He had only gotten more muscular and stronger with every passing season. Slaine, happy to leave his few books behind when his foster aunt’s landlord threw him out of her little cottage for not paying the rent after her death, had walked out of the small town where he had been staying for as long as he could remember, and made his way in the world using his wits.
Seeing the small blacksmith cringe, Slaine was too bored and tired to raise a fuss.
Wearily, he asked, “Did ye make a shoe anew or use one already here?”
Too cowed to lie, the youth replied, “I used the largest shoe we had here, sir. I didnae make one meself, but…I can make a big one now. I promise ye!”
“Aye, let’s do it together then, shall we?” Slaine spent the rest of the day showing the apologetic boy how to measure the hoof and bend the metal to create a horseshoe. The results were perfect, and Maximus was soon back to his old spirited self once the shoe was nailed onto the stallion.
“How many years are ye into yer apprenticeship, lad?” Slaine asked as he mounted and prepared to ride away from the smithy and Inverness for a very long time.
“I’m apprenticed for seven years, sir,” the boy said, “and this will be me second year in service.” He hung his head and looked contrite.
“Hm,” was all Slaine said, flipping the boy a penny, and urging Maximus into a canter. Soon Inverness was a grey line on the horizon behind him, and the blue-tinted Highland hills stretched out in front of him.
He stopped a peddler coming towards him on the road, reining in Maximus with all his strength. The animal complained but did as commanded.
“Good man, from what town do ye come from in the direction I am headed? Is this still the king’s highway from Inverness?”
The old peddler nodded. “Aye, mister, but the road takes a fork just a few miles up ahead. The left one goes south and west towards the loch and Croachy. T’other one goes up toward the seaport of Flichity.” He inclined his head to one side, and asked, “If ye dinnae mind saying so, mister, in what business are ye? I ken both towns well and can guide ye to the best one for yer money’s worth.”
Slaine agreed. “It’s good of ye to offer me such assistance. I’m in the business of helping folks sort out theirs! A warrior at arms for rent, a mercenary, a hired right-hand man—call it what ye will, but that’s what I do.”
The peddler cocked one eye closed and looked Slaine up and down. “Well, ye’re as big as a carthorse, mister, so I would be so bold as to say ye’re in the perfect occupation. Flichity’s the town for ye. The townsfolk hire their soldiers when needed, and the harborers simply chockablock with mercenaries from all four corners of the world. Make yer way to Flichity, and I’d say ye can leave there with a sack full o’ gold, and more besides.”
Slaine tilted his hat in thanks and spurred Maximus down the road. At the crossroads, he turned right toward Flichity. There was something in his bones telling him it was the right thing to do.
Slaine sat in a corner of the harbor alehouse and surveyed the crowd of patrons with a skeptical eye.
Mercenaries? Calling this bunch of raff an’ scaff such a praiseworthy appellation makes me laugh. They are more like the biggest cluster of scallywags I’ve seen on this side of the mountains. Some of them are from other countries, of that I’m sure. The rest? Clearly, Sassenach chancers and rascals managed to survive that graceless country’s incessant purges.
Slaine had no very high regard for anything south of the Scottish border. He did not even like the people who lived in the lowlands of Scotland that much. He was a Highlander, through and through, no matter what the scandalmongers liked to say about his parentage, but he was happy enough to earn a living off any weak southerner who needed to buy some muscle.
He summoned one of the slatternly serving wenches over to his table.
“Ale and food, whatever’s at hand.”
Slaine’s demeanor was never encouraging to those who liked to stop and chat. He was taciturn by nature and pleased with the results it brought him, so he never made any effort to change. He was a man of action, not words, and if this gave off signals to people to leave him alone, Slaine was more than happy with that. Folks, at the end of the day, were excess baggage—and Slaine liked to travel light.
He passed the time by reading some of the people in the room. He kept his ears open to overhear conversations; it was easier than asking for information outright.
“The righteous burghers of Flichity have no idea it would be cheaper to train an’ house their own militia,” a man’s voice said with a belch and loud guffaw. “The local tenant-in-chief, Master Albert, was granted a charter to govern the town’s trading and transactions. We give him a cut of everything, including the stolen goods we fence, and he keeps the paid mercenary soldiers off our backs. ‘Tis a goodly deal.”
“How many is he wantin’ to hire this time?” an interested voice asked.
“Och, the last lot messed things up a bit. They got carried away, there nae bein’ any sheriffs here, an’ all, so there was a nasty case of drunken looting, done by the bloody soldiers themselves! ‘Twas all hushed up, but they were put outside the town’s boundaries at sunrise an’ told to keep walkin’. Auld Albert is lookin’ for two dozen more men.”
Slaine had heard enough. He was wise and experienced enough to know that word of the lawlessness inside Flichity would have reached Holyrood Palace by now, and it would not be long before the king ordered a royal battalion to trek north to Flichity and revoke its charter. It might not be this month or even this year, but it would definitely happen, and Slaine did not plan on being anywhere near Flichity when the heads began to roll.
He made to finish his meal, drink down his ale, and leave when the sound of a sweet little voice was heard over the rough conversations.
Intrigued, Slaine listened to Blair’s pleas for help and the rude replies she received in return.
He looked his fill at the girl asking for help and could understand why the men were besotted with her. She was medium height and well proportioned, but her bosom was full enough to make a man’s mind imagine what she would look like under the sheets with only a shift to hide her charms. Although she had made an attempt to tie back her bouncing red curls, they had refused to be tamed and cascaded in a riot of soft ringlets over her shoulders. Her face was pale, showing that whatever job she did, she had money enough to pay for a bonnet with a veil, a fact backed up by the one she was currently wearing.
But for Slaine, it was the girl’s eyes that riveted him. They were pale ocean-blue, irradiated with a darker blue, fringed with the longest lashes he’d ever seen, and just now, sparkling with tears.
His mind made up, he flipped a coin onto the table to pay for his food and drink, and stood up. Men at the tables around him tilted their heads all the way back as they watched him rise. Then they went back to nursing their drinks, wanting to keep a low profile until this giant of a man had left.
