The deerhound lifted its head as the man drew closer, but did not growl.
“Halt there,” Magnus said. “Identify yourself.”
The old man obediently stopped and gave them a low bow. “Bhaltair of the Red Mountains.”
Magnus frowned. “You’re a long way from home, old man. What brings you to the Lowlands?”
“You do.”
The tip of Magnus’s sword lifted. “I beg your pardon?”
The old man put a hand to his chest. “I mean that in a general sense, of course.” He unhooked the burlap bag he carried over his shoulder and lowered it to the ground. Opening the drawstring, he displayed the contents. “I sell herbs and unguents to travelers in need. You look as though you might have need of my wares.”
Ana peered at the earthenware jugs in the old man’s sack. “What sorts of unguents do you have?” she asked.
He held up a pot. “I’ve this one containing goldes and Saint Johnswort.” He dug deeper, and the jugs rattled. “I’ve also got this one with Saint Johnswort, valerian, and wintergreen.”
“Let me see,” she said, waving him closer.
The two of them huddled over the sack, talking in the riddles of herbalism and discussing the merits of each unguent and salve.
“They seem to have formed a bond,” Isabail said quietly.
He glared at her. “I know precisely what you are thinking, madam, and I cannot endorse it. He’s an old man. Hardly a reliable champion with whom to entrust Ana’s care.”
“I disagree. He travels the roads alone and carries a sharp sickle at his belt.”
“He could be a cad, or a thief,” he said. “We know nothing of him.”
“The same could have been said about you,” Isabail pointed out. “Sometimes we must base our choices on the options presented to us, rather than on what we truly desire.” She rounded the campfire and joined the other two. “Ana? Might I have a word?”
The two women stepped away, Ana limping stiffly. To Magnus’s relief, Isabail did not appear to coerce Ana into making a decision. She simply asked the healer a question and listened at length to the answer. Ana ended the conversation with a pat to her staghorn-handled dirk, and they returned to the fire.
“If it is not too much to ask, Bhaltair,” Ana said to the old man, “I wonder if you might remain with me for a few days while I regain my strength? My companions have a pressing need to reach Tayteath forthwith, and I’m afraid my horsemanship is not up to the task.”
Bhaltair nodded graciously. “Of course. In truth, it would be greatly to my benefit to spend a few days with such a learned herbalist.”
Isabail smiled and returned to Magnus. “So, are you game to continue?”
“Aye.” He helped her mount her horse. “This lad you’re so determined to save must be a very worthy sort to inspire such devotion.”
She waited for him to vault into the saddle. “That he is, Magnus. That he is.”
* * *
By the time Niall returned with the news that Daniel de Lourdes had been identified by several of the villagers and that he had arrived at the keep with a young lad in tow, Aiden had reached a decision on how to breach the keep. Drawing a map in the snow, he shared his plan.
“Our best option is to start here.” He pointed to the base of the cliffs. “At the evening low tide, we walk out to the base of the cliffs. From there, we scale the rocks until we reach the castle, and then we enter through a window.”
“Climb the cliffs in the dark?” Niall asked.
“It will be difficult,” acknowledged Aiden. “But the rear of the castle will be unprotected. We have a far greater chance of success with the cliffs than with a frontal attack.”
Several of the men nodded, seeing the wisdom of his plan, but most remained silent. They would do whatever Aiden asked of them, but he wanted more than blind obedience. Pointing at the keep through the trees, he lowered his voice to a firm intensity. “Inside those walls lies the crown of our great ancestor, Kenneth MacAlpin. The last true king of the Picts. Do I want to retrieve it? Aye, I do. I’m sworn to protect it. But more important than any piece of treasure is kin. One of our own is held within that keep, perhaps in pain or suffering. Jamie is not only one of us; he’s the son of one of our finest warriors. He’s paid the greatest of sacrifices, losing his maither and his wee brother to a murdering thief. I, for one, am willing to pay the same price to see young Jamie freed. Are you with me?”
This time the response was enthusiastic. “Aye!”
Even Niall, who was a cautious fellow by nature, brought his fist to his chest with a resounding thump and joined the chorus.
