Dobbie might not have seen him before, but Mathew had. At Tordenet. The man was one of Laird MacDowylt’s warriors. And not just any ordinary warrior, but clearly a favorite of the laird.
He was also one of the two men who’d visited the Tinkler camp the day before they’d suddenly packed up their wagons and left Tordenet with Bridget MacCulloch as a secret passenger.
Whether the big man waited on the trail ahead to seek his revenge because Hugo had returned to Tordenet to warn the MacDowylt of the MacCulloch woman’s escape, or because of the items Mathew had taken from the castle, Mathew felt sure his being there couldn’t be a good thing.
He considered turning back on the path, but the feelings that had warned him out of the forest were doubly strong from the direction he’d already traveled.
“Best you let me handle this,” Dobbie whispered. “I’ve a way with strangers, just you watch.”
“As you wish.”
Mathew doubted Dobbie’s ability to “handle” the big warrior, but perhaps the boy’s intervention might give him time to steal away if it became necessary. Slowly, he reached to his saddle and untied one of the bags he carried there. He slipped the leather strings over his shoulder and let the bag nestle against his back. No time to remove the one from the other side. They were too close for him to make the change without his actions being obvious.
“Aho,” Dobbie called as they drew close enough to clearly make out the features on the big man’s face. “A fair gift it is to see a fellow traveler on the road! I’m Dobbie Caskie and this is Master MacFalny.”
The churning in Mathew’s stomach grew stronger, along with his need to climb up into the saddle of his horse and ride for all he was worth in the opposite direction. But that would be foolish. The animal he led beside him would be no match for the mighty black warhorse waiting ahead of them. The best he could hope for was a chance to make his way to the other side of his mount to retrieve the second bag.
“I know who you are, Dobbie Caskie. And I know what you’ve done. I believe you have a horse that belongs to a friend of mine. And you, young Mathew MacFalny”—the big man turned his piercing blue gaze toward Mathew—“you’ve taken something much more dangerous than another man’s horse.”
So it was the treasure that had led MacDowylt’s man to find him.
“Be on your way, warrior,” Mathew ordered, the cracking of his voice belying his fear. “I’ve taken nothing from Tordenet Castle that dinna belong to me.”
“No?” The big man laughed and lifted a hand to point in Mathew’s direction. “Did I make any mention of Tordenet? Don’t be foolish, boy. Next you’ll be telling me that sword you wear across your heart is your own.”
Mathew’s fingers tightened around Dream Guardian’s hilt. Itwashis own. This sword was all that stood between him and the evil that stalked his dreams. He’d never give it up.
HALL COULD SEEwhy Bridget had expressed concern for Mathew. He was a gangly lad, all long arms and legs, as much a boy as Dobbie Caskie.
Both he and Dobbie appeared ready to bolt at any second, and that would do Hall no good at all.
Hall continued to move forward, holding his horse to a slow and measured step. He didn’t wish to harm either of the boys, though he’d dearly love to bring the Caskie lad back to Castle MacGahan, to answer to Eric for the animal he’d stolen. Still, should they break and run, it was Mathew and the sword strapped to his chest that Hall would follow.
He was within one horse’s length when he heard the pounding upon the earth.
Hoofbeats. Four horses, he guessed, from the sound of it. Riding hard, headed in this direction. Only the distraction of the boys had kept him from recognizing the sound much earlier.
“Off the road!” he ordered, and Dobbie dove for the cover of the trees, needing no further encouragement.
Mathew froze where he stood, his eyes rounded with his fear.
“By the gods! Move, boy!”
Hall reined his horse in front of Mathew, placing himself in between the boy and the approaching men. Four riders, just as he’d thought. Torquil’s men, from the looks of them, charging forward at full gallop, swords drawn.
Poorly trained, the lot of them, to Hall’s way of thinking. They strung themselves out one after another with long gaps in between them rather than forming a close, tight line to ride against him. That was a mistake for which they’d pay.
“If it’s a battle you want,” Hall murmured, dodging to his left as he lifted his arm to deflect the first man’s sword with the flat of his blade. Only a glancing blow. He instantly recovered and twirled his weapon overhead, bringing the edge of his sword crashing down to catch his opponent across the back of his neck.
The man’s head lolled forward as his horse kept running and Hall gave him no more thought, his attention already intent upon the next two men drawing close.
To his side, he caught sight of Mathew moving forward. The boy gripped the Sword of the Ancients with both hands, obviously struggling with its weight to hold it out in front of him.
“Get back,” Hall barked. “Keep low and out of range.”
The second man attacked, his sword meeting Hall’s with a ring of steel.
His blade would be dulled after this, but he had little choice. His shield was of no use to him, hanging where he’d tied it, covering his mount’s left flank.