Page 74 of Desire's Ransom
Once she’d uncorked that keg, the rest of the woodkerns’ opinions began to flow freely.
“He’s got a temper.”
“Not many o’ the crofters have a good word to say about him.”
“He’s a spare-the-rod-spoil-the-child kind o’ man.”
“Folk at the tower housedidsay he kept her locked in a cell.”
“’Tis a well-known fact he beats his servants. There’s no tellin’ what he did to his daughters.”
“There’s some who know,” Gray interjected, her voice bitter. “Is it any surprise Temair left? Bloody hell, if she hadn’t run away all those years ago, there’s no tellin’ what might have—”
“All those years?” Ryland asked.
The camp went suddenly still.
“Days,” Gray corrected. “All those days ago.”
Ronan forced a laugh. “Maybe ye’d better lighten up on that ale, Gray. I fear your mind’s a bit muddled.”
“Aye, lass,” Cambeal said. “’Twould seem your tongue has a will of its own.”
Sorcha stood up suddenly. “Perhaps ’twould be best if we all retired. We don’t want to say things we may regret. And we’ll have clearer heads in the morn.”
Everyone was quick to agree. But Ryland couldn’t shake the notion that something strange had just happened. The outlaws were hiding something. They had a secret. And he didn’t like secrets.
Ryland de Ware had one rule of battle. Never go in unprepared. Secrets were counter to that philosophy. And the sooner he uncovered them, the better.
The twilight moon was just cresting the treetops as the woodkerns banked the fire and sought their beds.
Fortunately, the woodkerns hadn’t questioned their “guests,” William and Robert, too closely about the four English knights who were supposed to be at the castle, negotiating a ransom payment. Otherwise, they would have discovered that Ryland’s men hadn’t returned to the keep at all. As far as Cormac O’Keeffe knew, Ryland was still hunting for Temair. He was unaware that his daughter’s bridegroom was a hostage.
God willing, he’d never find out.
In the meantime, Ryland would have to learn everything he could about the O’Keeffe clan, their allies, their enemies.
He’d been able to classify Cormac O’Keeffe within an hour of meeting him. The chieftain was a bold, boastful, selfish bully, disliked and feared by his own people. If the chieftain had any allies, they were made by bribery or at the point of a sword. Cormac had no doubt expected the king to send a peaceable bridegroom who’d inherit the title upon his death. That had been the king’s intent and Ryland’s plan as well.
But now that he’d seen the extent of Cormac’s villainy, he knew that plan would have to change. Ryland needed to claim the title as soon as he was wedded to the chieftain’s daughter. He was confident there would be little resistance from theclann, who would doubtless welcome the fall of their corrupt chieftain.
Temair O’Keeffe, however, was a mystery. Even those who purported to know her seemed to disagree about who she was, what she looked like, and what her intentions might be.
Then there were the woodkerns. At the moment, since they believed they were holding Ryland hostage, awaiting his ransom, they thought they had leverage. But Ryland would soon turn the tables on them. When he did, would they then view him as a foe who’d betrayed them? Or would they embrace him as their champion?
Beside him, Gray struggled up from her seat, staggering to her feet. He rose and reached out to steady her, taking her by the elbow.
She looked up at him with grateful eyes and blurted out, “I wish ye didn’t have to go. Ever.”
He grinned. On the morrow, poor Gray would no doubt regret much of what she was confessing tonight. But as befuddled as she was, he still found her irresistible.
And he knew what she meant. Part of him didn’t want to go either. Taking Temair O’Keeffe for a wife, he was heading into uncharted waters. But he knew a woman like Gray could make him happy for the rest of his life.
Of course, he couldn’t say that.
“If I don’t go, you’ll never get your ransom,” he pointed out.
“I don’t care. ’Tisn’t about the coin anyway. Not really,” she confided.
