The Rose and The Warrior (37 page)

Confusion gripped their faces.

Then panic.

Suddenly the four sprinted away, desperate to find a place to relieve themselves.

“Have you tried the ale we brought just for this occasion?” enquired Roarke cheerfully as he watched Colin, Finlay, and Myles ride through the gate. “You really should—'tis simply marvelous for cleansing the bowels.”

With that he galloped into the waning summer light, leaving the man for whom he would once have given his life staring in helpless rage behind him.

C
HAPTER
14

“…it came off when I was strangling MacTier and so I gave it to you. I thought it might bring you luck,” finished Daniel, shrugging his thin shoulders.

Melantha stared in bewilderment at the pendant shimmering in her palm. This was what she had gripped so tightly, thinking it was only a stone. The silver orb felt hot against her skin, and the green jewel in its center seemed paler, almost as if it were glowing from within. She shifted it slightly, and the glow vanished. Obviously it had just been a trick of the light, she realized. Deeply touched by her brother's gesture, she wrapped the broken chain around her wrist and knotted it, tucking the amulet inside her sleeve. She did not know if it held any mystical powers, but it had certainly been a comfort to hold as she faced her death.

“Thank you, Daniel.” She wrapped her arms tightly around him.

“They're coming,” announced Lewis from his perch in a tree. “Looks like about twenty riders.”

“Either this lot has bellies of iron,” Magnus quipped, “or they managed to avoid my fair Edwina's special new recipe.” He furrowed his white brows in bewilderment. “What the devil is that thing flapping about in the wind?”

“That's Laird MacTier,” said Donald. “It seems he didn't take time to change out of his fancy robes and jewels.”

“Looks like he brought my fair-haired friend with him,” Colin observed, referring to Derek.

“Good,” said Finlay, withdrawing his sword. “We've a score to settle with him.” He spat upon the ground.

“Everyone to their positions,” Roarke commanded, “and wait for my signal.”

Myles leaned over and clasped his hands together in a makeshift stirrup. “Come, lad, let's get you up into this tree.”

Daniel regarded Roarke stubbornly. “I want to fight.”

“There are different ways of battling an enemy,” Roarke told him. “A warrior should not be afraid of attempting to outwit his opponent before he resorts to his sword and dirk.”

“Fine,” huffed Daniel, clearly unconvinced. He turned to Myles and permitted the burly warrior to hoist him up into the tree.

Fear coursed through Melantha as everyone quickly began scaling trees and burying themselves beneath mounds of branches and leaves.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked Roarke anxiously. “ 'Tis nearly dark—we could easily conceal ourselves within these woods and the MacTiers would never find us. Why are you so determined to fight them?”

“Because we must bring this matter to an end.”

“It will never end,” Melantha countered. “Laird MacTier will not rest until he has killed me—especially now that he has been publicly humiliated.” Her despair was nearly suffocating as she quietly finished. “He will make it his life's work to see me captured and executed, and to destroy my people as well.”

Roarke reached out and tenderly brushed his fingers against her cheek. “No, Melantha, he will not. I will not allow it.”

“You cannot stop him.” Her fleeting exhilaration at escaping death was now eradicated by the knowledge that she had sentenced her beloved clan to destruction. “He will not listen to you, and my people do not have the strength to fight his army.” Her eyes glistened with tears as she raggedly finished. “You should have left me to die.”

He gripped her chin and tipped her head up, forcing her to look at him.

There was much he wanted to say to her, but he knew he would never find the words. A life of battle had not equipped him with tender words and sweet phrases. Muriel had never expected them from him, and he had not offered them to her. And although he had loved his precious Clementina, he had been away fighting for much of her brief life, and had not learned to speak his heart to the child who expected nothing of him except love.

How could he possibly make Melantha understand what she had come to mean to him?

“I could not let you die, Melantha,” he ventured gruffly, “because I would have died as well.”

Melantha stared at him, her eyes wide and silvered with emotion.

The pounding of hooves was drawing nearer, forcing Roarke to release her. “Now take your position,” he ordered brusquely, “and try not to get shot.”

She hesitated, studying him through the soft blur of her tears.

And then she looped her bow over her shoulder and silently melted into the shadows of the trees.

Laird MacTier and his warriors thundered toward them, their bodies bent low over their mounts. Their pace did not slacken as they approached, making it clear that they were determined to find the Falcon and Roarke, and had overlooked the possibility of a trap. The shoulder of Laird MacTier's robe was drenched with blood, but he was not permitting his injury to hinder his speed.

A little closer,
urged Roarke silently, watching as MacTier rode past the trees where Ninian and Gelfrid were positioned. Utilizing the patience that had been painstakingly honed during twenty years of battle, Roarke waited until the very last MacTier warrior had thundered into the tight parameters of their ambush.

“Now!”

Three enormous nets dropped from the trees, instantly snaring a dozen warriors. Their mounts reared and tossed their startled masters onto their backsides, leaving the MacTiers swearing and scrabbling as they tried to avoid being crushed by churning flanks and hooves.

The remaining seven riders and Laird MacTier withdrew their swords and wheeled about, vainly searching the darkness for their enemy.

“Now!”
commanded Roarke.

A shower of arrows rained down upon them from the branches overhead, piercing them in their shoulders, backs, and arms, and reducing their numbers again by more than half.

“Damn you!” raged MacTier, jerking his horse round in an agitated circle as he impotently shook his sword at the tangled canopy above. “Come down and fight me on the ground!”

The earth exploded in response to his invitation, with mounds of branches and leaves suddenly bursting all around him. At the same time men began to drop from the trees. By the time he, Derek, and Neill had managed to regain control of their terrified horses, they were completely surrounded. The remaining MacTier warriors were either nursing their injuries or cursing in frustration as they crashed into each other ensnared in the nets.

“Drop yer weapons,” ordered Magnus, aiming a quivering arrow straight at Laird MacTier's jeweled chest, “or I'll make a big, bloody hole in yer fancy gown.”

Laird MacTier nodded at Derek. “Kill him.”

The blond warrior looked at his laird in surprise. “We're surrounded and he has an arrow trained upon you.”

“He cannot kill me,” Laird MacTier informed his warrior calmly. “Kill him.”

“I'm just as happy to put a shaft in you, laddie,” said Magnus cheerfully, shifting his aim to Derek. “I've more than enough arrows for the lot of ye.”

Melantha pointed her weapon at Derek. “If you're thinking he's likely to miss, I promise you I won't,” she stated coldly.

“Nor will I,” added Ninian, adjusting the string of his bow.

Gelfrid's face contorted with effort as he struggled to keep his shaking arrow from releasing prematurely. “Nor I.”

“If they only succeed in wounding you, I shall be happy to hack you into bloody chunks for the wolves to feed upon,” offered Eric, his sword gleaming through the darkness.

“And I'll take this stick and gouge your eyes out,” threatened Daniel.

“I'll help,” offered Donald gallantly.

Myles waved his blade at Neill. “And I'll take care of your shivering friend over there.”

Derek needed no further convincing. He hastily tossed his sword onto the ground, then threw down his dirk for good measure, inspiring Neill to do the same.

“You cowardly fools!” raged Laird MacTier. “I'll have you both executed for disobeying me!”

Roarke moved into the lacy veil of moonlight now filtering through the branches. “I advise you to follow their example and relinquish your weapons, Laird MacTier.”

“My God, Roarke,” MacTier breathed, his face twisted with fury. “No man could have trusted his own brother more than I trusted you.”

“Your weapons, Laird MacTier.”

Laird MacTier maintained his grip upon his heavily jeweled sword. “How could you betray me and your clan, and sacrifice everything I gave you to help this ragged, filthy band of thieves?”

“ 'Tis interesting,” mused Roarke, “that in all the years we have stolen from others we have felt it was our right to do so. Yet when others stole from us, we branded them thieves and demanded retribution.”

“It's not the same!” snapped Laird MacTier. “You and I have spent our entire lives leading the MacTier clan to ever greater power. We did it for the good of our people and for the generations of MacTiers who will come after us.”

“But the prosperity of our clan has come at the suffering of others,” pointed out Roarke. “No matter how much we take from others—their land, their homes, the very chairs upon which they sit and cups from which they drink, it's never enough. There is always another holding waiting to be conquered.”

“Of course it is never enough,” agreed Laird MacTier. “That is how a great clan is built—by constantly expanding its borders and increasing its wealth. It is the most basic law of nature that the strong will prey upon the weak.”

“We are men,” argued Roarke, “not animals. We have the ability to temper our actions with morality, compassion, and honor. It is wrong to prey upon the weak simply because they are weak.”

“We are warriors,” scoffed Laird MacTier. “ 'Tis rooted in our very nature to conquer. It is what makes us great leaders.”

Roarke shook his head. “You were in a position to help others build something, to make them stronger and ally them with your army so that everyone could benefit. Instead you chose to brutalize them and steal from them. Then when they, in turn, stole from you, only because you had reduced them to a state of near starvation, you became enraged and demanded vengeance. But vengeance was not your right to demand,” he finished. “It was theirs.”

“Enough of this foolish talk!” snarled Laird MacTier. “You have betrayed me, and for that you must die!”

He dug his heels into his horse and raised his sword, preparing to cut Roarke down where he stood.

Roarke's men sprinted forward with raised blades. The flurry of arrows released by Melantha, Magnus, Ninian, and Gelfrid arrived first. Ninian and Gelfrid's arrows sailed past their target and struck a perfectly innocent tree, while Magnus's shaft accidentally pierced Derek's shoulder, which was to the right of Laird MacTier.

Melantha's aim, however, was perfect.

Laird MacTier howled in pain and dropped his sword. His eyes round with horror, he stared at the shaft protruding grotesquely from his wrist.

“You cannot kill me!” he raged, clawing at the golden swath of fabric at his throat. “I have the amulet!”

One by one he cast his heavily jeweled chains upon the ground with his uninjured hand, desperately searching for the pendant. When the last necklace lay shimmering upon the earth and his throat was exposed and naked, his eyes widened with alarm.

“Did you lose something?” drawled Colin sarcastically.

“You're a MacTier, Roarke, by birth and blood,” Laird MacTier blurted out, suddenly afraid. “Your sworn loyalty is to me and your clan. It is therefore your duty to protect me from these murdering outlaws.”

“You did not earn my loyalty,” Roarke countered. “ 'Twas given blindly, merely by the fact of being born a MacTier. But I can no longer follow you blindly—not when compassion and honor have finally opened my eyes.”

“Only a madman or an idiot would forfeit the holding I gave to you over such nonsense,” argued Laird MacTier, cradling his bleeding arm against his side. His eyes narrowed. “Whatever they're paying you, I'll double it.”

“Now, there's a tempting offer,” chortled Magnus, vastly amused.