My Lady Captor. Hannah HowellЧитать онлайн книгу.
just send him home out of the kindness of their hearts.”
“I ken it, Robert, but I think I have the answer to our trouble right here.” She idly waved a hand at Beatham and Ruari, directing everyone else’s attention back to her prisoners.
“Weel, I did see that ye had brought a few companions back with ye. Your kindness in helping the poor lads does ye honor, but I dinnae see how they can help us.”
“I fear ‘twas not just kindness that prompted me to drag these two carcasses off the battlefield.”
“Ye wouldnae ken what kindness was if it reared up and spit in your eye,” grumbled Ruari.
Robert kicked the litter, causing Ruari to hiss a curse of pain. “Dinnae speak so to our lady Sorcha.”
Sorcha lightly touched Robert’s muscle-thickened arm. “Nay, good friend, allow him his anger. I deserve it.”
“Ye? Never!”
“Aye, me.” Pointing to each man in turn, she introduced her captives. “This is Sir Ruari Kerr of Gartmhor, and this is his cousin Beatham. I have taken them for ransom.” She waited as their shocked expressions slowly changed to consideration tinged with reluctance.
“’Tis a sad business to take a mon for ransom,” said Robert, and several people murmured in agreement.
“I am glad ye think so,” said Ruari. “Now mayhap, ye can talk some sense into the lass.”
“Weel, sir, being only the armorer, I dinnae carry the rank to scold her,” answered Robert, smiling faintly at Ruari’s surprise. “Howbeit, I do take the liberty now and again.”
“More now than again,” grumbled Sorcha, but Robert ignored her, his attention fixed on Ruari.
“This time, Sir Ruari, I fear I must bow to her wishes. None of us likes the taking of men for ransom. ’Twas often done in the past, but in her father’s father’s time, the Hays of Dunweare cast aside the practice.”
“Yet now ye are willing to cast aside their wishes and shame their memory.”
“Aye, and I believe they would approve. Dougal must be returned safely to Dunweare.” He moved to unhitch the litter from the pony. “We will care weel for ye and your cousin. Have no fear of that.”
“Has all been weel, Robert?” Sorcha asked as he and two other men moved to help Ruari and Beatham into the keep. “’Tis most odd, but every time I leave Dunweare for longer than a few hours, I often get the feeling something back here requires my attention.”
“And this time ye were right to think so. I believe wee Euphemia will soon be a woman.”
Sorcha cursed, and a quick glance at Margaret revealed that her cousin was distressed by the news. She prayed the Kerrs would not be at Dunweare too long. The various oddities amongst the members of her family were often difficult for people to accept, but they were the least of her troubles. Young Euphemia making the transition from child to woman would bring to the fore all the reasons the Hays of Dunweare chose to live in such a remote place. Sorcha prayed that Ruari and Beatham would be ransomed early, too soon to discover all of Dunweare’s dark secrets.
“Has it become a large problem yet?” she asked Robert, trying to keep her questions obscure so that Ruari and Beatham did not know what was being discussed.
“’Tis just beginning, but ’twas more sudden and stronger than I can recall any others being.” Robert shook his head as he and the stablemaster hefted Ruari’s litter up the narrow stone steps inside the huge tower house. “My innards tell me this will be a difficult one.”
“Has Euphemia noticed?”
“Aye. And, ere ye ask, she hasnae cast aside her peculiar notions yet.”
As she moved to help Margaret with an unsteady Beatham, Sorcha wondered what she could do. Her first thought was to confine Ruari and Beatham in a securely locked room, but then realized that was a foolish idea. The trouble hanging over Dunweare like some storm cloud could not be locked out. Instinct told her that Ruari Kerr was about to experience the full glory of Dunweare’s curse. She told herself it did not matter and knew she lied.
Ruari bit back a cry of pain as he was lowered to the bed. He wondered how he could endure so much—the battle, the long rough journey to Dunweare, and the pain of being moved from litter to bed. It seemed that such pain ought to be fatal. It also seemed unfair that, now that he was no longer so strongly in fear of his life, he found it difficult to swoon and escape his pain.
“Where have ye taken Beatham?” he demanded when he looked around and did not see his young cousin.
“Into the chamber next to this one,” replied Sorcha as she set a basin of water on a table near the bed and began to wash the sweat from his body. “Ye have gone and made yourself all asweat.”
“’Tis hard work being carried about.”
She ignored his sarcasm, turning to Robert, who stood by her side, everyone else having gone to help Margaret settle Beatham in his room. “Where is Neil?”
“Should be here soon,” Robert answered.
“Ah, aye, I would prefer a mon tend to my needs,” said Ruari, frowning when Sorcha and Robert just grinned.
Before he could ask what amused them, the door to his chamber was thrust open so powerfully it slammed into the wall. He turned to see who had made such an abrupt entrance and gaped. Striding toward the bed was the biggest woman he had ever seen. She had to be six foot or higher. Although she did not appear to have an ounce of fat on her, she was buxom, sturdily built, and obviously strong. When she stepped up to the bed, her hands on her well-rounded hips, he slowly looked up the impressive length of her voluptuous body. He was a little surprised that she had light green eyes and not the brown so common at Dunweare, but his true interest was fixed on her hair. Tumbling over her square shoulders in a thick wavy mass to her waist was the reddest hair he had ever seen.
“Ah, Aunt, I am verra pleased ye are here to help,” said Sorcha. “This is Sir Ruari Kerr.” Sorcha was unable to control her grin as she looked at a still-gaping Ruari. “And, Sir Ruari, this is my aunt, Neil Hay.”
“Neil?” Ruari shook free of his fascination with the woman and stared at Sorcha. “Did ye say Neil?”
“Aye, she said Neil,” replied Neil, scowling down at Ruari. “I was the seventh of seven daughters. Papa couldnae think of another lass’s name.” She shrugged. “Aye, and he may have hoped that, if I was given a laddie’s name, I would become the son he so badly wanted.”
“Neil,” Ruari muttered, shaking his head, but no one paid him any attention.
“Do ye really think this battered piece of flesh will gain ye enough coin to buy back my foolish nephew?” Neil asked Sorcha.
“Aye,” replied Sorcha. “The Kerrs of Gartmhor are wealthy enough to spare a sack or two of coins to get their laird and his cousin back. We will wait until the English ask their price for Dougal and then ask the same of the Kerrs for him and the lad.”
“No profit made in that.”
“Weel, I dinnae do this for profit, Aunt, but out of need.”
“Ye keep speaking of need, but I see none,” snapped Ruari. “This is a fine sturdy keep, larger than most and stronger than any I have seen, save mayhap for my own. It had to have cost ye dearly.”
“Verra dearly indeed—in coin and in lives,” replied Sorcha. “What wealth our clan had was eaten away by this keep ere my father was born. Living on the edge of such a lawless stretch of land and so near the English requires a strong, dependable keep. Building such a place requires a great pile of coin. Aye, a great pile, and my forefathers were skilled at gaining that coin. ’Twas rare that a day passed without some poor soul wandering the halls of Dunweare awaiting his kinsmen and the ransom they would bring. And many a raid was made into England,