Kaelin smiled. Jaim was probably not even aware he was speaking aloud. The man below was stroking and patting the bull’s flanks. The animal ceased to paw at the ground and was standing quietly. The man eased himself around the huge horns and reached for the bull’s heavy nose ring. ‘Too soon!’ whispered Jaim. The bull lunged forward. The man was hit hard by the bull’s forehead. Instinctively he grabbed the horns. The head dropped, then flicked upwards. The cattleman was hurled up. One hand lost its grip on the horns, the other clung tight. The man came down across the bull’s back, the impact causing him to let go of the horn. Half stunned, he fell to the earth. His comrades on the fence shouted at the bull, seeking to divert its attention. They succeeded better than they hoped. The beast charged, its massive head thundering against the fence post, which split down the middle. Two of the men managed to jump clear just as the bull connected. The third fell headfirst into the paddock. The bull swung on him. Kaelin saw a streak of crimson smear the air. The man was flung some ten feet across the paddock. He landed heavily and did not move.
The first cattleman, still dazed, staggered across the paddock towards the fence. The bull ignored him, as it ignored the fallen man. Kaelin saw blood dripping from one of the horns. He transferred his gaze to the fallen herdsman. ‘Is that man dead?’ he asked Jaim.
‘He most certainly is.’
‘Are we still going to steal the bull?’
Jaim nodded. ‘Aye, but I’ll need a stronger bull-song, by heaven!’
CHAPTER TWO
FOR SEVERAL HOURS JAIM SAT UNMOVING, WATCHING THE BULL. FOR part of the time Kaelin dozed. He felt safe here, hidden at the centre of a gorse bush, the giant Grymauch close to him. Jaim was a ferocious fighter, and even though he had not brought his mighty glave – clansmen were forbidden, under pain of death, to own swords -he was carrying two broad-bladed hunting knives, held in horizontal sheaths stitched at the back of his wide belt. Kaelin doubted if even a black bear would have the nerve to face Jaim Grymauch in battle.
The youngster yawned and stretched. He moved alongside Jaim and, looking through the parted gorse branches, saw that the body in the paddock had been removed. Several men were repairing the fence, and Kaelin could just hear the distant sound of hammering.
‘They’ll not try to move the bull today,’ said Jaim suddenly. Time to stretch our legs and see the country.’
‘Will we go back to the shack?’
‘No. We’ll grace the town with a visit. I’ve a hankering to taste smoked fish soup and fire-black bread. Aye, and a pint or two of brandy-barrel ale.’
‘You’ll get into a fight, Grymauch! Then we’ll be in trouble,’ warned Kaelin.
Jaim chuckled. ‘You listen too much to your aunt Maev. Women exaggerate matters. It’s in their natures. Anyway, it will be an education for you, Ravenheart. Moon Lake boasts one of the last of the timber castles. You’ll not see their like again.’
He eased himself back across the hide and pushed aside the interlaced branches. Staying low, he moved back through the gorse and the heavy undergrowth until he could no longer be seen from the outbuildings. Kaelin followed him, and they were soon walking across the low hills towards the woods above and behind the Moidart’s western estate.
‘Why do we steal cattle?’ Kaelin asked as they entered the trees.
‘It is an honourable tradition, my boy. A man should always treat with respect the traditions of his elders.’
‘If it is that honourable, why do you not steal from clan herds?’
Jaim laughed. ‘Balance, Kaelin. The Varlish have stolen our lands, our cattle, our homes, even our traditions. My stealing of their cattle – and on occasion horses – brings me a sense of harmony. Of balance.’
‘Do you hate them, then?’
‘Hate them? A man might as well hate the sea for the friends that have drowned in it. No, boy, I don’t hate them. I don’t know them all – and it is a principle of mine never to hate a man I do not know. It just so happens that I have come to dislike all the Varlish I do know. Their arrogance works into my skin like a thorn.’