My Lady Captor. Hannah Howell

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      “Weel, cousin, if ye will babble at me at all the appropriate times, mayhaps the others will believe I am talking to you,” replied Sorcha.

      “Is that mon alive?”

      “Aye, for the moment.” After another swift peek at Margaret assured Sorcha that the girl had the sense not to stare at her, Sorcha looked back at the knight. “The first thing ye can do, sir, is to let me go about the ill deed of robbing you.”

      “Oh, aye? So ye can steal all I own more easily ere ye cut my throat?” he snarled.

      “Nay, fool, so the other thieves slinking o’er the battlefield dinnae ken that ye are alive. We could all be slain then, for they will realize that Margaret and I are not what we pretend to be.” She did not waver beneath his hard stare. “Ye had best decide quickly. They will soon wonder why I linger here.” Despite the tension of the moment, Sorcha almost smiled as she heard Margaret deride Dougal in colorful terms for his insistence upon joining the neverending battle against the English.

      “Why is that girl talking to you?” grumbled the man.

      “So that the others dinnae guess that ye still have the breath to speak,” replied Sorcha. “After all, we both ken that they are watching us, and I must be talking to someone. Ye are supposed to be dead.”

      “If ye are not here to rob the dead then what are ye about?”

      “My cousin and I are looking for Sir Dougal Hay, laird of Dunweare.”

      “Ye willnae find that brash laddie here. The English took him.”

      “I thought the English lost this battle.”

      “Aye, but they managed to drag off a few of our lads as they fled the field.”

      Sorcha cursed, ignoring the man’s startled look. “Do ye think anyone else on this bloodied field survives?”

      “There may be a mon or two, but they willnae be breathing much longer. What the English didnae finish, the thieving swine tiptoeing amongst the bodies will, be they English or Scot.”

      “Shall I wander about and see if I can find another survivor?” asked Margaret.

      “Only if ye truly wish to, Cousin,” replied Sorcha, resisting the urge to rub her wrist when the man eased his hold on it.

      “Now that we have seen that this mon still lives, I think I must.”

      “Dinnae be too obvious about what ye are doing and ’twould be best if ye leave the horse behind.”

      “How will I help anyone if I cannae move them?”

      “If ye find a live one, we will consider the problem then.” Sorcha shook her head as she cut loose the man’s purse and added it to her booty. “Try to get the fool to hide. I will need time to think of how we can walk away with this mon or anyone else.” She smiled faintly when Margaret whispered a mild curse. “Be careful.” As soon as Margaret left, Sorcha turned back to the wounded knight. “Who are you?”

      “Sir Ruari Kerr, laird of Gartmhor. I fought with the Douglases.”

      “And they show their gratitude by leaving ye here to rot. Why didnae the English take ye for ransom?”

      “I fell as the English fled with our men snarling at their heels.” He closed his eyes. “Once those Sassenach dogs cease to run they will be gathering their ransoms for the men they captured.”

      Sorcha tensed, a chill seeping through her body. That would not be long for the battle had taken place on the English side of the Cheviot hills. The English did not have far to run to be safe enough to tally their losses. She had been a fool to think her troubles were over simply because her brother’s chosen side had won the battle. Of course the English would demand a ransom. It was the only reason to take the highborn soldiers captive. What the English could not know was that they could demand a ransom for Dougal till their tongues fell out, but it would gain them nothing. Sir Dougal Hay might be a laird and may have been dressed as fine as the Douglas himself, but he did not have two coins to rub together.

      Dougal was doomed, she thought, her heart heavy with worry and a building grief. Then she looked at Sir Ruari Kerr. She recognized the name and the lands he held. Unlike with Dougal, one could trust in the richness of Sir Ruari’s attire. Although she hated to even consider the possibility of holding the handsome knight for ransom, she could not immediately discard the idea. It could be the only way to get the coin needed to buy back Dougal’s life.

      “I heard that the Scots captured Hotspur himself,” she said.

      “Aye, they did,” he replied, partly opening his eyes to look at her.

      “So, willnae the captured Scots be returned to us in trade for him?”

      “Only those who are asked for. If your brother is weel kenned by the Douglas clan…”

      “He isnae.”

      “Then ye shall probably have to buy him back.”

      “And since the English suffered such a resounding defeat, they will no doubt ask for large ransoms in an attempt to salve some of their bruised pride.”

      “Aye, they will.”

      “Cousin,” Margaret whispered as she hurried up to Sorcha. “I found another mon still alive, a lad actually.”

      “Where is he?” asked Sorcha.

      “On the right-hand side of the field, nearly half the distance down ’twixt here and the trees at the far end of the field, in a thicket.”

      “Aye, I see the thicket. He is in there?”

      “He is now. Using my skirts and cloak to hide his movements, I stood guard while he squirmed into the bushes. Have ye thought of a way to help these men flee this field?”

      “How weel was the laddie dressed?”

      “Not as fine as this knight. Aye, and his attire is fair ruined by rips, blood, and mire.”

      “Then we shall claim him as kin and say we are taking his body home.”

      “We cannae claim this rogue as kin. No one with a kinsmon dressed so finely would be robbing the dead.”

      “I wouldnae wager too heavily on that, but aye, ’tis what these dogs will think.” She frowned at Ruari for a moment then smiled crookedly as she realized what she planned to say would not be a complete lie. “We shall say that we want to take his body back to his kinsmen, for anyone dressed so finely must be important, and his kinsmen will surely reward us for finding his body. Both men must play dead.” One sharp look from Ruari’s green eyes told her that he understood.

      “We cannae carry both men on Bansith. She is just a wee pony.”

      “True. We must make a litter. Ye will have to fetch what is needed, Margaret, as I daren’t leave our pony or this mon unguarded.”

      “Ye havenae tended to his wounds, Sorcha.”

      “We СКАЧАТЬ