Page 45 of Rebellion's Fire

“Am I addressing the Lord of Kingowan?” the tall young man called, mildly enough.

“You are,” the lord replied loudly. “And without my permission. Who are you and your rabble?”

“I’m Adam, son of Malcolm, son of Aed,” the young man replied. “And my rabble are the men of Ross. Largely. I hope you’ll forgive my rudeness when I explain I came to speak to King Malcolm.”

Fergus shifted position to get a closer look. So, this was Adam MacHeth, the younger son, the one rumored to be mad, simple, or a prophet, depending on whom you spoke to. No one ever said he wasn’t ruthless or brutal. Over this distance, all Fergus could tell was that he was big, sat a horse well, and spoke polite English.

“The King of Scots is not here,” the Lord of Kingowan sneered.

There was a pause, then, “Are you sure?” Adam MacHeth inquired. “Because if it transpired, he could meet me, I’d be happy to leave with you the cattle which ran into us and the fripperies your wife and your people have generously thrown our way since we landed.”

Laughter hissed between Fergus’s teeth. He was an insolent lad, and Fergus rather liked him. God, when he turned his head into the light, he even looked like his father. Something twisted inside Fergus, a memory of youth, perhaps, or a new excitement. There were always more games to play…

Some of the Ross men roared with more obvious amusement. Of greater interest to Fergus was the breath of laughter, quickly disguised as a sob that came from the lady Mairead behind him.

Her lord scowled into the night. “The king does not meet with thieves. He hangs them. So do I.”

“Then I trust you won’t hang each other,” Adam MacHeth said. His attention appeared to be distracted, and Fergus immediately saw why. A horse and rider galloped rapidly up from the road so recently taken by the king.

The rider yelled something in Gaelic. It sounded like “Flown!”

The Lord of Kingowan caught his breath, muttering, “What if he pursues the king?”

Fergus raised his eyebrows. “And risk being caught between your men and the king’s, who must already be closing in from the other side? Unlikely.”

“But not impossible. This is the mad MacHeth, is it not?”

“According to some. But no one’s ever caught him yet to find out.”

Adam MacHeth said, “I’ll leave you a cow and a bullock for your honesty. As for the king, I thought I might just miss him. Perhaps you’d be so good as to tell him we’ll catch up with him on our next visit when we’ll be coming for my father. Good night, my lord!”

Adam MacHeth wheeled around and rode through the parting line of his men, who prepared to fall into line behind him.

“Shoot me that puppy,” Kingowan snarled to his archers.

“I wouldn’t,” Fergus said. “They’ve closed in behind him, and he’s wearing armor. You won’t get him now, though we could have a damned good fight if you’re game. I’d be honored to join you in a little harrying.”

Fergus’s sword hand itched. He loved a good brawl, and he wanted to see the son of Malcolm MacHeth fighting. Kingowan stared at him, then grinned ferociously.

“After them!” he commanded.

So, Fergus had the pleasure of an unexpected gallop across the country to the beach in pursuit of the raiders, though he only managed to enjoy a tiny skirmish that got him nowhere near Adam MacHeth. Sometime before midnight, he found himself shooting arrows into the sea, while a little fleet of six galleys sailed north. Some animals lowed from the ships. And from the beach, a sad-looking cow and a bullock answered back.

*

It rained duringChristian’s next trip to the market at Rosemarkie. She’d sold a huge load of timber to the seafarers of Caithness, just in time to replenish dwindling food stocks at Tirebeck. William, who was finally realizing the costs of maintaining so many soldiers without regular pay, just from his own land, was heartily pleased with her for once, bade her buy some new fripperies for herself and her women, and bring home two casks of the excellent wine they’d been gifted the last time.

Despite the drizzling rain, Christian’s spirits lifted on the journey. Even Alys’s presence couldn’t quell her excitement. Alys sat mostly with Cecily, reasserting her domination there, although Felicia seemed to have slipped permanently from Aly’s grasp into Henry’s. The dynamic threw Christian mostly into Eua’s company, which was pleasant enough, although she had to keep biting her tongue to prevent herself from asking the question still burning inside her:Does he live?

And if she was honest, she knew most of her excitement had to do with the possibility of seeing him again at the market. She had to force her eyes not to dart around in search of his disturbing presence, especially when, with Eua, she finally approached the wine merchant.

He had several customers already standing outside his sheltered booth in the blink of sunshine between showers, listening with intent delight to whatever story he was telling.

“…but then came the clever part!” said the merchant, one finger lifting to keep their attention. Clearly, he was a born storyteller. “The two forces met up, Donald tookbothlots of plunder, and droveallthe cattle both had taken north, while Adam actually sailed south and almost captured the king himself at Kingowan!”

Christian’s heart gave a funny little lurch. Dear God, she’d been worrying about his health.

Unreasonable anger, with herself as much as him, choked her, and she missed the next part of the merchant’s speech before his words penetrated once more, “…the Lord of Kingowan chased him into the sea itself, but he took with him every last animal from the estate, leaving behind only one cow and one bullock, presumably to allow his lordship to start again.”

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