The Lion (Clan Ross of the Hebrides Book 1) by Hildie McQueen (ereader for android .TXT) 📕

“Beatrice!” Isobel’s eyes rounded. “That would be horrible.”

“I do not agree,” her sister said with a firm nod. “Men like him need a good reminder of what could happen if they continue down certain paths.”

Not sure what to say, Isobel looked to Greer who was no help as she’d fallen asleep. When she turned to the doorway, Caelan stood there with a soft smile.

“I find I agree with ye Miss Beatrice. A good lesson would be my choice if I were Duncan.”

Interesting combination, Isobel thought, her sister and Caelan Ross. Both intelligent and perhaps Beatrice’s playful nature would be a good balance to Caelan’s reclusive one.

“Beatrice, Caelan informed me that he and Duncan are the same age.”

Her sister looked to the man for a moment. “Ye seem younger.”

“Why is that?”

“It could be that ye dress more like an Englishman than a Scot.”

Isobel coughed at Beatrice’s words. Admittedly, she’d thought the same thing, but would never say it out loud.

To her surprise, Caelan burst out laughing. “It could be because I lived in the south for so long that I dress like they do. I assure ye I own a plaid and plenty of woolen tunics.”

Her sister gave him a once-over, then climbed back onto the chair. “The porridge will be done soon.” She looked to a lad who sat on a stool waiting for instructions. “Go fetch a pair of men to help carry this out.”

“I will scoop out some for us,” Isobel said noting Caelan remained. He was studying her sister with curiosity. “Would ye like some pudding, Caelan?”

“Aye, I would.”

By the time last meal came, Isobel was almost too exhausted to eat. Along with Lady Mariel, Ella, and Beatrice, she’d gone to help feed the men. They’d then helped the laundresses with the folding of sheets and preparing bundles of bedding in case any of the men returned injured. She’d instructed the great hall to be thoroughly swept after the few people that came to speak to Caelan had left.

He along with the council had spent the afternoon speaking to the warriors and inspecting the horses. She’d caught Beatrice watching him as he helped lads carry firewood into the house. During times like these, there was no time for idleness.

Isobel trudged up the stairs and into her and Darach’s bedchamber. Annis walked in with her. “There is hot water in the pitcher and clean cloths on the stand.” She went to a trunk and pulled out a nightdress. “I will help ye get ready for bed.”

After undressing, Isobel washed away the dirt of the day. She then sat so that Annis could brush her hair out. “Will ye stay a moment and pray with me?” Isobel asked.

“Of course.”

She prayed fervently until tears streamed down her cheeks. “Ye need to rest,” Annis said helping her to bed.

In the darkness, she reached for the opposite side of the bed. It was so very cold.

Chapter Seventeen

Darach stalked from one side of the room to the other. He stopped occasionally and peered through the window. Several times he’d gauged the possibility of climbing out of it. Although he could climb halfway down, the fall from there was too high and he’d probably break a leg.

The room faced the courtyard, so it would be impossible to escape using bedding without being caught. Besides, the damn Uisdein had thought of everything and had guards posted outside his door and two more below the window.

With an annoyed grunt, he looked up at the sky, noting that it was quite clear, the moon full and bright.

His jaw ached from the blows the day before and earlier that evening, when he’d rushed the man who’d brought him last meal. He had made it past him, but the guards at the door had not been as easy to get through.

Several blows were thrown, and unfortunately, he was the recipient of most.

Duncan would send an army for him. Once the Uisdein saw, he would either have him executed and declare war, or he would accede to discussions.

Although not afraid of death, he couldn’t help but think of Isobel. Once married, a man’s perspective changed. Before he would have fought to the death, not caring about more than what damage he could cause his opponent.

This time, however, when fighting the guards, he’d held back upon realizing he would not win. Not because he didn’t want to be injured, but because he wished to return to Isobel.

Angry at the situation, he went to the bed and lay atop the bedding fully dressed.

If what he expected was to be, as soon as the sun rose, the view from his window would be quite impressive.

At the sounds of raised voices, Darach jumped from the bed and rushed to the window. Throwing the drapes aside, he peered out, and his lips curved. The sun rose in the horizon giving him a clear view.

For as far as he could see, lines of men on horseback, evenly spaced apart, faced the keep. In the front were four horsemen, who he recognized as Stuart, Duncan, Ewan, and Gideon. His brothers made a point to stand out, their horses draped with the Ross colors, and they each wore their tartans, wrapped around their waists and over the left shoulder.

Behind each of his brothers were four warriors. Two armed with claymores and two archers. It was all a show of force and more for intimidation than practicality. Archers were normally kept to the rear and warriors, swords drawn, in front.

The entire army held swords or other weapons, prepared for battle. A fight he hoped would not come to be.

The Uisdein guard stood shoulder to shoulder atop the keep walls, while others mounted war horses in the courtyard.

It occurred to Darach that the Uisdein was not at all prepared. By his count, there were only about fifty men and horses in addition to another perhaps twenty atop the wall. What had the man expected?

That Clan Ross would not retaliate at him being taken