The man kept his mouth closed, his nostrils flaring, his glare venomous.
"Who do you work for? And what do you have against us?"
"I'll tell you naught. If you're going to kill me, then go ahead and do it!" he roared.
"We're not going to kill you, even though 'tis what you deserve. But you will be a guest in the Rhodie Castle dungeon until you tell me why you and your comrades were trying to kill us."
"I said I'll tell you naught!"
Likely, the man would confess what he knew in a day or two, if he lived. Colin would send the healer into the dungeon to remove the arrow and medicate his wound. "Did you or one of your clansmen shoot Chief Cameron?"
The man narrowed his eyes but kept his mouth shut. Of course they had been the culprits. Although Colin wanted to smash his fist against the man's face, he kept his impulses under control.
"Cut the arrow shaft shorter," Colin told Warton. "Have the men bind his hands and feet, then load him onto a horse. We must reach Rhodie before dark." Otherwise, they would be too vulnerable out here in the darkness. The outlaws could return.
***
When Colin and the rest of the Camerons rode into the torchlit bailey at Rhodie Castle a few minutes after dark, his brother Bryce, younger by two years, was there to greet him.
"Bryce, how is Da?" Colin swung down from his horse.
"Not good." His brown eyes grim, Bryce gave Colin a warrior handshake. "I'm glad you came quickly."
Colin nodded. "I must go see Da. Then we'll talk. In the meantime, can you oversee the men escorting the prisoner to the dungeon and ask Deidra to see to his arrow wound?"
Bryce nodded and glanced at the men unloading the injured man. "How did you end up with a prisoner?"
"Bastard was shooting at us. He may very well be the one who shot Da."
"What?" Bryce growled.
"Aye. Rusty and Warton will fill you in on what happened."
"Damnation." Bryce stormed off in their direction while Colin climbed the steps toward the great hall, his stomach knotting. After nodding a greeting to the solemn-faced clansmen seated at the tables, he ascended another flight to the laird's chamber. He pushed the old carved oak door open and found only his mother and father inside the bleak, candlelit room.
"Oh, Colin." His mother shot up from the chair and embraced him, tears streaming from her reddened eyes. "I'm so glad you've come."
"How is he, Ma?" He held her tightly while she wept. Though his heart was breaking, he forced himself to be strong. Looking over her shoulder, he saw that his da lay unmoving on the bed. His face was very pale above his gray beard. Saints! To see him in this condition was like a strike to his own vitals.
"I'm so afraid," his mother whispered, pulling back and turning to look at his da. "I've never seen him so ill before. He has a fever, and Deidra says his wound festers terribly."
"Is there naught she can do to help?" Surely, there had to be something that could save his father's life.
"She removed the arrowhead, stitched the wound and applied a poultice. You ken she is the best healer in these parts, but 'tis a deep wound."
"Mayhap the poultice will help in a day or two." Colin wished more than anything that he could relieve his mother's worries, but the same hopeless fear latched sickeningly onto his stomach.
"He does not respond. 'Tis as if he is in a deep, dreamless sleep."
Fearing this was indeed the end of the road for his father, Colin kissed the top of his mother's head, her tawny hair shot through with a few strands of gray. "We will pray."
"Aye. 'Tis all we can do."
He sat down on a chair by his father's bedside and leaned forward. "Da, can you hear me?"
No response. Da's face appeared far too ashen, but his breathing was deep and even.
"We're going to figure out who did this," Colin vowed.
