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With a shake of his head, Chrisdean turned around to leave. Just as he took the first step, though, William spoke once more.
“I’ll show you,” William said. “But I . . . what will I do? I can’t go back to the camp. I can’t go back to England. I . . . I’ll have nowhere to go.”
“Weel . . . ye canna stay here, that’s certain,” Chrisdean said. “Ye can try to find yer luck in another clan or on a farm, but I willna have a Sassenach in my castle.”
“This is not the ideal place for me, either,” William spat, much to Chrisdean’s amusement. He was getting bolder, but he also seemed to be forgetting that he was talking to a Laird. “Too many mice and not enough Englishmen.”
“I can still have ye hanged,” Chrisdean reminded him. “I dinna care where ye go or what ye do, as long as ye’re nowhere near this castle, do ye understand?”
William gave Chrisdean a tentative nod. Then, he stood from his corner and walked up to the bars, and Chrisdean could see his face clearly for the first time. It was bloody and bruised, his left cheek swollen and his lip cut, but nothing that wouldn’t heal in a few weeks.
“Why are you letting me live?” William asked.
Chrisdean considered that question for a few moments, and then he considered not replying. But William was looking at him with so much suspicion that Chrisdean could only imagine he thought it was some sort of twisted game, that he was letting him live only to hunt him down later, that he would be living on borrowed time.
“Because ye’re a bairn,” Chrisdean said with a small shrug. “Ye may have a sword and a uniform and a reason to use them, but what have ye seen of the world, William?”
If there was one thing clear to Chrisdean, it was that William despised him, but he could hardly blame him for that. After all, he was his prisoner. He could also see surprise in his gaze though, from the way that his eyes widened just a fraction before he controlled his reaction to Chrisdean’s words.
He could tell that few people had treated him with kindness before.
“Ye’ll show us the way,” Chrisdean said, quickly changing the subject. “If ye lead us somewhere else or if ye lead us into a trap, I will kill ye, make na mistake about that. I’m only lettin’ ye go under the condition that ye show us to the camp.”
William nodded, a sharp move of his head.
With a nod of his own, Chrisdean made his way out of the cells, the fresh air hitting him when he reached the top of the stairs. He drew in a deep breath, shedding off the remnants of the stifling atmosphere below.
The wound in his side ached, a dull, burning pain that he ignored.
No matter the pain, he had a duty to perform.
