Page 15 of Highland Storm

“Haud yer wheesht! All of ye,” commanded Storm. “I dinna want to hear another word about this before I’ve had a chance to talk to my son in private. Hawke, meet me in my solar anon.”

“Aye, Da,” said Hawke, looking over at Phoebe. “What about her?”

“Put her in the dungeon,” said Storm.

Phoebe’s eyes opened wide and shot over to Hawke. “Nay. Please. No’ the dungeon,” she begged.

“I canna take the chance that ye are goin’ to escape,” explained Storm.

Hawke shouldn’t have cared what happened to the girl, but somehow he did. And when she looked at him with those terrified eyes, begging him not to put her in the dungeon, he couldn’t bring himself to agree with his father. He had to protect her.

“Nay, Da. She’s done nothin’ wrong. No lassie should have to spend time in the dungeon. Ye should agree with that since ye always tell me Mathair was once imprisoned right here at Hermitage Castle and how awful it was.”

“That’s right, Da.” Renard, Hawke’s older brother by over ten years, stepped through the crowd. Renard was tall and lean and had red hair. He was raised as English, but now embraced the ways of the Scot and wore his plaid proudly. “Dinna ye remember how awful ye felt when Mathair was put in the dungeon? I remember bein’ there with her when I was a boy. I have to admit, at the time it was terrifyin’. Mayhap Hawke is right. This girl is only a lass.”

“All right then, I willna throw her in the dungeon,” said Storm, scanning the faces of the angry crowd. “But Hawke, ye are responsible for her. She is our prisoner and it is important that ye keep a close eye on her and dinna let her escape. She is our only hope of getting Ian back alive.”

“Let’s go,” said Hawke, putting his hand on Phoebe’s back.

“Wait!” Lady Clarista stopped him. “She is covered in blood. Let me help her clean up and give her a change of clothes first. We’ll meet ye in the great hall later.”

“I am no’ sure about this, Mathair,” said Storm under his breath, his eyes flashing across the crowd eagerly as everyone waited for his reply.

“I’ll be responsible for her as well,” said Lady Clarista. “Mayhap that’s no’ a guid idea, Grandmathair,” said Hawke. “She is a MacNab and no’ to be trusted.”

Phoebe spoke up. “I’m a MacNab surrounded by thick fortress walls and a courtyard filled with angry MacKeefes who all look like they want to lop off my head right now.”

Hawke looked out at the crowd and realized she was right. Vengeance filled their eyes because of what happened today and he couldn’t blame them. He wet his parched lips, knowing he had to say something. “If anyone even thinks of harmin’ the lass, they’ll have to deal with me.”

“Come on, Son. Both of ye,” said Storm, talking to Hawke and Renard. “Aidan, Ian and Onyx, I’d like ye to join us as well.”

“We’re here,” said Aidan, rushing over.

“How about us?” asked Logan. “We’re here to help, too. Let us join in the discussion with Hawke and our faithers.”

“Fine,” said Storm, throwing his hands in the air. “All of ye, follow me. And someone find Heartha to take a look at Hawke’s wound.”

“Storm, did you forget that Heartha is spending time at Blake Castle in Devonshire?” asked Clarista. “We don’t have a healer right now.”

“Blethers, I forgot about that.” Storm looked across the courtyard, spying Orrick, the old sorcerer. “Orrick, bring yer bag of potions,” shouted Storm. “And mayhap bring that crystal ball of yers or anythin’ that can aid us in bringin’ home my faither.”

“Storm?” Orrick hurried over to join them. The man didn’t look any different than the first time Hawke met him when Hawke was a child. Everyone around him seemed to grow older, but Orrick stayed the same. “I don’t have a crystal ball,” Orrick told him. “But Zara, the gypsy, gave me some Tarot Cards. Did you want me to read those for you?”

“Nay! Anythin’ but the Tarot,” said Storm, holding up his hand to ward something away. “That brings back too many memories. Just bring your herbs and ointments.”

“I can help Hawke,” Phoebe spoke up. “I am a healer.”

“Nay,” answered Storm. “Ye are the enemy and would probably poison him.”

“She was the one to stitch me up and bind my wound,” Hawke explained to his father.

“Perhaps Phoebe and Orrick can both minister Hawke for his wound,” suggested Clarista.

“Really?” Phoebe’s eyes lit up and she no longer looked scared. “I would like that,” she said, smiling at Orrick.

“Can she?” Clarista asked her son’s permission.

“Do what ye want,” grunted Storm, with a wave of his hand. “I dinna have time for this clishmaclaver. We need to make a plan to bring home faither.”