My Lady Captor. Hannah HowellЧитать онлайн книгу.
it rolling out the door. “The mon will begin to think we have brought him here to play the stud for a paddock full of mares in heat.” She ignored Robert’s guffaw. “He holds a strong allure for me, Robert, and ’tis a dangerous thing.”
“Dangerous? How so? Ye are both gentle born.” Robert moved to stand near her, slouching against the doorframe.
“I believe he is higher born than I.”
“Not by much.”
“He is also a great deal richer than I. I dinnae e’en have a dowry.”
“There is truth in all its ugliness.”
“And he thinks we are all quite mad.”
“He may change his thinking about that.”
“He may or he may even prove to be a mon who finds a touch of lunacy in a lass an attractive thing.” She exchanged a brief grin with Robert. “Howbeit, I have taken him prisoner for ransom.”
“Aye, and unless he is a verra forgiving mon, that could pour water on the fire in his heart.”
“Verra strangely said, but true. Nay, I dinnae think Sir Kerr will forgive this ransom matter verra easily. I am certain that his being taken by two lasses makes the bruise to his pride all the more tender.”
“Do ye think he will return to Dunweare armed and eager for battle?”
“Nay,” Sorcha replied and, after a moment of thought, knew she was as confident of her reply as she sounded. “He willnae raise his sword against us o’er this. I believe some of his anger is aimed at himself. Even though his first sight of me was upon the battlefield as I picked o’er the dead, he began to trust me.”
“And instead of rescuing him, ye took him prisoner. Aye, that would make him wonder if he had been a wee bit of a fool. ’Tisnae a feeling any mon enjoys. Is that why ye are fighting your interest in him?”
“I am not interested in the mon. Not in the manner ye infer.”
Robert snorted. The sound was so full of scorn it made Sorcha curse. She opened her mouth to reprimand him only to frown when he tensed and stared out into the inner bailey. Looking in the same direction, she saw the too-thin figure of Robert’s only son, Iain, hurrying toward them.
“Do ye think something is wrong?” she asked Robert.
“I think we are about to have guests,” Robert replied even as he moved to greet his son.
“Father,” Iain cried then paused to catch his breath. “Three men wait outside our gates. They are English and they ask to speak to someone concerning Sir Dougal.”
“The ransom demand,” Sorcha murmured. “Give me a few moments, Robert, then bring them into the great hall. Try to keep them from seeing our weaknesses too clearly.”
“I will, lass,” Robert said. “Howbeit, if they have the wit to see our weaknesses, they will also see our strengths. Dinnae worry o’er that. Just think on getting that fool Dougal back.”
Sorcha nodded and hurried back to the keep, cursing her brother with each step. She dreaded dealing with these men. They would be scornful when they realized they had to talk over a ransoming with a woman. She would have to be strong, to make them believe she could take on the task as well as any man.
As she entered the great hall, she saw her aunts seated in a circle near the huge stone fireplace arguing with the newly arrived Annot over what color yarn would best depict their father’s hair in the family tapestry they were working on. Sorcha hurried over to them, determined to enlist their aid. Although the Englishmen might be scornful toward one small female, she knew they would find confronting seven women a daunting experience. It was true that her nervous aunt Bethia and her shy aunt Eirie were not strong women, but when placed shoulder to shoulder with their more determined sisters, they were very skilled at pretending.
“The English have come to ask the ransom for Dougal,” she told them as she reached Neil’s side.
“Ah, ye want us to leave,” murmured the tall, silver-haired Annot, the eldest of her seven aunts.
“Nay, I want ye to sit at the head table with me. Hurry now,” she said as she shooed them all toward the long, heavy oak table set on a low dais at the head of the great hall. “I think even an arrogant Englishmon will be set aback when confronted with seven weelborn women.”
“Ye want us to look stern and forbidding,” said Grizel as she settled her short round body into the seat to the left of the high-backed oak chair Dougal usually occupied.
“Exactly.” Sorcha took Dougal’s chair, smiling faintly as her aunts lined up on either side of her.
“Do ye wish our help in the negotiations?” asked Neil as she sprawled in the chair on Sorcha’s right.
“Weel, ye may put in a word or two, Aunt Neil,” replied Sorcha. “I mean no discourtesy,” she told her other aunts.
“None taken, m’dearling,” Bethia assured her. “Long ago I learned how imposing we seven sisters can be when we array ourselves as one against someone or something. Howbeit, Neil is the one who can hold onto that strength even when she speaks, putting hard steel behind her words. I fear the rest of us begin to waver when we talk.”
“Here they come,” whispered Annot, who then clasped her hands in front of her and assumed a stony expression.
Three Englishmen strode into the hall, followed by Robert and his son. Their steps faltered slightly as they caught sight of the seven women staring at them. Sorcha saw Robert quickly hide a grin and knew he understood what game she played. She saw two more well-armed men take up the post of guards on either side of the wide door. Robert left his son standing behind the three Englishmen and moved to stand on Sorcha’s right. She was glad of his presence as she met the cold, steel gray eyes of the tallest of the three men.
“I am Sir Simon Treacher, and these are my men, Thomas and William,” announced the man, his voice as cold as his eyes. “I am here to discuss the ransoming of Sir Dougal Hay. He is your liege lord?”
“He is,” replied Sorcha, fighting the urge to shift nervously beneath his steady look. “What are your terms?”
“You expect me to discuss such a matter with women?”
“If ye want your blood money—aye. I am Sir Dougal’s closest kin, his only sister.”
“Ah, you are the Lady Sorcha Hay.”
“I am.”
“He said I would need to deal with you, but I assumed he was jesting. In England we do not allow women to play the lord of the keep, nor to take a part in such manly business.”
“’Tis probably why your twice-cursed country is in such disarray,” muttered Neil, glaring at the man. Simon ignored her, but the sharp lines of his long, narrow face grew noticeably tighter.
“Sir Dougal also mentioned a Neil Hay,” he drawled, hinting that Dougal had not said anything he considered complimentary. “I believe I would prefer to discuss the ransom arrangements with a man.”
“Ye may prefer it, sir, but I fear ye will be disappointed,” said Sorcha. She waved her hand toward Aunt Neil. “This is indeed Neil Hay, Dougal’s aunt. Now, do ye wish to discuss Dougal’s ransoming with his sister or his aunt?”
“His sister,” the man spat. “M’lady”—his tiny bow was riddled with mockery—“shall we begin?”
Sorcha nodded, mildly amused by his irritation. She ordered a page to fetch a bench for the men to sit on as well as wine for them to drink. Her amusement faded quickly when Sir Simon named his terms. He wanted a great deal for Dougal’s life. For one solid hour they bartered, always polite, yet each determined to win the bargaining. At one point Neil rose to her feet in anger, slamming her fist on the table, sending several tankards bouncing hazardly close to a fall, and causing all