Page 19 of Highland Storm

Storm heard her and glanced down the table. “My son is restin’. After the meal, the sorcerer will see to his wound.”

“A sorcerer that acts like a servant?” asked Phoebe, taking a nibble of the white bread.

“Orrick is a friend, no’ a servant,” said Storm in a low voice.

Clarista giggled. “It is so good to hear you say that, Storm. After all, I know how many years you rejected anything or anyone’s actions that you couldn’t explain.”

“Will I get to talk to Orrick about herbs tonight?” asked Phoebe.

“Nay. In the mornin’, perhaps,” growled Storm. “Tell me, Phoebe, how much do ye think yer clan will demand for ransom? And are they bringin’ my faither straight to Crookston Castle or goin’ somewhere else first?”

“I – I’m no’ sure,” she said, looking down at her trencher, picking up a piece of cheese and popping it into her mouth. She had to be careful with her words. Any information she told the enemy could be used against her clan. She didn’t want her father or her people to be in danger. “Are ye plannin’ on attackin’ Clan MacNab?” she nonchalantly asked, picking up her goblet and bringing it to her mouth.

“Dinna tell her anythin’,” said Aidan from the end of the table. “Remember, she’s the enemy and can turn against us.”

“Ye should ken, Aidan, since it happened to ye with a bonnie lassie,” laughed his friend, Ian, taking a drink of wine.

Feeling very uncomfortable, Phoebe wanted to leave. “Lady Clarista, may I take Hawke some food and check on his wound?” she asked.

“I’m sure that would be fine.” Lady Clarista looked over to Storm for his approval.

“Orrick will go with her and there will be a guard posted at the door at all times,” said Storm. “And if anyone sees the lass tryin’ to escape, stop her. She is all we have to barter for my faither. We canna let her escape or the chieftain is as guid as dead.”

“I’m no’ goin’ to try to escape,” Phoebe told Storm, although the thought was at the back of her mind.

“Orrick,” called Storm with a wave of his hand. “Please escort Phoebe to my son’s chamber and be sure to take a guard with ye.”

“Aye, my laird,” said the tall man with white hair and a long beard. He was dressed in a purple cloak that reached all the way to the ground. “This way, Lady Phoebe.” Orrick held out his hand. He seemed spry and moved quickly for such an old man. “We’ll stop in the kitchen on the way up there and pick up some raw meat.”

“Hawke eats raw meat?” gasped Phoebe, thinking he was some sort of animal.

“Nay, but his hawk, Apollo, does,” answered Orrick with a cackle. “I have a feeling the bird is concerned about Hawke and hasn’t hunted without its master by its side.”

Phoebe hurried from the dais and followed the old sorcerer, looking back over her shoulder to see the hatred in every one of the MacKeefes’ eyes. Mayhap she should be locked in the dungeon for her own safety, because she wasn’t at all sure that one of the MacKeefes wouldn’t try to slit her throat as she slept just because she was a MacNab.

After feeding Hawke’s bird, Phoebe accompanied the sorcerer to a tower room. They were being followed closely by one of the MacKeefe’s guards.

“What’s up here?” asked Phoebe curiously as Orrick reached for the latch on the thick wooden door.

“This is where I stay when I’m at Hermitage Castle.”

“Is this yer permanent residence?”

“Nay. I am usually at Blake Castle in Devonshire, but I visit here often.”

“Devonshire? Ye’re English, are ye no’?”

“I am.”

“Then why are ye in Scotland?”

“You ask a lot of questions for a prisoner. I am good friends with Corbett Blake, an English lord. He is the brother of Storm MacKeefe’s wife, Wren.”

“Wren?”

“Hawke’s mother.”

“I dinna remember meetin’ her.”