Page 60 of A Constant Blaze

“More fool he,” the man said angrily. “What did he expect?”

“Who knows? The king is just a boy and doesn’t understand. Describe this chief MacHeth to me? Was he a tall man? Fat, thin? Fair or dark?”

The man scowled, looking to his wife as if for inspiration. It was she who said reluctantly. “Not so tall. Slight, wiry, though bloody strong. He wielded that sword something fierce. His hair and beard were dark but greying.”

“Not Malcolm or his sons,” Malcolm said thoughtfully. “A rogue MacHeth army? Are there no soldiers out looking for them?”

The man shrugged. “Maybe by now. We saw no signs of any.”

“We’ll find out who they are,” Malcolm assured him. “And see that they’re punished.”

The man curled his lip. “Why, who are you? God Almighty? You going to bring back my brother and his children? My neighbors? My animals, my home?”

“No,” Malcolm allowed. “But I’m not no one either.” He spurred on to the other side of the clearing.

Halla urged her horse nearer the woman and bent from the saddle, her hand outstretched. “Alms for your losses,” she said. “So that you might have something to start again.”

The woman hesitated. Despite her poverty, she clearly had pride.

“For the children,” Halla said, and the woman snatched the coins with a muttered word of thanks. Halla nodded and rode after the others.

“Could it be Findlaech?” Muiredach was saying.

“He was always wild and wayward,” Malcolm allowed.

“But he would not act without Adam’s blessing,” Halla said.

Malcolm glanced at her. “Even for you?”

Findlaech was the boy, and the man, to whom she’d entrusted the care of her sons. He’d taught them to ride and to fight and raid, and to care for their men, and ended by being utterly devoted to his more difficult charge, whom he now served as captain. Between her and Findlaech had always been respect. And, on his side, a certain awe.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. Then she shook her head. “I doubt his common sense, to his face, but before God, Malcolm, what does he achieve by this senseless raiding of poor villages? How would that help me or you, or our cause? How could it possibly help Mairead? There is no reason for this.”

Malcolm gazed ahead. “You’re right. They’re hardly hurtling south to free Mairead or search for you. They’re just causing havoc, creating refugees and fear in the MacHeth name.” He turned to Halla. “Are you thinking the same as I am?”

“Usually,” she said without guarding her tongue. Then, hastily, before he could see her flush or even, perhaps, notice her slip, she urged her horse to a canter. “Let’s find out if we’re right.”

Towards sunset, they came across definite signs of the raiding party—burned and abandoned settlements, the tracks of many feet, goats and sheep, and even the odd cow, wandering free and unwatched. And then the scouts reported armored soldiers riding inland.

“The king has demesne lands near here,” Mairead said. “The soldiers are probably his men, looking for those MacHeths. Or at least going home after failing to find them.”

“Men in armor are easy to avoid in this terrain,” Malcolm observed. “Which gives us a chance to discover our raiders first.”

“In the dark?” Muiredach asked doubtfully.

Malcolm considered. “Probably not. But we can probably get a little closer before we camp.”

*

The house guardslit a fire and put up the tent where the women would sleep for privacy. By then, Malcolm had again disappeared into the darkness, no doubt spying out the land, and Muiredach had made a spit to cook the hares the men had shot earlier.

“Is he really the lady’s harpist?” Mairead asked Astrid.

“You’d know if you’d ever heard him play,” Astrid retorted.

“Actually, I did once,” Mairead remembered. “Practically outside my window. He’s good, I’ll grant you.” She raised her voice and called to him provocatively, “Will you not play for us, Muiredach?”

He smiled into the flames, for an instant reminding her of Adam, who’d seen God knew what in fires. “After supper, perhaps, if the lady wishes, and the lord does not object.”

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