Leith feared his family was facing dire hardship as he reacted in horror over Parlan’s exorbitant ransom demands. “T’will leave us naught.”
“Do ye think your father will pay it?”
“He will try to whittle ye down, as he should. This demand is far beyond reason.”
“Aye, I thought so but nae too far beyond, so it should be taken seriously.”
Frowning in confusion, Leith muttered, “I dinnae ken what ye are about.”
“I dinnae want this much. ’Tis not my way to leave a man in rags. I expect him to haggle and I will be stubborn, slow to come down. If he accepts it or a still too high cost, t’will take him a fair while to raise it in coin. Time is what this is all about. I but try to buy time. A man should pay a goodly fee when he was foolish to let his kin be caught.” He ignored Leith’s scowl. “Howbeit, I wouldnae pay this much for my own mother.”
A reluctant laugh escaped Leith, but then he grew serious. “I hope that time will solve the problem.”
“It has to. Time is important no matter what and this game will buy that. I but hope that your father doesnae see that we play a game or we shall quickly be robbed of that time.”
Lachlan Mengue felt that time weighed far too heavily upon his hands. Even his ability to believe that his children still lived had begun to waver. No word and no sighting of them had weakened his confidence in their continued existence.
His family had gathered close to him to lend their quiet strength. Both married daughters, their husbands at their sides, had come home to be with him. All they could do was wait with him for either a ransom demand or, as they all silently feared, the discovery of the bodies. Waiting put a strain on the nerves, however, and the arrival of Rory Fergueson helped little.
Tall, strong, and almost too handsome, Rory Fergueson had little taste for waiting. When it concerned the possible loss of Aimil Mengue, he had no taste for it at all. It was not only her handsome dowry he saw slipping away but the chance to possess Aimil, to dominate her and to avenge an old slight that had festered for many years. He faced Lachlan, trying to force the older man to act.
“Curse it, man, the only solution is to ride against the MacGuins. ’Tis past time that thieving clan was put to the sword.”
“We arenae sure they have the pair,” Lachlan reminded the man. “No word or ransom demand has come.”
“They make ye wait so ye will pay quicker and without question. ’Tis an old game.”
“And one I havenae heard of the Black Parlan playing,” the redheaded Iain MacVern growled.
“The man is the Devil himself and we all ken it. He would play any game if it suited him. He raided me the verra day Aimil and Leith disappeared. What more proof is needed?”
“T’was Artair who raided ye from what I heard,” James Broth drawled in his deep gravelly voice. “The Black Parlan was away.”
“Aye,” agreed Jennet Mengue Broth, her light blue eyes shining with the sudden hope she felt. “That may be why we have heard naught. Artair could await his brother and laird’s return before any ransom is asked. Could that not be the how of it, Father?”
Lachlan nodded slowly. “Aye, could be the way of it. He may fear to ask the wrong amount and so leaves it for Parlan to decide.”
Jennet watched how Rory Fergueson reacted and felt certain that the man was grinding his teeth. “His call to ride against the MacGuins would carry more force if he were to ride at the fore of the force,” she murmured to her husband, James.
James hid a smile over the dry sarcasm in his wife’s voice. Rory Fergueson was well known never to leave himself open to charges of cowardice yet was overly fond of his own skin, never really turning from a fight but keeping himself well out of any danger. If there was an attack made on the MacGuin, Rory would be there but well to the rear until the worst was over.
Giorsal, Lachlan’s firstborn, also watched Rory. He repelled her despite his beauty of face and form. She was not very close to her youngest sister but the thought of Aimil wed to such a man brought tears to her eyes. If that was to be Aimil’s fate, then it might be best if the girl was dead. Giorsal suddenly clasped Iain’s hand, fervently glad that such a good man had been chosen for her. For all her sulkiness when the match had been set, and her disappointment in his ruddy, plain looks and gruff character, he was good to her and the two children they had been blessed with. She looked back over nearly five years of a peaceful, secure home life with a faithful, kind man and suddenly realized she had been a shrew. Sweet words and fine looks mattered little. She had what was important.
“Here now,” Iain blustered, blushing fiercely when his usually undemonstrative wife kissed his cheek, slipped her arms around his waist, and hugged him. “Are ye ailing?” he whispered, his hazel eyes moving nervously as he assured himself that they were unnoticed for now.
“Nay, I just felt I must let ye ken how verra glad I am that ye were chosen for me,” she replied as she pulled away.
“Humph, weel, ’tis about time ye kenned how lucky ye are,” he mumbled, but the light that flared in his eyes told her that he was more than pleased with her words. “Here, ye best heed this. Rory makes another try. The man is hot for us to spill blood for him.”
She nodded, but her gaze rested upon the hand Iain still held close to his thigh. Gently, she placed her other hand on top of their clasped ones and then turned her mind to Rory and his ranting. Iain’s reaction to her words had told her how willingly he would accept such displays. She realized that she had never really given him any soft words, and had expected them from him with no promise of return. For five years she had given him little more than congenial indifference. She hoped it was not too late to change all that.
“I am to judge from that exchange that ye willnae ride against the MacGuins?”
“Nay, Rory, I willnae. If they have Leith and Aimil, I cannae risk their lives and, if they dinnae, I willnae attack without cause.”
“And what do ye think is happening while ye sit and wait?” growled Rory. “We cannae guess what Leith may be suffering but I think we all ken how the Black Parlan will treat a comely female captive.”
“If ye are concerned about the chastity of your bride, ye can be released from the betrothal, Rory,” Lachlan said, stiffening with anger.
Grabbing his cloak and striding to the door, Rory snapped, “Nay, I willnae withdraw but, if she is a maiden no longer, someone will pay.”
As soon as he had left, Jennet stumbled to her feet. “I hope the Black Parlan does take Aimil to his bed.”
“Jennet!” her husband snapped in an attempt to halt her reckless words.
“Nay, I will say it. From what I have heard said, the Black Parlan kens weel how to please a woman, something Rory Fergueson doesnae even care to do. If the Black Parlan has bedded Aimil, at least she will have had a taste of what could be between a man and a woman before she is consigned to a life of hell on earth.” Jennet hurried from the room, followed quickly by an apologetic James.
Later, as Giorsal lay in her husband’s bed, trying not to giggle over his hesitation in undressing,
