He sighed, closing his fingers around the brooch.
“All right,” he said, his voice weary with resignation. “Ye win.”
He rose to his feet and went about his tasks, Mara trailing on his heels. First, he went to the barn and checked on the sheep. Just as he’d expected, there was storm damage to the roof, but it wasn’t so bad it couldn’t wait until later and the sheep had weather the storm well. Surly, ever protective of his flock, lowered his head and charged at Deryn as he entered the barn. Deryn, used to the bad-tempered beast’s outbursts by now, stepped neatly aside and then grabbed his horns and held him still while he counted the sheep. Then, he closed the door and left them to it.
Satisfied, he and Mara returned to the house. He flung his cloak around his shoulders, stuffed a few supplies into a carry-sack which he slung over one shoulder, then set out, taking the path that led to the uplands.
The ground was a treacherous mire of mud and standing puddles that he and Mara had to navigate so it was much later in the day, somewhere past noon, when they finally came in sight of their destination.
Deryn paused at the top of the hill and gazed down on the pine-clad valley below and Torryn Keep rising in the distance. He glanced at Mara.
“Am I mad?” he asked the dog. “Should I leave well alone?”
Mara wagged her tail, pink tongue lolling out the side of her mouth as she gazed up at him, happy with whatever he decided. Deryn only wished he could be so sure of his decisions.
“Well, there’s naught for it now,” he said. “I think it’s best if ye wait here, girl.”
Unlike yesterday, the gates to Torryn Keep stood open, and a steady line of traffic was moving along the road to the great castle. Wagons full of goods trundled slowly along, people trudged with heads bowed, bundles on their shoulders, and warriors on horseback moved to and fro on errands from the keep.
Deryn pulled up his hood and joined the line of traffic as it slowed to a halt at the gates. It seemed he’d chosen a bad time to return to Torryn Keep. It was market day—which explained the busyness—and a veritable village of stalls and booths had sprung up around the castle walls while a cacophony of bartering, arguing and gossiping filled the air. People wanting access to the castle were being checked before being admitted and so the line slowed to a crawl.
Deryn waited with ill grace as he inched slowly forward. Finally, he reached the front of the line.
The same guard he’d met yesterday glowered at him, although there was no recognition in his face.
“Aye?” the guard snapped. “What do ye want?”
“I wish to see Laird MacKay,” Deryn replied.
The guard’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, do ye now? And what do ye wish to see Laird MacKay about?”
Deryn hesitated. “That’s for Laird MacKay’s ears alone.”
“Then it’s too bad. Now bugger off.”
Deryn gritted his teeth, a flash of anger clenching his stomach. He hadn’t trudged all this way to be turned away by some over officious gate-guard. Deryn’s hand shot out and caught the man by the sleeve.
“Listen, it’s important—”
“Take yer hands off me,” the guard growled. “Unless ye wish to feel the point of my sword.”
The other guards, alerted by the rumpus, looked over. Each of them was heavily armed. Deryn schooled his patience, removing his hand from the guard’s sleeve.
“I meant no offense,” he said in as polite a voice as he could muster. “But it’s very important I see the laird.”
“Then it isnae yer lucky day, is it?” the guard growled. “Every peasant around here wants an audience with the laird. Now get out of here before I lose my patience.”
Anger flared, hot and biting, in Deryn’s stomach. He felt his fingers automatically reaching to his hip where a weapon had once hung. But of course, it was not there now.
He stepped close to the man, putting all the authority of his years of command into his voice, and said, “Go tell yer master that Deryn Stewart of the Order of the Osprey is here to see him. I escorted his wife home yesterday and have come to check she is well.” He pulled down his hood.
The change in the man’s demeanor was almost instantaneous. He looked Deryn up and down, taking in the telltale white streak in his otherwise auburn hair, and his eyes widened.
“It’s ye!” he cried. “Deryn the Destroyer!”
Deryn’s jaw tightened. Lord, how he hated that name.
“Why didnae ye say so?” the guard continued. “Wait here. I’ll go speak to the laird.”
