Rose and the Warrior

The Highlands of Scotland Summer 1216 Every step of his mount was agony. It is nothing,Roarke told himself harshly, shifting his weight to ease the torturous pressure on his spine. But the relentless throbbing in his muscles continued, an incessant reminder that his body no longer enjoyed the hard resilience he had once known. It was a bitter realization. "'Tis getting late," observed Eric, urging his horse alongside Roarke. The enormous, fair-haired warrior studied the fading light. "We should make camp." Roarke shook his head. Eric stared at Roarke, his blue gaze penetrating. Roarke returned his friend's scrutiny with rigid indifference. "As you wish," said Eric after a moment, shrugging. "I was only thinking of the horses." "We will go farther." He resisted the urge to shift his weight. "Strange that there's been no sign of him yet," remarked Donald, idly stretching his arms over his head. He yawned. "Perhaps the elusive Falcon and his charming band will be more apt to introduce themselves once we've settled for the night." "That's what they did to the last men Laird MacTier sent to capture them," growled Myles. The heavyset warrior spat contemptuously on the ground. "Attacked them as they lay snoring after knocking out the men assigned to keep watch." "Stripped them bloody naked and stole their horses," Eric added. "The fools had to walk back to the holding wearing nothing but a few strategically placed branches. Laird MacTier was furious." Donald arched one brow in bemusement. "Now, that doesn't seem very sporting. Stealing weapons and valuables is one thing, but why would the Falcon steal their plaids? " "To humiliate his enemies." Roarke was unable to contain his disgust. Better to slay one's opponent, quickly and with honor, rather than strip him like a bairn and send him limping naked back to his clan. "The Falcon and his men prefer the weapon of shame to the clean cut of death. If they make MacTier look like a fool, then other clans will view us all as fools. That is why we must crush this band of outlaws." "Yet MacTier wants the Falcon taken alive," mused Donald. "He wants to kill the troublesome bastard himself," Roarke explained. The Falcon had been a festering thorn in his laird's backside for months now, and his patience was at an end. "MacTier also needs him alive so he can learn where the Falcon has hidden the fortune he has stolen from us." "We needn't drag him all the way back to our holding just for that." Eric's massive hand clamped the hilt of the heavy dirk strapped to his waist. "A few strips of flesh peeled away, and he'll tell us exactly what we want to know." "Our orders are to bring him back alive, Eric," Roarke reminded him. The warrior reluctantly released his weapon. "I prefer battle to this tedious business of hunting," he complained darkly. "In battle I don't have to choose between whom I kill and whom I maim." "By God, that's an inspiring reflection!" said Donald, chuckling. "No doubt when we return home you will enchant many a fair maiden with your gallant philosophy." Eric snorted. "I leave the enchanting of maidens to you. You have the pretty face for such idiocy." "'Tis not my face that wins their hearts," Donald maintained, although with his handsomely carved features, there was no denying his appeal to women. "'Tis simply that I know how to put a gentle maiden at ease--unlike you, who with that fearsome Viking scowl manage to send them screaming home to their mamas before you even bid them good day." Eric's expression darkened. "Women are feebMonk, Karyn is the author of 'Rose and the Warrior' with ISBN 9780553577617 and ISBN 0553577611.