The Rose and The Warrior (31 page)

“Our men were clever enough to learn that the outlaw has friends among the MacKillons,” Tess explained. “And so they went and captured two MacKillon lads, and told their clan that if they wanted to see them alive again, they'd best produce the Falcon right quick!”

Melantha looked appropriately dismayed. “They took mere lads as hostage?”

“They're not that young,” the girl quickly assured her. “Actually, they're almost men.”

“Ah, well, that's different,” said Melantha, choking back the desire to correct her.
They're not men at all!
she wanted to scream.
Matthew is only ten, and Daniel is all of thirteen, although he tries to act much older.
“You've seen them, then?”

“No,” she admitted. “But I've a friend who works in the kitchens who knows the warrior who takes them their food at night, and she told me.”

Melantha went to the window and looked about nervously. “I do hope they're not being kept in a chamber near this one, lest the Falcon or the MacKillons decide to attack the castle and try to free them.”

“The MacKillons haven't the strength to dare try to attack us,” scoffed Tess. “Anyway, the lads aren't being kept here. They're in one of the dungeons below the east tower.”

Melantha's heart broke as she looked at the dark tower on the opposite side of the courtyard. Somewhere, deep within its dank interior, Daniel and Matthew sat huddled upon the damp earth, cold and hungry and terrified.
Soon, my sweet lads,
she thought, trying to impart the strength of her love across the bailey and through the thick walls of stone.
Soon you will be free, and we will all be home, and we will sit together in the great hall and tell the clan the story of how wonderfully brave you were.

“Your pardon, milady, where would you like your bags?”

She turned to see Lewis standing in the doorway. “Put them over there,” she instructed.

He scurried over to where she was pointing and dropped them on the floor.

“Take care, you lazy fool!” she snapped.

Lewis blanched. “Forgive me, milady.”

“Have the horses been attended to?” she demanded, going over to her bags.

“Aye,” said Lewis respectfully.

Melantha unlaced the flap of one of her satchels. “Look at this!” she cried, outraged. “You've shattered my precious bottle of rose oil, you clumsy oaf! Not only have you ruined my clothes, but now there is nothing to scent the water of my bath!” She stalked toward him with her hand raised, causing Lewis to cower.

“Your pardon, milady, I'm certain I can find you some fragrant oil for your bath,” interjected Tess quickly, clearly concerned for poor Lewis's welfare.

Melantha hesitated. “Really?”

“We've all kinds of lovely scents for the bath,” the girl assured her. “I'll just run and fetch you some.”

“I prefer rose oil. Not too strong a blend, mind, or else my skin will itch.”

“I'll scarcely be a moment.” The girl gave Lewis an encouraging smile as she hurried from the room.

“They're in the dungeon of the east tower,” whispered Melantha urgently. Any moment more servants would arrive bearing her bath.

“Are you sure?”

“That's what that Tess said—you had best confirm it before you attempt to free them.”

Lewis nodded. “The ale will loosen the warriors' tongues before it puts them to sleep. Already Magnus is whetting their thirsts with talk of the fine brew we have brought as a gift for their hospitality. He will keep them drinking and distracted with gambling while Colin, Finlay, and I get the lads. When you hear Magnus singing his favorite ballad about the warrior and the dragon, you'll know we have the boys and are leaving. Meet us at the gate as fast as you can.”

It was Edwina who had cleverly suggested the use of a drugged ale to help them steal the boys back. She had developed a potent sleeping essence that did not affect either the scent or the taste of the brew, but had the effect of reducing a man to a state of deep slumber after scarcely half a cup.

“Did you find out if Roarke and his men are here?”

“They left a week ago for Roarke's new holding,” reported Lewis. “They are not expected to return for months.”

Relief poured through Melantha. Ever since she had formulated her plan to rescue her brothers she had been plagued by the possibility that Roarke might be here. The fact that he was gone would make everything simpler.

“I am to dine with Laird MacTier and his wife in their private chambers,” she whispered quickly. Already she could hear the sounds of men in the hallway bearing a bathing tub. “Once I hear your signal, I will tell them I am weary and bid them good night. Then I will slip outside and meet you at the gate.”

Lewis nodded.

“Now go!” she urged.

He went to the doorway, then hesitated. Looking back at her, his eyes were filled with trepidation. “You'll be careful, won't you?”

“Of course I will,” Melantha assured him. She had not shared her plan to murder MacTier with any of her men. If she had, they would never have permitted her to come. She forced herself to smile.

Lewis looked at her with penetrating clarity. “Melantha—”

“Here is my bath,” she said, severing any further comment from him as two men arrived carrying a heavy copper tub.

Lewis cast her a final look of concern before disappearing into the corridor, leaving Melantha to face her enemies alone.

The laird's chambers were brilliantly lit with dozens of candles, gilding the rooms in flickering ribbons of gold.

“I am pleased that you are able to join me this evening, my dear,” said Laird MacTier, laying his hand against the small of her back as he escorted Melantha into his private dining hall. He had dressed for the occasion in a splendid tunic of crimson wool edged with gold thread, over which he had arranged a generous swath of his clan's tartan, which was secured by not one but two elaborately jeweled brooches. “I have been eagerly anticipating your visit, and hope you might be willing to grace us with your charming presence for longer than just one night.” He pressed a lingering kiss to her hand, his lips slightly parted.

“Unfortunately, my dear cousin is anxiously awaiting my arrival,” said Melantha gaily, restraining her impulse to tear her hand away. “We have not seen each other since she wed Laird Grant's nephew. I could not bear to disappoint her by delaying our reunion.”

“Alas, then it is I who must be disappointed.” Laird MacTier sighed, relinquishing her hand to seat her at the elegantly carved oak table. “Our visit will be brief, so we must be certain to make the most of it.” He brushed his palms over her shoulders.

Melantha noted the table had only been set for two. “Is your wife not joining us this evening?”

“Unfortunately, my dear wife has taken ill,” Laird MacTier replied, seating himself opposite her. “She sends her regrets, and hopes she will be recovered sufficiently to see you tomorrow.”

“How distressing.” Melantha was absolutely certain Laird MacTier had never intended for his wife to join them. “I hope it is nothing serious.”

“Not at all,” he said, closing the subject of his wife as he raised a magnificently worked silver decanter and generously filled her goblet.

Melantha swept her gaze over the table laid before her. Elegant silver platters offered what was easily enough food for ten people. Roasted venison, rabbit, partridge, and duck were flanked by colorful vegetables and blanketed in rich gravies, while plates of tender smoked salmon, heavy dark bread, tangy cheeses, and soft bannocks vied for their share of space on the crowded table. At home Beatrice, Gillian, and Edwina would work hard to stretch this food to serve thirty or forty people, she thought furiously. The realization had the perverse effect of making her feel sick.

Laird MacTier frowned. “Is the meal not to your liking?”

“It looks wonderful,” Melantha said, forcing a smile to her lips. She swallowed a mouthful of wine, then served herself a chunk of bread and a morsel of salmon. If she could just get that down, she might be able to make herself eat a little more. It was vital that she keep Laird MacTier occupied while her men drugged his guards and freed her brothers.

Once she heard Magnus's signal, she would unsheathe the dirk strapped to her calf and plunge it deep into MacTier's heart.

“Was your journey here without incident?” he enquired conversationally as he piled his trencher with food.

“Nothing untoward happened at all.” Melantha sighed, feigning girlish disappointment. “After hearing all these tales about the Falcon and his dreadful band of outlaws, I was hoping he would try to rob us, just so I could see if he is really as terrible as everyone says!”

“You are fortunate that you did not encounter him. 'Tis well known that the Falcon and his men have been the ruin of many a beautiful lass who had the misfortune to fall victim to their brutish ways.” His gaze was vaguely predatory as he finished. “It is not a fate I would like to contemplate for one as lovely as you.”

Melantha's eyes widened with appropriate shock. “The Falcon ravishes women? I had not heard that.”

“You have nothing to fear, my dear, now that you are safe within my holding,” he soothed, reaching out to lay his hand over hers. “However, you might consider delaying your departure to your dear cousin's home until I have had a chance to capture this depraved beast. I expect to do so within a day—two at the very most. Until then, I'm sure that I could find ways to keep you pleasantly entertained during your stay here.” He languidly drew his forefinger along the flesh of her palm.

He paused suddenly, frowning at the thickened skin years of swordplay and archery had developed on her hand.

“I was told that you are expecting him,” said Melantha, abruptly closing her fingers into a fist. “But with the scores of guards you have posted about the castle, do you really think he will just ride into your holding and announce himself?” She casually withdrew her hand to lift her goblet.

Laird MacTier took a swallow of wine and smiled. “He has little choice, I'm afraid. I have laid an exceptionally compelling trap.”

“Because of the lads you have captured?” She was careful to keep her tone clean of contempt.

He nodded. “Until now, no one has been able to determine to which clan the Falcon belongs, or if he is, in fact, affiliated with any clan at all. That has made it impossible to determine his identity. His relationship with the MacKillons will prove to be his ruin—for it will force him to deliver himself to me.”

Melantha regarded him over the rim of her cup. “But why do you believe he cares what happens to the lads? If he is as vile and depraved as everyone says, why would he sacrifice himself to save them?”

“If he doesn't come forward, then one of the MacKillons will reveal the secret of his identity,” he replied impatiently, brushing aside the implication that the Falcon was less than utterly despicable. “The boys probably have parents whose love for them exceeds whatever regard they have for the Falcon. Either way, I will capture this bloody outlaw. And when I do,” he finished darkly, “I will see to it that he returns every goddamn item that he has stolen from me—down to the last scrap of cloth.”

No, it is you, MacTier, who has stolen from me, and from my brothers, and my people. And nothing you have could ever repay us for that which you have taken.
She drained her goblet, feeling her pain and hatred begin to meld.

“More wine?” offered MacTier, smiling. It was clear he intended to get her drunk.

“Thank you,” said Melantha breathlessly. If he believed her to be intoxicated, his own defenses would be dulled.

That would make him easier to kill.

Drunken laughter and singing wafted through the window. Melantha strained to hear Magnus's ballad, but could not detect his song above the chorus of raucous male voices.

Laird MacTier frowned. “What the devil is going on down there?”

“It sounds like your men are enjoying themselves,” said Melantha dismissively, wondering why the MacTiers weren't falling asleep. Surely they had drunk more than a half cup of Edwina's ale by now? “ 'Tis the reflection of a good laird when his men feel so inspired to indulge in song. Come, Laird MacTier, you have barely touched your dinner—”

“My men are not permitted to indulge in so much as breathing without my orders,” he said in a scathing voice. “And at this moment they have been ordered to keep alert for the Falcon—which they can hardly do if they're blinding drunk.” The singing and laughter grew louder as he moved toward the window.

Panic surged through Melantha. If Laird MacTier discovered that his men were either drunk or drugged, he might suspect the Falcon was within his holding, and immediately dispatch guards to bring Matthew and Daniel to him. Colin, Lewis, and Finlay were probably at the dungeon trying to free her brothers this very moment. If they were discovered, they would be slain.