Ross appeared, wearing the foolish grin that signaled the end of a successful battle. “A prisoner? What do ye mean to do with a…” His brother’s voice trailed off, and his head slowly tilted, reminding Thorburn of one of the Lord of Argyll’s dogs.
“She is my spoil of war.” Thorburn clapped a hand atop Tasgall’s shoulder, bringing both the lad and woman to a bouncing stop.
“Spoil of war?” Ross repeated. His head tilted to the other side, and his lopsided grin grew. “Since when do yeindulgein spoils of war, brother?”
“Since I am constable and decide to do so.” Thorburn pulled a spear from Tasgall’s harness and used it as a staff to lean on. He limped closer to the bodies laid out just beyond the edge of the woods. All Northmen. No losses of their own. Good. “How many?”
“There’s naught but ten here. I thought Edrid reported four and twenty?” Valan stepped away from the others, still rifling through the belongings of the lifeless warriors. “None fled. All stood their ground and fought.”
“There is eleven,” Ross interrupted with a grin. “Thor’s got himself a pet.”
“A pet?” Valan repeated, then came up short as he caught sight of the captive. “A woman?”
“A spoil of war,” Thorburn corrected, then fixed a dogged look at the rolling hillside unfurling in front of him. It would be a long walk back to camp. A long, painful walk. Thank goodness they had horses to get them back to the coast and Duart. Even though the new castle wasn’t yet complete, it was livable and served as a decent home away from home until they returned to Argyll. But they would spend tonight and possibly longer in camp. They needed to find the remaining Northmen and deal with them before returning to Duart.
“And where will ye keep this wee distraction of yers?” Ross asked as he fell in step beside him.
“In my tent,” he said without hesitation, daring his brother to make a comment that would land him on his arse. “Send Tam or Niall to fetch the healer. I am none too sure Hendry can deal with this poison.”
“Poison?” Valan eyed him up and down as he took his place on Thor’s left. “Ye dinna look poisoned. Mad as hell, but nay poisoned.” He grabbed hold of Thorburn’s shoulder and peered at what was left of the arrow that had pierced his chain mail. “It’s naught but a wee arrow. Hendry’s sewed up worse than that before.”
“The leg wound, aye?” He was in no mood for either of his brothers’ chatter. Getting back to camp was his current priority. That, and getting to know the spitting banshee better. Not only would she be able to provide them information regarding the rest of the traitors, but he had never been one to shirk from the challenge of charming a beautiful woman.
“Shall I tote ye on my back?” Ross asked with an evil smirk.
“I suggest both of ye fall back and hold yer tongues before I assign ye to shoveling horse shite with the knaves, ye ken?”
His brothers took the hint and left him alone, walking far enough behind to grant him a bit of quiet for contemplation. He ignored their occasional snickers. After all, he couldn’t kill them. If he did, he would have no family at all. To save his siblings from a good thrashing, he focused on the intriguing puzzle in front of him. Even walking at the end of a pole, she held her shoulders back and fisted her bound hands at the small of her back. An air of authority added to the beguiling mystery surrounding this fine warrior princess. This lass was someone important. Or if she wasn’t, she should be. “Slow her, Tasgall.”
Thorburn limped up beside her, studying the fearless woman who would as soon kill him as to look at him. The lady held her head high and stared straight ahead, never flinching as she shuffled through the grass barefooted. The land might be lush and green this far into summer, but rocks and sharp dried grasses from the season’s past hid across the verdant hillside. She never stumbled or reacted. With her spirit, he had no doubt she would dance across beds of hot coals with a smile.
She even managed to stomp while wearing the makeshift shackles. Like an infuriated queen. Expressionless. Cold. Probably plotting her escape as well as his murder with every step she took. What a delightful prize the day had gifted him. He had not been this intrigued about anything in a very long while.
“Never ye fear, m’lady,” he said as if they strolled arm in arm through a garden. “We willna leave yer countryman to the scavengers. A runner will be sent to the nearest village. The people will fetch them and see them sent back to wherever the lot of ye came from.”
She didn’t twitch. Just marched onward.
“Are ye from here on Mull?” he asked. Even gagged, she could answer a yay or nay question. If she would.
She granted him a bored roll of her eyes, filling him with a sense of victory at achieving the reaction.
“So, ye are like the others then? In from Norway, to plague the building of Duart and stir trouble amongst the villagers.” He gimped along like an old sage, leaning heavily on the shaft of the spear. “Ye waste yer time and lives doing such.” With a shrug, he tossed his free hand in the air. “If ye wish to live here, live here. What does it matter that ye’re now under Scottish rule? Haakon was a greedy man. Like most kings, I suppose. His son appears to have a bit more sense.” Another sharp pain shot through his knee and down his leg, making him wonder if she had somehow ordered it. He stifled a groan, determined to keep the one-sided conversation going. “I’m sure Magnus is just as greedy as his father, but instead of fighting to keep the land, he bartered it for a fair amount of silver. Shrewd, if ye ask me, and I am a man who lives for warring.” He gave her a wink. “But I’m mighty fond of silver as well.”
She pulled in a deep breath and huffed it out, her delicate nostrils flaring.
“So, I’m boring ye, am I?”
That won him another roll of her eyes.
“Once we reach camp, ye will be settled in my quarters. Given water and food.” With a stern arch of a brow, he added, “As long as ye dinna continue with yer infernal spitting, aye?”
He thought she twitched a shoulder but couldn’t be certain. All he knew for sure was that the muscles in her jaw flexed, then tightened as she resettled her bite into the leather gag. When her eyes narrowed, he knew something was about to happen.
She lunged backward, ramming the pole into Tasgall’s gut and ripping it free of his hands. Then she spun and twisted, hit it on a rise in the ground, and dislodged the thing from the knot at her wrists.
Thorburn knocked her into the dirt. “Stop! Have ye no sense at all?”
Her glare seared him, fully communicating the depths of her hatred.
