Part 23 (1/2)

A streak of trepidation shot through Roarke. He had a.s.sumed he would be given an established holding that had long been under MacTier influence. A newly won estate would still be recovering from its invasion, and its inhabitants would be both fearful and contemptuous of any MacTier who came to rule them.

”You don't seem very pleased,” observed Laird MacTier, frowning.

”Forgive me,” said Roarke, realizing he had already worn his relations.h.i.+p with his laird dangerously thin. ”It is a fine bequest, MacTier. Thank you.”

”You may take Eric, Donald, and Myles with you if you wish,” Laird MacTier offered. ”And whatever supplies you deem necessary. If after your arrival you find that you need more men, just get word to me and I will send them to you. I shall see you before you depart tomorrow.” He lowered his gaze to his papers, indicating that their meeting was at an end.

”Thank you.” Roarke gave his laird a small bow and quit the chamber.

He had just been given everything he had wanted.

But any pleasure he might have felt was obliterated by the gnawing realization that his laird had not unequivocally agreed to spare the MacKillons any further hara.s.sment.

”Enter.”

The heavy door swung open and a powerfully built, keen-eyed warrior stepped into the laird's solar. His manner bore the easy arrogance of youth, for at five-and-twenty years he was entering the zenith of his physical abilities, and he had not yet suffered sufficient defeats to temper his conviction of his own invincibility. He wisely affected an appropriate contriteness as he met his laird's hard gaze. MacTier's mood was dark, and his own latest failure was the most likely cause.

”You disappoint me, Derek.”

The young warrior said nothing, believing silence would be better received than a bevy of weak excuses.

”You were given a simple task,” continued Laird MacTier, drumming his fingers upon his desk. ”You were to crush the MacKillons and ensure the safe return of four MacTier warriors. Instead, you permit nearly one-third of your army to be captured, and allow the remainder to be chased away with hollow threats and posturing.”

”You wanted Roarke and his men returned alive,” Derek pointed out. ”I could not secure their safe release if I proceeded with my attack on the MacKillon holding.”

Laird MacTier slammed his fist upon the oiled wood of his desk. ”You should have penetrated their pitiful defenses within minutes, leaving them no time to retrieve their hostages and use them for bargaining! The force that attacked them previously was inside and opening the gate before the MacKillons had stumbled drunkenly from their beds!”

”Their defenses have been improved upon since then,” Derek replied stiffly. ”They were able to hold us off longer than we had antic.i.p.ated.”

”Keep your sniveling excuses to yourself,” snapped Laird MacTier. ”They are of no interest to me.” He rose from his desk and went to the window, pondering his next move. ”I should have you relegated to shoveling filth for the next year. Instead I am going to give you the opportunity to redeem yourself from your pathetic failure.” He paused, studying the magnificent expanse of land stretching before him. ”I am most displeased by the fact that the Falcon continues to prey upon both my people and my possessions. As I have just a.s.signed new duties to Roarke, I find I am in need of a warrior who will be able to swiftly find this troublesome outlaw and bring him to me for reckoning.” He turned to face him. ”Do you think you can manage that?”

”Yes,” said Derek without hesitation.

”We shall see,” said Laird MacTier, unimpressed by his a.s.surance. ”As my patience has grown severely strained in this matter, I expect you to use whatever means necessary to capture this thief. Do you have any ideas?”

”I will set a trap for him.”

”How?”

”Several of my men who were taken prisoner by the MacKillons noticed something strange about their captors,” explained Derek. ”It seems a number of the MacKillons were wearing plaids of MacTier colors. There were others who swore that they recognized a particular sword or dirk. And all thought it strange that amongst the ragged attire of the clan, one could find an occasional gown or s.h.i.+rt of exceptional quality and workmans.h.i.+p.”

”What are you saying?” demanded Laird MacTier impatiently. ”That the Falcon is a MacKillon?”

”Perhaps,” allowed Derek. ”Or it's possible that the Falcon is giving away what he steals to struggling clans like the MacKillons.”

Laird MacTier's eyes widened in dismay. ”You think he gives it away?”

”He could also be selling it to them. But it couldn't be for much, given how little the MacKillons retained after our previous a.s.sault. Whichever it is, it appears the Falcon is concerned about the plight of the less fortunate. That will prove to be his undoing. I will hara.s.s the MacKillons until one of them reveals the ident.i.ty of the Falcon, or the Falcon delivers himself to me in the name of protecting those he apparently cares for.”

”You had best be right,” warned Laird MacTier ominously, ”or you will be up to your knees in excrement for the next year. Is that understood?”

”I will deliver the Falcon to you,” Derek vowed.

”See that you do. Now get the h.e.l.l out.”

Laird MacTier watched with impatience as the conceited young warrior left his chamber. When he was alone, he rose from his desk and went to the window to study the meadows and woods spilling out beyond the walls of his castle in a glorious tapestry of texture and color.

When he first inherited the t.i.tle of laird from his father, the MacTiers had been a sizable clan, but its lands had not nearly matched the needs of its people. He had set out to extend its borders, enabling his people to build homes and hunt and fish in woods and streams far beyond their traditional boundaries. The clan grew as conquered people were absorbed into its fold, and therefore the need for land continued unabated.

He had not initiated this campaign of expanding his borders with anything in mind other than providing for those who depended upon him, but over the years it had gradually evolved into more than that. He had discovered there was an intense, almost s.e.xual pleasure to be found in conquest. Although his clan's holdings and riches now far exceeded his youthful expectations, he found he constantly hungered for more. Roarke had been crucial in establis.h.i.+ng the MacTiers as a powerful and feared clan, and MacTier prided himself on having cultivated the warrior's extraordinary abilities from the time he was a mere lad. But it seemed Roarke had lost his zest for battle, and the callow young idiots who surrounded him now were good for little more than ramming or charging-there was not a decent military leader among them. If the expansion and prosperity of the MacTiers were to continue, he would have to a.s.sume control of the military campaigns himself.

And for that, he needed the amulet.

Fury streaked through him at the thought of the precious relic having fallen so easily into the Falcon's grasp. The fool priest who had been delivering it to him had blathered on incessantly about how he had very nearly been disemboweled in his attempts to guard it from the Falcon. MacTier had coldly informed him that having his guts smeared upon the ground would have been preferable to the fate that now awaited him. Ultimately, however, his threats had proven hollow. He was a pragmatic man, and had no desire to risk G.o.d's wrath by hacking open one of His precious servants unnecessarily. Instead he had given the priest ample time to consider his failure in one of the dark pits below the west tower.

He frowned, wondering if he had ever given anyone the order to release him.

No matter.

All that was of import now was capturing the Falcon and forcing him to return the amulet. Within its silver sphere lay a fragment of bone from St. Columba himself, the shrewdly powerful abbot who had established a monastery on the isle of Iona some six hundred years earlier. Columba had been a man of remarkable foresight and abilities. Not only had he helped to replace the pitifully weak heir to the throne with Aidan the False, a bold monarch who led the Scots to countless victories against the Picts, Columba had also single-handedly vanquished a hideous monster on the sh.o.r.es of Loch Ness. The emerald at the center of the amulet was said to have been found upon the sh.o.r.e by the saint just before that extraordinary altercation. In the centuries since, there were countless tales of how the amulet had faithfully protected its wearer from sudden death in battle.

With that precious relic hanging round his neck, there were no limits to what he could achieve.

He chafed at suggestions that he was growing old. Although he could not wield a sword with the supple ease of his youth, he could still direct the movements of a battle with more wit and skill than any of the dung-brained clods surrounding him. Nevertheless, it was only judicious to secure for himself the finest protection possible. His wife had finally managed to produce a son for him, but the lad was barely ten and worse, he struck MacTier as a weak and cowering brat, who needed many years of rigorous training and education to prepare him for the role to which he had been born. MacTier could not permit himself to be killed, or the clan would select another to a.s.sume his lairds.h.i.+p until his son was deemed of age to take his place. In the meantime, a lifetime of brilliant work could be destroyed. No, he could not go into battle without the protection of the amulet. He didn't give a d.a.m.n if he had to slaughter every last b.l.o.o.d.y MacKillon in his quest to force the Falcon to bring it to him.

As for the elusive Falcon, the outlaw would pay dearly for daring to steal from him, and for interfering with his rightful destiny.

CHAPTER 10.

”Blast it, Gelfrid! You nearly crushed my hand!”

”I thought you were finished spreading the mortar,” apologized Gelfrid sheepishly.

”You might have taken the time to ask me before you dropped that b.l.o.o.d.y stone on it!” Ninian complained. ”I'll be lucky if it isn't broken!”

”Try to move your fingers,” suggested Gelfrid helpfully.

”Just get away from me!” Ninian snapped, cradling his hand against his chest. ”I've had enough of your clumsiness for one day!”

Gelfrid's face grew crimson with insult. ”Clumsy, is it? Very well-let's see how quickly you build that merlon by yourself!”

”It may take longer,” Ninian allowed, ”but at least I'll do it without crus.h.i.+ng any b.l.o.o.d.y bones!”

”Here, now, what's all this commotion about?” asked Magnus.

”Gelfrid nearly broke my hand,” reported Ninian furiously.