"His head may tolerate the odd blow well enough, but I warrant this morning it is throbbing from the vast quant.i.ty of ale he drank last night," Donald teased. "No doubt that accounts for his surly disposition today."

"Perhaps Gillian should dose him with another cup of her posset," suggested Myles. "That would really put this superior Viking strength of his to the test."

"I thought it was poison," Eric grumbled irritably. " 'Twas the foulest brew I have ever tasted."

"I don't think you need worry about the la.s.s going near you with one of her brews again," Myles reflected. "Judging by the haste with which she quit the hall, I'd say you've terrified the poor maid."

"Now, that's a pity." Donald idly examined the rope around his wrists. "She was a comely little thing."

"She was weak and afraid," Eric countered. "She would not make a fit mate for a warrior. A warrior needs a woman who is strong and fearless."

"I shall settle for a la.s.s who is pleasing upon the eye, and soft and willing in my bed."

"It is a woman's duty to be willing," Eric replied brusquely. "My wife should be proud to take my seed and bear strong children."

Donald regarded him with amus.e.m.e.nt. "I really must spend some time educating you on the ways of women, my friend, before these barbaric ideas of yours get you into serious trouble." He sat up, pleased to have found something to keep himself occupied. "Now, then, your first lesson is how to look at a woman without sending her into fits of hysteria."

Eric glowered.

"Excellent. That is exactly how you don't want to look. Now that you've mastered that, let's move on. The next lesson is: when a woman offers you something to drink, which she has obviously gone to a great deal of trouble to make, try to refrain from spitting it out and accusing her of trying to kill you."

"If you don't cease this drivel I'm going to kill you," Eric warned ominously.

"You may think that now, but there is going to be a moment where you will actually want to thank me," replied Donald, unconcerned. "Women love to be complimented on their appearance, so try to think of something nice to say."

Myles stopped polishing his arm bands. "Like what?"

"That depends on what stage you are at in your seduction. For instance, if you have only just met, 'tis good to remark on something relatively safe, like comparing her hair to the dark of the night sky, or saying her eyes are the color of sapphires."

Eric snorted in disgust. "I have never seen a woman with eyes like sapphires."

"It doesn't matter whether they are actually that blue or not," explained Donald patiently, "you flatter her by telling her it is so. She is certainly not about to contradict you when you point out her more comely attributes."

"What about her arms?" asked Myles.

Donald frowned. "What about them?"

"Is that a good thing to compliment her on?"

"In truth, I can't recall meeting a woman who particularly wanted to hear about her arms. Besides, there are so many other wonderful things to remark on, like her creamy skin, her rosy lips, her tiny waist, her soft cheek-"

"I like strong arms," interrupted Eric. "That means she will be able to carry a heavy load of wood without complaining."

Donald sighed. "Fine. Mention her strong arms if you like, but be sure to add something else, like the delicate shape of her-"

"Broad hips," suggested Myles.

Donald raised his brow in exasperation. "You actually believe a woman wants to be told she has broad hips?"

"That means she will be able to bear many children with ease," explained Myles.

"Myles is right," agreed Eric, nodding with approval. "It is a good thing for a woman to have solid, broad hips."

"And a good pair of stout legs," added Myles.

"I don't think you two are going to get very far in your courting if you remark on the stoutness of a woman's hips and legs," reflected Donald doubtfully.

"Well, I'm not marrying any foolish wench who wants to be told some nonsense about her eyes being like blue rocks," snapped Eric. He heaved himself against his pallet and turned away from Donald, indicating the lesson had come to an end.

Ignoring the bored discourse of his men, Roarke watched in frustration as the MacKillons continued their b.u.mbling repairs of the great hall. He did not know if Laird MacKillon had sent a ransom message to Laird MacTier yet, but one thing was certain. If fixing these broken shutters was the extent of the MacKillons's preparation for an attack, then the outcome would be both swift and brutal, regardless of which clan a.s.saulted them.

The thought did not please him.

"I'm afraid we need to work down at this end of the hall now," said Magnus, approaching Roarke. "If ye lads would be so kind to move toward the center of the room, I'm sure we'll have ye back in yer s.p.a.ce in no time."

"It seems my men and I are just in the way, Magnus," Roarke remarked, determined to see what other preparations the MacKillons were making. "Perhaps it would be best if we went outside for a while, and left you and your men to finish the repairs."

Magnus c.o.c.ked a white brow. "Ye're not thinking to try to escape, are ye, lad? Because I've no time to waste today on chasing after ye, do ye hear?"

"I can hardly see how that would be possible," returned Roarke. "It is the middle of the day, we are unarmed, our hands are bound, and the courtyard is filled with your people. And my a.r.s.e still throbs from your arrow, which makes the prospect of a long chase wholly unappealing."

Magnus chuckled. " 'Twas a fine shot, there's no denying it." He considered a moment, then sighed. "I suppose there's no harm in ye lads takin'a bit of fresh air. But I'll have to send someone to watch over ye all the same." He turned to Lewis, who was kneeling on the floor, completely absorbed in the task of piecing together the fragments of his broken shutter. "Lewis, quit playing with that and take the prisoners outside for some air."

"I've nearly got it," murmured Lewis, completely absorbed by his task. "All I need is to find one more piece-"

"Leave it, lad," said Magnus impatiently. "We're better off building a new one anyway."

"But we don't need to," replied Lewis, sliding the last piece of his wooden puzzle into place. "See?"

Roarke looked down in amazement. In mere minutes Lewis had managed to completely reconstruct the badly broken shutter.

"Yes, yes, I see," Magnus said. "And in the time it takes to have a man put all those wee bits together, he can build two new shutters from good, strong wood and have them hung. Can ye not see how that makes all yer fussin' about with things a waste of time?"

Embarra.s.sed to be chastised in front of Roarke and his men, Lewis nodded meekly.

"Be a good lad, then, and take these MacTiers out into the courtyard for some air. I'm not thinkin' they'll be giving ye any trouble. If they do, just shoot one of them in the a.r.s.e," he instructed, chuckling. "That'll bring them around quick enough."

"That won't be necessary," Roarke a.s.sured him. "My men and I merely wish to get some fresh air and a little exercise, nothing more."

"Off ye go, then," said Magnus. "Just see that ye don't get in anyone's way while ye're out there-here, now, Mungo, what in the name of St. Andrew are ye doin' with that-watch out!"

Roarke winced as the tower of benches supporting Mungo crashed to the floor, with poor Mungo following.

The courtyard was roiling with activity as Roarke and his men stepped into the damp morning air. Men, women, and children were scrambling in all directions carrying rocks of varying sizes, which they were arranging with great care along the walls of the keep. Others were toting heavy buckets of water from the well and dumping them into enormous troughs and barrels in which a gray, claylike compound was being mixed.

"That's it, Finlay," said Laird MacKillon. He watched from his seat in the center of the courtyard as the stocky warrior gathered an armful of heavy stones from a cart and dropped them on the ground. "Fifty or so more cartloads, and we'll have more than enough stones to restore these magnificent walls to their former glory!"

"This one won't do," declared Thor, his forehead furrowed with disapproval as he examined one of the rocks. "Won't do at all."

Finlay wiped the sweat from his brow. "Not big enough?"

Thor shook his head. "It's big enough, all right."

"Not heavy enough?" suggested Laird MacKillon.

Thor grunted as he attempted to lift the stone from the cart, then abandoned his efforts and shook his head again. "That's a sound, heavy stone. Can't fault it for that."

"Is its shape uneven?" wondered Hagar, coming over to inspect the offending rock.

Thor ran a gnarled hand over the stone. "Smooth as a bairn's backside," he announced, patting it with approval. "Nothing wrong with its shape."

"What's wrong with it then?" wondered Laird MacKillon.

By this time the entire clan had halted their work and curiously focused their attention on Thor.

There was a moment of cryptic silence as he eyed his audience, immensely pleased to have so much attention directed at him.

"It's not pink enough," he finally announced gravely.

The clan stared at the stone in shock.

"By all the saints, you're right," said Hagar, bobbing his balding head in agreement. "It's not nearly pink enough!"

"Now, Finlay, I don't mean to criticize, but you are taking care to pick only stones of the rosiest color, are you not?" queried Laird MacKillon.

"Aye," grunted Finlay, carelessly depositing another armload of rocks onto the ground. "I am."

"Then how do you explain this one?" demanded Thor.

Finlay shrugged. "Must have looked pink when I picked it up."

The council members contemplated this explanation a moment.

"A perfectly reasonable answer," decided Laird MacKillon, nodding.

"Things often look pink to me one minute, and then an entirely different color the next," added Hagar. "It's a common problem."

"That's because your eyes are weak," scoffed Thor. "I can certainly tell the difference between something that is pink, and something that is decidedly not pink."

"But if you look closely at this stone, you can see that there are actually shades of pink running through it," pointed out Hagar. " 'Tis merely the intensity of the color that makes it unacceptable."

"The intensity of color is everything!" argued Thor. "That's the very attribute for which the MacKillon castle has been famous these past hundred years-its remarkable color! If we allow our keep to be repaired with just any shade of stone, we will have lost our proud heritage!"

"Of course I'm not suggesting we actually use this stone," Hagar a.s.sured him. "I'm only saying that the lad should not be overly criticized for thinking it was pink when he picked it up. Why, just look at all the other fine stones he has brought to us today!"

"Never mind, Finlay," said Laird MacKillon. "Everyone makes mistakes. Just see that you're more careful with the next load. Everyone back to work," he instructed, waving at all the MacKillons. "Everything is fine now. All sorted out."

"Great G.o.d in heaven!" burst out Thor, suddenly noticing Roarke and his men. "Those MacTier scoundrels have escaped!" He fumbled awkwardly for his sword and charged toward them. "Back, vile miscreants!" he raged, flailing his blade in front of him. "Back to your rat-infested prison, before I carve you into a thousand b.l.o.o.d.y pieces and mash your steaming entrails into the ground!"

Roarke calmly waited for Lewis to inform Thor that in fact they were not trying to escape. But poor Lewis was so startled by Thor's sudden attack, he actually stepped backward, b.u.mping into Roarke.

"We aren't trying to escape," Roarke a.s.sured Thor, trying to steady Lewis as best he could with his bound hands.

Thor's eyes rounded with horror. "My G.o.d, they've taken Lewis hostage! I'll not stand by and let them get away with it! Prepare to die, you depraved curs!"

Roarke instantly pushed Lewis behind him, afraid the lad might actually get injured in Thor's misguided attack. "We aren't trying to escape, Thor," he repeated loudly, thinking perhaps the elder was hard of hearing.

"Back, foul pillagers of castles and ravishers of women!" raged Thor, poking the air just in front of Roarke's belly with his sword. "Back to your damp, dark hole, where you will rot in misery until the devil himself claims your wretched, stinking souls to burn for all eternity!"

"Here, now, what's all this fuss about?" demanded Magnus, appearing at the castle entrance. "A man can scarcely think straight with all this shouting."

"I've just saved the clan from another MacTier attack," boasted Thor, "and now I'm going to chop these MacTier villains into wee bits and feed them to the fish in the loch!"

"Attack?" repeated Magnus, confused. "What attack?"

"Thor seems to think we were trying to escape," Roarke explained mildly.

"That's ridiculous," scoffed Magnus. "The lad gave me his word that escape was the furthest thing from his mind-all he and his men wanted was a wee bit of air."

Thor kept his weapon trembling menacingly before Roarke. "If they aren't trying to escape, then what were they doing racing across the courtyard?"

"Actually, we weren't moving," pointed out Roarke. "We were watching you debate the matter of Finlay's stone."

"You were deciding how to steal our weapons and mounts and slay us all before you returned to your clan!" thundered Thor.

"Now, that would be quite a feat," Roarke agreed, "considering there are only four of us against hundreds of MacKillons."

"The lad's got a point, Thor," said Magnus. "Besides, can ye not see that I've got young Lewis guarding them?"

Thor blinked. "Lewis is guarding them?"

"Aye," said Lewis, sheepishly stepping out from the protective shield of Roarke's body. He cleared his throat and groped at his side for his sword. "I am."

"No offense, lad," said Thor, "but I scarcely think a skinny stripling like you is capable of guarding four savage brutes like these. Why, just look at the size of them compared to you! They'd eat you in the blink of an eye if they thought you had any meat on your bones!"

A stain of humiliation rose to Lewis's freckled cheeks.

"Don't be deceived by Lewis's slender build," interjected Roarke, disliking the way Thor was embarra.s.sing the lad before his own clan. "When we were captured, he nearly hacked one of my men in two with that sword of his."

A gasp of awe rose from the clan.

"He did?" exclaimed Hagar, clearly impressed.

Roarke nodded. "Of course, Donald was weakened by the heavy blow Lewis delivered to the back of his head first. The lad has a powerful right arm."

Laird MacKillon regarded Lewis in amazement. "He does?"

"He most certainly does," agreed Donald, rubbing his head for effect. "Left a lump on my skull the size of a goose egg. I expect I'll be feeling it for days yet."