My Lady Captor. Hannah HowellЧитать онлайн книгу.
Sir Simon Treacher only took his eyes off her once—when Neil stood up in all her infuriated glory. The man was certainly trying to use the power of his unblinking gaze to make her bow to his demands, but there was more. As he bargained, a gleam of interest entered his eyes, a hungry look that made her skin crawl. She fought the urge to concede to his demands just to make him leave. Robert’s increasingly dark look told Sorcha she was not imagining Sir Simon’s lecherous stare.
When the negotiations were complete, the price and the place of exchange agreed to, Sorcha rose from her seat. She eyed Sir Simon’s approach and extended hand warily, but could not ignore him. Such an insult could easily cost Dougal his life. He took her hand, slowly drew it to his lips, and kissed her fingers. There was nothing specifically offensive in the way he kissed her hand, but she could not shake the feeling she had just suffered an unwelcome advance. The moment he left, she sat down, poured herself some mead, and took a long restoring drink of the sweet honey wine.
“I feel as if I have just been privy to a seduction,” muttered Robert as he helped himself to some mead.
“Aye,” agreed Neil, scowling at the door. “That Sassenach wriggled in here like the adder he is and was eager to coil himself around our Sorcha.”
“How verra colorfully put, Aunt Neil.” Sorcha sighed, slumping in the chair and idly drumming her fingers on the ornately carved arm. “Between his looks and his touch, I do feel almost ravished.”
“Mayhap someone else should go to the meeting to pay for Dougal’s release.”
“Nay, Aunt. I must go. The English may scorn the idea of a woman dabbling in a mon’s business, but they understand that I act as laird in Dougal’s place. They could deem it an insult if I send someone they consider an underling. And, if they dinnae see the emissary they expect, they could also fear a trick, and that would endanger Dougal.”
“Aye,” said Robert, “and we cannae afford to insult the English. They need no new reason to raid our lands.” He looked at Sorcha. “Howbeit, that mon looked too eager to get his hands on you. Ye will go to that meeting with at least four men and Neil. ’Tisnae a big enough force to cause any alarm or insult to those cursed English, but enough to make Sir Simon Treacher think again about attempting to sate his lust for you.”
“Mayhap ye are right, although I dinnae like the idea of taking men away from Dunweare.”
“We can spare them. Now, ye had best prepare the message ye wish to send to the Kerrs of Gartmhor.”
“I shall take great pleasure in throttling my brother when next I see him.”
“Sorcha, I cannae find Beatham,” Margaret cried as she raced into the hall, not slowing in her reckless pace until she stumbled to a graceless halt in front of the table.
“I dinnae think he has escaped,” Sorcha said as Neil handed the disheveled Margaret a tankard of mead.
“Then where is he? He certainly isnae in his chamber.”
“The lad was up and about this morning,” said Neil. “He was also asking a great many questions about his cousin Sir Ruari.”
“Have ye looked in Sir Ruari’s chamber, Margaret?” Sorcha asked.
“Oh. Nay.” Margaret gulped down her mead and headed out of the great hall.
“If ye dinnae find him there, we shall begin a search,” Sorcha called after her cousin.
“Mayhap ye ought to go with her,” suggested Robert.
“As soon as I decide what message to send to the Kerrs, I will go and see what our prisoners are doing.” She sighed wearily and shook her head. “They are no doubt plotting an escape. The good Lord clearly feels I dinnae have enough trouble upon my table.”
“I dinnae think ye look weel enough to attempt an escape, Cousin,” Beatham told Ruari as he helped the man get a drink of hearty cider.
“I will be in another day or two.” Ruari winced and softly cursed as he eased his aching body into a seated position. “Most of my pain has eased, and my wounds already begin to close.”
“True, but ye are still weak.” Beatham made himself comfortable at the foot of the big bed.
“It willnae be long before I have the strength to crawl out of this vulture’s nest.”
“Vulture’s nest? Come, Cousin, ’tis not so verra bad here. I ken that being held for ransom isnae something to be enjoyed or wished for, but the women here seem verra nice.”
“They are all quite thoroughly mad, their wits scattered to the four winds like thistledown.”
“Margaret’s wits arenae scattered.”
“Margaret simply lacks enough wit for it to be scattered.”
“Here now, ye shouldnae speak of her in such a scornful manner.”
“Cease acting the outraged suitor, ye great dolt, and cut me some bread and cheese.”
“Weel, ye still shouldnae speak that way about Margaret,” grumbled Beatham as he moved to obey Ruari’s command.
Ruari studied his young cousin for a moment, taking careful note of the youth’s sulky expression. Beatham was a good-hearted lad, but his fair looks far outweighed his intelligence. He had thought Beatham sneaking off to battle, despite all orders to the contrary, was a problem, but realized that it was a petty nuisance compared to the trouble he could see his cousin courting now. As he chewed on the plain but hearty fare of bread and cheese, he watched Beatham retake his seat.
“Ye can cease wooing that lass,” he said bluntly, his suspicions confirmed when Beatham blushed.
“She is equal in birth to me,” Beatham protested. “And she doesnae push aside my attentions.”
“I dinnae care. Ye arenae to get yourself entangled with a Hay.”
“And why not?”
“It appears ye have forgotten that she is one of those who hold us for ransom.”
“’Twas her cousin Sorcha’s idea, not Margaret’s, and she must obey Sorcha just as I must obey you.”
“Aye, and ye do that so weel, too.” He held up his hand when Beatham began to protest. “Dinnae trouble yourself to explain your disobedience. Your rushing to the battle despite my orders that ye stay at Gartmhor is the least of my concerns. Ye are to cease playing love games with Margaret Hay for many reasons. She is poor, and your family cannae afford ye making a match for love or passion alone. By taking us prisoner and demanding money for our lives, the Hays have destroyed what meager chance they may have had of making any marriage with the Kerrs. And your lass’s heart will surely go cold when I exact my revenge for this insult.”
“Ye dinnae mean to go to battle with the Hays, do ye?” Beatham demanded, going a little pale.
“Nay, but there is little else I will try. I willnae let this affront pass without some revenge. I cannae.”
“But, Cousin—” Beatham began, only to jump to his feet when the door opened. “Margaret.”
Margaret frowned as she strode over to Beatham and grasped his arm. “Ye shouldnae be in here. I was verra worried when I looked into your room and ye werenae there.”
“Did ye think your full purse had fled?” Ruari drawled, earning a cross look from Beatham.
“He isnae weel enough to be out of his bed. He suffered quite a blow to his head and could easily grow faint.” She started to tug Beatham toward the door. “Ye shouldnae have him in here, Sir Ruari. ’Tis most inconsiderate of you. Ye should have more sympathy for Beatham’s injuries.”
“Er—actually, Margaret, I came in here of my own accord,” Beatham said.
“Then he should have had the sense and kindness to order ye back to your bed.”