Читать книгу My Lady Captor - Hannah Howell - Страница 9

“A prisoner?”

Sorcha stared at Ruari in surprise, amazed at how loudly he could shout. He looked so furious, so prepared to leap off his pallet and do her physical harm, she began to worry that she had told him the truth too soon. They were only yards from the heavy gates of Dunweare, a welcome sight after three long days of travel, but it might not be close enough.

“Aye, a prisoner for ransom,” she replied, signaling Margaret to urge the pony to a slightly faster pace. “I intend to ask your clan to buy you and Beatham back.”

“Ye would stoop to this when your own brother is being held for ransom?” Ruari demanded.

“I stoop to this because my brother is being held for ransom. I need the coin to buy the fool back.”

He cursed her and started to sit up. Sorcha put one small, booted foot on his chest and pushed him back down. That she could accomplish such a feat told her how weak the man was. The way he glared at her through his tangled black hair revealed how furious that made him. Sorcha quickly removed her foot, pleased to see that they only had a few feet left to go and that the people within Dunweare’s imposing walls had already moved to greet their arrival.

She glanced toward Beatham who, weakened from travel, rode on Bansith. He also looked furious although, on his softer features, the expression was more sullen than threatening. Beatham made no attempt to escape, however. Sorcha suspected his compliance was due mostly to the fact that Margaret held Bansith’s reins. To break free, Beatham would have to strike her down. It was clear that no matter how angry he was, he could not bring himself to do that.

Cries of welcome from within the walls of Dunweare caught Sorcha’s attention. It was not going to be easy to make her family understand why she was doing what most of them would consider a crime. Taking a person for ransom had not been the way of her clan for many a year. After a quick glance at a fierce-eyed Ruari, she hoped her family would have the strength to hold firm to their prisoners until the ransom was paid.

Ruari cautiously shifted his position on the litter in order to get a good look at Dunweare before he was dragged inside its walls. What he saw made him curse. It could well prove impossible to escape from such a stronghold.

Dunweare sat atop a rocky hill, the path to its gates little more than a twisting, narrow rut. Its high thick walls seemed to grow out of the rock itself. Little more than moss, thistle, and wind-contorted thornbushes grew all around, providing little cover for an attacker, or for anyone trying to flee the dark towers of Dunweare. Near the base of the hill where its incline softened and was greener, was a circle of cottages, an excellent first line of defense. The people living there would certainly make it difficult for anyone trying to cross the moat ringing the two sides of the hill that did not border the river. If a family had to live in one of the most dangerous places in Scotland, the Hays had chosen the best place to do so.

And, he thought, turning enough to glare at the huge, wooden, iron-studded gates he was being dragged through, such a stronghold had cost a lot to build. Sorcha had to be lying when she tried to justify her actions by claiming poverty. It struck Ruari as decidedly odd that he found her dishonesty more infuriating than her actions themselves.

A moment later his full attention was caught by the people crowding around them as they entered the bailey. He shifted a little, made uncomfortable by the dozen or more pairs of eyes fixed upon him. He frowned as he realized the curious crowd consisted mainly of the very young, the old, and women. There were a few armed men, but he would not deem them soldiers. A quick look up at the walls revealed only a few more men. He was certain Dougal Hay had come to the battle alone. This scarcity of soldiers puzzled him. He looked around, hoping that someone would say something that would answer at least a few of his questions.

Sorcha grimaced then laughed as four of her five aunts living at Dunweare rushed up to hug her. They all talked at once, their greetings and questions blending into an indecipherable babble. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Robert, the armorer, elbow his way through the crowd. He stood before her, his big hands on his hips, and stared first at Beatham, then at Sir Ruari, and finally at her. “Where is Dougal?” he asked, his voice so deep and authoritative everyone else grew quiet.

“Alive.” She waited for the mumbles of thanksgiving to ease before adding, “But taken captive by the English.”

“Curse that foolish boy. The Lord clearly made him pay for his bonnie face with his wits. Aye, I am glad he is alive, but I must ask for how long? We havenae anything to buy him back with.”

Grizel Hay, the next to youngest of Sorcha’s seven aunts, stepped up next to Robert. “If we try verra hard we may be able to gather together a small ransom. We cannae just shrug our shoulders and leave poor Dougal to his fate.”

Sorcha smiled at her plump little aunt, noticing fondly that Grizel’s big brown eyes held her usual expression of sweet optimism, and her brown hair was untidy as always. “I fear, Aunt, that a small ransom willnae do. The English lost the battle, and Sir Henry ‘Hotspur’ Percy himself was captured. The English will ask a heavy ransom to soothe their pride and try to recoup some of what they will lose when they must ransom their own men.”

“Then Dougal is doomed,” wailed Bethia Hay, Sorcha’s spinster aunt, a too-thin, frettish woman who appeared to be one tiny bundle of dull brown from head to toe.

“I hate to agree with the old woman,” Robert said, ignoring Bethia’s soft gasp of outrage, “but I fear she may be right. When the English discover that we cannae buy Dougal back, they willnae just send him home out of the kindness of their hearts.”

“I ken it, Robert, but I think I have the answer to our trouble right here.” She idly waved a hand at Beatham and Ruari, directing everyone else’s attention back to her prisoners.

“Weel, I did see that ye had brought a few companions back with ye. Your kindness in helping the poor lads does ye honor, but I dinnae see how they can help us.”

“I fear ‘twas not just kindness that prompted me to drag these two carcasses off the battlefield.”

“Ye wouldnae ken what kindness was if it reared up and spit in your eye,” grumbled Ruari.

Robert kicked the litter, causing Ruari to hiss a curse of pain. “Dinnae speak so to our lady Sorcha.”

Sorcha lightly touched Robert’s muscle-thickened arm. “Nay, good friend, allow him his anger. I deserve it.”

“Ye? Never!”

“Aye, me.” Pointing to each man in turn, she introduced her captives. “This is Sir Ruari Kerr of Gartmhor, and this is his cousin Beatham. I have taken them for ransom.” She waited as their shocked expressions slowly changed to consideration tinged with reluctance.

“’Tis a sad business to take a mon for ransom,” said Robert, and several people murmured in agreement.

“I am glad ye think so,” said Ruari. “Now mayhap, ye can talk some sense into the lass.”

“Weel, sir, being only the armorer, I dinnae carry the rank to scold her,” answered Robert, smiling faintly at Ruari’s surprise. “Howbeit, I do take the liberty now and again.”

“More now than again,” grumbled Sorcha, but Robert ignored her, his attention fixed on Ruari.

“This time, Sir Ruari, I fear I must bow to her wishes. None of us likes the taking of men for ransom. ’Twas often done in the past, but in her father’s father’s time, the Hays of Dunweare cast aside the practice.”

“Yet now ye are willing to cast aside their wishes and shame their memory.”

“Aye, and I believe they would approve. Dougal must be returned safely to Dunweare.” He moved to unhitch the litter from the pony. “We will care weel for ye and your cousin. Have no fear of that.”

“Has all been weel, Robert?” Sorcha asked as he and two other men moved to help Ruari and Beatham into the keep. “’Tis most odd, but every time I leave Dunweare for longer than a few hours, I often get the feeling something back here requires my attention.”

“And this time ye were right to think so. I believe wee Euphemia will soon be a woman.”

Sorcha cursed, and a quick glance at Margaret revealed that her cousin was distressed by the news. She prayed the Kerrs would not be at Dunweare too long. The various oddities amongst the members of her family were often difficult for people to accept, but they were the least of her troubles. Young Euphemia making the transition from child to woman would bring to the fore all the reasons the Hays of Dunweare chose to live in such a remote place. Sorcha prayed that Ruari and Beatham would be ransomed early, too soon to discover all of Dunweare’s dark secrets.

“Has it become a large problem yet?” she asked Robert, trying to keep her questions obscure so that Ruari and Beatham did not know what was being discussed.

“’Tis just beginning, but ’twas more sudden and stronger than I can recall any others being.” Robert shook his head as he and the stablemaster hefted Ruari’s litter up the narrow stone steps inside the huge tower house. “My innards tell me this will be a difficult one.”

“Has Euphemia noticed?”

“Aye. And, ere ye ask, she hasnae cast aside her peculiar notions yet.”

As she moved to help Margaret with an unsteady Beatham, Sorcha wondered what she could do. Her first thought was to confine Ruari and Beatham in a securely locked room, but then realized that was a foolish idea. The trouble hanging over Dunweare like some storm cloud could not be locked out. Instinct told her that Ruari Kerr was about to experience the full glory of Dunweare’s curse. She told herself it did not matter and knew she lied.

Ruari bit back a cry of pain as he was lowered to the bed. He wondered how he could endure so much—the battle, the long rough journey to Dunweare, and the pain of being moved from litter to bed. It seemed that such pain ought to be fatal. It also seemed unfair that, now that he was no longer so strongly in fear of his life, he found it difficult to swoon and escape his pain.

“Where have ye taken Beatham?” he demanded when he looked around and did not see his young cousin.

“Into the chamber next to this one,” replied Sorcha as she set a basin of water on a table near the bed and began to wash the sweat from his body. “Ye have gone and made yourself all asweat.”

“’Tis hard work being carried about.”

She ignored his sarcasm, turning to Robert, who stood by her side, everyone else having gone to help Margaret settle Beatham in his room. “Where is Neil?”

“Should be here soon,” Robert answered.

“Ah, aye, I would prefer a mon tend to my needs,” said Ruari, frowning when Sorcha and Robert just grinned.

Before he could ask what amused them, the door to his chamber was thrust open so powerfully it slammed into the wall. He turned to see who had made such an abrupt entrance and gaped. Striding toward the bed was the biggest woman he had ever seen. She had to be six foot or higher. Although she did not appear to have an ounce of fat on her, she was buxom, sturdily built, and obviously strong. When she stepped up to the bed, her hands on her well-rounded hips, he slowly looked up the impressive length of her voluptuous body. He was a little surprised that she had light green eyes and not the brown so common at Dunweare, but his true interest was fixed on her hair. Tumbling over her square shoulders in a thick wavy mass to her waist was the reddest hair he had ever seen.

“Ah, Aunt, I am verra pleased ye are here to help,” said Sorcha. “This is Sir Ruari Kerr.” Sorcha was unable to control her grin as she looked at a still-gaping Ruari. “And, Sir Ruari, this is my aunt, Neil Hay.”

“Neil?” Ruari shook free of his fascination with the woman and stared at Sorcha. “Did ye say Neil?”

“Aye, she said Neil,” replied Neil, scowling down at Ruari. “I was the seventh of seven daughters. Papa couldnae think of another lass’s name.” She shrugged. “Aye, and he may have hoped that, if I was given a laddie’s name, I would become the son he so badly wanted.”

“Neil,” Ruari muttered, shaking his head, but no one paid him any attention.

“Do ye really think this battered piece of flesh will gain ye enough coin to buy back my foolish nephew?” Neil asked Sorcha.

“Aye,” replied Sorcha. “The Kerrs of Gartmhor are wealthy enough to spare a sack or two of coins to get their laird and his cousin back. We will wait until the English ask their price for Dougal and then ask the same of the Kerrs for him and the lad.”

“No profit made in that.”

“Weel, I dinnae do this for profit, Aunt, but out of need.”

“Ye keep speaking of need, but I see none,” snapped Ruari. “This is a fine sturdy keep, larger than most and stronger than any I have seen, save mayhap for my own. It had to have cost ye dearly.”

“Verra dearly indeed—in coin and in lives,” replied Sorcha. “What wealth our clan had was eaten away by this keep ere my father was born. Living on the edge of such a lawless stretch of land and so near the English requires a strong, dependable keep. Building such a place requires a great pile of coin. Aye, a great pile, and my forefathers were skilled at gaining that coin. ’Twas rare that a day passed without some poor soul wandering the halls of Dunweare awaiting his kinsmen and the ransom they would bring. And many a raid was made into England, raids that cost us the lives of our men.”

“And ye now reveal that the blood of those reivers runs fast in your veins.” Ruari started in surprise when Neil suddenly swung a tight fist at him, the blow quickly halted by Robert who grabbed the woman by the wrist. “I see her temperament matches her hair,” he murmured as, after a brief staring match between Robert and Neil, she yanked back her hand.

“Mayhap we just havenae learned to accept insults as graciously as ye, sir,” Sorcha drawled, pleased to see a hint of color tint his high-boned cheeks. “While my father was still a beardless youth, the true cost of this keep became painfully clear. We had bled Dunweare of its manhood.”

“Here, lass, I dinnae think ye ought to tell the mon such things,” Neil said.

“He and his cousin will be here for a while, Aunt. They would have to be blinded to stop them from seeing the truth for themselves. And, I believe Sir Ruari is warrior enough to have already seen that Dunweare could be successfully protected by a handful of suckling bairns.”

“Aye, I saw that clear enough,” agreed Ruari, his reluctance to admit it evident in his deep voice. “Aye, and so too have I seen the lack of men-at-arms. I had thought the men had gone to battle, then recalled that Dougal came alone.”

“Dougal kenned that no mon would go with him nor allow him to go if he revealed his plans.” Sorcha moved to collect a blanket from an ornate wooden chest beneath a narrow window slot. “We depend upon Dougal to replenish the male half of Dunweare, sir, to replace the blood our forefathers so carelessly spilled onto the dirt of so many battlefields.” With Neil’s help, Sorcha spread the blanket over Ruari. “Ye will be held for ransom, sir, for we have no other choice. For nigh on fifty years our wee clan hasnae played the ransom game, a game most all others consider a fair one, even an honorable one.”

“But ye will play it now.”

“Aye, Sir Ruari, we will and dinnae think that because our army consists of the old, the verra young, the crippled, and women that we will play it poorly.” As she spoke she tucked the blanket up over his chest and leaned closer to him. “Ye will be treated weel, kindly, and with the respect that is your right, but dinnae mistake any of that as weakness. If ye try to escape, we will stop you. If ye somehow manage to slip beyond our walls, we will hunt ye down. Ye are our captive, sir, and though ye may scorn your captors, dinnae let that arrogance prompt ye to act foolishly. I promise ye, we will make ye regret it.”

Sorcha suddenly realized that she was staring at his mouth. It was a fine mouth, just full enough to be interesting. That mouth tempted her, drawing her closer, and that startled her. She quickly turned her gaze up to meet Ruari’s more directly. There was a look of growing curiosity in his rich green eyes that warned her that her distraction had not gone completely unnoticed. Sorcha swiftly straightened up.

“I pray I have made myself understood,” she said, inwardly thanking God for the steadiness of her voice.

“Aye, completely,” Ruari replied.

“Good, then if my aunt doesnae object, I shall leave you in her care for now.”

“Ye go, lass,” Neil said. “I will see to the lad’s care. Ye go and have a wee talk with Robert. He has a few things he has been wanting to tell you.”

“About Euphemia.”

“Aye, wee Effie. I fear we have a few troubling months ahead of us.”

Although dreading all she was about to hear, Sorcha nodded and left with Robert. She felt a pinch of reluctance over leaving Ruari. He had been in her sole care for almost three days, but she knew that was not the source of her hesitation. Despite his anger, she had enjoyed being near him. It would be the first time since she had found him that she would be away from his side. The extent of the unease that caused her was a real concern. It was obviously not enough to remind herself that there was no hope of a steadfast attachment between herself and Ruari. She decided she needed to put some distance between herself and Sir Ruari Kerr, to dim her fascination with the man by concentrating on the troubles at Dunweare.

“Now ye may speak more freely about Effie,” Sorcha told Robert as they walked down to the great hall.

“The trouble began but hours after ye and Margaret went chasing after Dougal.”

“There was no hint of its onslaught?”

“Nay. ’Tis why I feel we are going to suffer a long, unsettling time. The spirits just descended. Aye, with a cursed vengeance. Everyone kenned that Effie was coming of age and expected the trouble to begin, but even those of us who have been through this time and time again, found the first onslaught so strong as to cause us some qualms.”

“Do ye think someone could actually be hurt this time?”

“I will admit I am a bit afeared of that, yet there must have been some bad times before, and I have ne’er heard it told that any harm came of it.”

“True. How is Effie reacting to all of this?”

“She refuses to believe ’tis happening because she is to be a woman soon.”

“Weel, I didnae want to believe it either when it happened to me. ’Tis a frightful thing to leave one’s childhood behind, but when ye must face that change with mischievous spirits hurling things about and being a terrible nuisance, ’tis a sore trial indeed. And there are Effie’s fancies to consider. The child seems truly convinced that she is a changeling, a bairn left behind by the fairy folk. She probably thinks fairies dinnae suffer the afflictions of mortal women.”

Sorcha silently began to consider all she could say to Euphemia in an attempt to make the girl accept her coming of age with calm resignation. Calm was the best. It was the one truth her family had uncovered about the curse that haunted them. The calmer the girl, the less violent the activity of the spirits. The noises were muted, fewer objects were thrown about or stolen and hidden away, and all the other nuisances grew easier to bear. There was an herbal drink her grandmother had brewed that would keep the girl calm, even sweetly blissful, for hours at a time, but Sorcha did not like the idea of using it.

Robert pushed open the heavy door to the great hall, and Sorcha stepped inside. She came to a halt so abruptly, Robert walked into her. Sorcha ignored his soft curse in favor of uttering a few of her own. The great hall was a mess. Two nervous women were picking up scattered candelabras, plates, and tankards and righting the tipped-over benches. It looked as if a wild revel had just ended, but Sorcha knew that was not the cause of the disarray. Even as she stepped into the room, a large shield hanging over the huge stone fireplace crashed to the floor. The two maids screeched, took a few deep breaths, and continued to pick up. Robert sidled around her and walked over to the shield. Sorcha followed, pulling a high stool over so that he could put the shield back.

“’Tis bad,” she murmured, holding the tall, three-legged stool steady as he climbed on it.

“’Tis also far too constant, too unrelenting, for my peace of mind. The spirits are mightily stirred up this time.”

“Mayhap Euphemia’s change from child to woman will be a swift one.” Sorcha grimaced when Robert gave her a telling glance as he jumped off the stool. “One can always hope.”

“Hope all ye like, lass, but as ye do so, plan what we must do to ease this turmoil. Mayhap ye can speak to your own spirits. One of them may ken how to stop this.”

“They dinnae seem to. I have asked them before. In truth, my ghosties dinnae seem to ken much at all. And I would prefer that they stay away for a wee while. I may be able to explain away things hurling themselves about or noises in the night, but I doubt I can explain a ghost or, since Ruari willnae be able to see my spirit, my talking to someone who isnae there.”

“Ah, I hadnae thought of that.”

“All the whispered tales and fears that forced our clan to move to this desolate place have faded. If Sir Ruari and his cousin become aware of our secrets, those dark stories could begin again. We have no other place to run, Robert.”

“So what can we do?”

“Pray that Sir Ruari leaves here thinking no more than that we are all quite mad.”