The Rose and The Warrior (24 page)

“Are you certain you're all right, Colin?” demanded Roarke, ignoring the elders' bickering.

“It's just a scratch,” Colin assured him brusquely. “I'm fine.”

Roarke tilted his head in acknowledgment and began to turn away.

“Roarke.”

He paused.

“Thank you.”

Roarke nodded, knowing full well how much it had cost Colin to say those words.

Melantha appeared on the wall head just in time to see a volley of burning arrows rain down upon her people.

“Great God in heaven, it's raining fire!” said Laird MacKillon, looking about in awe.

Magnus promptly picked up one of the burning arrows and sent it flying right back at the MacTiers. “Take that, ye foul wretches!” he shouted gleefully. “Ye can't burn good Scottish stone, so all ye're doin' is helpin' us to see ye better in the dark, ye stinkin' clods of cow dung—”

“Magnus, your plaid's afire!” shouted Melantha.

Magnus yelped in surprise and began to dance wildly about, unraveling his plaid as he struggled to stamp out the flames consuming the ragged wool.

Thinking fast, Lewis dipped a wooden bucket into one of the cauldrons and hurled its contents onto Magnus.

“God's ballocks, that water's freezing!” shouted Magnus, instantly forgetting his previous problem.

“Sorry,” Lewis apologized.

“That's all right, lad, ye couldn't have known. Where have ye been, Melantha?” Magnus asked, adjusting his sodden plaid as best he could before picking up his bow once more.

“I was in the castle helping with one of the nets,” Melantha replied, moving over to the parapet so she could see what was happening below.

“Was it working well?” asked Lewis hopefully.

“Your design was brilliant, Lewis,” Melantha told him. “It comes down with barely a whisper, and can be hoisted again so fast it's ready for the next intruders within minutes. Already we've captured over fifteen men.”

“What are ye doin' with the prisoners?” wondered Magnus.

“Gelfrid is locking them up in the storeroom,” Melantha replied. “And then he's scaring them with some tale about a big rat.”

“A pity we can't just drop a giant net on the lot of them,” observed Magnus, firing another arrow into the air. He sighed as his shaft landed several feet to the right of the warrior he had intended to hit. “That would put an end to all of this.”

“Magnus, aim to the left of your target,” suggested Donald.

“Now, why would I want to do a foolish thing like that?” wondered Magnus. “ 'Tis hard enough to hit these MacTier curs in the dark as it is, without purposely aimin' away from them. An'if yer thinkin' to comment on my bein' a wee bit off tonight, well, I'm sure I don't need to remind ye about that time I hit yer fearless leader right square in the—”

“Just try it,” interrupted Donald. “Once.”

“Most idiotic thing I ever heard,” grumbled Magnus, nocking another arrow against the string of his bow. “Fine, then, I'm aimin' to hit that big beast of a MacTier standing by the well, the one who is about to shoot another one of those bloody flaming shafts at me.”

“Aim to the left of him, Magnus,” Donald instructed, moving beside him. “By about one yard.”

“Pure idiocy,” muttered Magnus, reluctantly adjusting his aim, “as if I can't see clear enough to know which way the bloody arrow is going to fly—”

“You got him, Magnus!” burst out Lewis in amazement. “Right in the thigh!”

“That'll teach ye to try to shoot yer elders!” Magnus shouted, shaking his fist in triumph. “Now, drop yer weapon and run on home, before I fix it so that ye're the last of yer line!”

The terrified MacTier instantly threw down his bow and scurried away as fast as his injury would permit.

“Your pardon, Roarke, but are we winning?” asked Laird MacKillon, clearly confused by the progress of the battle. “With all these flaming arrows and rocks flying about, 'tis rather difficult to tell what's what.”

Roarke watched in frustration as the MacTier rammers continued to methodically bash at the wooden gate with their timber. Several of them had been knocked out by the falling stones, but these men were simply dragged out of the way and replaced by others. The gate was solid and was reinforced by a heavy bar, and if they broke through they would still have to haul up the iron portcullis. Even so, no castle was impenetrable. If the MacTiers didn't succeed in forcing their way through the entrance, they would eventually find another way in.

He had to orchestrate a bargain with them before that happened.

“All we're doing for the moment is holding our own,” he told Laird MacKillon.

“I'd say we're doin a wee bit more than that, laddie,” countered Magnus. “Looks to me like these filchers are goin' to pay yer ransom—they're bringin' forth an enormous cart piled high with goods!”

Roarke glanced down to see two horses pulling a heavy wagon that was draped in rough blankets.

Uneasiness seeped through him.

“ 'Twould appear these MacTiers are wise enough to accept that they cannot win,” declared Laird MacKillon approvingly. “And a good thing, too—we've almost completely exhausted our store of rocks.” He clapped his hands to capture his clan's attention. “We will release our prisoners in exchange for this ransom, and that will put an end to any further unpleasantness.”

“They had better have another set of pipes in there for me,” grumbled Thor, “or else I shall be forced to demand the life of one of them as payment!”

“They couldn't possibly have packed everything we demanded into one wagon,” reflected Melantha, straining to see if there was another cart hidden somewhere in the shadows. “Where is all the livestock they were supposed to replace?”

“Perhaps it will be delivered at a later time,” Hagar suggested.

“I'm sure they've at least got some fowl in cages on that wagon,” mused Mungo. “Just look at how high it is stacked.”

“That leader of theirs really ought to tell those chaps to stop banging on the bloody gate,” complained Ninian. “In another minute they're going to crack the wood!”

“Look, they're taking off the blankets!” Lewis said excitedly.

The entire clan watched in rapt silence as the MacTier warriors severed the ropes holding the shroud of blankets in place.

“That's not what we asked for,” protested Laird MacKillon in confusion. “What in the name of St. Columba are we supposed to do with a contraption like that?”

“Here, they're going to demonstrate how it works for us,” said Hagar.

“Get down!!”
roared Roarke, raising his arms to attract the attention of all the MacKillons who had lined up in a fascinated row on the wall head.
“Everyone get down, now!!”

Before he could issue any further warning Melantha plowed into him, knocking him to the ground with such force he could almost feel his ribs crack.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” he demanded, roughly shoving her aside. “Your people are in danger and I have to let them—”

His words died in his throat.

Melantha stared at him in ashen silence. She was shivering slightly, but that was the only concession she made to the arrow buried deep within her arm.

“Oh, God, Melantha, I'm sorry—”

At that point the first boulder was vaulted from the stone-throwing machine below. It crashed heavily into the battlements, shattering one of the merlons before smashing with brutal power against the floor.

“Great God in heaven, they're going to destroy the castle!” Laird MacKillon realized, appalled.

Every MacKillon on the wall head immediately retreated a step, fearful of being crushed by the next missile.

“Bring the men in from the hoardings!” shouted Lewis, helping Finlay scramble onto the wall head from his precarious little platform. “They aren't designed to withstand this kind of assault!”

Just then a huge boulder crashed into the small wooden gallery, tearing away its wall and more than half of its flooring. The powerful impact knocked Ninian down, leaving him dangling helplessly from one of the few remaining timbers.

“Help!” he cried, desperately trying to hold on as a flurry of arrows sailed toward him.

“Stand aside, Lewis!” roared Eric, racing forward. Ignoring the shafts flying all around him, the Viking warrior squeezed through the crenel, grabbed Ninian by both his shoulders, and hauled him to the relative safety of the wall head.

“Did you see what they did?” demanded Ninian incredulously. “They blasted away the very floor I was standing on! I could have been killed! Killed, I tell you!”

At that point another boulder crashed into the parapet close to Ninian's head, shattering yet another of the merlons.

“I don't think we can fight this kind of attack,” said Laird MacKillon, his aged frame stooped with defeat. “I believe we must surrender.”

“We will never surrender!” shouted Thor fiercely over the wall. “We would rather be smashed to pieces and die mangled and bleeding, but with honor—do you hear, you vile, filthy MacTier scum!”

“They won't withdraw even if we release you, will they?” Melantha asked, her gaze upon Roarke intense. “That's why they brought that machine. They intend to destroy us completely, regardless of what we do or say.”

Roarke knotted the rag he had wrapped around her upper arm above the arrow, his expression grim. The MacTier warriors were merely following the orders of their laird, just as he had done for so many years. The fact that they had taken the trouble to haul this deadly machine all these miles meant that they had been instructed to put it to use, regardless of whether or not it was actually necessary. The rescue of Roarke and his men was secondary to this mission, he realized furiously.

The MacKillons had dared to lash back at their oppressors. For that, they would be destroyed.

“Stay down,” he ordered tautly.

Melantha immediately rose to her feet, ignoring the pain gripping her left arm. “What are you going to do?”

He did not waste time answering her, but strode purposefully over to Colin. “Grab hold of me and put your sword to my throat,” he ordered. “Finlay, you take Myles, Lewis take Eric, and Magnus take Donald. Tell these bastards you will slay us before their eyes if they don't retreat at once. Do it
now
!” he snarled, seeing the MacKillons hesitate in confusion.

Colin immediately grabbed Roarke and pressed the blade of his sword against his throat.

“Cease your attack or this MacTier is dead!” he bellowed, moving closer to a torch so he and Roarke could be seen by the MacTiers below.

“Halt!”
commanded the golden-haired leader, raising his hand into the air.

The MacTier warriors froze. The stone-throwing machine was poised to launch another boulder, the battering ram was inches from the gate, arrows were positioned against quivering bows, and men were dangerously exposed upon the ladders, yet no one dared move without the permission of their commanding warrior.

“Tell them they must withdraw if they hope to keep us alive,” Roarke directed Laird MacKillon in a low voice. “Tell them if they return to their lands at once, you give them your word that we will be released unharmed in three days' time.”

Laird MacKillon nodded and moved to the parapet to address the MacTiers below. “I'm afraid this is a most unfortunate situation,” he began apologetically.

“For God's sake, try to sound angry!” hissed Roarke.

Laird MacKillon looked a bit startled by Roarke's curt directive, but then he nodded, apparently understanding that this was not the time for civilized deliberation.

“Return to your lands at once or we will slay the hostages,” he said briskly.

The fair-haired warrior urged his horse forward. “We cannot leave without our fellow clansmen,” he informed him. “We have been ordered to bring them home with us.”

“And I suppose you were also ordered to ravage our castle and butcher every last one of us, weren't you, you depraved demons from hell!” railed Thor, angrily shaking his gnarled fist at them. “One more arrow from any of you, and that big Viking chap of yours will be chopped up and ground into bread!” His wrinkled face was twisted with fury and his white hair was blowing crazily around his head, making him look truly macabre in the flickering torchlight.

“Tell them three days,” Roarke prompted Laird MacKillon.

“If you leave at once, we will release these hostages in three days,” Laird MacKillon told the MacTiers.

“But if you don't, we shall begin hacking off their heads and tossing them over the wall!” shrieked Thor, who was obviously enjoying the attention he was commanding.

The MacTier leader hesitated, reluctant to retreat from a battle without the prize he had been ordered to procure.

“Tell him to withdraw immediately, or you'll slay one of us just to help him make up his mind,” said Roarke, not wanting to give the commanding warrior too much time to consider his situation.

“Leave now, or the Viking loses his head!” shouted Thor gleefully, not caring that it was Laird MacKillon who was supposed to be handling the matter. He raised his sword and lovingly caressed its shimmering edge, effectively giving the impression that he was more than a little mad, and capable of the most hideous acts.

Apparently he made an impression upon the leader. “Will you also release the prisoners you have captured tonight?” he demanded.

“Aye,” said Laird MacKillon. “In three days.”

“Very well.” Believing he had little choice, the warrior turned his horse and motioned for his men to withdraw.

A deafening cheer rose from the wall head.

“Stay here and keep enough men guarding the wall to make certain they don't return,” directed Roarke to Eric. “Donald, go with Lewis and assess the damage sustained by the castle. Post guards anywhere that looks vulnerable. Myles, organize a group of men to guard the prisoners caught by the nets in the castle. The ones in the pits can stay where they are for the night.”