“Laird Keith says that you should arrive at their village in a few days if the weather remains decent,” Clegg said. “While I do not normally see men off who leave the Cal, I will make an exception in your case because I want to tell you something.”
Lor was attentive. “Aye, m’laird?”
Clegg motioned to Axel, who produced a beautiful great sword with a distinctive cross hilt. It was bigger than the weapons Lor had trained with, an elegant weapon meant for battle. Axel held it up to show it to him before tucking it into a heavy sheath and handing it over to him.
Lor was astonished by what was presumably a gift. He looked at Clegg, shocked. “I…I dunna know what tae say, m’laird,” he said. “It is beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Of course you haven’t,” Clegg said. “It is a sword made for a great knight, and even if you are not a knight, you have the potential to become one of the greatest warriors in the Highlands. I believe that or I would not say it. I will give you this weapon under one condition.”
“What is that, m’laird?”
“That you bring it back to me when you return to finish your training. Go to the Highlands and do great things, but come back to us when you are finished. Let us train you fully and you, in turn, can help train others. Will you do this?”
It occurred to Lor that Clegg was offering him a position. “Ye…ye want me tae be a trainer?”
“We call them doctores. You have a good manner with men, though I do not think you realize it. You are patient beyond measure, and that is an excellent quality. Will you return?”
Lor had to think on that, deeply. He was off to destroy men who trusted him. He was off to seek his vengeance. Would he be worthy of returning to the Ludus Caledonia when it was all over?
He wondered.
But one thing was for certain—he owed the Cal everything. When everything in his life had been taken away, the Ludus Caledonia had given him back the one thing he’d lost—
Hope.
“I will,” he said after a moment. “If ye’ll have me, I’ll return.”
Clegg nodded firmly. “Good,” he said. Then he pointed to the brown horse that Wendell was still holding. “That is your mount. Every warrior needs a mount. That is Aeos, one of my personal horses. When you return, you will bring him back to me.”
Lor had never owned a fine horse before. He’d spent his life working with them, but he’d never owned such a fine beast. He went to the animal, running a trained hand up his front legs, looking at the lines of his frame.
“He’s magnificent, m’laird,” he said. “I’ll take great care of him. Better than I will care for myself.”
Clegg nodded, having said what he needed to say, and turned for the keep. He was a man of business above all, and this was a business matter to him. He’d released a warrior who showed great promise for a tremendous sum of money, so it had essentially been a deal he couldn’t refuse. But he felt strongly he wanted that warrior returned to him when Lor had finished his task for his new liege.
As Clegg headed back into the fortress, Axel took the sword from Lor and strapped it onto the saddle.
“You have the tools of your trade, Lion,” he said, “a great horse, a great weapon. Now you must do your duty for your new liege. Though you’ve not had the training we had hoped, I believe you are good enough. But do not forget us. We will look for your return when this is over.”
Lor was feeling overwhelmed by the generosity of Clegg and Axel. “I will return,” he assured him. “Ye have my word.”
Axel flashed him a smile and was gone, leaving Lor standing with the horse and with Wendell, who was standing off to the side. When their eyes met, Wendell stepped forward.
“You have changed quite a bit from that battered whelp at the Sticky Wick,” he said. “I was not sure you had it in you.”
Lor met his gaze steadily. “I know.”
Wendell’s dark eyes glimmered, perhaps with a bit of mirth. “I am aware of what you think of me,” he said. “But when I heard you were leaving us, I wanted to tell you something. I was not hard on you because I disliked you or had some imaginary grudge against you. I was hard on you because you were holding back. I could see it. We could all see it. Every time I pushed you down or hit you, you had a flash of rage that you suppressed. Am I wrong?”
Lor shook his head. “Nay,” he said honestly. “Ye could see it because it was there.”
“I wanted you to release it. It took some time, but eventually you did. I saw what you did to the Beast, and that is exactly what I knew you were capable of.”
Lor could feel his hardness against the man fracturing. “Then why did ye not say so?” he said. “I thought ye hated me because ye made an example of me more than the others.”
Wendell grinned. “If I’d told you what I expected from you, it would not have made a difference,” he said. “I was trying to draw the lion out, the one that lurks inside of you. I cannot invite him out. I have to draw him out for him to reach his potential. I am sorry you did not understand that.”
Lor was feeling rather foolish. “I do now,” he said. “Forgive me for thinking poorly of ye.”
Wendell handed him the reins. “As you go to your new duties, draw upon that lion. He is a fearsome thing.”
With that, he headed off toward the Fields of Mars and a novicius troop that was undoubtedly awaiting him.
Perhaps he wasn’t such a bad trainer after all.
Lor had to admit that he was sorry to leave the Cal now, but that couldn’t be helped. Turning to look at Isabail and her family, he could see that they were all mounted on their shaggy ponies, waiting for him to say his farewells.
Deftly, he leapt up onto the saddle of his new mount, getting a feel for the big horse beneath him. Much as Lor had felt that he was starting a new life when he’d first come to the Ludus Caledonia, now he felt very much as if he were starting another new life.
He was about to embark on something he’d been planning for, working for, hoping for. The moment was upon him. Vengeance for his grandfather had come.
But so had his love for a brave, true young woman with red hair and a toothy smile.
Lor was a man torn.
Chapter Nineteen
Kirkburn Castle
“No promise of help, Dros.”
In the great hall of Kirkburn Castle, Drostan turned as Ternan entered the hall, newly returned from the Murray stronghold to the north. But what he’d heard was not what he’d expected to hear, and the words were a blow.
“How do ye know this?” Drostan demanded. “Ternan, why would they refuse?”
Ternan was exhausted from travel, little sleep, and little hope. Drostan had put him at the head of the negotiation for Murray support, putting the burden on him.
It had been unfair.
He wasn’t the one who had given the order to destroy Careston.
Therefore, Ternan had little patience as he pulled off his leather gloves and tossed them onto the tabletop, the same table that had been so brutalized over the years by Drostan’s men. He sat heavily.
“It is simple enough, Dros,” he said wearily. “Angus Murray has heard things against ye. The Murray has ties tae Clan Keith, and they tell him it was ye who burned Careston. Men say that they saw Lindsay men making it look as if the Keith had committed the attack. The evidence is damning.”
Drostan ran his hands over his greasy head in disbelief. Months of discussion, of plying Clan Murray with gifts and precious heads of cattle, all of it designed to show Chieftain Angus Murray that the Lindsay needed help in running the Keith off their lands, had failed.
Clan Murray evidently saw past the gifts and promises.
“I dunna understand,” Drostan said, sounding despondent. “We did everything possible tae convince Angus that we were the victims in all of this. The feasts, the gifts
… Are ye telling me they were all in vain?”
“I am telling ye that they’ll not side with ye in this.”
“They dunna believe it was the Keith who destroyed Careston?”
“There is doubt, and if there is doubt, they willna act.”
“And the decision is final?”
Ternan wasn’t sure how to respond to him. He’d told Drostan all he knew. He’d just come from old Angus Murray’s hall, listening to the chieftain speak on his doubts of Drostan’s claim.
Drostan’s disbelief wasn’t entirely unwarranted. Clan Lindsay had historically been close allies of Clan Murray, and there had never been a time when either clan would not come to the other’s aid if asked.
But Angus had been suspicious of ambitious, unscrupulous Drostan from the beginning, and he’d told Ternan as much. When reports from Clan Keith had started to trickle back to him, everything Drostan had told him had been in doubt.
Men were calling Drostan a liar.
“Dros, ye canna have their warriors tae destroy the Keith,” Ternan said flatly. “Angus willna give them tae ye. But we have one hundred and sixty men of our own. I know ye wanted tae destroy the Keith by sheer numbers, but why not move against them ourselves and be done with this?”
That was their only choice, and Drostan knew it. Their one hundred and sixty men would have been much stronger with the Murray’s four hundred, but that was not to be.
All of that effort and time…wasted.
A village burned in vain.
Drostan stood up from his chair, struggling to reconcile himself with the fact that his hatred against Clan Keith was not shared. His allies wanted no part of it. He wandered over to the hearth where the big, gray dogs were lounging about, having just fed on the scraps from a morning meal, and pondered what this situation had finally come to.
Even if Clan Murray would not support him, his crusade against the Keith was not over. As he stood there, trying to think of a way to salvage the situation, Ternan stood up from the old bench and the piece of furniture immediately buckled.
The noise startled the dozing dogs as Drostan looked over at it and at Ternan, who simply shook his head at the faulty furniture. It caused Drostan to recall the last time he saw someone sit on that particular corner of the bench. It had been months ago, but still, the moment came to mind.
“Lor of Careston sat on that bench before we sent him off tae the Ludus Caledonia,” he said. “Do ye recall?”
Ternan nodded. “I do.”
Drostan’s gaze lingered on the cracked bench as a thought occurred to him. “The Cal,” he muttered thoughtfully. “We sent Lor off tae the Cal tae learn tae fight.”
“He’s probably already dead.”
“True. But the Cal has other…purposes.”
Ternan could hear something in Drostan’s tone that made him look over at the man. “What are ye thinking?”
Drostan lifted an eyebrow as if a great idea had struck him. “If we canna have the support of our allies, then mayhap all we need is a great warrior of our own,” he said. “We sent Lor away tae the Cal because he wanted tae learn tae fight.”
Ternan wasn’t quite following him. “But we also wanted him away where he could not spoil yer plans for destroying the Keith.”
“That is true.”
“Then what are ye thinking?”
Drostan looked at him. “That we find a man tae lead our men against the Keith at the Cal,” he said. “We can buy the fealty of the greatest warrior they have, someone so powerful and terrifying that he’ll crush the Keith. With a man like that, we dunna need the Murray. Do ye understand?”
Ternan was surprised by the suggestion of buying a highly trained warrior. “Some of the men are animals, Dros. We could buy a man who could destroy the entire clan by himself.”
Drostan was feeling some hope in a situation where moments before, there had been absolutely none.
Turning on his heel, he headed for the small solar at the front of the keep, the one that had belonged to his father and his father before him. It was an untidy, smelly room, but buried beneath the stone near the hearth was a copper urn containing the wealth of the Lindsay, and it was substantial.
Once in the chamber, Drostan went straight for the hearth, pulling up the stone and producing the urn. It was heavy with coins and bits of jewelry and other valuables, decades of accumulation. Drostan set it on the nearest table and scooped out some of the coinage. Ternan was right beside him, watching every move.
“Ye’ll go tae the Cal,” Drostan said to Ternan. “Ye’ll take this money and see Sir Clegg. Tell him we want the fiercest warrior he has and offer him everything I give ye. If he wants more, I’ll send him more, but it must be the best warrior money can buy.”
Ternan nodded, watching as Drostan produced a leather pouch, cracked with age, and began to put the coins into it.
“He’ll need tae be a great leader if he is tae lead our men tae victory,” Ternan said. “We’ll need a man who can think for himself.”
Drostan continued counting coins. “I dunna want a man who will think us straight intae defeat,” he said. “I want an animal. I want a man so fearsome that the Keith will run at the sight of him. I will give the orders. I need a beast of a man tae follow them without thought. Find me that man, Ternan. And quickly.”
“I will.”
“If Angus Murray willna help me, then I’ll do this my way.”
Ternan knew that tone in Drostan’s voice. He’d heard it before, many times. It was the voice of a man who knew what he wanted and would stop at nothing to get it.
After Drostan put the coin purse in Ternan’s hand, the man was on his way to Edinburgh before the day was out.
Chapter Twenty
The village of Blairgowrie
Several days on the road, and Lor hadn’t had much contact with Isabail.
Unfortunately, Lor’s horse seemed very interested in Isabail’s mare, and the little horse was quite frightened of the big-boned warmblood. Therefore, the horses were kept separate at all times, even at night when Lor and the Keiths stopped to sleep.
Because the weather had turned bitter, Niall had decided that his daughter should sleep in an inn nightly. While Isabail enjoyed a roof over her head and a fire in the hearth, Niall, his sons, and Lor had slept in the livery with the horses, enduring freezing temperatures and uncomfortable conditions. All of this kept Lor separated from Isabail, and that only made his guilt over the situation grow worse.
But perhaps it was for the best.
It gave him time to think, to try to push aside his feelings for her and to focus on the job he had to do. But the combination of being torn between his need for vengeance and his feelings for Isabail, and the return to the Highlands in general, had done something to his mood.
Isabail and her father watched him with some concern, but the truth was that they had no idea what was causing Lor’s sullenness. At least Niall didn’t, but Isabail suspected. She knew the return to the destruction of his village must have been weighing heavily on him.
On the eve of the last day of their journey, it began to rain, pelting them with freezing water, and Niall finally decided to pay for all of them to stay in an inn. Perhaps that would brighten the mood of his surly new warrior.
The inn was called the Fair Stag, situated on the edge of the larger village of Blairgowrie. The place smelled like a horde of unwashed bodies, but it was warm and dry, which made it the perfect place to stop for the night.
As they entered the inn, Lor took charge of where the group sat. The peaceful smithy from Careston became a no-nonsense bully when the mood struck him, and at the moment, the mood had struck. He was wet from the rain and wanted near the fire, so he found a table occupied by three travelers and essentially threw the men aside, confiscating the table in the name of the lady.
Being that a wom
an was involved, the three travelers didn’t fight back, but they grumbled as they walked away, looking for another table. Isabail watched with big eyes as they moved to the other side of the common room.
“Ye dinna have tae throw men from their table, Lor,” she said quietly. “We could have found another suitable one. There are a few around the room.”
Lor wouldn’t look at her as he pulled out a chair. “Sit,” he commanded. “This table is nearer the hearth, and considering there are those of us who havena known a fire or warmth the past few days, I think we deserve it.”
Isabail didn’t argue with him. She simply sat down in the chair he indicated while he pulled up another chair from another table so there were enough chairs to go around. Niall sat next to his daughter, with Lor on her left, and Ossian and Ewan across the table.
The brothers began pulling off their cloaks, moving to hang them on the pegs on the wall near the hearth so they would dry out. Ewan rubbed his hands together, clearly eager and happy to be in a warm shelter.
“Where’s the wench?” he demanded, pounding on the table. “I need food and drink!”
Niall frowned at his behavior, but Isabail was more vocal. “Hush, Ewie,” she scolded softly. “Ye behave like an animal. Quiet yerself.”
Ewan didn’t like being reprimanded by his younger sister, but he kept his mouth shut. He looked around for the serving wench, who was tending to other customers. Impatiently, he thumped on the tabletop, looking around the room and inspecting the various patrons. This far north, they were mostly merchants and perhaps a few clansmen passing through. No one very interesting. But then he turned his attention to Lor.
He was the most interesting person in the room.
Ewan had spent several days riding with a surly bear of a man. Lor wasn’t even a full-fledged warrior, although Ewan was forced to admit his skills were impressive. To take down the Beast, they had to be. Ewan didn’t even realize that he’d met Lor years ago when he’d helped ambush him in the Vale of Demons; Isabail had never told him, so as far as Ewan was concerned, Lor was just some brute from the Highlands who now belonged to Clan Keith.
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