Page 60 of The Shape of Silence

Morggán watched it all with grim satisfaction.

Tormod moved up beside him as more riders appeared through the trees. “This going to cause trouble?” he asked, inclining his head toward Avery’s hut. “With the lass?”

“It might.” Morggán’s gaze remained fixed on the arriving force.

A smaller cluster of mounted men separated gradually from the larger body and began angling directly toward the clearing surrounding the house. Even at this distance Morggán recognized Lucas immediately. Lucas Thain didn’t need heraldry or fancy clothing to be noticed. He sat a horse like a man born upon one, larger than any man in his company, heavy-framed and immovable in the saddle, his posture carrying the same restrained severity he brought to battlefields and councils alike. Several officers rode with him, including Airril and Peadair.

Morggán stepped forward as the riders finally entered the clearing proper.

Lucas swung down first from the saddle with an agility that belied his size, and strode directly toward Morggán who strode forward to meet him. They nodded in time, clasping forearms tightly, the Thain’s grip firm enough to bruise lesser men.

“Morggán.”

“Lucas.”

“Your timing was perfect,” Lucas said, releasing Morggán’s arm, his eyes scanning the yard, the hut, the forest, everything. He acknowledged Tormod and then Donnchadh with a wordless nod before giving his attention to Morggán again. “We were nae far, already east of the Earn, harrying an English supply train when your messenger found us. Three wagons burned before midday, and we’d cut down near twenty men attempting to flee. Aye, and that was day three hounding that outfit, so there’ll be nae flour, oats, nor salted meat reaching whatever English garrison awaited it. We relieved them besides of a fair quantity of coin meant for soldiers’ pay, which troubled me nae at all.”

Morggán’s mouth twitched faintly. “No man alive starves an English column more efficiently than Lucas Thain.” He motioned toward the fire. “Sit yourselves down. Fergie’s still got broth and oatcakes enough for officers at least while the men settle in.”

Tormod and Alasdair motioned Lucas’s officers closer to the low-burning flames, joining the two lairds who’d taken seats.

“So, what was it?” Lucas asked Morggán. “What passed through? This forest I gather?”

Morggán nodded. “Aye, come from the south. Not a raiding party—too quiet, too disciplined. They moved by night, kept torches scarce, moved furtively, and have ye ever ken the English to do that? I’d estimate at least five hundred, likely more.”

Lucas’s expression darkened at once. “Heavy infantry?”

“Aye, and wagons besides. Supply carts slowed them in the bogs north of here. My scouts found deep wheel ruts about nine miles north.”

“Direction?” Airril asked.

“Northeast overall, and keeping to the forest.”

“That much stealth from English soldiers bodes ill,” Tormod remarked, frowning darkly.

Eòin stepped forward and crouched near the fire, dragging a stick through the dirt in front of Lucas and Morggán, sketching rough lines of hills, marshland, and tree cover. “Here.” He marked several points. “Laird says they passed west of the loch three nights ago. Got stuck in a bog here mayhap a day ago or more. Scouts are tracking ʼem now near these lower ridges.”

“If they continue northeast,” Lucas said finally, “they could be making for Caer Brae.”

Morggán’s gaze narrowed. “The garrison there is too small to warrant six hundred men.”

“Aye, but the stores within are nae,” Airril pointed out.

Morggán shook his head, having giving this plenty of thought. “Too obvious. If I were marching that many men secretly through forest and bog, I’d want something worth the trouble.” He bent and planted his finger farther northeast across Eòin’s rough markings. “Dunarraidh perhaps.”

Several expressions around the fire darkened at once.

“The Black Keep?” Tormod muttered. “That far?”

“It commands half the eastern passes,” Morggán said. “And Bruce’s supporters still move supplies through there when they can.”

Lucas considered that grimly.

Dunarraidh sat upon a high volcanic rise overlooking two major valleys and the old military road eastward. It boasted strong walls and deep wells, and sat atop difficult ground for siege engines. If the English intended to seize it before larger Scottish forces could consolidate nearby, speed and secrecy would matter greatly.

“Or,” Lucas said thoughtfully, “they mean to join with Harlowe’s men south of Invercaith.”

Tormod’s mouth flattened. “Jesu.”