Highland Captive Read Free Page B

bellow was a tense one. “What lads?”
he snarled.
    “Artair
raided the Ferguesons,” Lagan explained, knowing that would displease Parlan
because it was done without his consent. “As we rode back to Dubhglenn, we
chanced upon twa laddies in Mengue colors and seized them.”
    “How
wee are the laddies?”
    “One
must be nearing twenty, mayhaps a year or twa less,” replied Malcolm. “A man by
some’s reckoning but still a laddie by mine. The other cannae be more than
twelve.”
    “What
ransom has been asked?”
    “None,”
Lagan answered reluctantly. “They rot in the pit awaiting your return so that
ye can decide upon it.”
    Malcolm
and Lagan followed Parlan as he strode into the keep. Several other men
followed hesitantly. When Parlan’s request for Artair met with the word that
the young man was sleeping off yet another long night of whiskey and women,
Parlan’s fury was a glory to behold. Usually brave men scattered before him as
he made his way to the dungeons where the sound of a soft keening greeted his
ears.
    The
grate was speedily opened, and Parlan looked into the hole, a lantern held
inside its depths. He saw a small, slightly-built boy holding a larger one,
rocking and weeping softly. The elder boy was evidently dangerously ill.
Suddenly the small lad became aware of the intruders and looked up. Even
streaked with filth and tears, the small face had a delicate beauty that seemed
strange for a boy. It was not even marred when that face was contorted into a
snarl of hate and rage. Parlan noted all of that as he struggled to control his
ever-growing anger with his brother.
    At
any other time the dark, imposing face peering down at her would have made
Aimil at least hesitant, but she had no thought of caution when she held her
dying brother in her arms. “Carrion! Filthy corbies! Ye have come too early to
pick at this flesh.”
    “Get
them out of there. Now!” Parlan snarled as he moved back from the pit’s
opening, his voice clipped with fury.

Chapter Two
    For
a moment Aimil doubted that she had heard right. It quickly became apparant
that the Black Parlan himself was there, biting out commands in a deep voice
that barely escaped being a very feral snarl. With her brother’s vital needs at
the fore of her thoughts, she neither asked nor cared if they meant to free her
too. Once Leith was lifted out, she started to sit down again.
    “Ye
as weel, laddie,” Parlan called, failing to keep all his fury at Artair out of
his voice despite his efforts to stay calm so as not to frighten the boy.
    She
slapped away the hands that were offered to assist her, scrambling up the rope
by herself. The time spent in a pit in which she could barely lie down had
sapped her strength, but she refused to reveal that. In fact, she had practiced
some odd exercises several times a day to keep her strength up for Leith’s
sake. It had served its purpose for she was able to stand without wavering
badly. The last thing she wanted was for these men to espy any weakness in her.
    “Dinnae
touch me, swine,” she hissed when, as they began to leave the dungeons, a hand
moved to assist her.
    Parlan
was unused to being spoken to like that but he quelled an instinctive burst of
anger. Later, he would even find amusement in the thought of the seething,
somewhat filthy boy. For now he only wanted to ease the dangerous situation
Artair had created. Despite the dirt, there was no mistaking the richness of
the boys’ attire, which meant that they were of a high standing within the
Mengue clan. An incident such as this could easily provoke a blood feud that
could last for generations. That was the very last thing Parlan wanted or
needed.
    When
they reached a room that could be secured from the outside, the MacGuins
hastily attended to Leith who was for the most part, unconscious. Aimil stood
out of the way but watched their every move. Even though the tending was late
in coming, she could appreciate the speed with which the men