Gatherin’ the reins, I led the horses through rain and mire toward the cover of trees, choosin’ a hasty path that turned away from the men who had fled. My gut told me if I pressedsoutheast, I would come upon the burn I needed tae cross intae Muckhart.
I trudgednear an hour in the unrelentin’ rain before comin’ tae what should hae been a narrow burn cuttin’ across the path, an easy ford. Instead it had swollen intae a foamin’, brown torrent. Stepping stones had been drowned beneath the roarin’ current.Och nae.
I pulled Lambo short, water streamin’ off his mane. “Ye like this rain, lad? Yer face says ye daena care for it, and I agree.”
Behind him, the other horses stamped, ears pinned in misery. The third horse tugged nervously at his reins. I stroked his withers. “Steady, third horse. I think I will call ye Trì. We are goin’ tae cross. We must.”
I turned tae the second. “And ye, Dà. Aye, I ken, we could wait, but I hae had enough of waitin’ for Max. I daena want another night in the woods, soaked tae the marrow. Better tae plunge through than rot out here.”
We all stood there, watchin’ the torrent boilin’, as if it meant tae drag us all tae the sea. I spoke tae the rushin’ water itself,“But ye winna drown us, burn. Ye will let us pass, for I hae had my fair share of trouble already.”
Lambo neighed, restless. I sighed. “Nae, lad. There is nae time tae seek another ford. Men roam these woods who want tae end me. We go now. Max is waitin’.”
I led Lambo first, the reins of all three clenched tight. The current surged against my legs, icy and bitin’, climbin’ tae my thighs. Lambo fought me, sidesteppin’, nostrils flarin’. Rain blinded me, and behind, Dà balked at the bank. Then Trì shoved at him, panic drivin’ them both intae the flood.
Och, the force near tore me from my feet. My shoulder slammed a buried stone, pain shootin’ fire down my arm. Allthree beasts thrashed, ropes tangled, their screams piercin’ the storm. For a breathless moment I was dragged under, mud and river fillin’ my mouth.
I burst up coughin’, yankin’ hard, drivin’ us toward the far bank. Somehow Lambo heaved forward, and the others stumbled after, findin’ solid ground beneath them. With one last shove I forced them up the bank, then hauled myself up after, knees sinkin’ intae muck.
Never in my life had I been so soaked. My kilt dragged heavy with water, m’shoulder throbbed, my sword trailed in the mud. I spat grit, wiped the river from my eyes, and glared back at the torrent. “Bloody hell. Twas terrible.”
The three horses stood blowin’ hard, eyes wide and white, packs torn, one ripped open from the crossing. Everything I owned was waterlogged, the road still long, and Max yet far ahead.
31
TORIN
1558 - MEETING MAX AT MUCKHART MID-MAY
Iwas on Lambo’s back, we rode for another hour in the unrelenting rain. It sheeted down my face, and rivulets ran down my cloak. The rain turned the path intae a slick ribbon of mud and plastered my hair tae my face. The other two horses followed in a weary line, their heads low, tails dripping. My feet in my boots were wet, and I was miserable. But with every step I grew more determined — I couldna stop now. I had tae continue on.
I was lulled intae a calm as we plodded down the wet road, the thick rain cut m’visibility, sound was muffled. “If I am judgin’ the day correctly, I would say we hae a half hour afore we come tae the main road tae Muckhart, Lambo. Will ye be relieved tae hae a stable?”
But then there was silence.
Twas that eery silence where yer heart drops and yer hackles raise. Ye ken tis almost too late. I shifted, drawin’ my dirk, my eyes sweepin’ the woods, when a boar burst from the gorse.
It was roarin’.
Twas a mountain of muscle and bristle, its tusks curved like daggers, its eyes red with rage. Lambo reared, nearly throwingme from the saddle. Dà screamed, sidestepping hard enough tae tangle the lead ropes with Trì.
I dropped from the saddle and leaped to stand between the monster and m’ horses. The ground was treacherous, my boots slid. The horses fought their leads, eyes rolling white.
The boar charged, head low.
I barely leapt aside in time, its tusk grazin’ my thigh with a hot slice that bled instantly. The beast wheeled, furious, snortin’ clouds of steam in the rain.
“Och nae, ye monstrous beast, ye arna goin’ tae kill me, I am just a few miles from home!” I raised my blade, chest heaving, every muscle screamin’ from fatigue.
The boar’s second charge nearly bowled me over, the weight of him plowin’ against m’hip, sending a lightning pain through my side, but givin’ me a place tae strike. I struck downward, slicing across the beast’s shoulder, but the knife was wee against its great mass.
The boar screamed, though, as if I had given it a mortal blow, and turned and crashed intae the trees, thrashing wildly. I staggered, clutchin’ m’thigh, kilt soaked in blood and water and mud, m’lungs burning.
Silence returned, except for the rain hammering the leaves. I spat mud from m’mouth. The cut on m’ thigh burned, my hip throbbed, I ached in every inch of my body.Och nae.I pulled the edge of my kilt up tae see the wound. Twas not as bad as it might hae been. I wiped my blade on the wet grass, and dug through one of the saddlebags, finding a piece of woven fabric that I cut and tore intae a long strip and then tied it around my thigh tae stop the flow of blood.
I was drenched.
I looked at Lambo. He seemed tae shake his head at me, dolefully. “I ken, Lambo, I came close tae dyin’, but I dinna, I survived. The boar was an arse.”
