That will not be necessary, my friend,’ said Chain, ‘though thank her for me. The Finance is an old friend. Gorain and I stayed with him on the way up from the capital. I will lodge with him for a while, until I decide on a destination.’
Take it anyway,’ said Jaim. ‘You’ve no idea of the tongue on that woman if I don’t give you the coin.’
Chain smiled. ‘I will find a way to return it to her.’
Kaelin felt as if he had been snubbed, as if these men regarded his words as unworthy of attention. Anger flared in him. Had he not slain the murderers of Chara Ward? He was a boy no longer, only they could not see it. Well, they would see it, if Huntsekker was unlucky enough to cross their path. Kaelin’s hand dropped to the pistol, curling around the engraved grip.
They would see it as a lead shot ripped through Huntsekker’s black Varlish heart.
Screened by a stand of gorse Huntsekker squatted on the ground, surveying the open land to the north. A large man, wearing a full-length coat of black bearskin, he scanned the hillsides for sign of movement. The moon emerged from a screen of cloud. Instinctively Huntsekker ducked lower behind the gorse, fearing the moonlight would glow from his face and the twin spikes of white beard that grew from either side of his shaved chin.
The distant grass shone like silver in the new light, and Huntsekker saw three badgers moving across the open ground. Turning to his left he could see the old log bridge. At this time of year, with the river swollen, it was one of only three crossings to the territory of the Finance. The other two involved climbing the steep passes over the mountains. Huntsekker – unlike Galliott – did not believe Chain Shada was friendless. Someone was hiding him, and Huntsekker believed that someone to be Jaim Grymauch. Jaim knew the mountains and might well have guided Shada over that route, but Huntsekker doubted it. It was three times as long and therefore offered three times the risk of capture. The bridge was only a few miles from Old Hills, and most of the way would be through dense woods within which two men could pass unobserved.
Only the bridge itself offered danger to the runaways, and that would appeal to Jaim Grymauch. The man loved calculated risks.
Huntsekker thought this stupid. And yet … he had to admit to a grudging admiration for the one-eyed clansman. News of his exploits always made Huntsekker smile, even when Grymauch had made off with his own prizewinning bull.
For most men such a reverse would have been a humiliation. For Huntsekker it was a golden moment. Even now he didn’t quite know why. When he acquired the animal he had made it clear that anyone who attempted to steal it would be hunted down mercilessly. His reputation was such that he believed no-one -save Grymauch – would have the nerve to attempt the task. He had kept the bull tethered close to his own house, and guarded day and night. A long cord was cunningly concealed at the base of the paddock gate, attached to a series of bells. Anyone opening the gate would set them ringing. Further up the trail he had a ditch dug to prevent anyone leading the bull towards the south.
He knew Grymauch would still make the attempt, and night after night Huntsekker had sat up, his blunderbuss loaded, waiting for the moment that he would catch the man. Truth to tell he had no intention of killing him. The highlands would be an immeasurably poorer place without Jaim Grymauch. No, he would catch him, then have a drink with him before releasing him.
But Grymauch had not come. For fifteen nights Huntsekker kept watch. On the sixteenth he had dozed. Not for more than a few moments. When he opened his eyes the paddock was empty. Huntsekker had roared with anger and rushed out into the night, waking his herdsmen. The two guards were trussed behind a water trough. Neither had seen the attacker. The hidden bell cord had been neatly sliced. Huntsekker and his men saw tracks leading south, and had raced in pursuit. When they came to the ditch they found two heavy planks had been laid across it. For most of the night they searched, finding nothing. At dawn they trudged wearily back to the farm – to see the bull back in its paddock, a sprig of heather tied to its horn.