Aenghus, gettin’ the hang of it, said, “Aye, I will hae the castle in m’pocket in the pub tonight and will trade it for ale.”
Max said, “Good one, Uncle Aenghus.”
Then he told Ryan, “This is what Torin and I do, we mock our enemies afore we strike.”
I looked in the binoculars one more time. “The silhouette of Dunstaffnage Castle, squatting on its promontory. Wee torches flickerin’ along the ramparts, must be full of wee men, with wee little lances.”
Smoke billowed from a chimney on the inside of the east wall.
Ryan said, “Wee little Dunstaffnage, Rannald’s murder castle.” I passed him the binoculars.
“Aye,” Aenghus said, “The foul, flatulence-filled seat of Rannald the dishonorable puttock.”
Farther off, a horn sounded — a long, low, mournful tone. It carried across the moor giving me a sense of dread.
Ryan said, “Scouts are about, as soon as the third unit arrives, we pass out the weapons and go.”
A flicker of movement at the treeline caught my eye — riders passing just below us.
I glanced at Ryan, he held up three fingers. Three of them. Then another finger and another. Five men.
Aenghus grabbed Max’s arm, pulling us all behind a jut of granite. All our soldiers were absolutely still and quiet.
Aenghus peered out.
Finally Ryan exhaled. “They passed, we’re good.”
And then we settled in tae wait for Charlie’s unit tae arrive.
21
TORIN
1308 - THE BATTLE AT DUNSTAFFNAGE
The sun hung high over the Firth of Lorn, bright and merciless, glinting off the water, sparklin’ like a pleasant day, a ‘fair day’ as Aenghus had promised, the surface of the inlet was silver like a blade drawn for war.
I stood on a low ridge near Dunstaffnage Castle with Max at m’side, the salt wind whippin’ the cloth of our pants around our legs. Across the moor the grey walls rose from the rock on the edge of the sea. The banners were black with the red stag of Rannald. M’stomach turned at the sight.
“I prefer yer banner.”
“I do as well.”
My eyes scanned the horizon, then looked at him, he looked fierce.
“Ye ready tae fight?”
In answer he said, his jaw clenched, “Did ye hear Uncle Ryan say the soldiers eat pizza close tae every week?”
“I did, m’laird. Tis yer pizza and they hae eaten it while ye hae been hungry.”
“I dinna hae it before and the uncles pitied me for it.”
I nodded.
He exhaled. “But they are my men and are willin’ tae lay down their lives for my crown.”
I chuckled. “Tis a trial, I suppose it means ye canna hold it against them.”
