Highland Captive. Hannah HowellЧитать онлайн книгу.
The other cannae be more than twelve.”
“What ransom has been asked?”
“None,” Lagan answered reluctantly. “They rot in the pit awaiting your return so that ye can decide upon it.”
Malcolm and Lagan followed Parlan as he strode into the keep. Several other men followed hesitantly. When Parlan’s request for Artair met with the word that the young man was sleeping off yet another long night of whiskey and women, Parlan’s fury was a glory to behold. Usually brave men scattered before him as he made his way to the dungeons where the sound of a soft keening greeted his ears.
The grate was speedily opened, and Parlan looked into the hole, a lantern held inside its depths. He saw a small, slightly-built boy holding a larger one, rocking and weeping softly. The elder boy was evidently dangerously ill. Suddenly the small lad became aware of the intruders and looked up. Even streaked with filth and tears, the small face had a delicate beauty that seemed strange for a boy. It was not even marred when that face was contorted into a snarl of hate and rage. Parlan noted all of that as he struggled to control his ever-growing anger with his brother.
At any other time the dark, imposing face peering down at her would have made Aimil at least hesitant, but she had no thought of caution when she held her dying brother in her arms. “Carrion! Filthy corbies! Ye have come too early to pick at this flesh.”
“Get them out of there. Now!” Parlan snarled as he moved back from the pit’s opening, his voice clipped with fury.
Chapter Two
For a moment Aimil doubted that she had heard right. It quickly became apparant that the Black Parlan himself was there, biting out commands in a deep voice that barely escaped being a very feral snarl. With her brother’s vital needs at the fore of her thoughts, she neither asked nor cared if they meant to free her too. Once Leith was lifted out, she started to sit down again.
“Ye as weel, laddie,” Parlan called, failing to keep all his fury at Artair out of his voice despite his efforts to stay calm so as not to frighten the boy.
She slapped away the hands that were offered to assist her, scrambling up the rope by herself. The time spent in a pit in which she could barely lie down had sapped her strength, but she refused to reveal that. In fact, she had practiced some odd exercises several times a day to keep her strength up for Leith’s sake. It had served its purpose for she was able to stand without wavering badly. The last thing she wanted was for these men to espy any weakness in her.
“Dinnae touch me, swine,” she hissed when, as they began to leave the dungeons, a hand moved to assist her.
Parlan was unused to being spoken to like that but he quelled an instinctive burst of anger. Later, he would even find amusement in the thought of the seething, somewhat filthy boy. For now he only wanted to ease the dangerous situation Artair had created. Despite the dirt, there was no mistaking the richness of the boys’ attire, which meant that they were of a high standing within the Mengue clan. An incident such as this could easily provoke a blood feud that could last for generations. That was the very last thing Parlan wanted or needed.
When they reached a room that could be secured from the outside, the MacGuins hastily attended to Leith who was for the most part, unconscious. Aimil stood out of the way but watched their every move. Even though the tending was late in coming, she could appreciate the speed with which the men stripped Leith, bathed him, and lay him on a clean bed to nurse his wounds. By some miracle the wounds had not yet festered even though they had not healed as much as they should have. There was yet some danger for Leith.
“Your names,” Parlan rapped out, no longer worried that his anger would frighten the boy.
Aimil did not quail beneath the man’s penetrating, dark gaze. “Shane and Leith Mengue. ’Tis Leith ye have almost murdered.”
Swearing colorfully and with admirable diversity, Parlan continued to help in tending young Leith Mengue’s wounds. He too saw it as a miracle that the boy’s wounds had not festered filling his blood with a deadly poison. Even if the boy lived, which seemed imminently possible now, such harsh treatment of the Mengue heir could provoke the very feud Parlan hoped to avoid. The little Mengue boy certainly looked eager to begin one, he mused.
A man of his times, Parlan did in truth like a good battle or the thrill of a raid. It was the blood feuds he detested, feuds where hate passed from generation to generation, with the initial cause for the feuds becoming distorted, even forgotten. More often than not, the cause was one where, if it had occurred within the clan, a settlement would have come about quickly between the original antagonists. Instead whole clans tore at each other, killing each other wherever and whenever they were able, using up their resources in a long, bloody, seemingly unending feud. What truly annoyed him was how those feuds so often interfered at a time when unity was desperately needed, such as against an enemy like the English.
His thoughts came to an abrupt halt when Artair stumbled into the room, but Parlan’s fury had to wait to be vented.
Aimil recognized the man who had ordered that she and Leith be put into the hole, knew from things said that it was this man who had kept them there, who had drunk and wenched while her brother slowly died. Her delicate hands curled into claws, and she lunged at Artair.
Artair saved his eyes only by a quick raising of his arms. Two men grabbed Aimil before she was able to inflict much damage but it was a few moments before she stopped hurling curses and threats at Artair, and was calm enough to be released. In the confusion the feminine manner of her attack went unnoticed. When she moved to stand by the head of the bed where Leith rested, she was not ready to forgive any MacGuin. But she did note that Artair was getting anything but praise for his actions from Black Parlan. It was clear that he had acted completely of his own accord, something that was clearly an old bone of contention between the two men.
“I see ye found the prisoners,” Artair began weakly for Parlan’s face was dark with rage.
“I nearly had naught but corpses. Did ye never think that they might be worth more alive?”
“No one told me.” Artair’s excuses were abruptly cut off by a sound blow from Parlan’s broad hand that sent Artair slamming into a wall.
“Ye were already too drunk to heed a word said. Fool! Ye have done your best to kill Lachlan Mengue’s heir. Do ye ken what that would have meant? Do ye ken what that would have brought down about our heads?”
“The Mengues arenae strong enough to beat us,” cried Artair only to suffer another blow from his enraged brother.
“Nay, mayhaps not, but they have ties to the MacVerns and the Broths. Aye, and those bastards, the Ferguesons.” Pinning Artair to the wall, he snarled, “They also have power in court and could easily bring the king’s wrath upon our heads.” He released his hold so abruptly that Artair fell to the floor. “Murder it would have been called and murder it would have been. If the king didnae put us to the horn, declare us outlaws, we would still have to deal with four clans at our throats plus God alone kens how many others for t’would be a righteous vengeance.”
“I dinnae ken what ye are so angry about,” sputtered Artair. “The lad still lives and he will bring a fine ransom.”
“Get out!” bellowed Parlan. “Get out before I stuff ye in that accursed hole and forget ye for a week.”
There was no hesitation in Artair’s obedience to that command. When Parlan was in such a fury, retreat was the better part of valor. After seeing Leith Mengue’s precarious state of health, Artair was guiltily aware of his culpability.
Parlan turned his attention to the delicate boy called Shane. “Now we shall get ye cleaned up.”
“I dinnae need your help. I can weel clean myself,” Aimil snapped. “Aye, and I will do so once I ken that Leith fares weel.”
“He willnae fare weel if he is forced to smell ye all the while,” growled Parlan, then ordered his men to fetch some fresh bath water.
Aimil