Page 24 of Dorchad

When darkness fell, Lochran removed his blindfold and climbed down to find a tall, lanky man sitting at the base of the oak. His tattoos glowed with strange copper-violet lights for a moment, just the same as Senga said Lochran’s eyes did when the sunlight faded away.

“You’re a big one,” the man said as he got to his feet. “I’m Cath, the eldest. Come, our laird, he’s waiting for you.”

“Your laird?” He almost laughed in his face. “We’re a mass of bastarts left behind by a killer. How can you name Tair your laird?”

“I didnae wish to rule the mass of bastarts,” Cath told him. “The laird needs your eyes.”

The tattooed man, whom Lochran later found out had agreed to serve as war master, took him across the dark waters in a small skiff painted black. When he walked up into the giant clearing where the others were building, he saw things he never would have believed were real.

“Welcome, Night Watch.” Tair waited until Cath bowed to him and left before he said, “I ken your lady màthair died. You’ve my sympathies.”

Lochran was not going to discuss Senga with the laird. “Why do you call me that eejit name?”

“Because if you choose to stay and join the clan, ’twill be your position.” The laird gestured toward the shore. “Come and walk with me, and I’ll tell you all.”

An hour later they returned to the building site, where Tair showed Lochran the temporary quarters they had built by erecting tents around what would become the garrison hall. He then took him to meet all the senior men, and introduced him as his third.

“When I sleep, Lochran shall serve in my stead,” Tair told them. “’Tis his keepe and clan to rule after sunset.”

“You’d make this soft-hearted weakling our Night Watch?” That came from Cath, the ominous-looking tattooed war master who had strange eyes. “’Tis clear he’s never held a blade.”

“I didnae ask for the position,” Lochran told him, although in his heart he wanted it.

“Among the MacRune, we fight for what we want.” The war master shouldered his way past several men, and came so close to Lochran their noses almost touched. “Shall you brace me for the honor of being our lord’s third?”

Lochran suspected he was being set up to learn a painful lesson, but they weren’t the only ones who could scheme. “If you permit me choose the weapons, aye, I shall brace you.”

Tair himself had drawn a circle in the earth beside the stronghold, and the MacRune gathered around as swords, cudgels and daggers were brought from the armory. Lochran refused all the weapons and finally went in search of what he wanted, finding them being used as poles on which straw targets had been mounted. He pulled two from the ground and tossed one to Cath.

“You wish fight with sticks?” the war master asked.

“Staves. ’Tis how the village men train their weakling sons to defend their homes, their livestock and their women. Our headman took pity on this weakling and trained him.” He went to the opposite side of the circle and waited. “Shall we begin?”

It had taken almost an hour for Lochran to prevail over the war master, whom he pinned to the ground with his bulk until the tattooed man finally conceded. Both of them exhausted, battered and bleeding, they had clasped hands while taking the measure of each other, and then nodded in silent agreement.

Never again had Cath challenged Lochran to a fight.

Now he thought over and again about the way Dorchad had spoken during his visit. He never betrayed his emotions, but Lochran sensed he was in a state much like standing on a precipice and deciding whether to back away from the edge or jump.

“One hopes he doesnae jump into that wee healer’s arms,” he murmured, grimacing. “For she maynae ken what she invites by saving him from himself.”

Chapter Six

Rebecca bounced back and forth between the idea of sneaking out of the stronghold, and doing what Dorchad had ordered. She could wait until they caught the thieves, assuming they would do so quickly. Also, staying inside the stronghold really was for her own safety. Yet as she walked with Sheona through the passages toward the great hall, she remembered that the maid and some of the other vassals regularly left the island.

“Has anyone told you not to leave the stronghold lately?” she asked.

Sheona gave her a sideways look. “Why, no, my lady. We’re free to come and go as we please, as long as we finish our work. We go through the gates nearest the gardens, where the fishermen bring in their catches. Do you wish to leave today? You’ve but to ask–”

“No, of course not. I was just curious.” She stopped in front of the arch leading into the hall. “Thank you for showing me around the castle.”

“’Twas my pleasure, my lady.” The maid bobbed and then went into the kitchens.

When Rebecca looked out into the hall she saw Lucy talking with a group of men whom she’d seen working in the gardens, and decided not to intrude on their discussion. She considered going and finding Dorchad to ask him if a guard could collect what she needed, but he’d probably tell her they were too busy. The most frustrating part was knowing that the willow trees supposedly grew only a few hundred yards outside the gates. To check and make sure they were willows, she could go, take a quick look, and come back in just a few minutes. Then she’d ask Lucy to send a woodsman or someone who knew trees to harvest the bark for her.

“I’ll be quick,” she promised herself as she turned around and headed out toward the gardens.

As she walked through the beds of herbs, vegetables and fruit, Rebecca almost turned back around a few times. Dorchad would probably be angry if he found out she’d disobeyed him. But really, what could he do besides growl at her? The laird had already told all the men that she was the clan’s honored guest, at least according to Lucy. Some stubborn part of her wanted to see what would happen when he found out, too.