Chapter Seven

"M acInness!"

He turned around and the head of his Irish Contingent, Patrick O'Malley, called out, "'Tis a black look you've got in your eye."

MacInness locked gazes with the auburn-haired giant. "I've found Roderick."

"Is it bad then?"

MacInness frowned. "It could be worse," he admitted. "He took an arrow to the shoulder. I've had two men move him to Sara's hut…'tis closest to the wood."

Patrick nodded and MacInness knew he wouldn't have to explain more than that. Patrick was more than MacInness's right hand, he was his closest friend.

"Ye ken how long I've served my forty-days for Owen?"

"Well now," Patrick scratched his chin. "Nigh on five times over, I'd say."

MacInness could read the other man's thoughts and knew Patrick would be tallying the number of times he'd come near death. MacInness smiled back, knowing the Irishman owed him his life, at least three times over.

"Ye know I've ne'er trusted him." At his friend's nod, MacInness continued, "Garrick of Merewood has offered me land near a stream flowin' with trout. The land is wide and flat. I'd be able to plant crops enough to help feed half my clan and there's room enough for my Irish Contingent."

MacInness hesitated. He'd not asked any of them. He pushed forward assuming they'd follow him as they always had. "Garrick will be pleased to hire ye all on as well, but if ye'd rather, ye can stay."

"We go with you."

When MacInness nodded, but remained silent, Patrick asked, "You'll be headed north then, to bring them back?"

MacInness was glad that he didn't have to explain. "When my service to the mon is done, and I've delivered Garrick's bride safe and sound to Merewood Keep, I'll be headin' to my Highland home." His brows drew together in a frown.

"What be your worry then?"

He grunted, "My mother maun come willingly, or my wee sisters wilna budge from their home. If the lassies wilna come, my mother…weel now, she's a bit stubborn, set in her ways."

The sparkle of laughter in Patrick's clear green eyes made MacInness's mouth curl up in a smile and admit, "I may have inherited that trait."

The sharp bark of laughter from behind the two men surprised them both and had them spinning about. "Oh aye, you damned Scot, stubborn as an old goat! And now he admits the trait like a woman."

The fist that reacted to the taunt never connected with the younger man's face, he deftly sidestepped the blow.

"Now Sean, you mustn't rile our Scots friend here. 'Tis worried he is about his women folk," Patrick explained to his brother.

Sean's look grew immediately contrite. "Well now, 'tis sorry I am. Your mother then? Is she ill?"

"Nay. Rumors from London say King William heads north to Scotland soon. I wilna have them in the middle of another Uprising. We Scots never give up, ye ken? She'd die before givin' up her home."

"You have a plan then." It was a statement. Patrick and his younger brother waited patiently for MacInness to fill them in.

"It begins with Merewood. I've agreed to serve Garrick in exchange for land to till, and a home to be built, and he'll welcome ye as well. He's been more than fair in his offerin' to me. I canna let the lass he's to wed come to harm." A quick look at the elder brother confirmed what he had hoped; they were with him. "I trust the Lord of Sedgeworth as far as the keep's bailey and not beyond."

"We're with you." Sean said. "Did you tell Merewood that you have a few more warriors coming with you?"

"Aye, he's wantin' to meet you."

"What of Kelly and Eamon?" the brothers asked.

MacInness's nod settled it. Their future thus mapped out for them, the three men went in search of the rest of the Irish mercenaries. Their new overlord awaited them.

*

"Revas!" Owen bellowed his manservant's name with his hands on hips, surveying the room.

When the man hurried forward, he let out his pent-up breath, "Aye, milord?"

Owen glared at the servant. "Has Roderick been found?"

Shaking his head, the man replied, "The keep, the bailey, and all of the huts have been searched." He lowered his voice, "He just disappeared."

Owen held onto his composure by thinly stretched strands, his control tenuous. He knew in his heart the promised bag of gold was beyond his reach. Garrick would rescind his offer of marriage; he would if it were him. His wife would never let him forget they had almost been rid of the chit. Haldana just didn't understand he still needed his ward if he was to claim her former keep.

Emitting a loud groan, he held his head and sighed. "Best bring Garrick to my chambers; we cannot keep this news from him."

Once the servant left, Owen sat heavily on the stool near the wall. There had to be a way around this current snag in his plans. His mind raced to find a solution without having to let Jillian go.

"'Twould be dangerous for the brothers to travel to Merewood so late in the day," Owen said softly, "Mayhap, they would meet with outlaws on the road—Scots Reivers—and have to fight for their very lives."

The more he thought about it, the more excited he became by his loosely forming plans. Laying a trap for them was far better than to have to bargain with the arrogant young warrior.

"MacInness!" Owen bellowed even louder this time. The tall Scot entered the room, flanked by two of his more troublesome knights. They did not take direction well, only listening to the burly redheaded man who stood not ten feet in front of him.

"Aye?" His Scots' burr was thick and always a bad sign.

When the warrior was angered, his brogue was so thick Owen had trouble understanding him. The only reason he tolerated him was the man's extraordinary skill with his claymore, and the uncanny ability to out-think his opponent.

As the men stood before him, two more joined them, lining up behind MacInness. Now all four of the Irish mercenaries were lined up behind the Scotsman. Owen knew something was up.

Clearing his throat, Owen began, "The prisoner has not yet been found."

Inclining his head, the Scot agreed without words, then turned to one of his men.

Owen did not have time for this. He needed to implement his latest plan as quickly as possible. "I have sent for Garrick. I'll make certain that he'll not break his word to marry my ward or honor his offer of protection."

"But you've no brother to trade," one of the men blurted out.

Owen's gaze held the brilliant green-eyed stare for long minutes before answering, "I have a plan."

He thought he heard his vassal groan under his breath and watched him stiffen his stance. If only I could read MacInness's thoughts, I'd be able to convince him to leave now and set the trap.

"Take ten men and follow behind them. As you draw near, split up and hide in the woods. When the time is right, attack from both sides."

The five warriors listened as Owen briefly described his plan to waylay the brothers on their journey home. The men had been silent through the telling, and remained so even while he waited for their ready agreement to his command.

Instead of the answer he expected, the Scotsman bit out, "I have a fortnight left of service to ye. I wilna return. My agreement with ye was for forty days a year until such time as either of us wished to end such service. I do."

Blindsided, speechless, Owen let his jaw drop open. "I pay you well for your service to me."

"Aye, ye do." The tone of the Scot's voice brooked no arguments.

"Then why?" Owen asked. Time was growing short, and he didn't have time for this. He had to waylay the brothers or else his bargaining chip would leave in two weeks' time and his leverage would be gone.

He turned around to glare at the men flanking the Scotsman. "What of your men?"

When they glared back, a thin spiral of unease flickered to life and swept through him. "Well?"

They stubbornly remained silent, their faces carved in stone. Throwing up his hands, he turned once more toward the stairs and shouted for his manservant.

When the mercenaries still hadn't moved, he shouted at them. "What are you waiting for? I have no further need of your services. Get out!"

MacInness took a step closer, folded his arms across his broad chest, and shook his head, "Nay. We'll stay and see our agreements through. None will say we are no' men of our word." With that MacInness and his Irish Contingent turned and were gone.

"Revas!" Owen shouted again.

The servant appeared flustered by the hard look in each of the warriors' eyes as they passed him on the stair.

Hurrying up the last few steps, he answered, "Aye, milord?"

"Fetch Aaron at once," Owen bit out.

Nodding his head, the man trembled before his master's anger, but Owen was too busy planning where to bury the bodies to notice.