“Did my young friend happen to say anything about the direction he traveled?”
Donald looked down to the coin clutched in his fist before lifting his gaze to meet Hall’s. “Will you be telling my master about this?”
“I see no need to tell your master. The coin will be our secret, boy. A transaction between you and me for any information at all you can remember of my friend. It’s most important that I find him, and any little thing he did or said could be of value to me in my search.”
The boy chewed at the corner of his mouth, eyes downcast, some internal debate weighing heavily on him until at last he made his decision.
“Well enough, then. Yer friend traded me a sweet for an extra bag of feed for his horse. He said the ride to Dunvegan would be a long one and he had concerns about the animal lasting the whole way there.”
Dunvegan.It was the confirmation Hall needed.
He and Patrick had begun their day in Inverness at the marketplace, quickly locating the shopkeeper who had purchased one of Mathew’s jewels. In his babbling about having bought the bauble fair and square, the merchant had mentioned the MacLeod stronghold.
With some strongly worded persuasion and more of Hall’s silver to grease the path, the rat-eyed merchant had turned over the jewel that now resided safely in Hall’s sporran.
“Anything else?” he asked, focusing once again on the boy. “Anything at all you can recall.”
“Only that I dinna tell yer other friends as much.” Donald grinned and touched the pouch where he’d tucked away his coin. “But they were no so generous as you, good sir, so I dinna feel as obliged to help them in their search.”
“Other friends?” There were no other friends. “Tell me about these men, lad. When were they here?”
“They came through yestereve seeking yer friend, no even taking the time to feed and water their horses. When they left, they separated into two groups, each one headed in a different direction.” Donald leaned forward and lowered his voice as if to share a confidence. “In truth, I was glad to see them gone so quickly. Beggin’ yer pardon, good sir, but fair odd they were, the lot of them.”
“Odd, were they?” Hall leaned in conspiratorially. “In what way?”
“Oh, aye, odd indeed. No expressions on their faces, no a one of them. Their eyes all strange and staring, as if they dinna even see what was before them, but looked after a vision of some sort.” Donald straightened and shivered. “I’ve no ever seen men look like that before, no even the ones deep in their cups.”
Fenrir’s men, Hall suspected. Likely possessed and directed by the Beast himself.
“How many riders were there?”
The boy shrugged and lifted his arm, palm facing toward Hall. “More than I have fingers to count on one hand.”
Six at the very least, then, if not more, broken into two tracking parties.
“My thanks for your help, Donald.”
“And mine to you,” the boy called back, patting the pouch at his hip before disappearing around the corner of the building.
Hall had known Fenrir would send men to recover his treasures, but he’d hoped to be ahead of them, not behind, in that search.
Turning back toward the stable, he filled his lungs once more with clean, fresh air and found himself scratching his own beard. Watching the filthy old man inside had made him feel as if bugs crawled on his skin, and he longed for the warm Viking bathhouse waiting for him at his home.
But such pleasures of the flesh would have to continue to wait. He had more important worries.
Before he reached the entrance, Patrick emerged, wiping a hand over his face, frustration evident in his expression.
“That one’s either the greatest of fools or the cleverest of men I’ve yet to meet,” Patrick growled, heading for his horse. “But whichever he is, he’s by far the most foul-smelling of them all. I feel as though I’ve a layer of filth blanketing the whole of me and, worse still, absolutely nothing to show for it but a lighter purse and a passing knowledge of some fine, fine horse.”
“Be of good cheer, my friend. We’ve plenty to show,” Hall corrected. “While you visited with our filthy friend in there, I had myself a profitable chat with the stableboy, who confirmed that our young minstrel heads for Dunvegan.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Patrick grabbed the pommel of his saddle and fit his foot into his stirrup. “Skye it is.”
“No.” Hall stopped the other man with a hand to his reins. “Not for you, my friend. There’s more. According to the boy, Torquil’s men have a day’s lead on us. With at least six of them on Mathew’s trail, it will take more than the two of us, should we arrive too late.”
Patrick hoisted himself into his saddle, nodding slowly. “You’ll continue on, I suppose. While I return to Castle MacGahan for more men.”
“That is the way I see it playing out best.”
