Peter sensed the growing tension between these two and, as if on cue, their voices were suddenly tight. The smiles a little less jovial.
Lachlann shoved the other against the horse. The beast skittered.
“Enough!” The last one still squatted beside the water spoke. His voice held the ring of authority. “You’re wasting your strength fighting with each other.”
The two dropped their battle stances and turned toward their apparent leader. “What are you thinking, Niall?”
“It was a strange setup is all. Those three men with the one lass.” He dragged his hand across his wet mouth and stood.
“Perhaps she was their hostage?” Aldred said.
“And they passed her around when they wanted some.” Lachlann guffawed at his own joke. Aldred shoved him gently, their past disagreement forgotten.
Niall nodded, his expression tight with suspicion. “No, he could be correct, Lachlann.”
The long hair on this one made him appear younger than the other two but Peter would have guessed at perhaps sixteen summers. Surely too old to be traipsing around the countryside in search of a good swiving.
“It could be something like that.” Niall went to his horse and adjusted the saddle with quick gestures before straddling it again. “We can catch them if we cut them off through the glen.”
Shouts of excitement surrounded him.
“We shouldn’t have any trouble rounding them up.” The blond directed his horse around in preparation of mounting as well. “Are you game, Lachlann?”
Lachlann, suddenly serious, stood frowning, unmoving. “But who will get the lass?”
So pathetically desperate. Peter knew it’d be the leader who got the girl and he felt somewhat sorry for the female. These three were pups.
Without the slightest hesitation, Peter urged his mount forward, emerging from the darkness. Sword in hand, he approached the suddenly silent group. Their hands empty, they glanced at each other as if to ask where this man had come from. Mort followed behind.
“So what is this talk of a brown-haired fox I hear? Are they common in these parts?” Peter was surprised how much he sounded like his father. Also a powerful soldier. He flinched in remembrance. “Perhaps you need leave it to men who can handle such a hunt?”
Niall tipped his head, a definite tenseness. Perhaps he only feigned nonchalance. He surveyed Peter before answering. “Norman?”
Peter nodded and waited for the inevitable ranting that usually followed but ready in case they wanted to fight it out. The King was the usurper and he needed to go back to Caen. This young man did not seem so inclined.
“I am Niall of the MacDonell Clan.” He came abreast of Peter. His confidence was surprising for one so young. Peter felt an instant liking to him.
“A Scot?” Peter asked. He’d not met many of the northern tribes.
Niall smiled, causing a crease at the corner of his eyes. “We try to come upon our prey unidentified. It gives us the advantage.”
In a flash like lightning, the three lads shifted from being individuals to a unified fighting force. They were armed with swords and their war cry but they were also armed with something less tangible. Their shoulders shifted back. Their heads tipped, as if attuning to each other’s movements. As one they moved, circling Peter. They forced him from his horse. Mort put his hands up in surrender. Peter dropped his weapon carefully to the ground.
The point of Niall’s long blade stopped short of Peter’s chest even when the lad dismounted. Peter allowed himself to break into a broad smile and clapped his hands in a slow rhythm.
“Well played, lad. I thought you to be three untrained villagers and yet here you have me at a disadvantage.”
They did not break from the unified front. Their faces remained stoic.
“You’d have done better to stay hidden and let us pass than to confront us, my friend,” Niall said.
“I see you are right.” Peter bowed slightly in acquiescence, both arms outstretched.
He turned his arm slightly, curling his hand in a fist. He knocked the loosely held sword hilt, the edge of the blade hitting against the silver band at his wrist. Peter stepped in tight to grab Niall around the chest, moving him in front. The sword fell harmlessly at his feet.
“Weapons down. On the ground.” Peter took the dagger from his belt and held the tip to Niall’s throat. “Don’t make me ask again.”
Niall struggled to loosen the man’s grip circling his neck, his horse shifting beside him. The other two quickly placed their swords on the ground in front of them.
