“Or what?” Torcall retorted in the cool voice he had always possessed.
“I’ll beat ye up.”
Torcall, big and tall for his age, had walked to him until he was right in front of him and staring him down.
The boy had realized that he couldn’t win if a fight did ensue and had turned to the other lads that followed behind him as his posse always.
“Come on,” he said to them, “me Faither will buy me another. His won’t.”
It was the last thing Torcall remembered. They said he had charged at the boy like a bull, flooring him first and then descending on him with blows. They said the boy had cried out at first, but his cries had gone weaker as the beating went on. No one had dared to stop him; no one could even go near him. Rather, Rannoch had run as fast as he could for his Faither.
By the time Dirk had arrived at the scene, Torcall was still beating the boy, but it was almost too late. Dirk rushed in and put a hand on Torcall’s shoulder and pulled him back, causing him to fall. It was then he had seen the dark look in his eyes. Torcall was muttering something he couldn’t hear and swiping at things he couldn’t see.
The children had run off but watched from a distance. Dirk had reached for Torcall and held him as tight as he could in his arms.
“Torcall, stop. Torcall!”
“Leave me ma!” he had begged in a whisper instead. “Please, leave me ma.”
Dirk’s heart had broken, and he pulled the boy closer to him. “Ye must snap out of it, boy!”
Then, Torcall blinked, and his eyes cleared. He looked weak and drained. “Da?” he asked weakly before passing out.
The lad had sustained multiple injuries, but even then, no complaint had been put against Torcall. The lad’s parents agreed that the comment had been provoking and said that all that mattered was that their son lived. Dirk felt that they had said so because they feared him.
As time passed, Torcall got more control over his rage. He would not pass out, and he would remember most of what happened, most, but not all.
“Torcall?” Dirk got no answer from his nephew. “Torcall!” He raised his voice the second time, and Torcall’s stray eyes focused on him once more.
“Uncle,” the words slipped out of his mouth.
“Ye should run along.” Dirk patted him on the shoulder. “Get some rest. Ye have earned it.”
Torcall knew his uncle was simply trying to get him away from the sparring area, especially from a weapon. He knew he had not gone into a berserk fit again. He never did with his uncle, but he obeyed his uncle still. Bowing and sheathing his weapon, he left. The other men started coming as he retreated from the area.
“Ye are nae comin’ to spar this morn?” Some of the men asked him. They looked forward to sparring with him. Some would rather avoid him.
“I started early,” he told them.
“Ye beat the ol’ man?” They dared to ask him. They would have had to run laps up the hills had his uncle heard them, but Dirk was too far off then. His eyes were already off Torcall and his brows furrowed with his hands behind his back as a teacher and the General he was to them.
“He won. Best to get to him before he gets angry,” Torcall said to them before he walked away.
His muscles were still buzzing with unused energy. He wanted to fight, to spar with anyone; he wanted to listen to the symphony that was the clashing of two swords, the sound of his own pounding heart in his head and victory as well as loss. Both made him feel things.
However, there was one other who made him feel.Ceana.Her name came to his mind quicker than he had expected it to. There wasn’t much to do that morning since he was off his routine, so he decided to check up on her. Walking with his scabbard in hand and right arm swinging, a smile quickly rushed onto his face at the thought of seeing Ceana again. Though he knew her to be flirtatious, it did not scare him, for he believed himself impervious to it, though his mind was conflicted about that.
Walking the grounds of the place that had become his home, Torcall was so wrapped in his thoughts that he could not see the way he looked to others about him. He looked like a little boy going home to the warmth of his mother and some sweets.
“Torcall!” He was suddenly pulled away from his trance by a familiar voice.
Torcall rolled his eyes when he saw his cousin. Rannoch was still pulling his shirt on as he tried to make his way to the arena. They both knew he would get a scolding from his Faither, but Rannoch always had a way with apologies.
“Yer faither would be vexed,” Torcall told him.
“Nae any more than he already is. Why do ye look on so dreamy? What makes ye smile so?” Rannoch asked him.
Torcall felt on the fence immediately. It was an instinct he could not control. There was no way he could tell his cousin about Ceana. Knowing Rannoch, he would read more meaning into it.
