Marsailli found the camp a very different place with all the new mercenaries. It was busy and loud and very dangerous.
“Need a man to fill that ache in your quim, lass?” one soldier asked, as she carried a bucket of water up the path from the burn.
She ignored him. But she couldn’t ignore the man who grabbed her arm and tried to drag her off to his tent. The drunken sot made the mistake of accosting her in front of Giric, however, and a moment later he was nursing a bellyful of steel.
“No one touches the girl,” the Bear roared.
He tipped her chin up with his beefy hand. “The time has come, I think, for you to make your pallet in my tent. Gather your things.”
Marsailli swallowed. “That’s not necessary. I’m perfectly safe in my new tent with the midwife. I’ll send a lad to fetch water from now on.”
“Gather your things,” he repeated. “Now.”
His voice was deceptively calm, but she knew it would not stay that way. There was a bitter edge underlying his words, a sharp bite that would brook no denial.
Marsailli nodded and then ran for her tent. Her possessions were few, especially now, after Giric had torn apart the old tent. Darting from one corner of the tent to another, she snatched up her comb, her hair ribbons, and her gowns.
The midwife glanced at her. “Where are you going?”
“He says I’m to sleep in his tent from this moment forward,” Marsailli said, choking on the words. She was well aware that sleep would be hard to find under Giric’s roof.
Magda’s lips thinned. “Drink your fill of wine or ale before you settle for the night,” she advised. “It will help.”
Marsailli shook her head. “I will not let him dishonor me.” She pulled her sewing needles out of her pocket and showed them to the other woman. “If necessary, I will stab these in his eyes.”
The older woman grew pale. “Those will not stop a man of his size, and he will kill you for daring to defy him. Nay, lass, better that you should submit. Live to see another day.”
“I cannot.”
In a flash, the older woman had crossed the tent and grabbed Marsailli’s hands. “Aye, you can. Drink until you fall asleep. He’ll take you anyway, but it will be less painful. He’s a very big man, and you’re a wee thing.”
As well meaning as the midwife’s words might have been, Marsailli could not stomach them. The notion of letting Giric have his way, of doing nothing to stop him, burned like a hot rock in her belly. Nay, she couldn’t allow it. She would resist as best she could, and with a little luck, she would wound him enough to scurry free. It was the best she could hope for.
“Take care,” she told the midwife.
Then she parted the tent flaps and walked slowly toward Giric’s tent, her pitiful collection of belongings in her arms.
***
“I say we simply bide our time,” James Stewart said. “Reinforcements will arrive soon enough from Edinburgh.”
“The English will not wait for your reinforcements to arrive,” argued Bran. “They will attack soon, while they still hold the advantage.”
“The advantage belongs to us,” Dougal protested. “We’re safe within these walls.”
“I agree,” said the steward. “It’s sheer madness to contemplate leaving the manor to field an attack.”
“Not while we hold the element of surprise,” Bran insisted. “And right now, they are gathered in one spot. A convenient target.”
“What is your opinion, Laird MacCurran?” Stewart asked of the man who had just entered the great hall. “Does fortune favor the brave or the cautious?”
Aiden crossed the stone floor to the great wooden table where the council had gathered. Tucking his gloves into his belt, he said, “We are sorely outnumbered. The English have gathered nigh on two hundred men.”
“Well,” said Stewart, with a triumphant grin. “There’s your answer. We haven’t the strength of arms to meet the English on a battlefield.”
Bran slapped his hands on the wooden tabletop. “We cannot simply wait for them to attack. Have I not made it clear what a formidable weapon the longbow is? They will place their archers out of range and fire arrows at us endlessly, slowly decimating our entire army.”
“Bah,” said Stewart. “You make the Welsh bow sound like an instrument of the devil, but King Edward conquered the Welsh—with ordinary men.”
