Page 51 of A Fearless Rebel

“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.