Ransom (8 page)

“Do you trust me?”

“Maybe I do,” he answered. “I didn't mean to cut you. Does it hurt fierce?”

It hurt like hell, but she wasn't going to admit it because of the anxiety she saw in his eyes. The little boy had enough worries on his mind, and she wasn't going to add to them.

“It'll be fine,” she insisted. “I suppose I should do something about the bleeding though.”

While he watched, she tore a strip from her underskirt and wrapped it around and around her arm. The boy tied the knot for her at her wrist. Then she tugged her torn, bloody sleeve back down over the bandage.

“There, I'm as fit as new.”

“You know what?”

She let out a sigh. “No, what?”

“I hurt my fingers.” He sounded as if he were boasting of an incredible feat and smiled when he held his hand up for her to see. “Now I can't do nothing to help us, 'cause my fingers burn.”

“I imagine they do.”

His face lit up. He was a beautiful little boy, with dark curls and the most beguiling gray eyes she'd ever seen. His nose and cheeks were covered with freckles.

He scooted away from her and pulled his tunic up so she could see his chest and stomach. “I'm gonna get scars.”

“No, I don't think you will,” she began, but then she noticed his crestfallen expression. “Then again, I do suppose you'll have some. You do want them, don't you?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“All warriors have scars. They're marks of valor.”

He was so serious she didn't dare laugh. “Do you know what valor is?”

He shook his head. “I know it's good.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Valor is courage, and that is very good indeed. I imagine those cuts sting,” she added as she leaned forward to pull his tunic down over his belly. “When we're taken back to the holding, I'll ask one of the servants to put some salve on your fingers and chest and stomach, and then you'll feel much better. Some of the older women remember me,” she added. “They'll help us.”

“But we can't go back,” he cried out.

The change in him was so abrupt it startled her. “Try to understand,” she said. “We're trapped here. This ledge doesn't go anywhere.”

“I could crawl to the end and see if—”

“No,” she interrupted. “The rock might not be sturdy enough to hold your weight. Can't you see how it thins out near the curve?”

“But I could—”

“I cannot let you take such a chance.”

Tears came into his eyes. “I don't want to go back. I want to go home.”

She nodded in sympathy. “I know you do and I want to help you get back home. I'll find a way,” she promised. “I give you my word.” He didn't seem convinced. He relaxed against her and yawned loudly. “Do you know what my Uncle Ennis says? If an Englishman gives you his word, you'll come away with nothing.”

“I really must meet this uncle of yours one day and set him straight about a few matters.”

He snorted. “He wouldn't talk to you,” he said. “Leastways I don't think he would. Gillian?” he asked then. “I know I was supposed to wait in the stables for you, but then that man came inside and I got scared and ran.”

“Do you mean the baron went into the stables?”

“The ugly man with the red beard.”

“That's the baron,” she said. “Did he see you?”

“No, I don't think so. When I was hiding in the trees, I seen him leave with two other men. Maybe they won't ever come back.”

“Oh, they'll come back all right,” she said, for she didn't want to give the boy false hope. “If not tomorrow, then the day after.”

The child's wrinkled brow made him seem too wise for his young years, and that saddened her. Little boys should be outside running and laughing and playing silly tricks with their friends. This little one had been plucked away from his family to be used as a pawn in Baron Alford's scheme. The child had to feel as though he'd been dropped into the middle of a nightmare.

“Are you still afraid, Gillian?”

“No.”

“I never get afraid,” he boasted.

“You don't?”

“Almost never,” he corrected.

“How old are you?”

“Almost seven.”

“Almost?”

“I will be pretty soon.”

“You're a very brave boy.”

“I know,” he said very matter-of-factly. “How come those men stole me away from the festival? It was the first one I ever got to go to, and I was having a fine time. Was it
because me and my friend was playing a trick on our families?”

“No,” she assured him. “That wasn't the reason why.”

“Did I do something . . . bad?”

“Oh, no, you didn't do anything bad. None of this is your fault. You've just been caught in the middle, that's all. The baron wants something from me, but he hasn't told me what it is yet, and you're somehow involved.”

“I know what it is,” he boasted. “And you know what? The baron's gonna go to hell 'cause my papa will send him there. I miss my mama and papa,” he admitted forlornly, his voice cracking on a sob.

“Yes, of course you do. They must be frantic, searching for you.”

“No, they aren't, 'cause you know why? They think I'm dead.”

“Why would they think such a thing?”

“I heard the baron talking to his friends.”

“Then you do know what the baron's plans are?” she asked sharply.

“Maybe I do,” he said. “The men who took me made it look like I hit my head on the rocks and fell in the falls and drowned. That's what I heard them saying. I'll bet my mama's crying all the time.”

“That poor woman . . .”

“She's missing me fierce.”

“Of course she is. But think how overjoyed she'll be to have you back home again. Now tell me, please, what else you heard the baron say to his friends,” she asked, trying to sound as though the question wasn't terribly important so that he wouldn't become fretful.

“I heard everything they said 'cause you know why? I
played a trick. The baron didn't know I understood 'cause I didn't talk, not even Gaelic, in front of him or the others.”

“That was very clever of you.” She could tell her praise pleased him. He grinned up at her while he laced his fingers through hers. “Tell me everything you heard, and please take your time so you won't leave anything out.”

“The baron lost a box a long time ago, but now he thinks he knows where it is. A man told him.”

“What man? Did the baron say his name?”

“No, but the man was dying when he told him. The box had a funny name too, but I can't remember it now.”

She suddenly felt sick to her stomach. She understood now why Alford had forced her back to Dunhanshire, and as the ramifications struck her full force, her eyes stung with tears.

“Arianna,” she whispered. “He called it Arianna's box, didn't he?”

“Yes,” he said excitedly. “How come you knew the name?”

She didn't answer him. Her mind was racing with questions. Oh, God, had Alford found Christen?

“How come you speak Gaelic?”

“What?” she asked sharply, startled by the abrupt change in topics.

He repeated the question. “Are you mad at me 'cause I asked?”

She could see the anxiety in his eyes. “No, no, I'm not mad,” she assured him. “I learned to speak Gaelic because my sister, Christen, lives in the Highlands and I—”

He interrupted her. “Where in the Highlands?”

“I'm not exactly sure—”

“But—”

She wouldn't let him interrupt her again. “When I find out exactly where she is, I'm going to go see her and I want to be able to speak to her in Gaelic.”

“How come she's got a clan and gets to live in the Highlands and you don't?”

“Because I got caught,” she answered. “A long time ago, when I was just a little girl, the baron and his soldiers seized Dunhanshire. My father tried to get my sister and me to safety, but in the chaos, Christen and I were separated.”

“Is your sister lost?”

“No, she isn't lost. She was taken north into the Lowlands by one of my father's loyal men. My Uncle Morgan went to great lengths to find out exactly where she was, but she had vanished into the Highlands. I'm not sure where she is now, but I hope one day I will find her.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Yes, I do. I haven't seen Christen in a long time though. I don't think I'll even recognize her. Uncle Morgan told me the family who took her might have changed her name to keep her safe.”

“From the baron?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Still, she'll remember me.”

“But what if she doesn't?”

“She will,” she insisted.

A long peaceful minute passed in silence before he spoke again. “You know what?”

“What?”

“I can speak your language real good 'cause my mama taught me how to talk to the English even though Papa didn't want her to and my papa only talks Gaelic to me. I don't even remember learning how. I just did.”

“You're a very smart boy.”

“That's what my mama says. Some Gaelic's hard to
talk,” he continued, “'cause clans got their own way of saying things and it takes a long time to learn all the different words. When Uncle Brodick talks to me, he has to talk my Gaelic or I wouldn't know what he was saying, but it wouldn't matter if you could understand what they were saying 'cause you know why? They wouldn't talk to you unless my uncle told them to.”

“Why wouldn't they talk to me?”

He gave her a look that suggested she was just plain stupid. He was such an adorable little boy she had to fight the urge to hug him.

“'Cause you're English,” he explained in exasperation. “It's gonna get dark,” he worried out loud. “Are you gonna be afraid of the dark the way you were afraid of looking down?”

“No, I won't be afraid.”

He was trying to get her to put her arm around his shoulders but she wasn't taking the hint, and in frustration, he finally grabbed hold of her hand and did it for her.

“You smell like my mama.”

“And how's that?”

“Good.”

His voice cracked on the word, and she surmised he was getting homesick again.

“Maybe the baron won't find us.”

“His soldiers will see the rope tied around the boulder,” she gently reminded him.

“I don't want to go back.”

He burst into tears. She leaned over him and brushed his curls out of his eyes and kissed his forehead. “Hush now, it's going to be all right. I promise you, I'm going to find a way to get you back home.”

“But you're just a lady,” he wailed.

She tried to think of something to ease his mind and give him hope. His sobs were breaking her heart, and in desperation, she blurted out, “You know what a protector is, don't you?”

He hiccuped while he answered. “It's the same as a champion.” He sat up and mopped the tears away from his cheeks with his fists. “I had me a protector, and then I got another one. The day I was born I got one 'cause every bairn born in our clan gets to have one. He's supposed to look out for the boy or girl all his life long to make sure nothing bad ever happens to him. Angus used to be my champion, but then he died.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” she said. “I'm sure Angus was a fine protector.”

She was getting weary, and it was difficult to keep up with the idle chatter. Her arm was throbbing and felt as though it had been held over a flaming torch. As exhausted as she was from the long trip back to Dunhanshire, she still was determined to keep the boy occupied with conversation until he became too sleepy to worry.

“I just got me a new champion,” he told her. “Papa had to ponder it a long time 'cause he wanted to make sure he picked the right one for me. He told me he wanted me to have a champion as strong and fierce as Graham's.”

“Who is Graham?” she asked.

“My brother,” he answered.

“And who did your father choose for you?”

“His friend,” he answered. “He's a fierce warrior, an important laird too, and you know what?”

She smiled. “What?”

“He's awful mean. That's the best part. Papa says he'll make a fine champion.”

“Because he's mean?”

“And 'cause he's strong,” he explained. “He can split a tree in half just by glaring at it. Uncle Ennis told me so. He's only mean when he's got to be.”

“Your champion isn't your Uncle Ennis, is he?”

“No,” he answered. “Uncle Ennis wouldn't do. He's too nice.”

She laughed. “And it wouldn't do to have a nice protector?” She could tell he thought she'd asked a stupid question.

“No, you got to be mean to your enemies, not nice. That's why Papa asked Uncle Brodick. He's my new champion, and he's not ever nice. You know what?”

Those three words were beginning to drive her to distraction. “No, what?” she asked.

“Brodick's probably spitting fire now 'cause he told Papa not to let me go to the festival, but Mama had her way, and Papa gave in.”

“Did your Uncle Brodick attend the festival?”

“No, he'd never go to one 'cause there's too many Englishmen there. I'll bet he doesn't think I'm dead. He's the new laird over all the Buchanans, and everyone knows how stubborn the Buchanans are. Now that he's my protector, I get to call him Uncle. Maybe he's gonna come here and find me before my papa does.”

“Maybe he will,” she agreed to placate him. “Why don't you put your head down in my lap and close your eyes. Rest for a little while.”

“You won't leave while I'm sleeping, will you?”

“Where would I go?”

He smiled when he realized how foolish his worry was. “I'm gonna be scared when you have to go away. I heard the baron tell his friends you got to go get your sister. He's gonna be mad when he finds out you lost her.”