Warriors: The Rose and The Warrior Part 12

"We must begin immediately," Roarke objected.

"Now, lad, I know you're anxious to get things started," Laird MacKillon returned, "but I'm sure you'll find everyone can apply themselves far better once they've had a little more rest."

"There is no time to be wasted," persisted Roarke, watching in frustration as the clan gratefully began to disperse. "We should be dividing the clan into groups-"

"We will take care of it," said Colin emphatically. "I must confess, I do find your sudden concern for our welfare somewhat perplexing. Just what, exactly, are you planning?" His gaze bored into Roarke. "Do you believe that if you keep everyone occupied with training and building, you and your warriors will be able to escape unnoticed?"

"No." Roarke was acutely aware that Melantha and her brothers were listening to their discussion.

"Then why are you pretending to want to help us?"

He curled the paper he was holding into his hand. "I have my reasons."

"And no doubt they are eminently n.o.ble," drawled Colin. "You are here as a prisoner, and now that you have seen the state we are in, you wish to help us, is that it?"

"Something like that."

"Such valor. Tell me, Roarke, if your clan's army was climbing our walls tonight in a bid to free you and your men, what would you do? Would you grab a weapon and help us fight them off, knowing the devastation we face should they defeat us once again? Or would you slaughter all who got in your way as you fought to reach the gate and let them in?"

Roarke said nothing.

"Don't bother pretending it's a decision over which you would agonize," Colin snarled. "We both know which choice you would make."

Roarke kept his expression impa.s.sive, refusing to confirm or deny Colin's allegations. Colin thoroughly despised him, and nothing Roarke said or did could possibly change that.

"Finlay, take these prisoners back into the great hall," commanded Colin, "and don't let them out of your sight."

He went to Melantha, laid his hand at the small of her back, and placed his arm protectively around Daniel, as if he were gathering his family.

Then he shepherded her and the boys back toward the castle, leaving Roarke to stand and wonder at the powerful emotions stabbing his chest.

CHAPTER 6.

"Lay down your sword, you scrawny, miserable pup, or I'll run you through like a hare on a spit!"

Patrick obediently dropped his wooden sword.

"You're not supposed to do it, Patrick!" said Daniel in disgust.

Patrick regarded his brother in confusion. "But you told me to."

"It doesn't matter if I tell you to. An attacking warrior says all kinds of horrid things to frighten people into surrendering-it doesn't mean you listen to them."

"But if I didn't obey you, you were going to run me through," objected Patrick.

"Now that you have no weapon, I'm going to run you through anyway." He thrust his sword alongside Patrick's waist. "There, see? Now you're dead."

Patrick's blue eyes rounded with disbelief. "But that's not fair! I did just as you told me to!"

"Attacking warriors don't care about what's fair," Daniel informed him authoritatively. "All they care about is how many they maim and kill-isn't that right, Magnus?"

"Well, now, I suppose that's mostly true." His eyes squinting against the afternoon light, Magnus nocked his arrow against the string of his bow and took careful aim at a straw-filled wagon in the courtyard below. The string of his weapon grew taut, then began to s.h.i.+ver as his aged hand quickly tired. Unable to restrain it any longer, he released the arrow into the air.

Daniel, Patrick, and Matthew peered over the battlements to watch its voyage. The arrow veered far to the right of the wagon, then burrowed into the earth by the stone well, missing Thor's feet by scarcely a hairsbreadth.

"G.o.d's teeth!" Thor roared, raising his sword to defend himself. On seeing Magnus gazing down from the parapet, he grew even more agitated. "What are you trying to do, kill me?"

"Ye were in no danger," Magnus a.s.sured him. "The arrow went exactly where I wanted it to go."

"The devil it did!" countered Thor furiously. "Unless you were trying to spear my foot to the ground!"

" 'Twas not your foot I was aiming for," Magnus returned. " 'Twas that sc.r.a.p of leaf lying on the ground beside it that had caught my attention."

Thor squinted at the gra.s.s. "There is no leaf here."

"Not anymore, there isn't," Magnus agreed. "That's because the head of my arrow drove it deep into the ground."

Unconvinced, Thor plucked the shaft from the ground and critically examined its tip. "I don't see any-"

"Thank ye for retrieving my arrow for me," said Magnus, waving. "Don't trouble yerself by bringin' it up-I shall be down later to collect it."

"Did you really mean to hit the earth so close to Thor's foot?" asked Matthew, impressed.

"Aye."

"I don't see how you could hit a leaf down there," objected Daniel, straining to see something equally small. "It's too little."

" 'Twas nothing," Magnus scoffed, slinging his bow over his arm. "When ye've launched tens of thousands of arrows, as I have, ye learn to sense their flight before ye set them free. 'Tis almost as if we are one."

"Were you one with the arrow that hit Roarke in the b.u.m?" wondered Patrick.

Magnus chuckled. "Now, that was as fine a shot as any a man has ever made. That's why I saved the arrow." He pulled the prized shaft from his quiver so the boys could examine it.

"Why did you aim for Roarke's b.u.m?" wondered Matthew, running his fingers in awe along the shaft.

"Why didn't you aim for his heart?" asked Daniel harshly.

"Well, now, the heart is a very tiny part of a man, and ye need only look at Roarke to see that he's an uncommonly big fellow. There he was, cras.h.i.+ng through the woods on his enormous black charger, swinging a great silver sword with the strength of ten men or more, and there was our dear Melantha, bravely meeting him blow for blow. But though the Falcon is quick and able, she could not match Roarke's powerful strikes for long. And so I knew I had to do something and double quick, or else it might be all over for the Falcon and her band. The MacTier's back was to me, so I steadied my arrow and aimed for his heart, knowing I could pierce it straight and true. But then I began to worry that his leather jerkin might be thick enough to resist the impact of my arrow, or perhaps the tip would strike squarely upon a rib and not delve in more than an inch or so, which would only succeed in making him even more fearsome than he already was."

Magnus paused for effect, looking with satisfaction at the three pairs of eyes fixed upon him in rapt fascination.

"What did you do?" demanded Patrick eagerly.

"I set my gaze lower and pierced him where he was far more vulnerable," Magnus finished triumphantly. "The mighty MacTier warrior was off his horse and squalling like a bairn faster than ye could spit!" He slapped his thigh and shook with laughter, causing the boys to giggle as well.

"I don't recall 'squalling,'" objected a low voice.

The three boys instantly stopped and regarded Roarke with varying degrees of fear, fascination, and contempt. Magnus, however, gazed at Roarke with amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Ye were in far too much pain to be able to recall exactly how ye were," he told him, still chuckling.

"Does your b.u.m still hurt?" asked Patrick sympathetically.

"No," snapped Roarke, wis.h.i.+ng to close the topic.

Little Patrick's face fell.

Roarke instantly regretted his tone. "Thank you for asking," he added, feeling somewhere between an ogre and an idiot.

"Have ye come to work on the wall head?" asked Magnus, seeing Lewis and Finlay appear from one of the entrances leading some twenty men. They were burdened with heavy timbers, wooden planks, axes, saws, hammers, and nails.

Roarke nodded. "The pits are coming along well, and Lewis and I have been discussing some ideas for making it more difficult to breach the wall," he explained. "We're going to begin construction on six wooden h.o.a.rdings to project from the parapet. Each will have openings in the floor through which heavy stones and boiling oil can be dropped on the attackers below. These will give you a better vantage point than just hurling rocks over the battlements."

"We're going to build one right over the gate," added Lewis. "That's going to keep any attackers from ramming it."

"It will make it more difficult," amended Roarke.

"Ye don't say?" said Magnus, clearly intrigued. "But won't that leave the lads perched on the h.o.a.rding in danger of being shot?"

"I've designed the h.o.a.rdings to be almost completely enclosed," said Lewis. He unrolled one of the drawings he was carrying and showed it to Magnus. "There will be walls on all three sides, with cross-shaped openings to allow the men to see," he explained, proudly pointing to these features on his neatly detailed diagram. "They can also see through the openings in the floor."

"An excellent idea!" said Magnus. "Do ye think I could shoot from one of these?"

Lewis frowned, studying his design. "I don't believe there will be enough room for an archer."

"The h.o.a.rdings will be manned by two men who need room to move and keep a stockpile of rocks," explained Roarke. "There won't be s.p.a.ce for an archer as well."

"A pity." Magnus sighed wistfully. "I could make some fine hits from a platform like that."

"You would also have an excellent vantage point if you shot from one of the upper chambers," Roarke suggested. The wall head was a dangerous place during an attack, and he did not particularly relish the idea of Magnus being caught in the thick of it. Beyond that, there was also the distinct possibility of Magnus accidentally planting an arrow into one of his own clan.

"Ye might be right," said Magnus, thoughtfully stroking his beard. "But there's no point in thinkin' about that." He sighed. "Duty requires an old warrior like me to be up here, so I can lead my men to victory."

Roarke wasn't certain which men he was talking about, but he refrained from questioning him on that point. "The entire clan would be better served by your skills as an archer, Magnus," he suggested, wondering just why the thought of the old man being exposed to danger bothered him.

"And you're a great archer!" gushed Patrick enthusiastically. "You should have seen the way he hit the leaf beside Thor's foot," he told Roarke. "It was so close, Thor was actually afraid for his life!"

" 'Twas nothing," said Magnus, thoroughly pleased with himself.

"The arrow went so deep, it made the leaf disappear!" added Patrick.

Roarke raised a skeptical brow. "Really?"

"Now, lads, ye don't want to sound like yer braggin'," admonished Magnus, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Run along and play somewhere."

"I don't play," Daniel informed him stiffly. "I'm training to be a warrior. And I want to stay here and help build these platforms."

"I want to help build platforms too," volunteered Patrick.

"Me too," added Matthew, although he sounded less than certain.

Magnus regarded them dubiously. "Do ye think ye can find somethin' for them to do?" he asked Lewis.

"There are all kinds of things they can do to help," Lewis a.s.sured Magnus. "We need every pair of hands."

"Fine, then. Ye can stay up here and help-but make sure ye don't get in anyone's way," instructed Magnus sternly. "Do ye hear?"

The three boys nodded.

"Well, then, I suppose I'll collect that arrow I shot into that leaf before leadin' the men in their archery practice. Ye know how I hate to waste a perfectly good arrow." He cast Roarke an amused look.

Not waiting for Roarke's response, he jauntily slung his bow over his shoulder and disappeared.

"Give me your sword!"

Melantha watched in disbelief as Ninian obediently handed his weapon over to Eric. Her hand instinctively flew to the hilt of her own sword. Did Ninian not realize the danger of allowing this MacTier prisoner to be armed?

"Brace your feet a shoulder width apart, so your stance is solid," Eric instructed, positioning his own feet at the same time. "You are thin, and although Gelfrid here is short and fat, he outmatches you by weight."

"I'm not fat," protested Gelfrid. He lowered his sword so he could mop his sweating brow with his sleeve. "I'll have you know this is sheer muscle." He thumped the generous round of his belly with his pudgy fist.

"More like sheer ale," countered Ninian.

"Whatever it is, the Viking is saying that I have the advantage," said Gelfrid testily.

"No, he's saying I'd best not let you sit on me or I'll be crushed," Ninian retorted.

"Why don't we try it and find out?" snapped Gelfrid, tossing his sword down and stomping toward his friend.

Eric felt the taut thread of his patience snap. "Enough!"

Every MacKillon in the yard instantly stopped what they were doing and stared at Eric in bewilderment.

"What's amiss, Viking?" demanded Thor, who was seated comfortably in a chair with a cup of cool ale in his hand. "Is the training over for today?"

"No," said Eric, struggling to rein in his temper. "Everyone continue."

The thirty or so men who were training resumed their exercises.

Eric fixed Gelfrid and Ninian with a steely stare. "Do you wish to learn to fight, or do you prefer to squabble like a pair of old women?"

The two MacKillons exchanged chastised looks.