"Dead."
"Good lad. Now, look at this and tell me what you make of it."
Lennox read the letter his father passed him. "Robert de Ros rides north? So the rat is coming for revenge."
Ross nodded. "I have sent out scouts but they report nothing yet. It looks like he is still a few days from us."
"So he intends to break the truce? What if the King hears of it?"
"I’m guessing he’s hoping to defeat us before the King finds out. Much easier to beg forgiveness for breaking a truce if you can hand your monarch a castle and several hundred acres along with your apology."
"So we fight?"
"Not if I have anything to do with it. I want you to go see Walter."
"This morning, you did not want me to cross the border. Now you want me to ride all the way to Yorkshire?"
"I do not want you to. Quinn insists."
"The druid? You still take orders from him?"
"He has tended this clan for more years than you have been alive. If he says Walter is the only one who can stop the rat, I believe him."
Lennox shook his head. "Walter is a mad old fool, you said so yourself."
"Maybe so but he’s the only one who can recall his nephew."
"Why not let them come? We could slaughter them all and let that be an end to it."
"You have never endured a war, Lennox. I am not so eager to see my people slaughtered when it could be avoided. Take my letter to Walter and he will recall his nephew with no need for fighting."
"Why me, father? Would I not be better here by your side preparing the defenses?"
Ross dripped wax onto a folded letter, pressing his seal into it a moment later. He held the letter out toward his son.
Lennox took it. "I will gather my men."
Ross shook his head. "For every man you take with you, your speed will be halved. Go alone and go swiftly. The fate of the clan is in your hands. You must get that letter to Walter Espec before the rat reaches us."
"What of the villagers?"
"I will bring them into the castle when the scouts report back. Get going. Your horse is ready for you."
"Farewell, Father. If God wills it, I will see you again."
Lennox rode south from the castle. It would usually take a week to reach Rievaulx Abbey. He aimed to place the letter in Walter’s hands in three days. He would rest only when his horse had to.
Passing through Cromarty, he caught sight of the washerwomen. They called out to him. "The boar?" The entire village was looking his way. "Will it return?"
"Dead," he shouted back.
A cheer went up, thankful prayers offered toward him. He said nothing, riding on. By the time he got back, Cromarty might be burned. They would not cheer him then.
He had barely crossed the border when he heard voices behind him. Turning he saw nothing but he spurred his horse on nonetheless. The voices sounded English.
He caught sight of them on the next ridge. Three of them. They were blocking his path. A trio of archers on horseback, no doubt the ones that had been chasing him earlier.
He stopped. They were a hundred yards in front, bows drawn. He looked left. A slope down to a fast flowing river. On the other side a wood of mature oaks. Reach that and he would be safe, their bows would be useless among so many trees. Could he get there in time?
