My Lady Captor. Hannah Howell

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СКАЧАТЬ Beatham and his cousin were prisoners. Even if Beatham was willing to forgive that, Sorcha did not believe that Ruari would. Anything more than a mild flirtation between Margaret and Beatham was certainly doomed.

      “Margaret,” she said, gently interrupting a murmured confidence between the young couple. “I think Beatham should rest now.” She turned to the youth. “Ye should bed down next to your cousin. Margaret and I must take turns standing guard so we cannae watch over him as weel.”

      “I can help ye guard the camp,” Beatham offered.

      “Nay. Your wounds—”

      “Arenae that serious.”

      “True, but they have weakened you. They were left untended for far too long. Ye havenae got the strength to be a guard tonight. Howbeit, ye will have enough to tend your cousin if he needs aid.”

      “And that will be a great help, Beatham,” Margaret said. “After all, if we had to stand watch and care for Sir Kerr, we would get no sleep at all.”

      Sorcha inwardly grimaced as she listened to Beatham talk grandly about the honor of helping such bonnie lasses. She cleared away the meal and, ordering Margaret to help Beatham spread out his bedding next to Ruari, went to get the bed pack she and Margaret would share. Her pony playfully nudged her as she reached his side, and she took a moment to see to his needs. Margaret joined her just as she finished watering the animal.

      “Do ye wish me to take first watch?” Margaret asked, idly scratching Bansith’s ear.

      “Nay, I will.” She handed Margaret the bedding. “Spread this near the fire and keep your weapons close at hand.”

      “Aye, I will.” Margaret studied Sorcha for a moment before asking, “Does something trouble you?”

      Sorcha briefly pondered a way to gently explain her concerns to Margaret then decided that directness was best. “I think ye would be wise not to get too friendly with Beatham Kerr.”

      “Why? He seems a nice young mon.”

      “Oh, aye, a sweet boy.”

      “Boy? He must be your age, twenty or so.”

      “True, but there is still a boyish air about him,” Sorcha said, smiling faintly. “How I feel about him doesnae matter. I but try to stop you from losing your heart to a mon ye can ne’er have. He will soon count himself your enemy.”

      “Why? What could we e’er do that would turn the Kerrs against us?”

      “Hold Sir Ruari and Beatham for ransom.”

      “I dinnae understand.”

      Checking to be certain Beatham was still too far away to overhear her, Sorcha replied, “Dougal is being held by the English. They will demand a ransom for him. Ye ken as weel as I that we have naught to buy his freedom with. The Kerrs of Gartmhor have some riches. As soon as I ken what the English demand for Dougal’s life, I will ask that much from the Kerrs. I really have no choice,” she added when she saw how crestfallen Margaret looked.

      “But Beatham has played the courtier even though he kens he is a prisoner for ransom. Mayhap that means the Kerrs willnae hold it against us.”

      “He doesnae ken he is a prisoner yet.” Sorcha idly rubbed at her temple, vainly attempting to massage away a beginning headache. She cursed Dougal for his impetuousness, for his mad search for glory which would now cost his family dearly. “I havenae told him or Sir Ruari.”

      “Why not? It seems they have a right to ken we are not the rescuers they think we are.”

      “They do, and I detest this deception, but it must be played out. They must not ken our plans until we are at the gates of Dunweare. We are but two lasses. Aye, they are wounded men, and we have fighting skills, but ’tis far safer if we play this game. If they ken my plan they may try to escape. Weel, I need not tell you of all the trouble that could come down on our heads.”

      “Nay.” Margaret sighed and cast a longing glance Beatham’s way. “He is such a sweet, bonnie mon. I felt a true softening toward him.”

      “I ken it. ’Tis why I felt I must warn you.”

      “Mayhap Beatham would understand and forgive us.”

      “He may, but Ruari is his laird, and that mon willnae forget and forgive.”

      “Aye, I think ye are right. How sad.”

      “I am sorry, Cousin.”

      “’Tisnae your fault. ’Tis Dougal’s. He put himself in jeopardy. Although he can be an utter fool at times, our clan needs him. Ye must do all ye can to get him back. ’Tisnae your fault that I feel drawn to Beatham either.”

      “If it will help any, what I ask of ye now may just make the end of that courtship come sooner than later.”

      “What do ye mean? Dinnae ye think I could win the heart of a mon like Beatham?” Margaret demanded.

      “Of course ye could. Aye, I suspect ye could draw a promise of marriage from him ere we reach Dunweare. And then he could meet our kinsmen and kinswomen.” Sorcha smiled crookedly as she watched a look of understanding slowly transform Margaret’s pretty round face.

      “Oh, them.”

      “Aye, them. Mayhaps ye can find some solace in the fact that my actions now will save ye from suffering through that confrontation. They would all gather at Dunweare if there was a wedding. Beatham does appear to be kind and sweet of nature, but e’en he may balk at taking the Seven Sisters into his family.”

      “Aye and they are but a small part of the problem. I love my family dearly, but there are times when I wish I had been born into another clan.”

      Sorcha laughed and nodded, in complete sympathy. “Go and rest. I will take the first watch.”

      “Are ye sure we must be so vigilant? Ye must be as weary as I, and I could use far more 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. ’Tis an 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, we must guard the camp. Shelter the fire so that ’tis enough to keep wild animals at bay yet not so large it will act as a beacon for the villains who call this land home.”

      Nodding, Margaret left to spread their bedding out by the fire. Sorcha sighed, checked her weapons, and strode into the wood encircling the camp. She would establish a circular guard out of sight of the camp. As she studied her shadow caused by the moonlight shining through the trees, she realized she would present a small obstacle 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 of size and strength. Shaking off a brief attack of fear, she began her steady, watchful pace around the camp.

      With each step she cursed her brother. He knew he was needed, desperately so, to carry on the line. While it was true that she could take his place as laird of Dunweare, that whatever husband she might gain could stand for her in court or in battle, it was not the same. The СКАЧАТЬ