My Lady Captor. Hannah Howell

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СКАЧАТЬ of oatmeal and barley bread. “Howbeit, he survived for many an hour with no aid. A mon that stubborn should do weel once he is clean and mended.”

      “And still awake?” The youth cast a nervous glance toward Ruari then paled.

      “Aye,” Ruari said, his voice strengthening as his pain eased.

      “’Tis glad I am that ye have survived.”

      “Ye willnae be so glad when I regain my strength, laddie.”

      “Now, Cousin…”

      “Cousin?” Sorcha asked, looking from the youth to Ruari and back again.

      “I am Beatham Kerr,” the lad replied. “Sir Ruari’s cousin.”

      “Who was supposed to stay at Gartmhor,” Ruari grumbled.

      “But, Cousin,” Beatham protested, “how am I to become a knight if I am always left behind with the women and children?”

      “There is many a mon guarding the walls of Gartmhor who wouldnae appreciate ye calling them women or bairns.”

      “I am twenty now, Ruari. I shouldnae be coddled so.”

      “Asking ye to see to the protection of my keep isnae coddling ye.”

      “Enough,” Sorcha snapped as she moved to Ruari’s side. “Neither of ye are weel enough for this childish squabbling.” She ignored both men’s glares as she helped Ruari raise himself up enough to sip from the wineskin she held to his lips.

      “’Tisnae wine,” Ruari complained.

      “Nay, ’tis a fine cider. I have little stomach or head for wine and I hadnae anticipated entertaining guests.”

      “Ye are verra sharp of tongue, wench.”

      “So I have been told. Ye must rest. That is a fact whether I tell ye sweetly or tartly. We have a long way to go on the morrow over rough ground and mayhaps farther still on the next day. That will depend on how much ye slow us down.”

      “We have traveled a fair distance already.”

      “Aye, though not as far as I would have liked.”

      “Ye must live verra near to the border with the English.”

      “Sometimes too near, but Dunweare is a hard keep to take, as ye will soon see. ’Twas built for defense.” She shook her head as she returned to the fire and the food she was preparing. “And now ye have me talking with you as if we are but guests at some banquet. Ye need to lie quietly, fool.”

      “And while we speak of fools, which one of your kinsmen allowed two wee lasses to travel o’er this dangerous land to a battle?” Ruari winced as he tried to move into a more comfortable position only to restir the worst of his pain.

      “We are hardly sweet, helpless lasses. Margaret and I can fend for ourselves. We left Dunweare not long after my headstrong brother did. We wished to be close at hand if he should need some help. Since he slipped away alone, we felt that was verra possible. At times my brother forgets his responsibilities.”

      “There is naught wrong with fighting the English. Your brother could bring great honor to your clan.”

      “At times, sir, a clan may need the mon far more than it needs honor. Now, be silent. I dinnae ken where ye get the strength to talk or why ye should be so eager to do so.”

      “I think ’twas all those hours of lying on the field alone, unable to help myself and with little hope of anyone coming to my aid.” Ruari spoke in little more than a whisper, then closed his eyes, startled that he had spoken so honestly. He decided Sorcha was right. He badly needed to rest.

      “Here now, isnae that just like a mon. He pesters a lass until she fair wants to scream, but just when she needs him awake, he sleeps.”

      The soft, husky voice, so close to his ear, as well as her words brought a swift halt to Ruari’s descent into sleep. Her remarks carried a distinctly sexual meaning to his mind, but he sternly scolded himself for such thoughts. Then he opened his eyes and met her gaze. The glint of mischief was clear in her dark eyes, and he frowned.

      “Ye should choose your words with more care, lassie,” he warned. “Someone could mishear them.”

      “Nay, I think not. I fear I have the habit of speaking most plainly. Margaret, prop this fool up so that I may try to put some food in his belly.”

      Although Margaret’s softly rounded form was a pleasure to lean against and the plain fare Sorcha fed him was remarkably tasty, Ruari found that he lacked the strength and wit to appreciate either very much. A fierce will to live had kept him clutching at life and consciousness. Until his wounds had been tended, he realized he had feared slipping into unconsciousness, had feared that blackness would lead to the neverending oblivion of death. Now that someone had taken care of his needs, his battered body called out for sleep. He began to find even the simple chore of eating too much for him.

      “Enough,” he finally said, turning his head to avoid the spoon Sorcha held to his lips.

      “Aye,” agreed Sorcha. “Ye ate weel for a mon so close to death. It appears that eating has made ye cease to be so stubborn and recognize that ye need to rest.”

      “Truth. I must regain my strength.” He closed his eyes. “There are at least two people I must discipline.”

      Sorcha smiled faintly when she saw how alarmed young Beatham was. She did not know Sir Ruari well, yet her instincts told her that the young man did not really have much to fear. If Ruari did anything more than loudly scold his cousin and perhaps insist that he do some less than knightly chores for a while, Sorcha would be very surprised. Her instincts told her that, concerning his family and friends, Ruari Kerr was more bark than bite, and at Dunweare her instincts had long been notorious for their accuracy. It was that confidence that, despite knowing that she was the second person Ruari felt he needed to discipline, kept her from being concerned about his threat. The only thing she did worry about was how he would react when he discovered he was to be held for ransom. That could easily put her on the side of his enemies in his mind. Sorcha was sure that having Ruari Kerr as an enemy was something any wise person would avidly avoid.

      Inwardly sighing, she sat legs crossed before the fire and began to eat her meal. Ruari would undoubtedly be furious when she told him that he was her captive. The fact that he had relinquished most of his original distrust of her would only enhance his anger when she informed him that his clan would have to pay to get him back. Sorcha was startled at how sad she felt as she considered Ruari’s anger. She did not even know the man, yet the thought of him being angry with her, seeing her as his enemy, was highly distressing.

      Unsettled by her thoughts, she attempted to distract herself by watching Margaret and Beatham who sat across the campfire from her. It was amusing to watch the youth flirt with Margaret. She clearly enjoyed Beatham’s attentions, which was not surprising. Beatham was a very handsome young man with his thick blond hair and fine blue eyes. He was a perfect match for Margaret. Even in his wit, Sorcha thought with an inner shake of her head.

      After another few minutes of watching the pair, Sorcha grew uneasy. Margaret and Beatham were doing more than idly flirting. There was a natural rapport between them. Even though she СКАЧАТЬ