“Aye,them. Mayhaps ye can find some solace in the fact that my actions now will saveye from suffering through that confrontation. They would all gather at Dunweareif there was a wedding. Beatham does appear to be kind and sweet of nature, bute’en he may balk at taking the Seven Sisters into his family.”
“Ayeand they are but a small part of the problem. I love my family dearly, butthere are times when I wish I had been born into another clan.”
Sorchalaughed and nodded, in complete sympathy. “Go and rest. I will take the firstwatch.”
“Areye sure we must be so vigilant? Ye must be as weary as I, and I could use farmore than the few hours of sleep I can allow myself.”
“Margaret,we are in the land both Scotland and England claim, yet neither can rule. ‘Tisan area that teems with rogues, thieves, and men banished from both countries.Our family has suffered from living just on the edge of this wild land. Aye, wemust guard the camp. Shelter the fire so that ‘tis enough to keep wild animalsat bay yet not so large it will act as a beacon for the villains who call thisland home.”
Nodding,Margaret left to spread their bedding out by the fire. Sorcha sighed, checkedher weapons, and strode into the wood encircling the camp. She would establisha circular guard out of sight of the camp. As she studied her shadow caused bythe moonlight shining through the trees, she realized she would present a smallobstacle to any ruffian who wished to attack the camp. Her skill with bow,sword, and dagger was good, but it could never fully compensate for her lack ofsize and strength. Shaking off a brief attack of fear, she began her steady,watchful pace around the camp.
Witheach step she cursed her brother. He knew he was needed, desperately so, tocarry on the line. While it was true that she could take his place as laird ofDunweare, that whatever husband she might gain could stand for her in court orin battle, it was not the same. The line could weaken, losing the strength itwould gain in going from son to son. Eventually the Hay name itself could fade.Dougal had bred no heir yet, had not even tried to find a wife. It was hisresponsibility to ensure the continuance of the line before he threw his lifeaway on some battlefield. He had been told that since boyhood, so he had toknow, yet he continuously shirked his responsibility. This time hisinconsideration, while not fatal, had seriously affected her and Margaret. IfSir Ruari Kerr was the vengeful sort, it could even affect the whole clan. Itwas past time someone forced Dougal to listen to reason.
“Betteryet, mayhap I should slap some sense into his empty head,” she muttered thennervously looked around, her voice sounding far too loud in the quiet forest.
Shesighed, kicked at a stone, then silently cursed as her toes painfully remindedher that her soft rawhide boots were not much protection against such nonsense.It alarmed her a little, but she had to admit that some of her anger at Dougalwas because of Ruari Kerr. She did not understand why she was so attracted tothe man or why the feelings had become so strong so fast, but she could notdeny it. Because of Dougal’s foolish act, she was forced to make Ruari anenemy. That both infuriated her and saddened her. All she could do was letmatters take their course and pray that Ruari would not turn the whole incidentinto a long, bloody feud.
Chapter Three
“Aprisoner?”
Sorchastared at Ruari in surprise, amazed at how loudly he could shout. He looked sofurious, so prepared to leap off his pallet and do her physical harm, she beganto worry that she had told him the truth too soon. They were only yards fromthe heavy gates of Dunweare, a welcome sight after three long days of travel,but it might not be close enough.
“Aye,a prisoner for ransom,” she replied, signaling Margaret to urge the pony to aslightly faster pace. “I intend to ask your clan to buy you and Beatham back.”
“Yewould stoop to this when your own brother is being held for ransom?” Ruaridemanded.
“Istoop to thisbecausemy brother is being held for ransom. I need thecoin to buy the fool back.”
Hecursed her and started to sit up. Sorcha put one small, booted foot on hischest and pushed him back down. That she could accomplish such a feat told herhow weak the man was. The way he glared at her through his tangled black hairrevealed how furious that made him. Sorcha quickly removed her foot, pleased tosee that they only had a few feet left to go and that the people withinDunweare’s imposing walls had already moved to greet their arrival.
Sheglanced toward Beatham who, weakened from travel, rode on Bansith. He alsolooked furious although, on his softer features, the expression was more sullenthan threatening. Beatham made no attempt to escape, however. Sorcha suspectedhis compliance was due mostly to the fact that Margaret held Bansith’s reins.To break free, Beatham would have to strike her down. It was clear that nomatter how angry he was, he could not bring himself to do that.
Criesof welcome from within the walls of Dunweare caught Sorcha’s attention. It wasnot going to be easy to make her family understand why she was doing what mostof them would consider a crime. Taking a person for ransom had not been the wayof her clan for many a year. After a quick glance at a fierce-eyed Ruari, shehoped her family would have the strength to hold firm to their prisoners untilthe ransom was paid.
Ruaricautiously shifted his position on the litter in order to get a good look atDunweare before he was dragged inside its walls. What he saw made him curse. Itcould well prove impossible to escape from such a stronghold.
Dunwearesat atop a rocky hill, the path to its gates little more than a twisting,narrow rut. Its high thick walls seemed to grow out of the rock itself. Littlemore than moss, thistle, and wind-contorted thornbushes grew all around,providing little cover for an attacker, or for anyone trying to flee the darktowers of Dunweare. Near the base of the hill where its incline softened andwas greener, was a circle of cottages, an excellent first line of defense. Thepeople living there would certainly make it difficult for anyone trying tocross the moat ringing the two sides of the hill that did not border the river.If a family had to live in one of the most dangerous places in Scotland, theHays had chosen the best place to do so.
And,he thought, turning enough to glare at the huge, wooden, iron-studded gates hewas being dragged through, such a stronghold had cost a lot to build. Sorchahad to be lying when she tried to justify her actions by claiming poverty. Itstruck Ruari as decidedly odd that he found her dishonesty more infuriatingthan her actions themselves.
Amoment later his full attention was caught by the people crowding around themas they entered the bailey. He shifted a little, made uncomfortable by thedozen or more pairs of eyes fixed upon him. He frowned as he realized thecurious crowd consisted mainly of the very young, the old, and women. Therewere a few armed men, but he would not deem them soldiers. A quick look up atthe walls revealed only a few more men. He was certain Dougal Hay had come tothe battle alone. This scarcity of soldiers puzzled him. He looked around,hoping that someone would say something that would answer at least a few of hisquestions.
Sorchagrimaced then laughed as four of her five aunts living at Dunweare rushed up tohug her. They all talked at once, their greetings and questions blending intoan indecipherable babble. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Robert,the armorer, elbow his way through the crowd. He stood before her, his bighands on his hips, and stared first at Beatham, then at Sir Ruari, and finallyat her. “Where is Dougal?” he asked, his voice so deep and authoritativeeveryone else grew quiet.
“Alive.”She waited for the mumbles of thanksgiving to ease before adding, “But takencaptive by the English.”
“Cursethat foolish boy. The Lord clearly made him pay for his bonnie face with hiswits. Aye, I am glad he is alive, but I must ask for how long? We havenaeanything to buy him back with.”
GrizelHay, the next to youngest of Sorcha’s seven aunts, stepped up next to Robert. “Ifwe try verra hard we may be able to gather together a small ransom. We cannaejust shrug our shoulders and leave poor Dougal to his fate.”
Sorchasmiled at her plump little aunt, noticing fondly that Grizel’s big brown eyesheld her usual expression of sweet optimism, and her brown hair was untidy asalways. “I fear, Aunt, that a small ransom willnae do. The English lost thebattle, and Sir Henry ‘Hotspur’ Percy himself was captured. The English willask a heavy ransom to soothe their pride and try to recoup some of what theywill lose when they must ransom their own men.”
“ThenDougal is doomed,” wailed Bethia Hay, Sorcha’s spinster aunt, a too-thin,frettish woman who appeared to be one tiny bundle of dull brown from head totoe.
“Ihate to agree with the old woman,” Robert said, ignoring Bethia’s soft gasp ofoutrage, “but I fear she may be right. When the English discover that we cannaebuy Dougal back, they willnae just send him home out of the kindness of theirhearts.”
“Iken it, Robert, but I think I have the answer to our trouble right here.” Sheidly waved a hand at Beatham and Ruari, directing everyone else’s attentionback to her prisoners.
