Magnus proudly held up the arrow he had been cleaning. "Here's the whole shaft right here. I've put a wee notch on it, so I'll know it from the others. That way I can save it for a special occasion."

"Wonderful," Roarke muttered, awkwardly easing himself onto his good hip.

He glanced moodily around the campsite. The cool gray of dawn had spilled into the clearing, causing his men to stir. The Falcon's band, however, was already wide awake. Finlay was seated on a rock with his sword in his lap, honing the broad blade against a small stone, while young Lewis was meticulously repairing some minor tear in the net that had trapped Roarke's men. Melantha and Colin were nowhere to be seen.

"Where are the other two?" asked Roarke.

"They went hunting," Magnus replied, vigorously shining the head of his prized arrow with a tattered corner of his plaid.

"Excellent." Donald yawned. "I'm famished."

Myles grunted and stretched his bound arms. "So am I."

"Warriors do not eat from the hands of their enemies." Eric cast them a dark look.

"Now, Eric, I see no reason to starve just because we are sharing company with this fine band of outlaws." Donald smiled pleasantly at Magnus.

"Absolutely right," agreed Myles. "No point in going hungry."

"You're both weak." Eric snorted, disgusted. "Hunger makes a warrior strong."

Donald could not help but laugh. "Is that so? I'll be sure to remind you of that the next time I watch you devour an entire leg of venison."

Roarke studied his men, considering. With two members of the Falcon's band gone, this was a good opportunity to overwhelm these remaining outlaws. The fact that he and his men were bound and weaponless put them at a disadvantage, but Magnus's advanced age, Finlay's brashness, and Lewis's fearful cowering made the odds much more equitable. He cleared his throat and glanced meaningfully at his men. Donald responded with a barely perceptible tilt of his head.

"I hate to be a bother, Magnus, but my men need to relieve themselves," Roarke said. "Perhaps they should do so before Melantha returns, to spare her any embarra.s.sment."

Magnus's eyes crinkled with amus.e.m.e.nt. "Melantha is scarce likely to be bothered by the sound of ye draining yer ballocks. The la.s.s could hardly live in the woods with the rest of us and worry about such triflin' matters."

"Nevertheless," Roarke persisted, "my men would rather see to their needs without a woman watching."

"Shy, are ye?" Magnus chuckled. "Very well, laddie. Finlay, take these blushin' lads one at a time and let them water the woods. Not far, mind ye. Just over by that tree will do fine."

Finlay hopped down and pointed his freshly honed sword at Donald's chest. "Try anything and I'll skewer you like a rabbit on a spit."

"That won't be necessary," Donald a.s.sured him, looking more amused by his threat than concerned. "I do believe I will need to have my legs freed if I am expected to get up."

"Lewis, quit fussin' with that net and help Finlay," ordered Magnus.

Lewis hesitated, eyeing Donald uncertainly.

"Now, lad, ye needn't be afraid," Magnus soothed. "Finlay here will make sure he doesn't bite you."

Not looking terribly rea.s.sured, Lewis carefully laid down the strands of net he was working on and slowly moved toward Donald.

Donald smiled and bent his knees, ostensibly to scratch his bound ankles. Once Lewis was close he would kick the unsuspecting boy in the chest, knocking him onto his back. Then Donald would spring to his feet, place his booted foot on the lad's neck, and threaten to crush his throat if Finlay didn't lay down his sword.

"I'm thinkin' ye should stretch those legs of yours out a bit before Lewis unties them, laddie," Magnus said, blithely polishing his arrow with his plaid. "Ye'd not want to accidentally kick poor Lewis, now, would ye?"

Donald managed to look credibly affronted. "Good Lord, Magnus, what kind of a warrior do you take me for?"

"Forgive me, lad," he apologized. " 'Tis just that ye're a MacTier, and as such we have to be extra careful."

Roarke kept his expression indifferent, but inside he felt a stab of admiration. Clearly Magnus was not quite as naive as he appeared.

"That'll be Colin and Melantha," Magnus said, returning his attention to his arrow.

Roarke scanned the surrounding woods. He strained to hear, but could not detect the faintest crush of a twig or the rustle of branches to signal that someone was coming.

"You're mistaken, Magnus. There's no one there-"

"Good hunting?" asked Magnus as Colin and Melantha suddenly emerged through the trees.

Colin tossed a coa.r.s.e brown sack onto the ground. "A few skinny rabbits and some small birds. If they're made into stew and stretched with some vegetables, they should last a while."

"That sounds absolutely wonderful," said Donald, returning to the clearing with Finlay. "But please, don't trouble yourself making a stew-roasted on a spit will do just fine."

"They aren't for you," Colin snarled.

"Are we not to be fed, then?" enquired Roarke mildly.

Finlay snorted in disgust. "You came here to kill us, and now you expect to have your bellies filled?"

"Starve me if it pleases you," returned Roarke, "but at least feed my men. They have not eaten for nearly a day."

Melantha tossed him a look of contempt. "A day without food is nothing. Your men are strong and can easily endure it."

Golden petals of sunlight had filtered into the clearing, and as they flickered across her fury-clenched face Roarke was suddenly struck by the pale fragility of her. Melantha's shapeless chain mail and leggings effectively concealed the curves of her body, but Roarke did not need to see her waist or hips to know that this girl was intimately acquainted with the hollow ache of hunger. Last night in the soft glow of the fire her cheeks had seemed high and elegantly sculpted, but in the harsher light of day her beauty was revealed to be a little too lean. Her cheeks and jaw bore the sharply cut contours of deprivation, and the delicate skin beneath her dark eyes was shadowed by sleeplessness and months of insufficient nourishment.

"Well, now, I'm not sure 'tis a good idea not to feed these big brutes," interjected Magnus. "After all, we don't want them fallin' ill."

"Magnus is right," relented Colin. "I suppose if we're not going to kill them, we have to feed them."

"Fine," Melantha snapped, turning away. "Feed them something-but not the meat."

"Oatcakes all round, then," declared Magnus brightly, rubbing his hands together in antic.i.p.ation. "Lewis, fetch some from yer bag and give them to our prisoners."

Lewis obediently went to his horse and retrieved a worn leather satchel from which he produced a number of hard, lumpy biscuits. Scurrying about like a skittish hare, he somehow managed to distribute them among Roarke, Donald, and Myles. But as he approached Eric, the gigantic blond warrior gave him a murderous scowl, causing poor Lewis to stop dead in his tracks.

"Keep your food," Eric growled.

Roarke sighed. "Just eat it, Eric."

Eric adamantly shook his head. "The biscuits are poisoned. In a moment you'll be screaming in agony as your guts boil up into your mouths."

Donald and Myles stopped chewing and stared at their half-eaten oatcakes in dismay.

"Good G.o.d, lad," sputtered Magnus, slapping his knee with amus.e.m.e.nt, "if we wanted ye dead, we'd not waste perfectly good oatcakes on ye to see the job done!"

Finlay raised his blade so that its wickedly sharp edge glinted in the sun. "I'd just cleave you wide with my sword and let that be the end of it."

"There, you see, Eric?" said Roarke, his tone placating, "if your guts are going to come out, it will be through your belly, not your mouth."

Eric stubbornly shook his head. "They lie."

"Then don't eat it," snapped Colin. "Our food is too precious to be wasted on you. Lewis, finish giving out those d.a.m.n things and let's be on our way."

Lewis hesitated, then broke off a piece of the oatcake he was holding out to Eric and ate it himself.

Eric's expression twisted into a hideous mask of fury. "Do you dare to taunt me, you skinny, spineless pup?"

The blood drained so completely from Lewis's face Roarke was certain the lad would faint. Nevertheless, he did not retreat-perhaps because his fear had paralyzed him.

" 'Tis...'tis safe to eat," he stammered, meekly offering Eric the remainder of the biscuit.

Eric's enraged expression froze.

"Take it," Lewis urged. "You'll be hungry later."

The enormous warrior stared in complete bemus.e.m.e.nt at the thin, outstretched hand trembling before him.

Finally, acutely aware that everyone was now staring at him, he grudgingly accepted the oatcake.

"Is he always this hard to feed?" asked Magnus curiously.

Having taken care of Eric, Lewis tentatively approached Melantha and held a biscuit out to her.

"You have it, Lewis," Melantha said. "I'm not hungry."

"Eat it," ordered Magnus sternly. "Ye've put nothin' in yer stomach since yesterday morn'."

"I'm not hungry."

He snorted in disbelief. "No, of course not-ye're never hungry when ye think there might be someone else needin' it more than you. But if ye starve yerself to death, what good will ye be to us then?"

"The day is nearly half gone," she said, abruptly changing the subject. "Get them on their horses and let's go."

"That's it, try to turn my attention to something else," muttered Magnus, shaking his head. "But when ye're too weak to climb up on Morvyn and lead us, don't be bellyachin' to me about how unfair it all is."

"Come on then," said Finlay, bending to untie the rope binding Roarke's ankles. "Up with ye and onto yer mount."

"It's generous of you to allow us to keep our horses," observed Roarke, suppressing his grimace as he slowly rose to his feet.

"I would have taken great pleasure in making you walk barefoot." Melantha swung herself lightly up onto her horse. "Unfortunately, I cannot permit you to slow us down."

Roarke frowned. "Slow you down?"

"We can hardly have ye trailin' after us on foot, now, can we?" said Magnus, leading Eric's and Myles's horses to them. "Especially with that backside of yours laced full of st.i.tches. It would take us over a week to get home."

"Home?" Myles looked uncertainly at Roarke.

" 'Tis not that far," Lewis a.s.sured him as he freed the warrior's ankles. "Two days' journey at most."

"Why in the name of St. Columba do you want to take us there?" asked Donald. "You've taken our weapons and our valuables. What more do you want?"

"They intend to slaughter us like helpless animals before their people," Eric surmised direly. "Then they will spear our heads on pikes to rot as a warning to others!"

"Good Lord, lad, wherever do ye get such foul notions?" wondered Magnus, looking genuinely horrified. "I'll have ye know we're G.o.d-fearin' thieves, not heathen savages."

"Then why are you taking us with you?" demanded Roarke.

"We want to see how much you're worth to your laird."

Roarke looked at Colin in disbelief. "You intend to ransom us?"

"You MacTiers have stolen much from our clan. We intend to use you to get some of what belongs to us back."

Roarke tightened his jaw, struggling to keep his sorely frayed temper under control. It was bad enough that he had been shot in the a.r.s.e, robbed, and made a prisoner by the very outlaws he had been sent to capture. But to be imprisoned and held for ransom by this preposterous little party was more humiliation than he could bear. He could just imagine MacTier's reaction when his laird received the missive from the Falcon demanding payment. Once he recovered from his shock, his laird would be infuriated that his finest warrior had failed in what Roarke had a.s.sured him would be a childishly simple mission. After years of brilliant service, in which Roarke had successfully led scores of men into the bloodiest of battles and on the most harrowing of raids, he had come to this. He had been captured by an asp-tongued wisp of a girl in coa.r.s.e leggings and a battered steel helmet, a decrepit old man who looked as though he might trip and impale himself on his own sword at any moment, and three striplings who barely qualified as grown men, never mind warriors.

Everything he had fought so tenaciously to procure for himself these past twenty years would be completely, irretrievably lost.

"You have no hope of securing a ransom for us," he said flatly. "Laird MacTier will not pay."

Magnus scratched his white head. "Why not, lad? Does he not like ye?"

"To pay for our return would subject all of his warriors to the risk of being trapped and ransomed in the future," Roarke explained. "MacTier cannot possibly agree to your demands."

"You had best hope that you four hold a special place in your laird's heart," Melantha warned, "or there is no value to our letting you live."

"He will not pay," Roarke insisted. "You should take what you want and release us. I give you my solemn word that we will not seek you out, but will simply return to our holding."

"Now, that's a joke," scoffed Finlay. "Expecting us to trust the word of a MacTier."

"You came here to kill us, yet you expect us to release you?" A bitter laugh erupted from Colin's throat.

"I am trying to prevent you from doing something that will only endanger you and your people," Roarke replied. "By ransoming us, you will infuriate Laird MacTier, and I warn you, his wrath will be awesome."

"We are well acquainted with MacTier's vile ways," Melantha snapped. "Now get on your horse, or I shall have Magnus shoot another arrow into you to get you moving."

Magnus fitted his prized arrow against the string of his bow. "Take yer time decidin', laddie. Truth be told, I'm curious to see how this shaft flies."

Roarke muttered a curse, then reluctantly limped to his horse and heaved himself up, gritting his teeth against the pain the movement cost him.

Realizing they had no choice, his men did the same.

"My men will form a ring around you at all times," Melantha informed her prisoners. "If any of you try to break from the group, you will be shot-is that clear?"

"If I am shot, I will kill two of you with my bare hands before I hit the ground," vowed Eric darkly.