The two women exchanged a flurry of whispers, some of them harsh, and then the blond woman faced Morag.
“I am Isabail Macintosh, and this is my companion, Ana Bisset. We are on our way to Tayteath on the coast. A mission of some urgency, I might add, involving the rescue of a young lad.”
Whatever Morag had expected them to say, it wasn’t that. For the first time since he woke to her face, he saw her speechless. Magnus left the shadows and stepped around Morag and into the moonlight. “Are you from the castle?”
Isabail retreated a step. “Nay.”
Her lack of explanation spoke volumes. Not aligned with the MacPhersons, it would seem. “Who is the lad of whom you speak, and why does he need rescuing?”
His question opened the floodgates. Isabail launched into a breathless tale of theft and murder and betrayal that lacked detail but not passion. On at least two occasions, she paused to wipe tears from her eyes and then doggedly returned to her story.
“So,” he said when she finally fell silent, “some scurrilous rat has stolen a necklace, kidnapped a boy, and made off to Tayteath. You, believing yourself vital to this rat’s surrender, have disobeyed your laird’s orders and set off on your own to bring him to justice. Is that a fair assessment?”
She nodded.
Magnus wanted to laugh, but the lass looked so serious and woebegone he dared not. “In my opinion,” he said gently, “it’s best to leave such matters to your menfolk. Go home and await their return.”
“Nay,” Isabail said. “I cannot. May we partake of your water? We must continue on our way with all due haste.”
Morag waved at the barrel. “By all means. I can also supply you with some dried hare and bannocks, if you’ve a need.”
Isabail smiled gratefully. “That’s most kind.”
Magnus pulled Morag aside. “You should not encourage them. This venture is sheer madness. Two women alone cannot survive the trek to the coast. Brigands and thieves abound. They will surely meet a most unwelcome fate.”
“They do not need to travel alone.”
He stared at her. “What are you suggesting?”
“That you go with them.”
To say he was surprised did not do his shock justice. Morag had repeatedly discouraged him from leaving her and the bothy. She had met his every plan with a strongly worded warning of how he would end up in the gallows. “Do you not fear what will become of me if I leave your side?”
She shrugged. “These women are not from the castle. They hold no grudge against you; nor does it seem that they have any reason to believe that you are more than a simple woodsman. Accompanying them seems like a rather safe way to test your memories.”
“What memories can I test with strangers?”
Morag crooked a finger. “Come with me.”
He followed her to the back of the hut, where she kept sheaves of dried grass for the goats. Curious, he watched her dig through the grass. When she found what she was searching for, she paused and then hauled out a four-foot-long bundle wrapped in burlap. Judging by her grunt, the item was heavy.
“Take it,” she said softly. “It’s yours.”
He relieved her of her load, recognizing the weight the instant he accepted it. “A sword.”
She nodded. “The men who left you for dead were in a terrible hurry. They did not stop to loot your body. The sword was still in your hand when I found you.”
Magnus unwrapped the weapon and admired the craftsmanship of the blade. The steel was very hard—most likely from Toledo—and the blade was honed to a razor-sharp edge. But it was the bronze hilt wrapped with tan leather that truly made the sword. Intricately patterned with hundreds of tiny Celtic knots, it snared the moonlight so well that it appeared to glow.
“It’s a bit too pretty for a man like you,” Morag said, “but I suspect that your ability to wield it makes up for it.”
“How do you know it belongs to me?” he asked. “Perhaps I stole it.”
She snorted. “I’ve seen you practicing with the wooden blade you carved. Your body flows into each position like it was made to dance with a sword. You are a warrior; of that I have no doubt.”
“You are risking two ladies’ lives on an unfounded belief. Are you sure that’s wise?”
Her eyes met his, her expression suddenly serious. “I’ve never told you this, but I saw the soldiers attack you that night. Eight of them, all wearing mail and helms, while you were attired only in a tunic. God has graced you with a true talent, Magnus. You struck half of them down before you were defeated.”
