Page 87 of Luthias

“Why keep yourself closeted on such a fine morning?” Darach asked as he came in with two mugs of brew. “You said you’d ride out with the lass today to show her the farms.”

“No’ with the MacAnvoy and the Tolmach preparing for war,” he told Darach as he tapped one of the scrolls sent by the lairds of those clans. “Laith Tolmach asks for all the battle-trained horses we may spare in return for an oath of payment summer next, when he expects he’ll kill the last of the MacAnvoy.” He held up the other scroll. “Ramsay MacAnvoy just vowed he’d set his archers on the road to kill the beasts before we may deliver, and warns he’ll pay a bounty in gold for any Tolmach head brought to his keepe.”

“Arse-pieces.” The chieftain sighed. “MacAnvoy promised his daughter’s hand to the Tolmach to end the last feud. You ken over what they now squabble?”

“Ailsa MacAnvoy refuses to wed the laird. She didnae see his person until they met to exchange the wedding gifts and discuss the guests to invite to the feast.” Luthias nodded at the scrolls. “’Twasnae a happy day for the lady, and she made that loudly known.”

Darach winced. “How loudly?”

“In front of the Tolmach’s brothers and chieftains she called him”––he sifted through the scrolls until he found the one reported by an eye witness— “a ‘hackit nettle-licking numpty who stinks of jobby.’ She then spat on his boots.”

“The Tolmach doesnae oft bathe,” the chieftain said, grimacing. “Did the lass escape his stronghold alive?”

“Aye, on a stolen horse she rode off, leaving her ladies behind.” Luthias rubbed his brow. “Now Laith holds her sisters and màthair captive and demands all manner of recompense. He wants Ramsay’s water rights for Loch Gorm, five hundred of his finest sheep, and leave to shave Ailsa’s head, whip her bloody and, should she survive, take her off to a cloister and force her swear a vow of silence for life.”

“Ever proud, the Tolmach.” Darach cleared his throat several times before he said, “Ailsa, she’s past thirty. Why pitch a fuss at such a great age? The laird wants sons, and she may only give him one or two before her bearing years end. Aye, and he’s so old he’ll likely leave her a wealthy widow with the run of his castle before she’s forty.”

Luthias considered revealing why Ailsa MacAnvoy would never marry Tolmach or any other man her father offered her to, even if she were beaten and starved. Yet the truth would not make the matter any easier to resolve.

“I shall ask Laith to overlook the matter,” he said. “The sages saved his herds when that plague of bluetongue came three summers past. He swore a life-debt to me in return.”

“Och, you’ve but to say, and he’ll do your bidding,” Darach said, smirking a little. “You terrify the man.”

“I cannae help how much I resemble the laird the Tolmach met as a young lad.” He rolled up the scroll and handed it to the chieftain. “You must go and speak with Ramsay, and persuade him to make a counter-offer as amends. ’Twill sweeten Laith’s temper, and ’twas Ailsa did the jilting.”

Darach groaned. “I cannae lie, remember? He’ll no’ hand over water rights nor sheep to the Tolmach. And send his precious daughter to the nuns?” He made a sputtering sound. “He’d sooner wed the laird himself.”

“We cannae have a war between our allies now. The fighting, ’twill spread quickly, and draw in the Carack. Then ’twill be our clans clashing, and no’ over Ailsa’s hand.” He rose from the table and took the scrolls to burn them in the hearth. As casually as he could, he asked, “Where might I find Mistress Parker?”

“She’s in the armory again, cooing over the blades. I never ken a wench so taken with honed steel. You’d reckon them as precious as Carack baubles.” His chieftain joined him to watch the parchment burn for a moment. “Should you go to her again, my lord, I reckon ’twillnae end with but a fond embrace. Aye, and the Fire Sword didnae bring her for you.”

Luthias curled his hands into fists. “Your weakness shows, Chieftain. I ken my duty to the clan.”

“Aye, and you made me your second as I may only speak truth,” Darach said, giving him a wry look. “You’re a man, and she’s enchanted every lad in the stronghold. Even Camdyn calls her clever and quick, and you ken how impatient he becomes with any female.”

Luthias’s anger abruptly subsided. “You reckon she’s charmed me, then?”

“You ever ask after her. You look for her, and when you see her you hardly blink for looking at her. Aye, and you hear naught of what’s said to you if she’s near. I reckon you’re as tight-bawed as a beardless lad with his first maiden waiting in a hayloft.” The chieftain clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Only think on the torment you’ll feel when you’ll send Mistress Parker back to her time. ’Twill be easier to bid her farewell as the lass you’ll dream of on cold winter nights.”

Darach’s warning remained in Luthias’s thoughts as he went down to the great hall to meet with his steward and issue his orders for the day. With planting and pasturing, the farmers and stockmen had grown too busy to cut wood for their households, but the lowlanders the clan employed every year would soon arrive. After asking his clerk to message the Tolmach to request a meeting in person, Luthias decided to look in on Emery.

Only look, he told himself as he walked to the armory. Dinnae touch.

Inside the large chamber several lanterns glowed over a selection of claymores arranged by length and hilt design on the sharpening table, where the lass sat with writing on a roll of parchment. For a few moments Luthias simply watched her as she worked, admiring the way the light gilded her pretty face, and the quickness of her small hand as she moved the quill from scroll to ink pot. The words she wrote flowed like thin, rolling currents across the page, but now and then she stopped and stretched a ribbon of linen over one of the blades.

“Five feet eight inches,” she murmured to herself after one such measurement. “Seven feet six inches was the record. That guy must have been even taller than Taveon.” She ran her fingertips along the flat of the long sword.

“’Twill cut you, my lady,” Luthias said without thinking.

Emery made a squeaking sound as she jumped back from the table and stared wide-eyed at him.

“Hey, how long have you been– Oh, sorry, my lord.” She dipped, demonstrating that she had almost mastered the curtsey. “You startled me.”

“My apologies.” It wouldn’t hurt to move a little closer, he thought as he approached the table, if only to keep her from wounding herself. “What do you here, Mistress Parker?”

“I’m being nosy,” she said, flashing her adorable dimples at him. “No one has a better collection of early medieval weapons than a fourteenth-century clan, right? I was also hoping to find another blade like the one that brought me here.”

“’Tis no other blade like the Fire Sword,” Luthias assured her.