Page 49 of Desire's Ransom
Warin was right to be astounded. Five hundred pounds could feed his entire household for ten years. What were the woodkerns thinking? There was no way Cormac O’Keeffe could raise that kind of coin.
Osgood tried diplomacy. “’Tis a rather large sum, my lady. Are you sure you won’t reconsider? You know, the Bible says silver is the root of all evil.”
Godwin mumbled, “I’m not sure this lot have read the Bible, Os.”
Ryland skewered Gray with a dark stare. “What happens if O’Keeffe doesn’t have it?”
“He does,” she assured him with a grim sneer. “His coffers are overflowin’ with the fines he’s collected.”
“What makes you so sure he’ll pay?”
“He’s been kissin’ the feet o’ your king for years now,” Gray said, the bitterness in her words at odds with her sweet face. “The last thing he wants is for word to get back that Irish outlaws have abducted the king’s man. He promised his daughter to an English knight. I very much doubt the king will send a second knight if the chieftain can’t keep track o’ the first one.”
Ryland had to admit that made sense. It had never occurred to him that he might be a valuable commodity to the woodkerns. He cursed his shortsightedness. He should have foreseen the outlaws could hold him for ransom.
“What will you do with five hundred pounds?” There were a dozen woodkerns. That was enough silver to keep them all in comfort for the rest of their lives.
“’Tisn’t your concern,” Gray said. Then she turned to her men. “I think we’ve prattled on long enough. Bind their arms, lads. Conall and Niall, ye should leave before it grows dark.”
“I’m not leaving,” Warin insisted.
“Warin.” Ryland shook his head. He knew Warin was troubled about leaving him alone with the outlaws. It was true that Ryland seldom went anywhere without his trusty friend. But if he was going to come out of this situation with any hope of victory, he needed Warin to do something for him on the outside.
As the friar bound his arms behind him, Ryland realized he was powerless here. He’d be sitting like a stabled ox, not knowing whether he was to be bred or slaughtered…
There was only one thing to do.
While his men reluctantly set off with two of the outlaws, he called out to Warin. “If you’re unable to raise the ransom,” he said carefully, “my brother’s jeweled sword might be of value. Bring it on your return.”
Warin’s brow furrowed in puzzlement for a moment, and then recognition lit up his eyes. “Aye, that we will, m’lord.”
And then his valiant knights vanished into the woods.
Temair busied herself with watering the hounds. She couldn’t bear to look at Ryland right now, bound and helpless, with bitter accusation in his eyes.
She deserved every bit of his condemnation. She’d lured him here on the pretense of helping him, all the while intending to foil his plans.
As she bent down to put the basin of water before them, even Bran and Flann eyed her with suspicion. They sniffed at the water, as if they feared their traitorous mistress might have put hemlock in it.
“What?” she hissed at them. “Ye too?”
Maelan and Domnall collected up the weapons and took them inside the cave. She supposed they’d give them back to the knights when they returned with the ransom. After all, the woodkerns only took what poor folk could use. Farmers and cowherds had no use for swords.
Friar Brian, with his usual overabundance of courtesy, apologized to Ryland for the inconvenience of his bonds and assured him his ordeal would be over shortly.
Meanwhile, Sorcha, Lady Mor, and Aife secretly explained the plan to the remaining woodkerns.
Temair sighed. She regretted having to use the unwitting English knight as a pawn in the game of draughts with her father.
He didn’t seem like a bad person.
He’d been kind to her hounds.
He’d shown true concern for his missing bride.
He’d even offered to pay the woodkerns for their help.
It wasn’t his fault his stupid king had sent him to wed an imposter heiress.
