One of the laird’s eyebrows arched almost imperceptibly. The elder who called himself “Doctor” had the look of a mon who didn’t want found. ‘Twas an oddity, that. And mayhap why Angus deigned to speak to him.
“Who aretheyand what need have they of you, old mon?”
“I’m what you might call a healer in your tongue.” Another sigh. “And one of a handful of people when I come from that can speak ancien—I mean to say—who can speak Gaelic and English.”
Angus must have misheard him. “Whenyou come from?”
“Where,” the older man quickly amended. “Where I come from.”
The laird grunted. “’Tis women’s work, healing.”
“Not when—I mean where—I come from. Men and women both can be healers.”
Again with the when. Doctor would drive him daft did he allow for it. Angus was about to dismiss him when a thought suddenly struck him. The Karriks had need of a healer. Mayhap he wouldn’t be lettingtheytake him after all. Leastways, Doctor was in his debt for Angus having saved his scrawny neck. Had the warlord not stopped when the little mon appeared from out of nowhere, the laird wouldn’t be sitting in this odious dungeon in the first. Nay, he’d be halfway to the Highlands, to home, by now.
“Mayhap I will keep you, old mon.” His admission, like himself, was arrogant and decisive. “Clan Karrik has need of a healer.Theycan steal themselves another bluidy one.”
“Oh no no no!” Doctor said quickly, shocking Angus. Nobody gave a Karrik, let alone The Karrik, their nay… never. “I mean to say, you have been most kind and generous to me, but—”
The laird’s eyebrows rose. Kind and generous? The daft mon made him sound like a tenderhearted maiden! ‘Twas nothing kind nor generous about Angus Karrik. He frowned severely, wondering if Doctor was trying his nerves a’purpose.
“—but you mustn’t risk your life for me again.” He looked directly at Angus. “The ones who are coming cannot be defeated, I fear. They will kill you before they permit you to take me.”
Aye, Angus decided, Doctor thought to drive him daft. His nostrils flared. Were it not for the sincerity in the old mon’s voice—as if he was givinghima boon!—the laird would have killed him where he sat for questioning his fighting capabilities. But then again, Anguswassitting in a bedamned dungeon. He grimly conceded the old mon should be forgiven for his flawed logic on that basis alone.
“I won’t be in here o’er long,” Angus bit out. “I am but resting my sword arm.”
“A sword won’t offer protection from them. I’m sorry, but you must trust me on this matter.”
A tic began to work in the laird’s cheek. He gruffly ran a hand over his shoulder-length black hair plaited at the temples. Glancing across the chamber to where his second-in-command sat stewing, Angus narrowed his dark brown eyes in challenge. The old mon might not ken well enough, but Colban assuredly did. To Colban’s credit, he looked away. Angus was mayhap the only mon on earth who could tell that Colban felt well humored. To the rest of the world, he appeared quite grim.
Angus felt like sighing. He would never live this humiliation down. Not unless ‘twashewho escaped afore another could rescue him. Aye, that feat would keep Colban’s lips from flapping like some bloody minstrel singing a bawdy tune.
Standing up, Laird Karrik stretched out his six-foot, five-inch frame. Heavy with muscle and riddled with battle scars, he realized those who didn’t know him well thought him all brawn. ‘Twas a mistake, that. And oft a deadly one. Angus had always relied on his cunning as much as his strength. He was getting out of this dungeon and that was that.
“I take it you’re done with waiting,” Colban remarked as he walked over to where Angus stood. His second-in-command and lifelong friend had the good sense not to tease him. “Shall we get on with escaping then?”
“Aye.”
“Are we stealing the healer?”
“Aye.”
“Even though our swords canna save us?” Colban blinked at the black look Angus threw him.
“Shall I run mine through you?”
Colban but blinked again—his way of laughing. Angus frowned.
“I prefer you to remain the grim mon of gloom and doom who I ken,” the laird snapped. “’Tis fortunate for you I am ever fond of your wee mother. Otherwise I would bluidy well—”
A commotion of sorts broke out on the floor above them, bringing an end to Angus’ sour promises. The laird squinted as he strained to hear what was happening. He had thought to hear the familiar clashing of swords as Karriks descended on the castle, yet he heard nothing of the sort. He glanced at Colban who looked equally confused.
“They must be here,” Doctor said with a sigh. “Lucky me.”
The old mon’s tone belied his claim to good fortune. Yet another oddity about the very odd healer.
The door above the stairwell opened and three Englishmen in chainmail ran inside. They pulled the door closed behind them and, swords raised, made their way down the stairwell to stand before the barred cell.
