Author's Note: Do I own any of this? No. And am I getting paid for this? You've got to be kidding; someone would pay for this? Rhiannon is the queen of all beta-readers (and an absolutely brilliant writer in her own right!).

Reviews are, as always, more than welcome!

Chapter Four: The Stronghold

"What will the Captain say?"

The cells were surprisingly comfortable, for cells. One positive note, there were no signs of an oubliette. But, once again, they were prisoners and it was his fault.

There was a barred exercise area that faced onto the main courtyard of their prison. It appeared to be an old castle that had been kept in very good repair. The walls were thick and well guarded, the household busy and well disciplined.

They learned within the first hour that speaking to those that passed by them would do them little good. Mostly ignored, those that did stop to listen would merely smile and shake their heads before going on about their business.

They *had* learned quite a bit about their captors, though, just by listening to the conversations going on around them. There were a bewildering array of languages being spoken—English, Spanish, French, and two that no one could identify. The first had a musical quality about it, almost as if the speaker would begin to sing any moment, and there was something naggingly familiar about it. The other sounded like nothing they had ever heard before-a robust language with a rolling sound to it.

Once they pooled their knowledge, Horatio and Archie found that their grasp on the situation was only a little better. The man who had brought them in was called Jos Lennox and the one he had deferred to was called Lorcan Ross.

He seemed to be in charge here. He looked younger even than us, thought Horatio, certainly not older than twenty—if that. They were both apparently well liked, for they had heard no complaints in any language they understood. But Don Masserado had been well liked and it had not stopped him from being a ruthless warden. The traffic through the courtyard was sporadic and as the evening progressed it had died down to a trickle.

The courtyard was octagonal, with their exercise yard on the southern side. The smithy was across the yard from their cells. To its right lay a door that seemed to lead to the kitchens. To its left, the stables. Beyond that, in the southeastern and western walls, there were sets of recessed entryways that probably led to the rest of the castle's environs. In the eastern wall there was a set of massive doors, ornately carved and bound in iron.

Then the women from the orchard returned and the level of activity in the courtyard increased as they unloaded their wagons. Baudwin spent the entire time teasing a young girl who appeared to be his sister, as she resembled him quite closely. The dark haired woman that had glared at them earlier, now steadfastly refused to even glance in their direction. The young girl-Archie thought her name sounded like Vany-called her Alise. He wondered what made her dislike them so.

"Avenie! What will you be concocting from this bountiful harvest? I hope you will not forget your dear brother's favorites."

Ivo had come from the Great Hall when the wagons had arrived to help with the unloading.

"Of course not 'dear brother', you will get your heart's desire as long as you keep unloading. There is enough for everyone, it was a good harvest."

"Ah, good. If I thought I'd be forced to eat any more of Allejandro's tasteless travel bread, I think I'd hurl myself from the cliffs."

"Don't be so melodramatic," tossing an apple at him, then she smiled.

"Perhaps we should get the recipe from him. You know it is quite nutritious and easily portable."

She laughed at the look on his face as he choked on his apple. The travel bread was truly some of the worst tasting muck ever conceived, but last winter had been hard and it was edible and available. The harvest had been half ruined by storms and everyone had been forced to make do with what they had stored away or could barter for.

Avenie looked around, satisfied with their work, and thought agreeably of the harvest haul this year. They would have a good winter with no shortages in castle or town. She had taken to the job of chatelaine like a fish to water, adoring the little details that made up the large undertaking. She accomplished more than women with twice her experience and twice her tender age of sixteen. She only wished it had not fallen to her in such a way.

It was Eilis' job by right and precedence and if she would only take a renewed interest in such things, Avenie would happily relinquish the accounts and keys back up to her.

"Ivo, who were those men you were escorting? They upset Eilis mightily."

"They are English sailors, and you know her feelings toward the English."

"Oh my, yes. 'The only good Sassenach is a dead Sassenach'."

"Why are they here?"

Eilis had been waiting for him in his—their—rooms, her dark gray eyes flashing with barely suppressed wrath. Jos sighed; this was not going to go well. She was trembling with rage. Lorcan stood awkwardly in the doorway.

"We've already covered this. They are here because Lorcan instructed us to bring them here. If you wish to know more I suggest you ask him."

She glanced at her brother, then back to Jos.

"I'm asking you. Why did he have you bring them in?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure he knows."

"Eilis, there are extenuating circumstances at work here…." Lorcan began.

"Well, somebody knows! And I don't give a fig for circumstances!"

Her voice had risen several octaves as she whirled about to face her brother, her midnight hair falling into her face.

Jos winced; it was going to be one of those fights.

"Lorcan, would you excuse us please." He could have made an effort to not look quite so relieved as he left, Jos thought enviously. With a sigh, he turned back to his wife.

"You're not being sensible about this, Eilis. It's…."

She was yelling full voice now. "I'm not being sensible! Is it sensible to march a dozen or more enemies all over our lands? To bring them into our safe haven? Why didn't you just kill them on the beach?"

That was going too far, even for her.

"Eilis! That's enough; you are not sensible of what you are saying! We do not kill without just cause-you know that! I know your reasons for disliking the English, but we will not become monsters to defeat them. It would defeat us."

She did not look at all convinced, not that he thought she would accept it now anymore than she had before. She would not be happy until she had had her vengeance for little Michael's death, and rightly or wrongly, she had decided the English would pay. He tried one last time.

"Do you really think we were so careless as to let them see anything that would compromise our safety? Do you think I would put you in that kind of danger?"

She looked at him with clear contempt, "You've done it before."

He gasped, looking as though she had slapped him.