stench was the worst.
He gestured for his men to halt as they came alongside a hut that was in severe need of thatching. Connall removed his helm, glancing about him. People nearby looked on in fear as he dismounted and entered the run-down home. He emerged a few moments later carrying a small child of no more than four summers. Her hair was so filthy he could not determine the color. Her clothes barely clung to her fragile body . Connall uncorked his wineskin, pouring the liquid slowly into her wee mouth. She swallowed weakly, and then coughed as the liquid lubricated her dry throat. He smiled for the first time since they had arrived. His eyes darted to his captain.
“Robbie, see to her parents. They need burying.” His eyes scanned the gathering crowd. He could not berate them for not attending to the couple inside the hovel; they could barely tend to themselves. But the child…? “Be there anyone here who can take care of this bairn ? Any rel a tives?”
An old woman of indeterminate age spoke up in a w a vering voice. “There be nae one, your lordship. The rest of her kin died two moons back. And as ye can see,” she spread her thin arms wide, “we can nae even take care of our own selves.”
He stared keenly at her for a few moments, then gave a curt nod. “I will take her to your laird and have him care for her.”
A man to his left snorted. “Ye may as well slit her throat here. Twould be kinder.”
Fergus Chisolm , his young squire , gasped in shock. He spoke up in indignation for his laird. “Ye insult my laird! The Blacksword of Halkirk would never harm a woman or a bairn. Apologize!”
Connall’s hand rose quickly, demanding silence from his squire as the people gasped in fear. His penetrating gaze turned on the man that had spoken.
“ Why do ye suggest this abomination to me?”
The man lowered his eyes, a slight tremble passing through him. The Blacksword was well renowned throug h out the highlands. His enemies feared him greatly as the king’s enforcer. They had heard many tales of his ruthles s ness these past years.
“I only speak the truth,” he murmured.
Connall could discern for himself that it was true. As he perused the weary faces before him, he made his dec i sion. He handed the child up to Fergus as he began issuing orders.
“This bairn will be my ward from this day onward. I want each of my guard to hand out half their rations to the villagers, including any clothing or blankets ye can spare. We will bury your dead if ye will point them out to my men. Can anyone tell me the child’s name…her age?”
“Aye. Her name be Amelia Connor, but we call her Amy. She will be four summers two moons hence.”
“I thank ye, woman.” He looked back at his men. “Ye will give aide where ye can then meet up with us at the Keep. Ten guardsmen with me now.” They continued on to their destination, never looking back at the grateful villa g ers.
* * *
Chapter II
* * *
Angus was displeased with his earlier conversation with his niece. He needed gold for his coffers or else the villagers would not be the only ones starving at Urquhart this winter. Stepping out to the bail e y , a guard at the gate cried out.
“Riders approach, my laird!”
His head shot up. Who could it be? He snorted in di s gust. Just what I need…more mouths to feed .
“Can ye see their colors?”
The guard squinted at the approaching men for a few moments before his eyes widened in fear. “Aye, my laird. Tis the Blacksword! There be nae mistaking his pennant!” He crossed himself sending up a fervent prayer.
Canmore! Why would he be there? The taxes were not due yet, of this he was certain. His thoughts scrambled in a panic as he awaited Connall’s arrival at the door of the keep. While he stood there, he sent a servant to request the lady’s presence to greet their new guest. She swept out of the door just before Connall entered the bailey.
“Who is it, Uncle?”
Eying her, a plan began to
He gestured for his men to halt as they came alongside a hut that was in severe need of thatching. Connall removed his helm, glancing about him. People nearby looked on in fear as he dismounted and entered the run-down home. He emerged a few moments later carrying a small child of no more than four summers. Her hair was so filthy he could not determine the color. Her clothes barely clung to her fragile body . Connall uncorked his wineskin, pouring the liquid slowly into her wee mouth. She swallowed weakly, and then coughed as the liquid lubricated her dry throat. He smiled for the first time since they had arrived. His eyes darted to his captain.
“Robbie, see to her parents. They need burying.” His eyes scanned the gathering crowd. He could not berate them for not attending to the couple inside the hovel; they could barely tend to themselves. But the child…? “Be there anyone here who can take care of this bairn ? Any rel a tives?”
An old woman of indeterminate age spoke up in a w a vering voice. “There be nae one, your lordship. The rest of her kin died two moons back. And as ye can see,” she spread her thin arms wide, “we can nae even take care of our own selves.”
He stared keenly at her for a few moments, then gave a curt nod. “I will take her to your laird and have him care for her.”
A man to his left snorted. “Ye may as well slit her throat here. Twould be kinder.”
Fergus Chisolm , his young squire , gasped in shock. He spoke up in indignation for his laird. “Ye insult my laird! The Blacksword of Halkirk would never harm a woman or a bairn. Apologize!”
Connall’s hand rose quickly, demanding silence from his squire as the people gasped in fear. His penetrating gaze turned on the man that had spoken.
“ Why do ye suggest this abomination to me?”
The man lowered his eyes, a slight tremble passing through him. The Blacksword was well renowned throug h out the highlands. His enemies feared him greatly as the king’s enforcer. They had heard many tales of his ruthles s ness these past years.
“I only speak the truth,” he murmured.
Connall could discern for himself that it was true. As he perused the weary faces before him, he made his dec i sion. He handed the child up to Fergus as he began issuing orders.
“This bairn will be my ward from this day onward. I want each of my guard to hand out half their rations to the villagers, including any clothing or blankets ye can spare. We will bury your dead if ye will point them out to my men. Can anyone tell me the child’s name…her age?”
“Aye. Her name be Amelia Connor, but we call her Amy. She will be four summers two moons hence.”
“I thank ye, woman.” He looked back at his men. “Ye will give aide where ye can then meet up with us at the Keep. Ten guardsmen with me now.” They continued on to their destination, never looking back at the grateful villa g ers.
* * *
Chapter II
* * *
Angus was displeased with his earlier conversation with his niece. He needed gold for his coffers or else the villagers would not be the only ones starving at Urquhart this winter. Stepping out to the bail e y , a guard at the gate cried out.
“Riders approach, my laird!”
His head shot up. Who could it be? He snorted in di s gust. Just what I need…more mouths to feed .
“Can ye see their colors?”
The guard squinted at the approaching men for a few moments before his eyes widened in fear. “Aye, my laird. Tis the Blacksword! There be nae mistaking his pennant!” He crossed himself sending up a fervent prayer.
Canmore! Why would he be there? The taxes were not due yet, of this he was certain. His thoughts scrambled in a panic as he awaited Connall’s arrival at the door of the keep. While he stood there, he sent a servant to request the lady’s presence to greet their new guest. She swept out of the door just before Connall entered the bailey.
“Who is it, Uncle?”
Eying her, a plan began to
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