “Fine, but hurry.”

  The man neared. “Lower him so I can speak into his ear.”

  Pain tore through his entire body and he groaned at being moved, having to blow out several breaths to clear his head.

  “They come. We must try to stall this,” the vicar said. “Yer clan heads here.”

  “There is little I can do to bide time,” Keithen replied, understanding why there was a haze in the horizon. “As soon as he realizes what is happening, I will be hung.”

  The man nodded. “Very well. Then I will have to do it.”

  “This man claims to be innocent,” the vicar pronounced loudly. “What proof do ye have?” he asked Alastair. “I have known ye all yer life, Son. Do ye punish an innocent man?”

  “Put him atop the box,” Alastair ordered. Then he met the vicar’s gaze. “Of course, I have proof. I have witnesses.”

  The people began talking to each other, asking those in the front what was happening. In the distance, riders appeared, but because of the commotion and all the talking, no one noticed.

  Keithen punched the guard on his right and fell backward onto the platform. This time, people began guffawing.

  Despite the pain, Keithen dragged himself over the edge, plopping to the ground below. This made people laugh even harder.

  The vicar came to his side. “Very good. Perhaps pretend to pass out again.”

  Keithen closed his eyes as he heard the vicar being pulled away. The man protested the entire time. He wasn’t sure what had happened but, once again, people began to laugh.

  By the time Keithen was dragged back onto the platform and his hands tied behind his back, Alastair was livid.

  Archers called down, announcing the approach of an army of warriors, which spurred the guardsmen that surrounded the people to turn and ride off.

  “Hang him!” Alastair scream. “Someone get my steed.”

  The rope scraped his nose as it was slipped over his head. Keithen couldn’t find the energy to fight any longer, although his mind scrambled for a way to keep from dying before help arrived.

  Just then, arrows impaled both guards and both fell onto the platform.

  Keithen turned to see Alastair’s bulging eyes scanning the surroundings while the people scrambled to get away.

  With a primal scream, Alastair kicked the box from under Keithen just as an arrow hit the laird on the side.

  At first, Keithen didn’t feel anything. His body was so wracked with pain that he did not sense the danger of imminent death.

  But then the realization that he could not breathe broke through.

  Within moments, he would die.

  Despite the tightening of the noose, Keithen fought to breathe, his body convulsing. As much as he told himself to let go and allow the inevitable, the instinct to live was strong.

  A primal scream permeated through the fog of his struggles and then he fell to the platform, gasping for breath.

  Someone had cut him down. There was no one that he could see but gasping for breath took precedence over anything else.

  Through sheer will, Keithen managed to maneuver himself to the edge of the platform and roll to the ground below. The impact knocked what little bit of breath he had from his lungs.

  The clash of swords rang through the air.

  People screamed, scampering in all directions. To avoid being trampled, he rolled under the protection of the platform.

  Pain shot through him from his broken leg. His shoulder had somehow moved back into place, probably from one of the falls.

  Keithen closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of rescue and then all went dark.

  *

  “It will be a long time before ye can get about without pain,” the healer informed Keithen several days later. He’d finally managed to remain awake long enough to know he was back at Fraser Keep in his own bedchamber.

  Because of his broken leg and other injuries, it was impossible to move without excruciating pain. Even now, he wondered if he’d live past all the damage that had been done. Instinctively, he knew his worst injuries were not visible. The pangs that ran down his back from being kicked signaled all was not well.

  “Where is my wife?” he asked. “Did she remain at Mackenzie Keep?”

  Esme, his sister, huffed. “In all probability. That is where she belongs.” She neared the bed and pressed a hand to his cheek. “What ye need to concern yerself with is healing. I will be here to ensure ye do.” She smiled down at him. “I love ye, dear brother.”

  Never had he been more grateful for his sister’s unnaturally accurate archery skills. From atop a moving horse, Esme had struck the rope and saved his life.

  “Ye are an amazing archer,” he said, slurring the words as a result of whatever was in the tonic the healer had given him.

  His sister shrugged. “I was not about to lose ye.”

  “What happened? Who came with ye to save me?”

  She lowered to a chair. “Two hundred Ross warriors and all of Clan Fraser. The Mackenzie surrendered without much of a fight. Malcolm is meeting with the other Laird Mackenzie to decide what is to be done. Malcolm knows Clan Ross cannot take over the lands without threat from other larger Mackenzie clans.”

  “Alastair lives then?”

  Esme’s face shuttered. “I believe so.”

  “Ye shot him, didn’t ye?” Keithen met her gaze. “Why didn’t ye kill him?”

  His sister gave a one-shouldered shrug. “My husband would be cross if I started a war.”

  Keithen shook his head. “Where did ye shoot him?”

  “Between the legs.”

  Despite hating the man, Keithen couldn’t help but shudder. “Well, that was not what I expected to hear. Do not ever tell Ava this.”

  His sister hesitated and finally nodded. “If she returns, I will not speak of it.”

  Broden walked into the room, his gaze boring into Keithen’s. “No one has seen her since she fell behind when following the men from Ross Keep.”

  He fought against the lure of sleep. “Ye must find her. She did not return to Mackenzie Keep. I am sure of it.”

  “Scouts have been sent. Yer wife will be found.” Broden studied him for a bit. “Why were ye on Mackenzie lands?”

  Keithen didn’t want to admit that he’d gone after Ava. But being that she was gone as well, he was sure they’d figure it out. “Ava went to find out if her brother and mother had been killed in the MacDonnell attack. I went after her.”

  “I knew she was the cause of this,” Esme snapped. “Ye should have let her go. If she does not wish to return, then so be it.”

  He’d not stopped asking himself why Ava had not appeared yet. He suspected it could be guilt over what had happened to him. After learning she’d ridden so far alone in the night to rally Clan Ross, he’d been both impressed and shocked at her actions.

&nb
sp; However, now she’d yet to appear and from all accounts, she had Gallant with her.

  “Esme?” he started and his sister arched a brow. “Did ye speak to her?”

  His sister nodded. “Aye, I did. I told her she was the reason for the situation and if ye died, I would find her and kill her myself.”

  Keithen closed his eyes. “Let me know as soon as she is found.”

  “I will take the patrol on a wider circle.” His friend’s assurance brought only a bit of confidence that Ava would be returned to him.

  Just then, another set of footsteps sounded, but Keithen could not force his eyelids to open.

  “Keithen’s horse has returned,” someone said.

  Chapter Sixteen

  For two long days, she’d been in the dark crate that rocked side to side on the back of a wagon.

  Ava had given up on crying or attempting to scream past the dirty rag that had been stuffed in her mouth. The cramped space stunk from her own urine and lack of ventilation, and she pressed her face against the side, attempting to get fresh air and to see through the tiny cracks between jagged boards.

  Sea air permeated the crate and she knew that, soon, she’d be loaded aboard a ship and taken far away.

  When a man neared the wagon, she kicked the crate. He looked in her direction for only an instant, shrugged and then kept walking.

  Frustrated that every effort had failed, she fell back against the other side of the crate and tried to think of what to do.

  If only she’d stayed at the small village she’d come upon after being left behind. The small village of Kildonan was not far from Ross lands, so she’d decided it was best to continue south. The following night, a pair of men accosted her while she’d slept.

  She’d expected to be attacked by them after being tied up, but when they’d lifted her skirts and seen blood, they pronounced her to be unclean. If not for the circumstances, she would have laughed at the thought that men who considered raping a woman would then call the woman dirty.