The Rose and The Warrior (8 page)

“Actually, I brought them here so we could ransom them back to Laird MacTier,” Melantha clarified.

“Ransom them?” repeated Laird MacKillon, looking astonished. “Oh, no, I don't think that's a good idea. Absolutely not.”

“Have you completely lost your senses, lass?” demanded Hagar. “To ransom them would make MacTier fearfully angry.”

“So I'll chop them up like stewing meat!” offered Thor, hacking at the floor with his weapon. “Then we'll grind their bones to dust, bake it into bread and eat them, so there's no trace of them ever to be found.”

“If we just kill them, what will we have gained?” asked Melantha.

“Honor,” supplied Laird MacKillon.

“Vengeance,” added Hagar.

“Bread,” finished Thor.

“I don't know how you can speak so in front of our guests,” scolded Edwina, casting the three men a disapproving look. “These look like pleasant enough lads. Have they tried to harm you?”

Magnus shrugged. “Roarke tried to chop off Melantha's head, but I stopped him with an arrow in his arse. Other than that, they haven't been too much trouble.”

“I should like to point out that Melantha was trying to kill me at the time,” interjected Roarke, sensing that an explanation was needed.

Laird MacKillon raised his white brows in shock. “And that's how you treat a wisp of a lass who is only trying to defend herself?”

“I didn't realize she was a woman—she was dressed in that ridiculous outfit and her face was completely hidden by her helmet. And besides,” he finished, “she attacked me first.”

“Good gracious, Melantha, were you trying to kill this nice young man?” asked Beatrice, appalled.

“We were robbing them,” explained Melantha, “and he had managed to avoid the nets.”

“He's a slippery one, all right,” agreed Magnus. He winked at Roarke.

“But why have you brought them here?” wondered Hagar. “You never bring prisoners home with you.”

“Unfortunately, we learned that these men have been sent by MacTier to crush the Falcon and ‘his' band,” explained Colin. “As they intended to kill us, that made releasing them somewhat problematic.”

“Then it's a bloody, agonizing death to the lot of them!” concluded Thor, ecstatic. “Stand still, you MacTier wretch!” He grunted with effort as he hoisted his sword and took a faltering step toward Roarke.

“Here, now, there'll be no killing without my consent, Thor,” said Laird MacKillon, frowning at the elder. “Cease your nonsense and let's hear what Melantha has to say about this ransom business.”

Thor huffed with irritation and lowered his weapon.

“As I see it,” began Melantha, “we gain far more by ransoming these warriors than we would by killing them—”

“I don't know why you would think that.” Thor eyed Eric speculatively. “A big chap like that would make a lot of bread.”

“I propose that we use them to regain some of what MacTier has stolen from us,” she continued, “and show him we are a force to be reckoned with at the same time.”

“But we're not a force to be reckoned with,” objected Laird MacKillon. “MacTier already knows that well enough.”

“Perhaps we haven't the strength to face MacTier in battle,” allowed Melantha, “but it is clear that the Falcon's band has troubled him enough these past few months to make him feel our sting. That is why he sent these warriors to capture us.”

“But he doesn't know the Falcon is from this clan,” pointed out Hagar. “If we ransom these nasty-looking fellows, he'll have to know that it is we MacKillons who have captured them.”

“And he'll be terribly angry with us,” added Beatrice worriedly. “I'm afraid I cannot see how that will benefit us at all.”

“It will benefit us to regain that which he has stolen from us,” explained Melantha. “We will exchange these warriors for food, livestock, clothing, weapons, and gold—all things that were taken from us by the MacTiers when they attacked us last autumn.”

Hagar regarded her doubtfully. “What if MacTier agrees to pay us this ransom, and once he has these warriors he turns around and attacks us with his army?”

“The gold must be paid in advance of the release of these prisoners,” Melantha explained. “We will use it to buy the alliance of the MacKenzies and the protection of their army.”

“Not even MacTier will dare attack us again if he knows that we have such a powerful force ready to come to our aid,” said Colin.

Laird MacKillon looked intrigued by the possibility. “An army, you say?”

Hagar stroked his chin. “That would come to our aid whenever we need it?”

Magnus smiled fondly at Melantha. “The lass is just like her father—always thinking.”

“Does this mean I don't get to kill these chaps?” grumbled Thor.

“If we ask enough for these warriors, and we secure an alliance with the MacKenzies, then we need never worry about being vulnerable to attack again,” said Colin.

“Not only from the MacTiers,” finished Melantha, “but from anyone else.”

“There is just one small problem.”

The little group regarded Roarke in surprise.

“Laird MacTier will never agree to your demands,” he informed them seriously. “Other than the issue of his pride, which is considerable, the man is exceptionally fond of his possessions—especially his gold. And as I have already explained to you,” he continued, regarding Melantha intently, “to pay a fee for our return would put all his warriors at risk of being ransomed.”

Laird MacKillon looked troubled. “Have you considered this, Melantha?”

“These warriors were sent to capture the Falcon's band and are most anxious that their laird not learn that they failed miserably in their mission and are suffering the indignity of being ransomed as well. This is why they would have us believe that there is no point in holding them prisoner.” She tossed Roarke a look of contempt. “Besides, how will it appear if MacTier fails to intervene on behalf of his own clansmen?”

“The lass is right,” Hagar concurred. “MacTier may be a greedy bastard, but he's not likely to let four of his own be killed just to save a few coins. I say we keep these big chaps for a while and see what MacTier says when he gets our message.”

“Very well,” said Laird MacKillon. “But what are we to do with them while we wait to hear from MacTier?”

“Throw them in the dungeon and let the rats gnaw on their hot, stinking entrails!” blazed Thor. “A few weeks in the dark with nothing but mossy bread and dank water, and we'll have them telling us what we want to know!”

“Your pardon, Thor, but what is it we want to know?” wondered Laird MacKillon.

“All enemies have secrets,” Thor assured him. His face lit up. “If they won't tell us, we shall have to torture them!”

“We don't have a dungeon,” Beatrice objected firmly. “And we certainly don't have rats.”

Thor's expression fell. “Couldn't we get some?”

“All we have are the storage chambers,” reflected Edwina, “and they are a terrible mess. It will take several days to clear one of them out.”

“Are there any spare chambers available?” Laird MacKillon asked.

Beatrice shook her head. “Every room in the keep is occupied, I'm afraid, and many of the cottages are already housing two families. Someone will have to move out to make room for these gentlemen, or agree to share their chamber.”

“Share a chamber with these thieving MacTier cutthroats?” Thor looked outraged by the suggestion.
“Never, I say, never!”

“If we don't have a dungeon for them and there aren't any spare chambers, where are we to keep them?” Hagar wondered.

“Why don't we just keep them here?” suggested Magnus.

Hagar regarded him in confusion. “In the great hall?”

“Seems to me ye couldn't find a better place to keep a steady eye on them,” Magnus reasoned. “After all, there's always someone in here. Should they try to escape, the place would be swarming with men in no time.”

Laird MacKillon's expression brightened. “We can set up an area for them down at that end, with beds and a table and a washbasin—”

“—of course we'll need to put up a screen, so they can have a little privacy when they need it—” added Hagar.

“—and a few chairs for sitting upon—” Magnus suggested.

“—they'll be close to the kitchen, so it will be easy to bring them food—” pointed out Edwina.

“—and the fires will keep them warm at night—you know that storage room is rather chilly—” Beatrice added.

Roarke listened in bemused silence as the MacKillons made plans for imprisoning him and his men. It was clear the MacKillons despised the MacTiers, and apparently they had good reason. Yet here were the laird and his closest advisors fussing over Roarke and his men's comfort. It would be most convenient to be held in the main room of this dilapidated castle, where Roarke could witness the activities of the clan and overhear their conversations. Not that these MacKillons seemed the least bit concerned about their prisoners knowing exactly what their plans were. Roarke had no doubt he and his men would be able to escape with little difficulty. The sight of the MacKillon children in their ragged clothes, their faces hollowed by hunger, had given him pause, however. He decided he would delay his departure until he learned more about what exactly had happened here.

“It's all settled then, lads,” said Magnus, interrupting his thoughts. “Ye'll stay in the hall for now, and as soon as we can make arrangements for yer comfort downstairs, ye'll have a chamber all to yerselves.”

“Do let us know if there is anything else you need,” invited Laird MacKillon graciously.

Eric glowered. “I need nothing from the hands of my enemies,” he said savagely. “Not food, nor water, nor even—”

“Your concern for our comfort is most appreciated,” interjected Donald. “Now that you mention it, a hot bath might be rather pleasant—”

“What time is dinner?” wondered Myles, hungrily eyeing the food on the table.

“They aren't guests,” objected Melantha, “they're prisoners.”

“Even worse, they're MacTiers!” bellowed Thor.

“Nevertheless, they deserve to be treated with decency,” Laird MacKillon said. “I'll not have them being mistreated while they are in our custody—is that clear?”

Thor scowled.

“Thank you, Laird MacKillon,” said Roarke, unable to resist casting an amused look at Melantha. “You are a most gracious captor.”

“Not at all, lad.” He smiled, clearly pleased by the compliment. “Now that that's settled, let's sit down and eat, shall we? Colin, invite the others in. We will tell them of our plans to ransom these fine fellows and gain an army in the process, over dinner.”

“You're not suggesting the prisoners should eat with us?” Melantha demanded, appalled.

Laird MacKillon regarded her in confusion. “Have they already dined?”

“As a matter of fact, we haven't,” said Roarke cheerfully.

Melantha sent him a glare that could have frozen fire. “As prisoners, they should be fed somewhere else. Perhaps in the kitchen.”

“Absolutely not,” Beatrice objected. “It's crowded enough in there without these four big brutes getting in everyone's way.”

Hagar scratched his balding head. “I don't see why they should have to go somewhere else, Melantha. After all, the great hall is already set up for dining.”

“Come then, lads,” invited Edwina, ending the debate. “Sit down and have something to eat.”

“Thank you.” Roarke gave Melantha an infuriating grin as he made his way to the table.

“You must sit at the laird's table, Melantha,” said Beatrice, “so you can tell the clan all about the Falcon's latest adventures.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“Yes, ye are,” countered Magnus. “Ye've scarce eaten a bite in more than three days, so sit yerself down and eat.”

“No,” she managed, feeling bile rise in her throat.

With that she wheeled about and fled the great hall, unable to bear the sight of MacTier warriors comfortably dining in the chamber where but a few months earlier they had wrought such terror and destruction.

Roarke lay on his side, contemplating the languid flicker of the dying torches.

His buttock was throbbing, as was much of his body, but the pain had been dulled somewhat by the enormous quantity of ale he had consumed during dinner. His men had also imbibed heavily, which accounted for the swiftness with which their snoring had rumbled through the hall, even though they were bound hand and foot. Unfortunately, the sanctuary of slumber had long been elusive for Roarke, and despite his profound weariness, tonight was no exception. The relentless ache of his battered bones and muscles, coupled with the melancholy wanderings of his mind, made it difficult to release himself to that quiet refuge. And so he lay in silence, staring at the fading light of the torches, wearily aware that he was only tormenting himself further as he studied their red-gold hue, which in that ale-clouded moment exactly matched the color of his beloved daughter Clementina's hair.