‘Why do you say he’s a sad man?’ asked Chara. ‘If he can paint like that he should be happy.’
‘He’s not happy,’ said Feargol. ‘He hurts all the time. He has all these scars on his body, and they bleed and have pus in them. And he writes these long letters. Then he burns them.’
‘Who does he write the letters to?’ asked Senlic.
‘I don’t know. I can’t read.’
‘Does he have a wife?’
‘No. He lives in a great big house. Much bigger than this one. And there are soldiers everywhere.’
‘You should try to see happy things,’ said Chara. ‘Not sad men who paint pictures or people having their ears shot off.’
‘I never know what I am going to see,’ said Feargol. ‘It’s always a surprise. I would like to have one of the sad man’s pictures. I would hang it in my room.’
Outside the house Patch began to bark again. This time it was not the excited yapping of the chase. Senlic pushed himself to his feet and walked to the window.
‘What is it?’ asked Chara.
‘The Cochland brothers,’ answered Senlic. ‘Do you have a pistol?’
Eain Cochland was cursing himself for his decision to walk the eighteen miles to Ironlatch Farm with his brother Draig. He had been prompted to the action by simple boredom, and still had no real understanding of why Draig wanted to warn Kaelin Ring. Added to which he could still feel the stab of emotional pain he had suffered at hearing that his brother liked the man. In some ways it felt like a betrayal. He had long grown used to the fact that Draig didn’t like him, but the hurt was lessened by the fact that he didn’t like anybody.
Now, as well as his hurt feelings, his legs were aching, his feet and hands were cold, and he was hungry. It was vastly unlikely that they would be invited inside, and the whole enterprise was an enormous waste of time and effort. It was not that he wanted to see the little boy killed, nor that he didn’t care. It was just that he didn’t care enough to suffer cold hands and feet.
As they approached the gate a small black and white mongrel ran towards them, barking furiously. The dog ran towards Draig, who dropped to one knee on the snow and held out his hand. Eain stiffened. One of these days his idiot brother was going to have his fingers bitten off!
Not today, though. The dog did what all dogs did when Draig offered his hand. It stopped barking, stood looking suspiciously at the hand, then eased itself forward to sniff the fingers. ‘Good lad,’ said Draig softly, sliding his hand over the dog’s head and ruffling its ears.
The farmhouse door opened and two people emerged. One was the old cattle handler Senlic Carpenter. Eain hadn’t laid eyes on him for two years, and he was stunned at the change in the man’s appearance. His hair, which had been dark grey, was now white and he looked about a hundred and ten years old. Beside him came Chara Ring. Eain felt suddenly uncomfortable. She was a mile beyond pretty! Her red hair was more closely cropped than was usually popular among highland women, but the style merely highlighted her beauty. Eain’s thoughts plunged towards the carnal. Then he noticed the long pistol in her hand. He glanced back at Senlic and saw that he too was armed. His rising ardour vanished and he swung towards Draig. ‘Looks like they won’t be welcoming us with a pipe band,’ he said. Draig rose to his feet and reached for the gate.
‘No point opening that,’ said Senlic Carpenter. ‘You’re not welcome here.’
‘You look like you ought to be dead, old fool,’ snarled Draig. ‘Do not annoy me or I’ll finish you where you stand.’
‘Try it,’ said Chara Ring, her voice cold. ‘I’ll put a ball through your skull before you’ve moved two paces.’
‘That just about does it, Draig,’ said Eain. ‘Let’s go home and leave these two to their day.’
‘Aye, be off with you,’ said Senlic.
Draig swallowed hard, and Eain could feel his brother’s anger rising. ‘I need to see Kaelin Ring,’ said Draig.