The Rose and The Warrior (15 page)

“That's a grand idea, laddie,” said Magnus, smiling with approval.

“It's impossible,” argued Ninian impatiently.

“Once an army gets in, we've no hope of defeating them,” added Gelfrid.

“Of course we do!” roared Thor, much restored by the cup of ale he had just drained. “All we need do is hack off their heads, and toss them in a pile to be ground into bread!”

Laird MacKillon regarded him curiously. “Your pardon, Thor, but have you ever hacked off a man's head before?”

“Dozens of times,” Thor boasted, patting his sword.

Laird MacKillon looked skeptical. “Didn't you find it rather a lot of work?”

“Not at all,” Thor assured him. “Just like cutting a dumpling.”

“You must focus your energies on preventing an attacking force from breaching the wall,” continued Roarke, struggling for patience.

“But how?” asked Hagar. “The MacTiers appeared in the middle of the night, and were up the wall and waving their swords in our faces before we even knew what we were about.”

“We had some fine, brave men keeping watch,” Magnus added, “but it was dark and they couldn't see them until it was too late.”

Roarke nodded. “Many clans prefer to attack a stronghold at night, knowing that the inhabitants are sleeping and they can use the cover of darkness to their advantage. What you need to do is establish a warning system, so that you are apprised when an aggressor is near and you can quickly prepare yourselves for defense.”

Laird MacKillon looked at him blankly. “A warning system?”

Roarke nodded. “First, you must increase the number of guards you keep posted on the wall head to watch for anything unusual. Every pair of eyes helps. But in the dead of night it is difficult to see what is happening below. That is why you must set traps.”

Magnus's brows knitted into a single white pelt. “Ye mean like for an animal?”

“Exactly,” replied Roarke. “You will dig a series of pits around the base of the curtain wall. Each pit must be no less than twelve feet deep and ten feet across, with a covering of branches to hold the sod you will place over it. Eventually you should have a pit every twenty paces, but begin by placing one at each corner of the wall, adjacent to the towers. Most attackers will approach a castle wall at the sides rather than attempting to climb straight up the center. As they make their way toward the wall, a number of warriors will step on the covering for the pit and fall in, bellowing in fury as they go.”

“And that's our warning!” said Magnus happily.

“It's very clever,” Hagar admitted, “as it has the added benefit of reducing their numbers at the same time!”

“Even if we dig ten pits, we can't expect an entire army to fall into them,” objected Colin, regarding Roarke with contempt. “That's not going to be enough to win a battle.”

“No, it isn't,” Roarke agreed, ignoring Colin's hostility. “And since your numbers are limited, you must employ more imaginative methods of retaliation. Methods that the notorious Falcon might use as she preys upon unsuspecting targets in the woods.”

Melantha kept her expression contained. Was Roarke actually complimenting her technique?

“The Falcon's band is able to surprise its targets because they are the ones planning the ambush,” Mungo pointed out. “It isn't the same as
being
attacked.”

“Not the same at all,” agreed Ninian.

“The principle of surprise remains the same,” Roarke argued, “and that is what you are trying to do—surprise them and reduce their numbers. At worst you are eroding their confidence and shrinking their size. At best, you may cause them to reconsider their assault and retreat.”

“The lad's right,” said Magnus. “Many's the time the Falcon's band has attacked a group much larger than us. By the time we're through, we've stripped them of their possessions and have them quivering in their skins, wonderin' if we're goin'to let them live to see another day.”

“You swore to me that you'd never slain anyone,” objected Edwina.

“We haven't,” Magnus admitted, “but our victims don't know that.”

“I wanted to kill these MacTiers,” said Finlay. He gave Roarke and his men a menacing look and spat on the ground.

“Good for you!” burst out Thor.

“Why didn't you?” Hagar wondered.

Finlay looked sheepish. “Melantha wouldn't let me.”

The clan laughed.

“And it's a good thing she didn't,” interjected Laird MacKillon, “or else we wouldn't have Roarke here today giving us these fine ideas. Tell us, lad, what other tricks did you have in mind?”

“My men and I have learned firsthand about the effectiveness of dropping nets,” Roarke continued. “If you place nets above those chambers with easily accessible windows, you will be able to capture your intruders as they steal across the floor—quickly, quietly, and without bloodshed.”

“A net is only good for capturing a few men,” Mungo objected. “Our time would be better spent practicing our fighting rather than making nets.”

“If they are used properly, the nets will do the work of twenty men,” argued Roarke. “Lewis, I'm sure, can develop an effective system for quickly raising the net after the prisoners have been removed, so that it can be used again.”

Lewis stared at him in shock.

“Does he mean our Lewis?” demanded Thor.

“I have some other ideas on which I would like to confer with Lewis,” Roarke continued. “As you all know, he has an exceptionally quick mind when it comes to solving problems.”

Lewis looked around uncertainly, as if he expected someone might laugh.

“I think he's talking about one of his own men,” Ninian decided. “Probably that fancy one who keeps staring at the lasses.” He pointed to Donald.

“It is essential that everyone be assigned a duty, and that you are thoroughly drilled in performing that duty,” continued Roarke. “If you are attacked, each man, woman, and child must know exactly where they have to go and what they are to do. Practice curtails panic. You will be divided into groups, and your groups will rotate between training and other duties. One will train, one will work on the castle's defenses, one will produce an ample supply of weapons, and one will prepare food in case of a siege. Your battle with the MacTiers only lasted a day, but if your next attackers don't defeat you with similar alacrity, they may decide to linger awhile. You must make sure you have enough arrows and bread to maintain your defense.”

“We'd have a lot more bread if MacKillon here would just let me slay you lot,” grumbled Thor.

“I have some suggestions as to who might lead the training sessions,” continued Roarke, consulting his notes.

“I'm happy to sharpen the men's skills with a bow,” Magnus volunteered. “I'm sure I don't need to remind ye that I'm a wee bit more than a fair shot,” he added, giving Roarke a sly wink.

“No, of course not.” Roarke thought of Magnus's trembling hands as they fought to restrain his arrows. “But since you will have a large group to train, perhaps Donald could assist you.”

“An apprentice, ye say?” Magnus doubtfully scratched his white head. “Very well. If ye keep yer eyes more on me and less on the lasses,” he said, regarding Donald sternly, “maybe I'll be able to teach ye a thing or two.”

Donald gave him a graceful bow. “I shall forever be in your debt.”

“Now, then,” continued Roarke, “for the training with swords—”

“All right then, I'll do it,” interrupted Thor grumpily, as if he had just relented to Roarke's lengthy beseeching. “But I warn you, I don't tolerate laggards.”

Roarke cast an inquiring glance at Eric.

“Never,” growled the fair-haired warrior. “I would sooner have my bowels dragged slowly from my body and be left to rot in their hot, stinking—”

“Eric will help you, Thor,” said Roarke amiably.

Thor glared ominously at Eric. “If you give me so much as a whit of trouble, Viking, I shall have no choice but to kill you.”

“Only if I don't kill myself first,” muttered Eric, glowering at Roarke.

“I propose that Lewis be in charge of designing the traps,” Roarke continued, “and he should oversee the men as they build them, to ensure that his instructions are carried out accurately.”

Lewis shook his head. “I can design them,” he said, not sounding terribly confident even on that point, “but I can't supervise the men.”

“Of course you can,” Roarke insisted.

Lewis shook his head more adamantly.

“The lad's right,” said Gelfrid.

“He's too timid to make a crew of men do his bidding,” Ninian scoffed.

“Why don't you believe you can, Lewis?” asked Roarke, irritated by the way everyone constantly contributed to the youth's lack of confidence.

Lewis stared at the ground. “Because no one will listen to me.” His face was nearly crimson with embarrassment.

“Of course they will listen to you,” Roarke objected, “or they will have to deal with—” He stopped suddenly, realizing he had been about to say himself. But he had no authority here—he was a prisoner, for God's sake.

“They will have to deal with me.”

Everyone looked in surprise at Laird MacKillon.

“According to Roarke, our Lewis has a special talent. If this is true, then we should ensure that he is able to put this talent to work for the good of the clan, should we not?”

The clan regarded him in uncomfortable silence.

“Splendid. I'm sure I can count on everyone assigned to implement Lewis's designs to pay close attention, and to carry out his instructions to the best of their abilities.”

Mortified at being the center of this discussion, Lewis continued to study his feet.

Roarke swept his gaze over the courtyard. It was clear the MacKillons were unconvinced, but knew better than to contest a direct order from their laird. He sighed inwardly, hoping Lewis would be able to overcome his lack of confidence, thereby earning the respect of the clan.

“Well, I'm happy that's all sorted out,” said Laird MacKillon, rising slowly from his chair. “And now, I suggest that everyone go back to bed and get a bit more sleep—there's plenty of time to address all of these things.”

“We must begin immediately,” Roarke objected.

“Now, lad, I know you're anxious to get things started,” Laird MacKillon returned, “but I'm sure you'll find everyone can apply themselves far better once they've had a little more rest.”

“There is no time to be wasted,” persisted Roarke, watching in frustration as the clan gratefully began to disperse. “We should be dividing the clan into groups—”

“
We
will take care of it,” said Colin emphatically. “I must confess, I do find your sudden concern for our welfare somewhat perplexing. Just what, exactly, are you planning?” His gaze bored into Roarke. “Do you believe that if you keep everyone occupied with training and building, you and your warriors will be able to escape unnoticed?”

“No.” Roarke was acutely aware that Melantha and her brothers were listening to their discussion.

“Then why are you pretending to want to help us?”

He curled the paper he was holding into his hand. “I have my reasons.”

“And no doubt they are eminently noble,” drawled Colin. “You are here as a prisoner, and now that you have seen the state we are in, you wish to help us, is that it?”

“Something like that.”

“Such valor. Tell me, Roarke, if your clan's army was climbing our walls tonight in a bid to free you and your men, what would you do? Would you grab a weapon and help us fight them off, knowing the devastation we face should they defeat us once again? Or would you slaughter all who got in your way as you fought to reach the gate and let them in?”

Roarke said nothing.

“Don't bother pretending it's a decision over which you would agonize,” Colin snarled. “We both know which choice you would make.”

Roarke kept his expression impassive, refusing to confirm or deny Colin's allegations. Colin thoroughly despised him, and nothing Roarke said or did could possibly change that.

“Finlay, take these prisoners back into the great hall,” commanded Colin, “and don't let them out of your sight.”

He went to Melantha, laid his hand at the small of her back, and placed his arm protectively around Daniel, as if he were gathering his family.

Then he shepherded her and the boys back toward the castle, leaving Roarke to stand and wonder at the powerful emotions stabbing his chest.

C
HAPTER
6

“Lay down your sword, you scrawny, miserable pup, or I'll run you through like a hare on a spit!”

Patrick obediently dropped his wooden sword.

“You're not supposed to do it, Patrick!” said Daniel in disgust.

Patrick regarded his brother in confusion. “But you told me to.”

“It doesn't matter if I tell you to. An attacking warrior says all kinds of horrid things to frighten people into surrendering—it doesn't mean you listen to them.”

“But if I didn't obey you, you were going to run me through,” objected Patrick.

“Now that you have no weapon, I'm going to run you through anyway.” He thrust his sword alongside Patrick's waist. “There, see? Now you're dead.”

Patrick's blue eyes rounded with disbelief. “But that's not fair! I did just as you told me to!”

“Attacking warriors don't care about what's fair,” Daniel informed him authoritatively. “All they care about is how many they maim and kill—isn't that right, Magnus?”

“Well, now, I suppose that's mostly true.” His eyes squinting against the afternoon light, Magnus nocked his arrow against the string of his bow and took careful aim at a straw-filled wagon in the courtyard below. The string of his weapon grew taut, then began to shiver as his aged hand quickly tired. Unable to restrain it any longer, he released the arrow into the air.

Daniel, Patrick, and Matthew peered over the battlements to watch its voyage. The arrow veered far to the right of the wagon, then burrowed into the earth by the stone well, missing Thor's feet by scarcely a hairsbreadth.

“God's teeth!” Thor roared, raising his sword to defend himself. On seeing Magnus gazing down from the parapet, he grew even more agitated. “What are you trying to do, kill me?”

“Ye were in no danger,” Magnus assured him. “The arrow went exactly where I wanted it to go.”

“The devil it did!” countered Thor furiously. “Unless you were trying to spear my foot to the ground!”

“ 'Twas not your foot I was aiming for,” Magnus returned. “ 'Twas that scrap of leaf lying on the ground beside it that had caught my attention.”

Thor squinted at the grass. “There is no leaf here.”

“Not anymore, there isn't,” Magnus agreed. “That's because the head of my arrow drove it deep into the ground.”

Unconvinced, Thor plucked the shaft from the ground and critically examined its tip. “I don't see any—”

“Thank ye for retrieving my arrow for me,” said Magnus, waving. “Don't trouble yerself by bringin' it up—I shall be down later to collect it.”

“Did you really mean to hit the earth so close to Thor's foot?” asked Matthew, impressed.

“Aye.”

“I don't see how you could hit a leaf down there,” objected Daniel, straining to see something equally small. “It's too little.”

“ 'Twas nothing,” Magnus scoffed, slinging his bow over his arm. “When ye've launched tens of thousands of arrows, as I have, ye learn to sense their flight before ye set them free. 'Tis almost as if we are one.”

“Were you one with the arrow that hit Roarke in the bum?” wondered Patrick.

Magnus chuckled. “Now, that was as fine a shot as any a man has ever made. That's why I saved the arrow.” He pulled the prized shaft from his quiver so the boys could examine it.

“Why did you aim for Roarke's bum?” wondered Matthew, running his fingers in awe along the shaft.

“Why didn't you aim for his heart?” asked Daniel harshly.

“Well, now, the heart is a very tiny part of a man, and ye need only look at Roarke to see that he's an uncommonly big fellow. There he was, crashing through the woods on his enormous black charger, swinging a great silver sword with the strength of ten men or more, and there was our dear Melantha, bravely meeting him blow for blow. But though the Falcon is quick and able, she could not match Roarke's powerful strikes for long. And so I knew I had to do something and double quick, or else it might be all over for the Falcon and her band. The MacTier's back was to me, so I steadied my arrow and aimed for his heart, knowing I could pierce it straight and true. But then I began to worry that his leather jerkin might be thick enough to resist the impact of my arrow, or perhaps the tip would strike squarely upon a rib and not delve in more than an inch or so, which would only succeed in making him even more fearsome than he already was.”

Magnus paused for effect, looking with satisfaction at the three pairs of eyes fixed upon him in rapt fascination.

“What did you do?” demanded Patrick eagerly.

“I set my gaze lower and pierced him where he was far more vulnerable,” Magnus finished triumphantly. “The mighty MacTier warrior was off his horse and squalling like a bairn faster than ye could spit!” He slapped his thigh and shook with laughter, causing the boys to giggle as well.

“I don't recall ‘squalling,'” objected a low voice.

The three boys instantly stopped and regarded Roarke with varying degrees of fear, fascination, and contempt. Magnus, however, gazed at Roarke with amusement.

“Ye were in far too much pain to be able to recall exactly how ye were,” he told him, still chuckling.

“Does your bum still hurt?” asked Patrick sympathetically.

“No,” snapped Roarke, wishing to close the topic.

Little Patrick's face fell.

Roarke instantly regretted his tone. “Thank you for asking,” he added, feeling somewhere between an ogre and an idiot.

“Have ye come to work on the wall head?” asked Magnus, seeing Lewis and Finlay appear from one of the entrances leading some twenty men. They were burdened with heavy timbers, wooden planks, axes, saws, hammers, and nails.

Roarke nodded. “The pits are coming along well, and Lewis and I have been discussing some ideas for making it more difficult to breach the wall,” he explained. “We're going to begin construction on six wooden hoardings to project from the parapet. Each will have openings in the floor through which heavy stones and boiling oil can be dropped on the attackers below. These will give you a better vantage point than just hurling rocks over the battlements.”

“We're going to build one right over the gate,” added Lewis. “That's going to keep any attackers from ramming it.”

“It will make it more difficult,” amended Roarke.

“Ye don't say?” said Magnus, clearly intrigued. “But won't that leave the lads perched on the hoarding in danger of being shot?”

“I've designed the hoardings to be almost completely enclosed,” said Lewis. He unrolled one of the drawings he was carrying and showed it to Magnus. “There will be walls on all three sides, with cross-shaped openings to allow the men to see,” he explained, proudly pointing to these features on his neatly detailed diagram. “They can also see through the openings in the floor.”

“An excellent idea!” said Magnus. “Do ye think I could shoot from one of these?”

Lewis frowned, studying his design. “I don't believe there will be enough room for an archer.”

“The hoardings will be manned by two men who need room to move and keep a stockpile of rocks,” explained Roarke. “There won't be space for an archer as well.”

“A pity.” Magnus sighed wistfully. “I could make some fine hits from a platform like that.”

“You would also have an excellent vantage point if you shot from one of the upper chambers,” Roarke suggested. The wall head was a dangerous place during an attack, and he did not particularly relish the idea of Magnus being caught in the thick of it. Beyond that, there was also the distinct possibility of Magnus accidentally planting an arrow into one of his own clan.

“Ye might be right,” said Magnus, thoughtfully stroking his beard. “But there's no point in thinkin' about that.” He sighed. “Duty requires an old warrior like me to be up here, so I can lead my men to victory.”

Roarke wasn't certain which men he was talking about, but he refrained from questioning him on that point. “The entire clan would be better served by your skills as an archer, Magnus,” he suggested, wondering just why the thought of the old man being exposed to danger bothered him.

“And you're a great archer!” gushed Patrick enthusiastically. “You should have seen the way he hit the leaf beside Thor's foot,” he told Roarke. “It was so close, Thor was actually afraid for his life!”

“ 'Twas nothing,” said Magnus, thoroughly pleased with himself.

“The arrow went so deep, it made the leaf disappear!” added Patrick.

Roarke raised a skeptical brow. “Really?”

“Now, lads, ye don't want to sound like yer braggin',” admonished Magnus, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Run along and play somewhere.”

“I don't play,” Daniel informed him stiffly. “I'm training to be a warrior. And I want to stay here and help build these platforms.”

“I want to help build platforms too,” volunteered Patrick.

“Me too,” added Matthew, although he sounded less than certain.

Magnus regarded them dubiously. “Do ye think ye can find somethin' for them to do?” he asked Lewis.

“There are all kinds of things they can do to help,” Lewis assured Magnus. “We need every pair of hands.”

“Fine, then. Ye can stay up here and help—but make sure ye don't get in anyone's way,” instructed Magnus sternly. “Do ye hear?”

The three boys nodded.

“Well, then, I suppose I'll collect that arrow I shot into that leaf before leadin' the men in their archery practice. Ye know how I hate to waste a perfectly good arrow.” He cast Roarke an amused look.

Not waiting for Roarke's response, he jauntily slung his bow over his shoulder and disappeared.

“Give me your sword!”

Melantha watched in disbelief as Ninian obediently handed his weapon over to Eric. Her hand instinctively flew to the hilt of her own sword. Did Ninian not realize the danger of allowing this MacTier prisoner to be armed?

“Brace your feet a shoulder width apart, so your stance is solid,” Eric instructed, positioning his own feet at the same time. “You are thin, and although Gelfrid here is short and fat, he outmatches you by weight.”