Legends Read Free Page A

shoulder. “You and Duncan should be putting on your ski masks, just in case Kincaid wakes for a moment. We should go to the cockpit and tell Andrew and Mrs. M to do the same.”
    Rob gave their sleeping prisoner one last frown. “You’re right, Ellie. Let’s not take any chances.”
    From the cabin came a sour-faced little man. Form-fitting black trousers and a turtle-neck red sweater were less kind to him than to Rob. “I’d like to make certain that the bastard doesn’t see us,” Duncan MacRoth sneered. He lumbered to Kincaid’s side and jerked the man’s head back roughly. “We ought to blindfold him so tight that his eyes burn for a week. A man like this won’t cooperate unless you hurt him.”
    Duncan’s ugly treatment of their prisoner infuriated Elgiva. Ordinarily the mayor of their village was merely pompous and overbearing. But he was afraid of Douglas Kincaid’s power, as was everyone in Druradeen, and his fear made him cruel.
    Elgiva bit her tongue and watched anxiously. From the corner of her eye she saw Rob stiffening with anger. Kincaid’s dog shoved himself against Duncan’s legs and snarled.
    “Aye,” Duncan continued grimly, and jerked Kincaid’s head back a little farther. “We should bring him to Scotland wearing a few good bruises.” He curled one hand up and started to slap him.
    “No!” Elgiva and Rob said at the same time. Elgiva cupped her hands over Kincaid’s face. “He’s helpless, Duncan. He’s my charge. And I say you won’t hit him.”
    Kincaid’s dog was now growling with a deep, wild tone. From the door to the cockpit came a crackling little voice. “Son? Duncan? We canna whack the poor helpless American unless he’s awake. Now calm yourself.”
    Duncan stepped back, his eyes glazed with restrained anger. “I was just having a wee bit of fun with him, Mother.” Elgiva shot an amused, grateful look at the elderly sprite in a black woolen dress.
    Mirah MacRoth was Elgiva’s second cousin four times removed, or some such thing—the clan genealogy was very complicated. Elgiva was glad to be related to Mrs. M, but sorry to be related to Mrs. M’s son, Duncan, even if he was the best mayor the village had ever had.
    “I can’t wait to get this work done!” Duncan grumbled. “See that you don’t muck it up, Elgiva!”
    “Watch how you speak to my sister,” Rob warned.
    “Come, Duncan, and stop your naughtiness,” Mrs. M ordered. Duncan would always be ten years old to her. She had been Druradeen’s schoolmistress since 1949, and
every
adult in the village was still ten years old in spirit, as far as she was concerned.
    Duncan stomped into the cockpit to sit with her and Andrew. After he slammed the door, Elgiva tilted Kincaid’s head to a comfortable position and resisted an urge to smooth the hair Duncan had mussed. She stood quickly. “Best go and get your mask, Robbie. Duncan will pounce on the least excuse to complain.”
    Rob gripped Elgiva’s arm and gazed hard into her eyes. “It’s not too late for you to put on a mask too. We could change the plans.”
    She shook her head. “I suspect that Kincaid looked me over
verrry
well when I preened in front of his silly little one-way mirror. I don’t think he’s the kind of man who’d forget the details of his kidnapper’s face.” She hugged her brother and swallowed hard to keep the tears out of her voice. “It has to be this way, Robbie. If we get what we want, I won’t be sorry. Sssh, now, you big-hearted brute.”
    She stood back and shook him lightly by the shoulders, as if he were still smaller than she. His handsome, angular features tightened with sorrow, and Elgiva tried to distract him. “Robbie, I think Mr. Kincaid’s got you beat. He must be a good centimeter taller.”
    “Och! No!” Rob’s eyes glittered with dismay, as she’d expected. “The thieving bastard’s naught but a midget next to myself!”
    “We’ll bring him down a notch or two. Don’t fret.” Douglas