Part 17 (1/2)
”But we can't,” objected Hagar. ”They know who the Falcon is and where she and her band of outlaws hide. If we let them go they could lead an army back here and kill them.”
”Roarke and his men seem like good, decent fellows, even though they are MacTier warriors,” said Laird MacKillon. ”I cannot believe they would ever do anything so cowardly.”
”Perhaps not willingly,” Hagar allowed. ”But every man must obey the orders of his laird. If MacTier told them to return here, what choice would they have?”
”Hagar makes a good point,” Magnus reluctantly conceded.
Laird MacKillon considered this a moment. ”Then there is only one thing to do,” he finally said.
The other council members regarded him expectantly.
”If the Laird MacTier does not fulfill the demands of our ransom, then we must keep the prisoners here.”
”Forever?” asked Magnus.
He nodded.
”It would be a lot easier just to carve them up and make a stew out of them,” Thor grumbled. ”Do you have any idea how much those brutes will eat over the years?”
”I don't believe it will come to that,” said Magnus. ”As ye've already pointed out, these are four fine big lads, and I'm willin' to wager MacTier is not about to just let his warriors go. He'll either pay the ransom and be done with it, or he'll come for a visit and try to take them back by force.”
”Then let's hope he chooses to simply pay the ransom,” Laird MacKillon responded, ”and save us the trouble of having to put Lewis's contraptions to the test.”
Eric watched with swiftly eroding patience as Mungo clumsily ascended the stone stairs backward.
”Stop looking behind you,” he commanded, the rusted steel of the dull sword he had been allocated for training cracking hard against Mungo's only marginally sharper blade. ”I could have killed you ten times by now, with all your stumbling and looking over your shoulder. The steps are there-now forget about them and concentrate on killing me.”
”But I could fall,” protested Mungo, stealing an anxious glance behind him at the stairs leading from the courtyard to the second level of the castle.
”You won't fall because your opponent will have his sword buried in your belly long before you make it up the first step,” complained Eric. ”If you fear falling so much, then use it to drive me back-don't let me make you retreat.”
Mungo dutifully jabbed at the warrior, only to have his blow squarely deflected by Eric's pitiful weapon.
”Again!” commanded Eric, still forcing Mungo up the stairs. ”Don't just stand there-thrust at me again!”
Mungo flailed his sword once more, and the blow was promptly countered.
”Faster!” ordered Eric, advancing yet another step. ”I could slay an army in the time it takes you to return a thrust! Keep your blade moving!”
Once again Mungo stabbed at Eric, and once again his weapon was deflected as Mungo glanced over his shoulder and nervously ascended yet another step.
”You are leading your opponent right into the castle,” observed Eric in disgust. ”Why don't you just step aside and invite me in?”
”I'm trying to keep you out!” protested Mungo.
”Then keep your eyes locked on mine,” Eric instructed, engaging him with his sword once more. ”Drive me back with the sheer force of your hatred, and whatever you do, don't look behind for so much as-look out!!”
Mungo gasped in surprise as his body collided with another. He threw his arms up in the air in a frantic attempt to regain his balance, and might have succeeded had Eric not shoved him out of the way in his race to catch Gillian.
”Help!” cried Mungo as he toppled awkwardly over the side of the stairs and landed solidly on the gra.s.s below.
”Are you all right?” Eric demanded.
”I think I bruised myself,” replied Mungo, rubbing his backside.
”Not you!” snapped Eric. Realizing she might find his harsh tone unsettling, he lowered his voice as he asked Gillian, ”Are you hurt?”
Shocked to find herself suddenly caught in the hard crush of Eric's arms, Gillian shook her head. ”I-I'm fine,” she stammered, mortified by the thought that he could probably feel the pounding of her heart against his chest. ”I'm just finding it a little difficult to breathe.”
Eric instantly eased his hold on her, but he kept one arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders, as if he feared she might stumble again. ”You're certain?”
Gillian tilted her head up. His face was a forbidding mask of hard lines and unforgiving angles, but it was his eyes that drew her attention. Their icy blue gaze was far too intense to be characterized as gentle, but there was a ray of concern within them that touched her nonetheless.
”I'm certain,” she a.s.sured him softly.
”I'm sorry I b.u.mped into you, Gillian,” apologized Mungo, ruefully rubbing his posterior. ”I didn't know you were there.”
Gillian smiled. ” 'Twas my fault entirely, Mungo.”
”It was both your faults,” Eric informed them brusquely as he escorted Gillian down the staircase. ”You must learn to sense what is around you and react swiftly to it,” he informed Mungo. ”And you must learn to watch where you are going,” he admonished Gillian. Satisfied that she was not injured, he directed his attention to the men he was training. ”Divide yourselves into groups and line up at the bottom of the exterior staircases. Each of you will ascend and descend the stairs twenty times-backwards.”
”That will take us until nightfall!” protested Gelfrid, leaning against his sword as he mopped his sweating brow.
”By the end of the day you will have either overcome your fear of stepping back, or you will be too exhausted to worry about it,” Eric predicted. ”Either way, you will learn to fight on the steps without stopping long enough to be split open every time you s.h.i.+ft your feet.”
”By all the saints, I swear he's going to kill us,” muttered Mungo, dragging his damp sleeve across his face. ”He's going to train us to b.l.o.o.d.y death.”
”I'm thinking he'll just exhaust us so that we haven't the strength to lift so much as a finger in the event of an attack,” Ninian complained grumpily. ”Then the MacTiers will come and finish us off where we lie.”
”I wish they'd come soon,” said Gelfrid. ”I'd like to be dead before I have to climb up and down those b.l.o.o.d.y stairs twenty times.”
Reluctantly they began to a.s.semble themselves.
”I must be going,” said Gillian, suddenly feeling shy in Eric's presence.
”No,” he snapped.
Her eyes widened with startled apprehension.
Frustration swept through Eric. Why was it that every sentence that escaped his mouth sounded so harsh? He raked his hand through his blond hair, struggling to find the right thing to say next.
”You will stay a moment,” he elaborated, then realized it still sounded as though he were giving her an order. ”If it pleases you,” he finished awkwardly.
Gillian hesitated. ”Are you inviting me to stay with you?”
He frowned. He was accustomed to commanding, not inviting. But as Donald had frequently pointed out, his behavior around women often had the effect of frightening them away, and he didn't want to frighten Gillian. If she would prefer to think he was inviting her, so be it.
”Yes,” he decided, nodding. ”I'm inviting you to stay.”
”Very well.” She stood there a moment, waiting for him to say something more. When he didn't, she screwed up her courage and meekly inquired, ”Are you angry with me?”