The Talisman (Heart of the Highlander Series Book 2)

by Gafford, Deborah

  The sun was high overhead as they finished their meal. Feeling over warm, they stripped and dove into the cool water of the loch, splashing and dunking each other under the surface. It took Logan and Fearghus together to push Domhnull under.

  He was larger than either of them, although they were both able bodied themselves. Logan laughed, calling out that with Domhnull's bulky shoulders, barrel-chest and thick neck, he more resembled one of the MacPherson's bulls.

  Fearghus had nodded and smiled his usual bemused grin. Years earlier, he had been kicked in the head by a horse that was being shod by the blacksmith where he apprenticed. Ever since then, he had been simple-minded.

  When they tired of the water, they stretched out nude on the banks of the loch to dry in the sun. When they had dried enough to dress, they put their clothes on and resumed their ride.

  By late afternoon, Logan wished he had brought more food. Their shared feast was long gone. "Domhnull, I thought we were going to hunt on this adventure of yours. My stomach is empty as a tercel's nest after its young have flown. Do you need me to show you the way to do it?"

  "That will be the day! Ye have only to choose the meat an' I will kill it an' have it skinned afore ye can get it in yer aim," Domhnull bragged as he surveyed the area around them. They were in a small glen with a meadow stretching off to their right and a copse of trees to their left.

  "Braggart. You will have an empty stomach to keep you company this night. Or do you plan to snare an animal and boast it to death? I vow I will bring down the first meat. What say you to a wager?"

  Domhnull frowned. "Ye ken I have nay great purse o' coin as ye do. What could I wager?"

  "You do not need coin to wager. Nay Scotsman travels about unarmed. I will wager my steel dirk against your iron one. Then when you lose yours to me, Fearghus can make you another."

  Fearghus grinned and nodded his head. "I will wager mine too."

  "Yer pitiful blade is nay worth havin'," Domhnull said.

  For a moment, Fearghus said nothing. Then he pulled a leather cord from around his neck and held it up for them to see. "I will wager my talisman."

  Domhnull snorted. "What good is that? 'Tis but a poor man's charm."

  "I have naught else to wager," Fearghus said.

  Logan shrugged. "Let him gamble it if he wishes. Or are you afraid you will lose your blade to him?"

  "Not bloody likely," Domhnull boasted. "I willna need him to forge me a new dirk for I will have yer fine steel one to hang beside mine on my belt." He nodded to Fearghus and to Logan. "Aye. The wager goes to the mon who gets the first meat. Do ye agree?"

  They both nodded and Logan said, "Aye, if you will cease your bragging before there is naught left to hunt."

  Nodding, Domhnull leaned forward in his saddle, pulled an arrow out of his quiver and set it to his bow. Fearghus and Logan did the same.

  From that point on, they rode silently. As they neared the copse of trees, a doe walked into the clearing. She was large bellied, obviously pregnant. All three of the young men had immediately taken aim as they saw the deer emerging from the trees. But, when Logan saw that she was pregnant, he lowered his bow and looked over to Fearghus, shaking his head no. Fearghus' eyes widened at the same time that Logan heard the zing of an arrow. Looking back, he saw the doe stagger and fall, an arrow pierced through her neck.

  "God's blood, Domhnull! The doe was with fawn. You should have waited for another."

  "Nay, that's where ye are wrong, Logan. The wager was fer the first kill." He grinned broadly. "I will take yer steel dirk and put it to good use skinning the doe."

  Disgusted that his friend would waste the life of the unborn fawn to win the wager, Logan took his dirk out of its sheath, and tossed it to the ground. "There's your win. I'll eat none of that kill. I will find something else to fill my stomach."

  "Do as ye wish," Domhnull said. "I won the wager fair. If ye canna force yerself to shoot aught, ye can always share my bounty with Fearghus an' me. We will have it turnin' o'er a fire by the time ye return, an' as ye can see, 'twill be plenty."

  Fearghus silently pulled his talisman from around his neck and held it out. Domhnull snorted. "Och, 'tis a pitiful charm, but ye wagered it, so I will take it. Mayhap we'll wager again and ye can win it back."

  Logan dismounted, tied his horse's reins to a bush and walked quietly through the trees, listening. When he heard a slight rustle ahead, he stopped and readied his aim. Shortly, a gray squirrel ran out from under a shrub. Logan aimed and shot it. Carrying it back to where he had tied his horse, Logan retrieved a small hunting knife from his pack. He quickly skinned the animal and cut a long thin branch from a nearby tree. After he stripped away some of its bark, he skewered the squirrel and went over to where Fearghus and Domhnull were cutting up the doe's carcass to put on a spit over a blazing fire.

  Domhnull looked up and sneered. "Och, mon. Is that the best ye could do?"

  "Do not push me too far or you'll regret it," Logan said as he set his meat over the flames.

  #

  As they rode through the forest below Ben Dearg not long before sunset, they spotted a campsite with a well traveled wagon bearing the banner of an ale merchant.

  As they neared it, Domhnull called out, "Ho, ye in the wagon. I wish to have some o' yer wares."

  Nudging his horse into a trot, he rode into the camp without waiting for a welcome.

  A man's voice shouted back in answer. "Stay where ye be. Nay good Scotsman rides into a camp afore he is bid to do so. Who are ye? I will ken yer names afore I bid ye welcome to my camp." An old man stood next to the campfire, holding his sword at the ready.

  Fearghus and Logan spurred their mounts and quickly caught up to Domhnull. Logan reached out and tugged on his friend's reins pulling his horse to a halt then called out in answer to the old man. "Good merchant, we are three thirsty travelers who wish to pay for a jug or two of ale and leave you in peace. We mean you no harm. My name is Logan MacPherson, of Kirkholm and these are my friends, Domhnull Murdoch and Fearghus Graham, of Kirkholm village. May we enter your camp?"

  "From Kirkholm, ye say?" the merchant asked. "Aye, ye are welcome."

  Logan and Domhnull dismounted and handed their reins to Fearghus before they walked over to the old man.

  The merchant's body was thin and wiry. What little hair he had on top of his head, was gray and sparse, matching his straggly beard. He was a head shorter than Logan, but stood his ground stoically, with his sword still at the ready.

  As Logan and Domhnull approached, the merchant eyed them critically. "'Tis close enough," he said. "If ye mean to buy my ale, let me see yer coin."

  They reached into their sporrans and produced some.

  "Hmm. All right. I trow ye are what ye claim to be."

  Turning his head to the wagon behind him, the old merchant called out. "Jenny come on out an' bring two jugs o' ale. Did ye hear me, lass? 'Tis safe."

  Logan and Domhnull looked at the wagon and waited. Sounds of things being shoved around inside the wagon filled the still air and then a plump, red haired lass stepped down from the wagon with a jug under each arm.

  "I heard ye, Da. 'Tis nay easy gettin' out o' that wee hidey hole ye bid me crawl into. Here is the ale ye wanted."

  The wench looked over at them as she let the round earthenware jugs roll out from under her arms and around to the front of her dress, resting beneath her large breasts.

  She was a comely lass with deep brown eyes and red burnished hair. Her face was full to match her plump body, and her breasts created a deep valley where they pushed against each other in competition for the limited space inside her snug tunic. The smile she bestowed on them seemed innocent despite her voluptuous form.

  Her father gruffly shoved her arms, ale jugs and all, up higher onto her chest, effectively covering her breasts. The merchant spoke harshly to his daughter, "Mind what ye do! Nay daughter o' mine parades herself in front o' strange men!"

  The girl's face turned a deep red an
d she cast her eyes to the ground silently.

  The merchant nodded and turned to Logan and Domhnull. "If ye want to buy ale, then do so an' be quick about it. I willna have my daughter standin' out here to be stared at. The ale is three sovereigns each."

  "Three sovereigns? Why 'tis bloody robbery!" Domhnull shouted. "We will give ye three sovereigns fer the two jugs together an' nay a shilling more!"

  The old man stepped forward and held his sword outstretched toward them. "Ye will pay my price or leave wi' empty hands. I willna barter wi' the likes o' ye."

  Domhnull pulled his broadsword from his sheath and advanced on the old man.

  "No!" Logan shouted as he saw his friend raise his sword and bring it down slashing through the air in the direction of the old man.

  The girl screamed in fright and dropped the jugs, breaking one, before running to the safety of the wagon. The golden ale glistened in the light of the campfire as it ran out of the clay jug and spread out soaking the ground.

  The old man stood his ground and held his sword out to meet the blow. When the two swords met, there was a resounding clang and the old man dropped his sword to the ground, yelling. "Ye near broke my arm, ye son o' the devil!"

  Before either man could begin the fight anew, Logan jumped to Domhnull's side and knocked him to the ground with his fist. "Are you mad? He's an old man. You are twice his size! Leave off this madness. Take the bloody ale and get on your horse. I will pay the man."

  Logan picked up the unbroken jug, then grabbing his friend's tunic by the neck, he pulled him to his feet. Thrusting the jug into Domhnull's empty hand, he shoved him in the direction of their horses.

  Glowering, Domhnull walked over, grabbed his reins from Fearghus and mounted.

  Logan reached into his sporran, pulled out several coins and handed them to the old man, as he reached out with his injured arm. "It seems you are not badly hurt. This should more than pay for both jugs and any injuries you think you may have suffered. We will leave you now. 'Tis no need for you to arm yourself. We willna bother you again."

  Logan watched the old man as he backed toward his horse. Gavin had taught him never to turn his back on a man with a grievance against him. He quickly took the reins from Fearghus and climbed into the saddle. Then he turned his horse and led his friends from the camp.

  They rode for almost an hour before they came to a wide clearing among the trees. "'Tis a good place to stop," Logan called to his friends. "What say you we make camp here for the night?" Seeing his friends nod, he dismounted and tied his reins to a tree.

  Within minutes, they sat around a blazing campfire and passed the ale jug between them. As the night wore on and the ale took hold, Fearghus and Logan sat relaxed and contented, but Domhnull's anger deepened as he drank.

  Kicking at a piece of charred firewood, he growled. "I could have taken the old mon, easy! Ye shouldna have stopped me."

  "Aye, you bloody fool, and when your carcass is bleaching in the sun from a gallows, will it have been worth it? Damn, but I do not know when I have seen a bigger fool! Drink the bloody ale and let aught be."

  Fearghus looked from Logan to Domhnull and back to Logan again, nodding.

  "Devil take ye both!" Domhnull shouted and walked over to his pallet. He flopped down on the ground and pulled the stopper from the jug. Turning it up, he drank deeply. He glowered at Logan after wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and said, "Ye didna have to knock me down in front o' the big breasted wench. I might have gotten more than ale if ye hadna interfered."

  Logan shook his head. "Not bloody likely. Drink if you must, but be silent. I wish to sleep. We have more hunting to do on the morrow and I mean to do it well."

  #

  Logan woke as the morning mist shrouded everything in shadow. Och, but his head pained him. He turned to look at his friends and saw they looked as if they felt nay better than he. Perhaps he should leave off drinking so much for a time.

  'Twas no need to leave their campsite till the fog lifted so they made a fire and Domhnull cooked some of the deer he had killed the day before.

  Logan ate none of it. He gathered berries and ate them as Domhnull and Fearghus took their fill of the venison.

  By the time the mist had burned off and the day turned clear and bright, Logan was anxious to hunt. His stomach wanted aught other than berries and he wished to prove he was as skilled a hunter as either of his friends.

  As they mounted their horses, Domhnull frowned and shook his head as if to clear his mind from too much ale. He pointed to a stand of trees much further away at the base of the next hill. "I vow we'll find more to hunt there. We've been here all night and the game will have fled to deeper cover. 'Tis nay use staying here."

  "Aye," Logan said. "And this time I mean to bring in the largest kill."

  "Nay, 'twill be me that does it," Fearghus said as they rode away from their campsite.

  #

  By late in the day, all three men had hunted well. Logan had taken a large buck and Domhnull and Fearghus each had taken a small one. With so much game to dress, it was quite some time before they could stop to eat. Most of the meat had been put in their leather packs to take back with them but enough was kept separate so they ate well.

  Near sunset, Logan rubbed his full stomach and looked at the sky as they finished their meal. Large black clouds were gathering. "It looks as if 'tis going to be a stormy night. We had best seek shelter."

  Following his gaze, Domhnull agreed. "Aye. Come, Fearghus. Leave the fire. 'Tis almost out. Let the rain finish it." He scowled as Fearghus finished covering the coals with dirt before he joined them.

  As they rode, the wind began to blow in great gusts, throwing leaves and dirt into their faces. Seeing the tempest coming closer, they urged their horses into a canter and rode quickly, searching for a place to find shelter before the storm broke.

  Suddenly the sky lit with a series of brilliant, jagged flashes of lightning as deafening claps of thunder echoed through the hills. The rain came down in torrents.

  Controlling their mounts was no easy feat. The horses, being pummeled by the storm and frightened by the bright bolts of lightning and thunderous crashes, whinnied and jerked their heads against their reins. Wide-eyed with nostrils flaring, the animals lurched about and fought their riders for control. The bulging leather packs heavy with fresh game slapped against the horses' sides frightening them further.

  Suddenly, a bolt of lightning struck a tree nearby with a blaze of light and a deafening crash. All three horses panicked. Flattening their ears and snorting, they raced out of control through the woods regardless of the trees that scraped at their sides nearly dislodging their riders. Logan and the other two men wrapped their reins tightly in their fists and clung to the manes of their mounts in order to remain in their saddles.

  The storm continued to rage with no sign of abating.

  As lightning temporarily lit the sky, Logan saw the faint shape of an outcrop of rocks ahead of them. They were galloping straight toward the side of a hill covered by a landslide of large boulders.

  He shouted as loudly as he could over the storm. "Watch out! Turn your mounts!" With no time left for explanation, he yanked back on his horse's reins. For a moment, his horse fought him for control as they galloped closer to the rocks. Logan pulled the reins with all his might forcing his horse under his control and guided him safely clear of the landslide. Then he looked back over his shoulder for his friends.

  Domhnull, too, had seen the rocks and had gained control of his horse, veering away from them.

  Fearghus had not been so fortunate. His frightened horse raced straight for the hillside and slid into the boulders with a sickening impact. Fearghus was thrown onto the rocks as his horse went down in a writhing heap.

  Although the wind and rain still buffeted them, the lightning and thunder seemed to have been spent and quickly ended. With the cease of the brilliant flashes of light and thunderous noise, Logan and Domhnull's horses calmed enough for th
e men to turn them and ride back to where Fearghus and his horse had gone down.

  Logan near retched at the sight and quickly dismounted to help his friend. But there was naught he could do. Lying a few feet from his horse, Fearghus lay sprawled in an unnatural pose against the rocks. His head was cantilevered to one side, blood streaming from his mouth; his eyes still open in fright. Fearghus was dead. His neck had broken when he had been thrown onto the rocks.

  Logan turned at the sound of frenzied neighing and looked down at Fearghus' horse as it writhed on the ground in pain. Its two front legs had been shattered when it hurtled into the boulders, making it impossible for it to stand. It would ne'er walk again. Knowing naught could be done for it but cease its suffering, Logan still wished otherwise. He raised his sword slowly, filled with distaste for what he must do.

  "Hell, 'tis just a bloody nag, Logan," Domhnull sneered as he dismounted. "Grow some bollocks!" He walked up to the gravely wounded animal, lashed out with his sword and slit the horse's neck, killing it instantly. Then he spat on the ground, wiped his blade on the horse's hide until it was clean and resheathed it.

  Sickened, Logan stood in silence looking at his dead friend and the hideous scene around him. Then he walked over, bent down and gently closed Fearghus' eyes.

  The wind died down abruptly filling the air with an eerie silence except for the rain which slowed to a gentle shower cleansing Fearghus' face, leaving it free of the telltale stains.

  Domhnull joined Logan and tugged his shoulder. "Come, 'tis nay need to stay. He is gone and 'tis naught we can do to change it."

  "For the love of God!" Logan cried as he stood to face him. "Why did this happen?"

  "'Tis nay love o' any god that does such things! We both ken Fearghus was dimwitted, an' easily confused. He was nay able to gain control o' his horse an' didna realize the danger o' the rocks. 'Twas naught we could do."

  Logan nodded but the words did not lessen his sorrow. Fearghus may have been slow witted but he had been his friend and a good man.

  Dispirited, Logan said, "We cannot leave him like this, but with nay horse to carry his body we shall have to bury him then go to the village and tell his kin. After that we can return here with a wagon for him." He motioned to the rocks strewn about. "These will serve to build his cairn until then."