He looked at me suddenly. “You’ve a face not to be forgotten, lad, so we must do something about showing you how to make it different. Although you’ll find few enemies in Scotland, I’m thinking.”
“Tatton Chantry! What a name it is! Someday you must tell me how you came by it, but there’s no need now. Although,” he added, “I’d have believed you had enemies enough without adding to them.”
What he meant by that I did not know, but we’d come to the door of the inn, so I asked no question then.
We went down four steps and then took a turn to the right. Down three more he opened a heavy door and we entered.
It was a wide room, long and low-beamed. All was dark except for the fire upon the wide hearth and a low candle burning here and there. A dozen folk were in the place, men mostly but a woman or two also, and they looked around as the wind guttered their candlelight and the fire.
There was an empty table near the fire and I wondered if they had known he was coming, but he crossed and seated himself on the bench by it. A man brought ale for each of us, and then came again with slices of thick meat and bread which we broke in our hands.
Nobody spoke to us although all looked, and then they went on with their eating, drinking, and gambling. It was not a place where men wished to be remembered.
As we ate I looked about. The floor was of stone flags, the walls were of stone also, and there were several doors, all closed but that to the kitchen and taproom. Some pots were on the fire, and there was a good smell of broiling meat, too, as a chunk of beef turned on a spit.
He who brought the bread leaned over and whispered, and I dimly heard. “Tammy is by the boat this hour, Fergus,” he whispered. “He stands ready.”
“We will be there.”
The man put the bread over a bit toward me and took a quick glance at me. “Remember the lad well,” Fergus said. “He is my friend.”
“Aye … there have been some about not your friends, too.”
The door opened again and I looked around, as did the others. It was Angus Fair. He looked not our way but went to a corner away from the fire.
We ate, and I had not known how hungry I was. Fergus looked at my hands. “You’ve good hands, lad. I think we will make a swordsman of you.”
“MacAskill?” I said. “Are you not allied to the MacLeod?”
“That we be! And when the clan goes to battle there’s ever a MacAskill in the forefront. Do you know the clans then?”
“Only a bit. My father knew of them and had some connection … I know not what.”
“Y’ know then the story o’ the Fairy Flag? Many a way has it been told but the one I like the best is that the fourth Lady MacLeod, hearing a sound in her baby son’s room, went in to find a lovely lady in filmy green who was lulling the baby to sleep. The lady in green vanished but left behind the flag. It was said to be a gift from Titania, queen of the fairies, and to be flown but three times, when the MacLeod’s were in dire need. By flying it they can call the fairies and all the powers of sky and forest to their aid.”
“And have they ever?”
“Twice … at the battle of Glendale in 1490 and Waternish in 1580 … just a few years back, that one. Each time the MacLeod’s needed a victory and each time they won. Some say they have one more time, then the flag will vanish as it came.”
“My father told me the tale, only he said it was to be used when victory was needed in battle, when the heir was in danger, or when the clan faced extinction. But no matter, ’tis a fine tale.”
“Aye … and a true one I am thinking. But it has other attributes, too, for they say that thrown on the marriage bed it brings children, and flown from the tower it will bring the fish up the loch.”
Glancing around, I saw that Angus Fair had vanished. His empty glass was upon his table, but he was nowhere about.
Fergus MacAskill noticed my glance. “Gone,” he said, “and well may he be, for there be spies here sometimes, too.” He studied me, swallowed a gulp of ale, and put his glass down. “You’re tall, lad, and strong. I’d have judged you two years older. We’ll go to the shore soon and have a word with Tammy. If it is safe to go to Lews, we’ll go, and if not, to Skye … there are MacAskills in both places, and on the Isle of Man they be some.
“We be Vikings long since … hundreds of years ago when Leod the son of Olav the Black came down and made a home in the Western Isles. Since then there’s been much of marriage with the Celts, and with the Picts, too, if all be told.”
The door opened and three men came in. I saw them come and felt something within me turn icy cold. For one of them I knew.
“Fergus … ?” I whispered.
“I see them, lad. D’ you know them, then?”
“The tall one … the one with the white-blond hair … he was among them who killed my father.”
“Did he see you then?”
“A glimpse only, I think. I’m a good inch taller now, maybe two, and thicker and stronger, and a good deal more brown from walking the highroads.”
They were coming toward us, weaving a way past the others. Fergus MacAskill held up his glass in his left hand. “Ale!” he said loudly.
Several men who sat about lifted their glasses, each with his glass in his left hand. Each called out, “Ale!”
The man with the blond hair almost missed a step. He looked about quickly as if he sensed something awry, something amiss. Then he came on.
“Fergus MacAskill?” he asked, but he looked at me.
“Aye, that be the name.”
“Are you coming or going?”
MacAskill smiled. “Why, now. That depends on where a man stands, does it not? If a man is here I might be going, and if a man be on Lews, he might say I am coming.”
“Is this your son?”
“My son? Ah, I wish he were! A fine lad. They raise them well in Scotland these days, and they keep the Scotch well to them even when schooled abroad as is the lad here. I be taking him home to the clan.”
“He’s a MacLeod?”
“A MacLeod? Ah, no! Ken y’ not the face of him? ‘Tis no MacLeod. He’s a MacCrimmon! He’s come back to learn the pipe, for are not the greatest pipers of all the MacCrimmons?”
“The lad does look familiar.” The blond man stared at me. “I have seen him before.”
“Why not? Y’ve seen MacCrimmons before, and he has the look of them. Aye, if y’ve seen one MacCrimmon y’ve seen them all … all, I say! But he’s a good lad.”
“I am not yet sure, but I think—”
“A MacCrimmon, I say! The favorite pipers o’ the MacLeods, and right now there be a hundred MacLeods i’ the town, and a dozen i’ the place, and never a one but would shed blood to protect a MacCrimmon!”
“You!” The blond man pointed a finger at me. “I have questions for you. Come!”
“Too bad it is,” MacAskill spoke cheerfully, “y’ didna come sooner, but we’ve no’ the time.” He arose to his full height, and I got up, too. The blond man was tall and strong but not so much as Fergus MacAskill. “We’ve just been having a bite while waiting, and now’s the time.”
“Stay!” The blond man put up a hand. “I am an officer of the Queen. I do not believe this lad is a MacCrimmon.”
Fergus dropped a hand to his sword. “Do y’ doubt what I say, then?”
The blond man stood very still. I had no doubt he was a brave man, but to fight Fergus MacAskill was certain death. He knew it, and he hesitated. MacAskill was of no mind to push the matter.
“Very well, then.” Fergus took a step back. “Let us not make much of a small thing.”
The blond man looked around him, suddenly aware that a dozen men were on their feet, staring at him, each with a hand on a blade.
He looked hard at me. “We shall see each other again,” he said, bowing slightly. “I look forward to the meeting!”
“And I,” I replied, bowing also. I jerked my thumb to indicate MacAskill. “When my guardian is not here to protect you!”