Page 91 of Sins of a Scot
He didn’t stop, but looking back, he grabbed hold of Iseabail’s arm. “Come on,” he barked. “Move it.”
While Iseabail kept his pace as they ran, Hamilton, in his weakened state, could not, and the second Iseabail realized that her father was not directly behind her, she pulled herself out of Owen’s grip and ran back. Keane had a firm grip on his father, but the two were moving far too slow.
Owen was now in the middle. To his right was the wall and a way to escape. To his left, was Iseabail and her family, struggling to close the gap. He had a decision to make, and he knew what he was going to do before the thought even occurred to him.
A great amount of yelling now came from the door of the kitchen which still hung open, light spilling into the darkness of the night. Just as Owen reached Hamilton, several guards flew out of the door and gave chase. Owen grabbed Hamilton and threw him over his shoulder before spinning around and heading for the wall. Keane and Iseabail were by his side as they ran, but it was too late.
“We’re nae going tae make it,” Iseabail cried.
And she was right, for suddenly, there were more soldiers hurrying from either side. In a short time, the four were surrounded, and for fear of being killed on the spot, Owen finally came to a stop. Gently placing Hamilton on the ground beside him, he followed Iseabail and Keane’s actions, and raised his hands in surrender.
“Ye tried, son,” Hamilton said sadly. “I can only thank ye fer that.”
While Hamilton’s words were kind and grateful, Owen could only feel angry at himself for letting everyone down. He had taken the lead upon himself, and he had been determined to get them out of this castle alive. He had failed. Now, Iseabail would be forced to marry Sutherland, and there was not a damn thing he could do about it.
“Move,” one of the guards growled, pointing a long spear at them.
The rest of the guards surrounded them, and the group had no choice but to do as they were told. Well, they did have a choice, but it would involve sacrificing their lives. Something Owen was pretty sure none of them were up for.
As they were marched through the castle, maids and servants hurriedly moved out of the way, their eyes wide with wonder. The guard at the front led them down several corridors until they reached a door. Opening it, the soldiers behind shoved them into the room.
It looked like a drawing room of sorts, and while the group of guards, for there must have been ten of them, stood around snarling at them, the one who had led them moved back to the door.
Speaking to all those who remained he said, “Dinnae take yer eyes off them.” He then turned and left, slamming the door behind him.
If Owen had been on his own and if he had had his sword, which he had been forced to leave with his horse when they arrived, he would have made an attempt at battle. Ten to one were not great odds, but he’d faced as many or more in battles before. Perhaps not all at the same time, mind, but he would have taken the chance.
After a small amount of time, the door flew open again, and Laird Sutherland walked in, his face twisted in anger.
“Ye dare tae defy me?” he barked, striding past the guards, who fanned out and stood further back at his presence.
While Owen balled his fists and tried to curtail his anger, his eyes were immediately drawn to the crystal that now hung around the laird’s neck. Someone had made short work of wrapping it in twine to make it secure. A leather strand had been added, and he now wore the large piece of stone as a necklace.
Noticing Owen’s attention of it, the laird smiled. “Aye, lad. I now have what I have been searching fer.”
He took several strides toward Owen and snapping out his arm, he grabbed Owen’s necklace, yanking it from around his throat.
Owen hissed as the leather burned his neck, but gritting his teeth, he glared at the laird. “Ye’re a fool, Laird Sutherland. That stone will bring ye naething but trouble.”
“Nay, boy. This crystal now makes me the most powerful man on earth,” the laird declared dramatically. “And now ye dinnae have protection, me powers will work on ye just fine.”
As though he needed to prove his point, Laird Sutherland then glared at Owen, and suddenly, a searing pain ran through his chest, as though he were being stabbed with a red-hot poker.
“Argh,” Owen cried, certain he had never felt pain like it in his life.
“Stop it!” Iseabail screamed. “Stop it. Please.”
But the laird ignored her, and continued, causing Owen to double over in agony.
“Ye tried tae take what was mine, and now, ye will pay,” Sutherland bellowed.
Thinking on his feet, Owen closed his eyes. Relief flooded through him as the pain ceased, though he was still breathless. The laird only had power over him with direct line of sight, just like Iseabail’s gift. If he could avoid looking at the laird, he could be spared from suffering.
“Grab him,” the laird yelled. “Force him tae look at me.”
A second later, Owen felt hands upon him from every direction. He fought with all his strength, but the pain he had suffered had weakened him.
“Leave him be,” Iseabail screamed again.
