The Rose and The Warrior (30 page)

“Dear me, no,” said Laird MacKillon, sounding shocked by the possibility. “Absolutely not. Roarke and his men would never behave in such a cowardly manner.”

“They were led by that fair-haired chap who tried to collect them the other night,” Hagar added. “Derek, I heard his men calling him. And I must tell you, he was most unpleasant.”

“What did he say?” asked Lewis. “Was this our punishment for taking Roarke and his men prisoner?”

An uneasy silence fell over the hall.

“Come on, then, out with it,” Magnus urged impatiently. “If we're to get the lads back, we need to know what the MacTiers want.”

Laird MacKillon sighed. “I'm afraid they wanted to know the identity of the Falcon.”

“Of course, everyone denied any knowledge of the Falcon,” Hagar quickly assured them. “But I don't believe they were convinced.”

“Despicable, cowardly scum!” raged Thor. “In my day, we didn't resort to using helpless lads in warfare!”

“They already know who the Falcon is,” Melantha decided, her mind roiling as she tried to make sense of what had happened. “Roarke and his men must have told MacTier—otherwise, why would they have taken Daniel and Matthew?”

“I don't believe they do know, Melantha,” countered Colin. “They kept referring to the Falcon as a man, and they didn't expect to find him here—they were trying to intimidate us into revealing his identity.”

“I think they took the lads because they were alone and easy to capture,” added Hagar. “That Derek chap never implied that he thought they were in any way related to the Falcon.”

“But 'twas clear he knew the Falcon has some relationship with this clan,” said Laird MacKillon. “That's why he believed the Falcon would hear of what happened and want to do something about it.”

“So what did they tell ye to do?” asked Magnus.

Hagar regarded him worriedly. “They said if we wanted to see the lads alive again, we had best make sure the Falcon delivers himself and his men to Laird MacTier within four days. Then the lads will be brought back to us.”

Stay calm,
Melantha ordered silently, struggling to gain control of her fear. If she permitted herself to panic, she would not be able to formulate a plan. Four days. It took three days to travel to the MacTier holding from here. Clearly Laird MacTier was counting on the MacKillons being able to relay his message to the Falcon quickly, but was giving them a day to find him. Her mind began to race as she considered the possibilities.

“Colin, has your back healed sufficiently that you are fit to ride?”

“Yes,” he assured her without hesitation.

“Surely you can't be thinking of going there, Melantha,” objected Laird MacKillon, appalled by the possibility. “Once MacTier has you and your men, he'll more than likely kill all of you as well as the lads. I cannot allow that.”

“I'll slay the scoundrel before he has the chance!” Thor vowed. “I'll dice him up so fine they'll have to use a ladle to scoop him off the floor!”

“You're going?” said Laird MacKillon, astonished.

“Of course.' Tis time I taught these MacTier villains a lesson they'll never forget!”

“Laird MacKillon is right, lass,” said Magnus, ignoring Thor. “Ye can't be thinkin' of just walkin' in there and offering yerself in exchange for the lads—'tis certain he'll slay the lot of us and be done with it.”

“He'll only slay us if he finds out who we are,” pointed out Melantha.

“ 'Tis disguises, then, is it?” said Thor, his excitement mounting. He caught a glimpse of his snowy mane and frowned. “Perhaps I should add a hint of color to my hair.”

“You're forgetting that Roarke and his men will be there, Melantha,” said Hagar. “Disguised or not, 'tis almost certain that if he sees you he will recognize you.”

“His duty to his clan will force him to reveal your true identity,” Laird MacKillon added soberly. “Even if he is loath to do it.”

“I don't believe Roarke will be there,” countered Melantha, feigning more assurance than she actually felt. “He told me that his days of battle were over and that he planned to retire to a holding Laird MacTier had promised to give him as a reward for his many years of service. He seemed most anxious to depart for his new home.”

Thor was unable to conceal his disappointment. “Was he taking the Viking with him? I wanted to chop him up.”

“We had best hope that they are all gone,” Magnus reflected. “Otherwise things could get a wee bit tricky.”

“I'll take care of any trickiness!” Thor promised.

“Your pardon, Thor, but I do believe it would be better for the clan if you remained here,” said Laird MacKillon, seeing Melantha's concerned look. “After all, we need someone with your considerable fighting abilities to help protect the clan should we suffer another attack.”

Thor puffed up his chest, pleased by the compliment. “Well, of course, if you really need me—”

“Lewis, run and find Gillian and Beatrice and ask them to meet me in my chamber,” said Melantha. “Tell them to bring every gown they can find that isn't worn or stained. I need something beautiful to wear.”

Everyone in the great hall stared at her in shock.

C
HAPTER
11

Laird MacTier cursed aloud as he furiously scanned the hundreds of losses scrawled in his ledger.

Their sum was staggering, especially if one considered that the Falcon and his band not only attacked MacTiers but had also made a sport of raiding clans who were allies and whose welfare was directly linked to his own. If the Falcon attacked clans other than those with an affiliation to the MacTiers, he had not heard about it. He considered this a moment, but ultimately decided it was less peculiar than it first appeared to be. After all, his was the wealthiest and most powerful clan for nearly a hundred miles in any direction. It was easy to understand why a thief would choose to glean from it.

What was unfathomable was the fact that he had not yet been able to capture this infuriating outlaw.

The possibility that the amulet was protecting the Falcon filled him with rage. The powers of the relic were mysterious, and that idiot priest had not been able to tell him whether it was capable of protecting its bearer only from violent death, or if it also shielded him from other threats such as capture. Clearly it could not guard its wearer from simple theft, otherwise the Falcon would not have been able to steal it so easily from the priest. The bumbling fool assured him that the Falcon had no inkling of the powers of the charm, but obviously he could see that it was silver and bore a stone of some value. MacTier drummed his fingers thoughtfully against his desk. Better to have the Falcon under the protection of the charm than not, he decided reluctantly. At least then the outlaw would have the amulet on his person, as opposed to having sold it or given it away. All MacTier had to do was remove it from his neck when the Falcon appeared and the thief would be mortally vulnerable once again.

He was not troubled in the least by the fact that Derek had taken two MacKillon lads hostage. The MacKillons needed to be punished for daring to ransom his warriors; that they also knew the identity of the Falcon only gave him further reason to strike at them. If Roarke had hoped to arouse his sympathy by describing their current struggles, he had failed completely. MacTier had dedicated his life to the accumulation of wealth and power, which inevitably came at a cost to others. Fortunately, he was not inclined to concern himself with how his victories affected others. That was what had made him a great laird, just as it had once made Roarke a great warrior.

He sighed and reached for his goblet, wondering what had happened to leech the warring spirit out of his greatest fighter. He prayed to God it never happened to him.

A heavy rap upon the door startled him, causing him to overturn his cup. Wine bled across his precious ledger, staining the yellowed pages scarlet. Cursing viciously, he picked the heavy manuscript up, letting the liquid drip upon his desk.

“Come in,” he snarled.

The door opened hesitantly, revealing the towering form of Neill.

“Forgive me for disturbing you, Laird MacTier,” apologized the warrior. “I wanted to inform you of the safe arrival of Laird Ross's niece.”

“What?” said Laird MacTier, distracted by his efforts to mop up his spilled wine with some paper.

“Laird Ross's niece,” repeated Neill. “She has just arrived with an escort of four men, and requested that I inform you directly of her safe journey. She said she knew you would be worried because of the danger of outlaws in the woods, and was most adamant that your mind be put to ease directly.”

“Laird Ross's niece?” said MacTier blankly.

“Her name is Laureen,” said Neill, trying to be helpful. “She is on her way to visit her cousin, who is wed to the son of Laird Grant's sister. She said to extend her deepest gratitude to you for permitting her and her men to stop here for the night, and said that her uncle was most appreciative of your generous offer to make them welcome.”

Laird MacTier briefly searched his memory, vainly trying to recall Laird Ross sending him a missive in which he requested hospitality for his niece. Nothing came to mind, but with so much happening lately it was entirely possible he had read the message and then instantly forgotten about it. There was nothing unusual about members of allied clans stopping there for a night or two before continuing on their journey. He dropped his sodden ledger on his desk, feeling tired and irritated. He was in no mood for playing doting host to some spoiled chit who, if she had even a drop of Ross blood in her veins, was more than likely to have both the body and face of a sow.

“See to it that they are given whatever they need,” he instructed indifferently, walking over to the window. “And tell Laird Ross's niece that I extend my welcome, but unfortunately, pressing matters preclude me from being in attendance this evening in the great—” He stopped suddenly, taking in the vision of the exquisite woman who stood in the courtyard below.

Her tall, graceful body was draped in a gown of dove-colored wool trimmed with gold, over which she had pinned a narrow sash of her clan's tartan. A shimmering fall of sable hair had been elegantly arranged in a series of loose braids that were interwoven with creamy strips of ribbon, and a fine coronet of pearls was pinned to the crown of her head. Her features were fine and delicate, but her bearing evoked the confidence of a young lady who had been trained to understand that her place was well above most people she would ever meet. At that moment she was issuing directives to her four men, who were dressed in the Ross tartan and carried shields bearing their clan's insignia. Her escort consisted of a couple of young warriors who looked as if they could handle a sword with decent ability, a flame-haired youth who seemed afraid of his own shadow, and an old man with shocking white hair who could be of no practical use whatsoever, except perhaps to guard her maidenly virtue from the other three.

A powerful heat stirred MacTier's loins.

“Tell her that I am delighted by her presence, and hope she will be able to share our hospitality for longer than one night,” he said, suddenly feeling far less weary than he had a moment earlier. His wife had ceased to amuse him in bed long ago, and after she had finally given him his long-awaited son, he had sought his pleasures elsewhere. While he knew better than to force himself upon the tender niece of one of his neighboring allies, what harm could there be in spending an amusing evening with her? It had been some time since he had entertained guests. Now that he could see how young and lovely she was, the prospect of sharing a few cups of wine seemed infinitely more appealing than morosely pondering the current fate of his precious amulet in solitude.

“Inform our guest that my wife and I would be honored if she would share supper with us in my private apartments this evening,” he added. He had absolutely no intention of inviting his wife to dine with them, but recognized that propriety dictated that the young woman must believe she was not dining alone with him. “I shall look forward to seeing her then.”

The warrior gave his laird a small bow before quitting the chamber.

Laird MacTier stroked his chin as he watched the spirited beauty ordering her men about in the courtyard below. The fire in his loins intensified, until his body was hard and hungry for release. He sighed, reminding himself that he could not have her, which only had the effect of making her appear even more tantalizing.

At least her sparkling presence would help to pass the relentlessly tedious hours before the Falcon finally presented himself for his execution.

“You will take care of the horses first, being sure to rub them down well and see that they have ample food and water,” instructed Melantha, affecting an imperious tone for the benefit of the MacTiers who were watching her. “Then you will bring me my bags,” she added, looking at Lewis. “All of you may spend the evening as you wish, but you are not to drink to excess, is that clear?” Her forbidding countenance indicated to their audience that this was a weakness to which they were customarily prone. She lowered her voice to a harsh whisper, just loud enough for the others to overhear her as she continued, “I've no desire to waken tomorrow and discover that you have lost all of your compensation to drunken wagering. Don't dare come weeping to me about your misfortunes if you find you cannot control your thirst for ale. Now, go and see to your duties.”

With that she turned to gift Neill with a magnificently feminine smile. “Was Laird MacTier pleased to hear of my arrival?”

“Indeed he was, milady,” the warrior assured her. “He said to tell you that you and your men are welcome to stay as long as you wish, and we shall do everything possible to see to your comfort. Laird MacTier has also invited you to join him and his wife in their private apartments this evening for a meal. Until then, I would be pleased to escort you to your chamber so you may refresh yourself and rest.”

“How very kind.” Melantha laid her hand delicately upon his proffered arm. “I'm afraid I find riding about the countryside absolutely wilting—I can only imagine what I must look like.”

The warrior looked at her with boyish reverence. “You look beautiful.”

Melantha smiled and leaned into him a little more. “How very sweet of you.”

She chatted with him gaily as he led her into the castle, affecting a charm she had not previously known she possessed. Both Gillian and Katie had valiantly attempted to tutor her in the art of ladylike conduct before she left, but the opposition of Gillian's dainty shyness and Katie's saucy confidence had left Melantha hopelessly confused. It was dear old Magnus who had ultimately given her the most helpful suggestions, recalling how his beloved Edwina had beguiled him when he first wooed her in his youth.

“This is Tess,” said Neill, gesturing to a plain dumpling of a girl who was shaking out the coverlet in Melantha's chamber. “She will see to it that you have whatever you need.”

Tess bobbed Melantha a respectful curtsey.

“If you find yourself wanting for anything during your stay here, please let either Tess or myself know,” said Neill.

“I would love to have a bath.” Melantha sighed wistfully. “Travel does make one feel so dusty.”

“I will order one for you immediately,” said the warrior, looking pleased that there was something more he could do for her.

“You are too gallant. I shall have to lie awake tonight and think of some way to repay you for all your kindness.”

He blushed to the roots of his hair before hurrying out of the chamber.

“I think ye've lit a flame in Neill's heart, milady,” remarked Tess merrily. “ 'Tis not like him to be running about ordering baths and such when the warriors have strict orders to be on guard for the Falcon.”

Melantha gasped. “The dangerous outlaw? Why—are you expecting him?”

“Indeed we are. He's due to arrive any moment now—that's why you saw so many guards at the gate and upon the wall head. The very instant he appears, he'll be surrounded by a hundred men and dragged before Laird MacTier. Then our laird is going to punish him for all his wicked robberies.”

“But how do you know he is coming here?”