“Ye expect me to—”
Without warning, Alex turned, his expression darkened, and he shoved her hard into the stone wall with a heavy thump.
Thirteen
As soon as Alex turned, he heard the whizzing arrow coming straight toward them. His only thought was to block the arrow from reaching Sybella. He hammered her forcefully into the parapet wall, his only purpose to keep her safe. His battle-hardened senses reached full awareness and he jumped to his feet. He leaned over the side of the wall and yelled for John.
“Archer!” Alex pointed in the general direction, and John and his men ran out of the gate, swords in hand.
Sybella moaned as she lay sprawled on the stone floor.
Alex knelt by her side and supported her head in his arms. “Ella, are ye all right?” When he pushed her hair back from her face, her eyes were heavy, searching. “Ye need to answer me. Are ye all right?”
When she didn’t answer, a pang of guilt gnawed at him. He hadn’t meant to harm her. Perhaps by protecting her he’d rammed into her a little harder than he initially thought. While Sybella breathed in shallow, quick gasps, a knot formed in Alex’s stomach. He noticed that she was unresponsive and that the color had drained from her face.
He gently tapped her cheeks. “Wife.”
A hot tear rolled down her cheek. “Alex…I cannae…catch my breath.”
“Shhh…donna speak.” He sat down beside Sybella and pulled her against his chest. “The air has been knocked out of ye. Give it but a moment until ye feel it return.”
“My body aches. I feel as though I was run over by a stampede of horses. Why did ye do that?”
He lifted his hand and smoothed her hair. “An arrow shot from below.”
Holding her ribs, Sybella slowly pulled herself into a sitting position. Intense astonishment touched her pale face. “Ye saved my life.”
“It was naught.”
“Ye risked your own life to shield me. Ye placed yourself in harm’s way for me, a MacKenzie.”
“Of course I did. I am your husband, and lest ye forget, ye are now a MacDonell.” When she tried to stand, Alex stood and pulled her to her feet. When she swayed, he bent down and lifted her into his arms.
“Ye donna need to carry me.”
“Ye can barely stand.” He kicked open the parapet door with his foot and descended the stairs. When he reached the bottom, he saw Rosalia carrying Lachlann and walking toward them with long, purposeful strides.
“Alexander, what is happening? What is wrong with Sybella?”
He spoke as he carried Sybella through the hall to her chamber. “The archer took another shot. John and my men seek him out.”
“Aye, Ciaran took off with a purpose with his men as well. Let me get the door.” Rosalia repositioned Lachlann on her hip and opened Sybella’s bedchamber door.
As Alex gently lowered his wife to the bed, she let out a grunt and grabbed her ribs. “God’s teeth, MacDonell. Ye pack a strong wallop.”
“What happened?” asked Rosalia.
“We stood upon the parapet and an arrow shot through the air toward Sybella. In trying to protect her, I pushed her into the wall.”
Sybella rubbed her head. “More like rammed.”
Rosalia sat down on the edge of the bed with Lachlann. “Are ye all right? Alexander is a big man. That had to hurt.”
“It wasnae verra pleasant, but the man saved my li—”
“MacDonell!”
Alex hastily swung the door open to find MacGregor. Sweat beaded on the man’s brow and his breathing was labored.
“We found the man.”
Sybella’s head throbbed and her body ached, but nothing would keep her from seeing the man who had tried to take aim at her head. After Alex departed with Ciaran, Sybella told Rosalia that she wanted to rest. Her words weren’t totally untrue. She did want to rest, but there was no way she was going to miss what was happening in the bailey.
She made her way down the steps, and as soon as she stepped out the door, she found an unoccupied wall and stood quietly. She couldn’t see a damn thing. A mountain of men encircled something, but she wasn’t able to make anything out.
Sybella walked slowly along the edge of the wall, trying to get a better view. Was it just her opinion, or were all Highland men extremely large? She stood on the tips of her toes, but broad shoulders blocked her ability to see the archer who had tried to kill her—twice.
Ciaran moved, and she saw Alexander raising his arm and striking the man who knelt before him. Sybella bent over and watched through the legs of the Highlanders as the man fell to the ground. She had to restrain herself from walking over and pushing the men aside to see the miscreant who had tried to harm her.
Someone pulled the man to his feet, but she still couldn’t see his face. Ciaran asked the archer a question, and when the man didn’t answer, she watched in awe as her husband punched the arse forcefully in the gut. The man bent over briefly, but Alex’s guard promptly pulled him upright. The archer could barely stand, with his legs bent and about to collapse. She gathered that the only reason the bastard remained standing was because two men held him up by his arms.
“Ye will answer me!” bellowed Alexander.
The archer must have spit in Alex’s face because the men gasped as Alex wiped his face with his arm. Ciaran balled his fist into the man’s face, and Sybella cringed as she heard something crunch beneath the forceful blow. No doubt the MacGregor had broken the man’s nose or face. Frankly, she wasn’t sure which. Perhaps both.
“Who sent ye?” asked Alex in a raised voice.
Perhaps she could get a better look from the other side. She tried to circle along the wall unnoticed. The way Alex and Ciaran’s men surrounded the man, she didn’t think anyone would pay much attention to a lady—well, at least she hoped not. She could just make out the top of the man’s head while she approached the other side of the bailey.
One of the guards shifted, and she managed to get a view of a black, yellow, and red tartan, the clan colors of the MacLeod of Lewis. Praise the saints. Rosalia was right. Sybella was nothing more than a pawn in the game of men. She knew her father had disputes with the MacLeod of Lewis, and now the MacLeod was coming after her for her father’s ways.
“Throw his arse in the dungeon,” Alex ordered his men. “We will find a way to make him talk. An diobhail toirt leis thu.” The devil take you. Alex turned to the captain of his guard, and something unspoken passed between them.
When John grabbed the man’s arm, Sybella was finally able to get a clear view of the man who had attempted to kill her.
As she took a step forward, her eyes widened and her jaw dropped.
Alex rubbed his knuckles, which stung and bled. In truth, the blood was of little consequence; of far more importance was whatever he would be able to gain from this savage MacLeod. Alex was sure there was valuable information to be had, if only the man would talk. The archer had made a grave error in judgment by keeping his mouth shut. John could be very persuasive, for Donald had taught him well.
“Let him rot in the dungeon. He will eventually speak the truth. And if he doesnae, there are ways in which he can be persuaded,” said MacGregor. He looked over Alex’s shoulder and his eyes narrowed. “Wash the blood from your hands. Your wife watches ye.”
Alex turned to see that Sybella’s face was paler than normal. Damn. He didn’t mean for her to see him beating the man. However, she should understand that he would do anything to keep her safe. He wiped his hands on a rag and then walked toward her. She remained perfectly still.