As the man and horse cleared the gates, Krayne knew a certain relief. Soon, this would be over. Soon, Stivin would be home safe and the consequences of that damn raid forgotten. And he’d gladly string and quarter the next man to so much as move or breathe without his say-so.
“Aboot bloody time,” shouted Red John as he descended the castle steps with Duncan. Another yellow-haired McAllister with broad shoulders and a wide chest, Red John took his name from a fiery ginger beard that had snuck in from some distant Viking ancestor.
“What news?” Duncan called to Little Jock, but the man simply shook his head and slid from his horse to stand before Krayne.
“The Jardin laird wasna there when I arrived,” Little Jock told Krayne. “I hoped ta wait inside, so as ta look aboot, ye ken. The filthy bastards put guards on me in the stables.”
“Ye heard naught of Stivin?”
Little Jock shook his head again. “I didna see a soul other than the guards and, this morn, the laird himself.”
Krayne scrubbed his jaw, wondering if Jardin’s tardiness should disturb him. Nay, he decided, the man would have been out searching for his niece. He couldn’t stop the grin as he thought on Jardin’s reaction to learning her whereabouts. “What are his terms?”
Little Jock grimaced. “Midday tomorrow at—”
“The firkin’ rat,” Duncan swore as he reached them. “What’s he waitin’ fer? Let’s do it now, I say. Nae more of this—”
“Enough.” Krayne motioned Little Jock to finish.
“At Blaeberry Hill, he said. And ta ride with no more than six men.”
“That be Jardin land,” Red John pointed out as he too joined them.
Krayne nodded thoughtfully. “He’s not taking any chances.”
“He always did run scared of ye,” Duncan snorted. In their earliest youth, the families had not been unfriendly. William Jardin had eighteen years on Krayne, had been a man in his prime when Krayne was a mere lad, but even then he’d shown a certain wariness of Krayne. Since then, of course, William had developed a new lease on fear.
“Aye,” Krayne muttered. “’Tis the only reason I haven’t eradicated his sorry stench from this earth yet.” One of the reasons, anyway.
Duncan knocked Krayne’s shoulder to get his full attention. “I dinna hold with this waitin’. Fer what? He doesna need time ta collect any ransom.”
“True,” agreed Krayne. His gaze went to Red John, then further to Alexander, hurrying across the courtyard toward them. He waited for his captain to be filled in before speaking. “Jardin is the mouse that’d play games with the cat afore being devoured. He has this little power, and ’tis all he’ll ever have.”
“We could take Spedlin,” declared Duncan.
“And incur the wrath of Jamie, our chief, and probably God above as well,” Alexander said sternly. He’d been well informed on what had transpired at Stirling.
“Do we know if Stivin be well and fine?” Red John asked.
“Jardin willna touch him,” Duncan finally admitted. As much as he wanted to tear Spedlin down, one stone at a time, they all knew that Jardin would no more kill one of Krayne’s immediate family than dive head first into the bowels of hell. In fact, given the impossible choice, he’d sooner choose the eternal inferno over the Grey Wolf’s vengeance. William Jardin was probably cursing his own bad fate this very moment, what with having a Johnstone hostage forced upon him.
“We wait,” decided Krayne.
Amber shouldn’t have been surprised when she stepped onto the battlement and found two well-placed guards. She gave them a sweet smile and quickly retreated, pulling the heavy tapestry back over the opening.
She paced the floor in front of the dying embers, her stomach rumbling. Her last meal had been two nights past. She’d found some paltry remains of hard bread and white cheese, but that could only sustain her so long. Thirst was a lesser problem. The large clay jug on the table by the
“Aboot bloody time,” shouted Red John as he descended the castle steps with Duncan. Another yellow-haired McAllister with broad shoulders and a wide chest, Red John took his name from a fiery ginger beard that had snuck in from some distant Viking ancestor.
“What news?” Duncan called to Little Jock, but the man simply shook his head and slid from his horse to stand before Krayne.
“The Jardin laird wasna there when I arrived,” Little Jock told Krayne. “I hoped ta wait inside, so as ta look aboot, ye ken. The filthy bastards put guards on me in the stables.”
“Ye heard naught of Stivin?”
Little Jock shook his head again. “I didna see a soul other than the guards and, this morn, the laird himself.”
Krayne scrubbed his jaw, wondering if Jardin’s tardiness should disturb him. Nay, he decided, the man would have been out searching for his niece. He couldn’t stop the grin as he thought on Jardin’s reaction to learning her whereabouts. “What are his terms?”
Little Jock grimaced. “Midday tomorrow at—”
“The firkin’ rat,” Duncan swore as he reached them. “What’s he waitin’ fer? Let’s do it now, I say. Nae more of this—”
“Enough.” Krayne motioned Little Jock to finish.
“At Blaeberry Hill, he said. And ta ride with no more than six men.”
“That be Jardin land,” Red John pointed out as he too joined them.
Krayne nodded thoughtfully. “He’s not taking any chances.”
“He always did run scared of ye,” Duncan snorted. In their earliest youth, the families had not been unfriendly. William Jardin had eighteen years on Krayne, had been a man in his prime when Krayne was a mere lad, but even then he’d shown a certain wariness of Krayne. Since then, of course, William had developed a new lease on fear.
“Aye,” Krayne muttered. “’Tis the only reason I haven’t eradicated his sorry stench from this earth yet.” One of the reasons, anyway.
Duncan knocked Krayne’s shoulder to get his full attention. “I dinna hold with this waitin’. Fer what? He doesna need time ta collect any ransom.”
“True,” agreed Krayne. His gaze went to Red John, then further to Alexander, hurrying across the courtyard toward them. He waited for his captain to be filled in before speaking. “Jardin is the mouse that’d play games with the cat afore being devoured. He has this little power, and ’tis all he’ll ever have.”
“We could take Spedlin,” declared Duncan.
“And incur the wrath of Jamie, our chief, and probably God above as well,” Alexander said sternly. He’d been well informed on what had transpired at Stirling.
“Do we know if Stivin be well and fine?” Red John asked.
“Jardin willna touch him,” Duncan finally admitted. As much as he wanted to tear Spedlin down, one stone at a time, they all knew that Jardin would no more kill one of Krayne’s immediate family than dive head first into the bowels of hell. In fact, given the impossible choice, he’d sooner choose the eternal inferno over the Grey Wolf’s vengeance. William Jardin was probably cursing his own bad fate this very moment, what with having a Johnstone hostage forced upon him.
“We wait,” decided Krayne.
Amber shouldn’t have been surprised when she stepped onto the battlement and found two well-placed guards. She gave them a sweet smile and quickly retreated, pulling the heavy tapestry back over the opening.
She paced the floor in front of the dying embers, her stomach rumbling. Her last meal had been two nights past. She’d found some paltry remains of hard bread and white cheese, but that could only sustain her so long. Thirst was a lesser problem. The large clay jug on the table by the
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