He had taken a step away; now he turned sharply around, his hand on his sword. I made as if to draw mine from its sheath, but Fergus MacAskill put up a hand. “No, lad, he must wait his turn. You have others to deal with first!”
With that he put a firm hand on my shoulder and thrust me toward the door, and I went. As we left, several men closed in behind us, not as if doing anything but talking or holding their glasses for drinks; nonetheless, the way was effectually blocked. Not one could be said to have offered resistance; they simply got in the way.
Outside in the dark, MacAskill spoke quietly but firmly. “That was a foolish thing to do! We were safely out of it, and then you had to challenge the man. You must learn, lad, that while such a man can evade some issues he will never avoid a direct challenge.
“That man was Dett Kober, and as he said, he is an officer of the Queen. He is also, I might add, a superb swordsman.”
“But he was afraid of you!” I said.
“No, lad, not afraid. Simply wise. He saw the number of those who stood about him, and the issue was not great enough. Had he been absolutely sure you were whom he believed you to be, he would have fought. Now he will simply wait … and watch. As he said, there will be another time.”
We walked along through dark lanes to the shore. The boat lay waiting. When we were aboard, the sail was unloosed and soon we were well out upon the water.
“He saw you,” Fergus commented, thoughtfully, “but he was not in search of you. It was some other he searched for.”
Angus, I thought. He was looking for Angus Fair, but Angus had gone before he entered. Or at least I believed he had. And well away, I hoped.
Wrapped in a cloak Fergus handed me, I was soon asleep, liking the smell and taste of the wind, and the salt water that occasionally spattered over the bow. Where was it we were going? To Lews or to Skye? When next I opened my eyes the sea was rolling heavily and it had grown colder. The wind blew strong, and MacAskill huddled near me, wrapped in his sheepskin. After a while I fell again to sleep, tired from my long walking and much worry.
When I opened my eyes at last the dawn was in the sky. Dark and shadowed were the waters where we lay, silent but for the lap of waves against the hull, and against the rocks not far off. The shore was only a little way over there, but the water between us was cold … cold.
I looked toward the shore, and could see only the darkness and the bold outline of a cliff.
How could I guess that it would be a year before I left this place?
15
The dwelling to which we came was a crofter’s hut on Loch Langaig, and a comfortable place it was, seeming as old as the Isle of Skye itself. I had believed it was Lews we were bound for, but MacAskill made a change of direction. We arrived in the cold gray of a rain-filled morning.
Weary from our voyage, we slept until the sun was high. Then no longer to be denied the sense of where I was, I went outside to look around.
It was a place of foxglove and bracken where black rushes lined the water of the loch and birds flew low over the rocky shores.
A good place it was, a quiet place and a hidden place, for no other crofts were near, only wild lands, unbroken by the plow. The cottage itself was built in a hollow of the land so that only the thatch of the roof could be seen from a short distance off.
“Do you like it, lad?” Fergus MacAskill had come from the hut behind me.
“Aye, a lovely place it is. This is your home, then?”
“From time to time. A man with enemies should not abide too long in one place.”
“Are the MacAskills of Skye?”
“Some live over on Lews, as well. It is said that long ago we lived on Man, and were of Viking blood, coming from the north to raid this coast, then settling here. We are restless folk, born to the sea and wild lands. Often of a night, lying awake, I think I shall go off to America and find a home there.”
“There are savages in America, they say.”
“Aye, and no doubt they are no worse than we, lad. In my time I have seen a sight of fighting and killing, and not a little of murder, although I’ve fought no man unfairly, m’self. No part of the world, I’m thinking, has a sole claim on savagery. There’s a bit of it in us all, given the time and place and circumstance.”
“It is said some of our people did go, long since.”
“Aye … Brendan from your island and Sinclair from ours.”
An old woman appeared from the bracken as though rising from it, and I saw for the first time a path there. She spoke to Fergus and her Gaelic held a wild, strange sound unlike any I’d heard, but pleasant to the ear. It set me to thinking of the bagpipes sounding across the moors.
She went within and I stood watching the gray-lag geese flying low across the marshes. It was a wild place, a lonely place but marvelously green and secret.
“We will have some’at to eat soon, Tatt, and then we will get to it.”
“Why do you trouble yourself with me?” I asked. “Grateful it is that I am, but why?”
He stared out across the loch, then kicked a small pebble at his feet. “You can ask, lad, and well you should, but the reasons are more than one and I’ll not trouble you with them all.
“I like a fighter, let it be that at first. I have fought beside the Irish and found them strong men and willing, and once, too, a man took time with me when I knew nothing and was but a lonely lad, not unlike you. There’s another reason, stronger than all else, but I’ll not tell you now—only this.
“I know who you are, Tatton Chantry, and know that is none of your name. What your true name is I shall not say but that I know it, and there’s a blood link between us, long ago though it be.
“There’s still another thing. I am a lonely man with neither chick nor child, and no wife to my bed, nor proper home. I am a man feared and respected, yet a man with nothing. Once I wished I might have a son like you, with your fine shoulders and fine way of standing, with your clear eyes and the decency in you … but that was in another land, and the one who might have been … well, I’ll say no more.”
“My father is dead. I would be honored to be your son, Fergus MacAskill.”
He put a rough hand on my shoulder. “Lad, lad, I’ve tears in my eyes! You’ll make a woman of Fergus MacAskill, with tears and all. My adopted son then, Tart. Let us get our blades now and have at it.”
With his great hands and the strength of him I’d not have believed he could handle a foil as he did, but it took me but a moment to sense that here was a master. My skill, which I had thought great, and which Kory had thought great as well, was as nothing here. He had the reach of me, and the height, too, but it was the skill that made the difference.
For an hour we fenced, and he tried me in all ways, saying little at first, feeling me out, testing my responses, leading me into attack and defense with consummate skill. Then we put up our blades and went inside for a draught of ale and the gruel and meat the old woman had put on for us. There was thick cream, too, from those wild Highland cattle, all red they were, and maned like lions, with a fine breadth of horn upon them.
“You do well,” Fergus said, “and you have been well taught … to a point. You have a strong wrist for your size and you are cool. We’ll work with the rapier for a bit, and then with the claymore.
“For that we’ll need stronger hands than you have. Although you’ve fine shoulders, we can make them better.” He took a bite of the coarse black bread and looked up from under his brows. “Can you use a longbow? A weapon of bygone times now, but a good one still, and one easily provided for yourself.”