The guard grabbed his upper arm and his partner, the one who had subdued him, grabbed his other arm.
“Keep your mouth shut, or I’ll see ye off your feet and on your back again,” the taller one growled.
With rough hands, they jerked Sawny to his feet, which was not difficult given how much weight Sawny had lost. Still, he made himself as heavy and unwieldy as he could – he certainly was not going to help them drag him to his torture.
He let his legs sweep behind him as they dragged him down the hall to the same room as before. A low fire crackled in the hearth and Sawny shuddered, recalling the last time he’d sat before that fire and the solution Kelso had employed with his wound.
Was this to be another round of branding?
Could he handle that?
Or something worse?
He liked to think he could, but believing he could withstand pain and actually doing it were two completely separate things.
And having experienced that agony once before tested his belief.
They shoved him into the same chair as before, and his insides shook. He swore he could still smell his burning flesh wafting off the chair. It was his imagination – it had to be – but it was there nonetheless.
They did not tie him to the chair. At first, he thought that was a mistake on their part, then he looked down at his sunken chest under his oversized tunic.
Mayhap not a mistake. How would he fight off two guards ready for him to react, and Kelso?
And if he did fight them off and escape, where would he go?
Kelso surely had soldiers at the stairwell.
Knowing all that, however, did not stop his mind from working, from taking in every aspect of this chamber and the hallway that he could.
In case the opportunity did present itself . . .
The guards crossed their arms over their leather vests and fixed their hard gazes on him, almost daring him to move.
Sawny was not going to give them the satisfaction.
He was studying the dirt on the floor, looking for footprints to get a sense of this chamber’s usage, when footfalls echoed outside the door.
Sawny’s heart raced under his thin ribcage, and he focused, breathing steadily through his nose to calm himself.
He would not give Kelso the satisfaction of seeing him disturbed, either.
Kelso swept into the room in a rush. He wore clean woolen braies and a heather-colored tunic under a black velvet waistcoat.
If he did not know any better, Sawny would think the man was expecting company.
He stiffened. Perchance that was the reason he was in the chamber now. To get information out of him before this guest arrived.
As Kelso approached Sawny, he pulled a pair of black gloves from his waistband, slapping the limp glove fingers against his other palm.
“Ye look like ye’ve recovered from your illness,” Kelso said. “Tell me, how do ye feel?”
An odd question. Why did he care? Sawny did not respond.
The slap of leather against his cheek was more surprising than painful and he glared at the chieftain who had slapped him with his leather gloves.
“I asked ye a question,” Kelso intoned as he palmed his gloves.
Sawny’s upper lip twitched. “I’ve recovered.”
