Page 86 of Luthias

“Eh, ’tis a boon, my lad. I’ve tired of combing through the knots every morn.” Sgur smiled at Emery. “You’ve prettyish tresses, lass. Wouldnae you lend me your head for my next batch?”

Chapter Seven

Dressing in the ragged garments of one of his vassals did not aggravate Callum, nor did carrying provisions and a single change of equally grubby clothes in a sack. He quickly adjusted to the weight of the wide belt he had to wear to carry the well-used tools of his new trade. Even walking the roads in his oldest boots, which he’d spent an hour soiling and scuffing to make appear less costly, did not prod his temper. What offended him was how quickly he had been accepted by the gang of lowland woodcutters he’d met only the day before at a tavern.

“’Tis hard work, Cal, but plenty to be had,” the headman told him as they left the public house where they’d spent the night. “The forests round Dun Lasair, they stretch for leagues in every direction. The pine, birch and ash we cut, and the deadfall we collect, ’twill stock the laird’s strongholds and farms until next spring. From which village hail you, lad?”

“Synton in Ettrick Forest, maister,” Callum said. That had been Athdara’s home, or so she had claimed, and he had learned as much as he could about it before leaving Dun Deigh. He’d also renamed himself Callen, close enough to his real name that he would respond if called.

“Och, then you’ve cut wood for the royals. They’ve made you as mannerly as a noble.” The headman gave him a mocking bow, and then waved his hand. “No need for such fancy ways here in the highlands. The MacRoss, they’re odd ones, but fair masters who pay well for every cord, and give us proper lodgings, too. We stay and cut for them until the first frost, and return home with enough coin to last ’til summer next. You’ve a wife and bairns back in Synton?”

Wondering if the man would ever shut up, Callum shook his head.

“A shame, for you’re a fetching, strapping lad.” The headman gave him a sideways look. “As happens, Cal, I’ve a daughter at home. A wondrous lass, Aleen, and no’ yet wed.”

“Aye, she’s wondrous fat, his Aleen,” one of the older men said as he trudged past them. “She’d make two of you, lad.”

“And she’s as sore-tempered as a fisher with empty nets after a week at sea,” another woodcutter called.

“Aleen’s no’ so bad as that.” The headman scowled at them before he sighed. “Well, aye, she’s a wee bit of a temper, for she’s near twenty and the last of her sisters yet unwed. A good man in her bed, ’twould sweeten her proper. I swear to you, her cooking’s a gift from the Gods. Her bannocks near float to your lips, and her fish stew, ’twill make you weep with joy.”

The older man snorted. “If she doesnae first gobble them up in the kitchens.”

As the woodcutters bickered over the dubious merits of the headman’s daughter, Callum imagined living their simple life with Athdara. He could never turn his back on the clan, of course, but once he brought her back to Dun Deigh he could set her up in a little cottage, and spend his nights with her. As he imagined sharing a bed and waking up with the warmth of a woman beside him, the sketch of Emery Parker came back into his thoughts.

He could imagine that wee lass in his arms in the soft, thin light of dawn, her gentle smile all for him, but not Athdara.

Anger rose inside Callum, as hot as a smelting furnace. The jewel-setter should be in his bed back at Dun Lasair even now, drowsy and smiling up at him, her arms reaching for her laird instead of that pretentious arse Luthias.

I shall find you, Callum silently vowed, and bring you home. And if you’ve facked the MacRoss, I shall first cut his throat.

They stopped at midday to walk down to a clearing, where they built a fire and shared their food. Callum contributed a loaf of honey bread and some dried fish to the communal meal, and received in return a bowl of lukewarm, watery pottage, an overripe pear and a wedge of surprisingly delicious cheese. Eating outdoors and listening to the woodcutters banter eased his anger as well as his hunger, and put him in a thoughtful mood.

He had intended to search for Athdara himself, and yet would, but the notion of Emery Parker in his bed would not leave his thoughts. If he wished to properly avenge himself on Luthias for taking his lover from him, he should do the same. How difficult would it be to tempt one little wench away from the MacRoss? He had to find a way to lure her from the stronghold to a quiet place where he might seduce her. Females had always found him handsome, and when he wished to he could be gentle.

With that wench I’d have to be, Callum thought, recalling her tiny proportions.

“You’re a quiet one, Cal,” the headman told him as he passed him a flask of water. “What troubles you? Did you leave behind kin to wait on your return?”

He thought of Struan. “A younger brother, maister. He’ll no’ want me back. We dinnae much care for each other.”

“So ’tis with all brothers,” the woodcutter said. “I reckoned I’d kill mine in boyhood, the lazy bawbag. Now look at him.” He jutted his chin at a younger man munching on a heel of bread. “Next to me, he’s the best cutter in our village, and soon to wed the prettiest lass with the widest hips. I reckon she’ll give him a dozen bairns. Our sire, rest his spirit, wouldnae believe ’twas truth if he yet lived.”

Callum thought of the first laird of the Carack, who had done something so despicable before he’d died that it still made him sick every time he recalled the words in Prince Kaer’s final scroll.

I shall gift the clan a sain to protect the Carack against the MacRoss, and to win any battle they might try wage against my sons. With all my power I shall fashion the thing a weapon without constraint. Even Ross himself cannae equal my enchantment.

Only the chieftains and Struan knew about the sain, and Callum intended to keep it so. By locking it away in the vault beneath Dun Lasair he had struck back at the first laird in the only manner he could: by denying him his ultimate victory. While his own temper could be just as cold and unyielding, realizing what the sain could do had made him understand why mortals were never meant to have the power of the Fae.

“Didnae the pottage set well in your belly?” the headman asked, dragging him out of that dreadful memory. “You’re looking a wee bit peely wally, lad.”

“’Tisnae the food, maister,” Callum said. “I’m itching to get on my way and see the work done.”

The older man laughed and slapped his shoulder. “I ken ’twas a good notion to bring you with us. Now there, lads, enough with your gossiping. Quench that fire, and we’ll be on our way.”

A flurry of new reports from their allies forced Luthias to put off his visit to the farms, and instead spend much of the next morning sorting through the messages and trying to make sense of them before acting. Although he tried to keep the MacRoss out of the affairs of their allies, the surrounding clans and their clashes could not always be ignored.

Then, too, there was the problem of Emery and how he forgot everything but her when they were together.