‘Lord Linwood had the right idea, branding their menfolk,’ said Nadia. ‘I’d have executed them and taken their land as weregild.’
Morrick said nothing.
‘Anyhow, enough of that. Much brighter things to talk of on a fine morning such as this,’ said Nadia, but Morrick made no reply nor feigned a smile.
After a time, he ventured.
‘Were there women and children amongst the beggars?’
‘Aye there were some,’ said Flynn. ‘Most of them are camped out down by the shore now waiting to be taken off with the duke. Was made quite clear to them they’re not welcome here in the queen’s camp. There’s talk of re-settling them on the South Continent, amongst the small folk at any rate. Madness in my view - who knows who they’ll fall in with next!’
Morrick stood and wrapped his cloak about him.
‘You have my thanks for the food and the company.’
With that, he took the edge of his cloak and wiped away the mud from his brand. It took a moment to register on the family’s faces, but when it did there was an obvious tussle between disgust and common decency, embarrassed at their words and yet at the same time, believing them true.
‘Where are the refugees?’ asked Morrick.
‘Down by the shore,’ said Flynn quietly.
Morrick bowed low and turned towards the ocean.
Chapter Twenty
Morrick followed the sawdust-strewn paths, ever watchful for glimpses of the ocean. As he walked, his now exposed face drew ever more comment and attention. In short time a small band of malcontents followed on behind him grumbling and muttering.
‘Where you headed traitor?’ cried a woman.
Something struck him in the side of the head, and a small stone was lost in the mud ahead of him. He made no attempt to check his pace or to hurry. Instead he walked on in silence and boiled in fury.
He could see Lord Aldwyn’s banner flapping in the wind above the command tent, but when he first saw standing guards posted either side of what was fast becoming the widest path, he noted that the soldiers were wearing the queen’s livery.
As he approached the first of the guards, the crowd behind him halted and dispersed.
His shadow stretched out before him as the morning sun rose behind him. He cut a desperate figure, swaddled in bloody, muddied cloth, his face scarred and branded, his hair and beard grown wild and with muck dripping from it.
He was not far from Aldwyn’s banner when he saw a face he recognised disappear down a path to the right – Garrick. He gasped aloud and broke into a sprint.
‘Garrick!’
Aldwyn heard the cry and though the voice was familiar, he thought little of it. He was somewhat preoccupied.
Cathryn paced back and forth across the tent. She paused only to seize her goblet from a table before draining it clean then resumed pacing. Aldwyn made pains to ensure that her goblet was full before she attempted to return to it.
‘Will you not be seated?’ he said eventually.
She glared at him then drained her goblet once more. She stood before him, hands on hips and rage in her eyes. He was beginning to regret asking after Lord Lachlan.
‘Cathryn, please,’ he chided, and though her pose was resolute, she blinked and seemed to come out of her reverie.
‘Oh, it’s too much to dwell on.’ She sank down into the chair next to him, slouching for a moment before adopting a more regal pose lest somebody should enter.
‘What was he thinking?’ she asked.
‘You know Lachlan better than I. Can you not guess?’ he said quietly, drinking from his own cup only to form a barrier between himself and the queen.
She is magnificent, he thought as he watched her battle with herself.
‘It’s unlordly!’ she protested.
‘Was he ever lordly?’
‘Do not stab at me, Aldwyn.’
‘I did not mean to scold you, Cathryn, but you did not marry Lachlan for his table manners. He has the strongest bloodline, the strongest arm and…’
She raised her eyebrows at him.
‘The strongest seed,’ he finished and looked away.
‘Quite,’ she conceded.
‘He was ever the hunter, and in truth, did you not know he yearned to be away and living wild again?’
She returned to her goblet.
‘May I speak freely, Cathryn?’
She tutted at him.
‘Enough of that. None of that between us in private,’ she snapped, ‘speak as you will. Otherwise why speak at all?’
Before he could say more, Ailsa coughed and stepped into the tent carrying rolled-up parchment which she set upon the table therein.
‘Do you need anything more, Your Majesty?’ she asked.
‘No. Thank you, Ailsa. Please see to it that we are not disturbed until I send word.’
Ailsa bowed and ducked out. Aldwyn thought that from the narrow angle his view afforded him, the woman had a curious smile on her face.
What’s afoot? he thought.
‘You were saying?’ she tapped her goblet against the arm of her chair, eyes everywhere but on him.
‘Perhaps you should forgive him this indiscretion. He has been long cooped up at the Folly whilst his heart was elsewhere. He has served his purpose politically and given you heirs. He has stood by your side and been perhaps your closest ally. And besides, it seems that if he has gone for the reasons we believe, he may yet do us some good. Linwood is now declared traitor and with any hope, Lachlan is at hand to cast his own eye across the man’s works. Good yet may come of this and, after all, the people believe he is gone by your leave.’
She stared at the floor for a time and then looked upon him with a softer expression on her face.
‘How can you always speak so fairly about one who supplanted you?’ she said in a hushed voice so that the guards outside might not hear.
He smiled.
‘It was ever my lot to make you happy, Your Majesty.’
‘Not so.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘You would have made me far happier by not sustaining your wounds.’
‘Do not jest,’ said Aldwyn, her words paining him. Now he left his chair and walked idly about the tent, partly unsheathing and sheathing a dagger or feeling a length of cloth; whatever his wayward fingers touched he toyed with.
‘What if he does not return?’ he said finally.
‘What of it?’ said Cathryn then as though catching on to Aldwyn’s meaning, ‘There’s no use thinking about that, my love.’
He wheeled at her use of the word, aghast. She appeared caught off-guard and could not help but laugh.
‘Planning the coming days has taken a somewhat unexpected turn.’ She smiled. ‘Perhaps we should look at the maps?’
‘Cathryn…couldn’t we?’
‘Couldn’t we what?’
‘Perhaps we could try for a while…’
‘It’d be no good. As things are,’ she said. ‘Come – the maps.’ She stretched them out across the table and made a show of examining them.
Aldwyn felt heat in his cheeks and a curious feeling in his chest, as though his heart was physically trying to reach out to her. He longed to tell her how much he loved her; that now they were older, and she had her heirs, there was no reason to keep up the charade - that they could finally be together.
As though she could read his mind, she looked up.
‘It’s no use, Aldwyn. It would not do to have a consort whose queen had been bedded by another. It would not do. Oh that we could…’ she started but her voice trembled and she cut off that line of talk and turned back to the map.
‘I’ve left holding regiments at the Folly, but otherwise we have our full force available. ‘How soon till you can put to sea?’ she asked, prone above the maps.
Aldwyn was breathing hard, longing for her and furious at her as well. She waited, knowing the turmoil he was facing and appreciating his attempts to subdue it.
That, she thought, was the very quali
ty which would have made him a far better consort than Lachlan could ever have been.
Finally, Aldwyn swallowed his ardour, clasped his hands behind his back and joined her at the table.
‘I would say by the end of tomorrow we could set sail for Strewn Men Bay. Do you think we can stand against him, considering his troops made up the bulk of your army?’ he said.
‘I would rather stand against him now than wait till his plans come to fruition. We should not land at Strewn Men Bay. It’s where he will be expecting us and his defences are usually the strongest there.’
Aldwyn sighed.
‘Has it really come to this?’
‘It was always going to come to this, and we were naïve not to realise it. We should be grateful we held together long enough to overthrow Awgren. I will never forget that it was by Linwood’s might this was achieved, but as grateful as I am and as willing as I would be to leave him to his own designs, he cannot be allowed to think that I will not thwart any attempts he makes at conquering our lands. Our people turned from that path a long time ago, and we are still ill-equipped to be masters of the world. I rule over realms dedicated to destroying evil, and I will not sit back and let a man grow in power in such a way that it is inevitable he too will turn to darkness.’
She thrust a finger at the map.
‘We sail north then stand way out to sea and land at Seal Bay, further to the west than he will expect. We will march straight to Stragglers’ End and take the man in hand whilst he is yet unaware how much we know. Agreed?’
Aldwyn shot her a smile.
‘Let us take a while to think over the particulars. We must consider how he will react and what we are hoping to achieve? Will we really attempt to slaughter those very men who just fought for you at the Field of the Scarlet Grass?’
Cathryn fetched a bottle of wine and refilled their goblets.
‘We have a long night ahead of us, it seems,’ she said.
‘Mind out!’ said a soldier as Morrick knocked in to him as he ran by. He paid no heed and careered onwards, picking between guy ropes and darting around the tents before him.
As he rounded the last tent in a row, he could see an older man walking slowly with a bundle of firewood towards the ocean.
‘Garrick!’ he called again.
The man looked back over his shoulder, but there was no recognition in his face.
And why should there be, thought Morrick. He resembled his former self in very few ways these days. He ran forward, letting fly his cloak so that it billowed out behind him. Garrick walked towards him, craning forward to scrutinise the approaching face.
As Morrick reached him the old man’s eyes filled with tears and shaking hands grasped at Morrick’s face. Now it was the woodcutter’s turn to be taken aback. He shrank back from the touch, and the light died in Garrick’s eyes.
‘I thought you were my son.’ His voice was shaking and higher than usual. ‘I thought you were my son. My son.’
Morrick grasped at his shoulders to steady him.
‘I’m sorry, Garrick. I didn’t think. It’s Morrick. You remember?’ Garrick’s eyes narrowed as he searched his features.
‘Morrick?’
His face drained of colour, but Morrick was oblivious.
‘Some of us survived,’ he said. ‘Where’s Rowan?’
‘We know…the rest are serving Lord Aldwyn.’
‘Where’s Rowan?’
‘They marched in yesterday morning.’
‘Garrick!’ Morrick shook the old man by the shoulders. ‘Where’s my family?’ he shouted. All around him people turned and stared.
Garrick shook off Morrick’s hands and reached up to run his fingers across the T scorched into his face. Morrick winced as he made contact.
‘She’s camped not far from here. Down there,’ he continued and pointed seaward, ‘but you shouldn’t go.’
‘Why? What are you saying?’
‘Your daughter.’
Morrick waved away his concern.
‘I know of my daughter already.’ He set off at a jog.
‘That’s not all!’ Garrick cried after him, but Morrick was determined not to let anything else get in his way.
He ran by more and more familiar faces, his heart growing lighter. And thenhe saw Callum and Declan seated by a small fire.
Wary of the lesson he had learned with Garrick, Morrick checked his pace and approached them slowly. Morrick had lost count of the months since last he had seen his boys, and they seemed to have grown immeasurably since. Callum in particular looked leaner and ganglier; a youth rather than a boy. Tears began to stream down Morrick’s cheeks as he drew closer and, at last, they noticed him. They reacted with fright, and Callum jumped to his feet.
‘No, no, no,’ Morrick said softly. ‘It’s me. Me.’
The little one saw the truth first and ran over, wrapping his arms around Morrick’s waist. Callum was a beat behind, encircling his father around his shoulders.
‘You’re a man,’ Morrick found himself saying. ‘A man now!’
The three of them were in danger of collapsing into the mud so Morrick staggered them over to the fire where the ground was dry. There, they embraced and cried for a time, each of them trying to talk and tell of everything that had befallen them since they had parted. Eventually Morrick managed to surface and asked,
‘Where’s your mother?’
At this Declan merely blurted, ‘She’s on the beach with Captain Lynch!’
And at the same time, Callum said, ‘We feared you were dead.’
Morrick frowned and looked into Callum’s eyes.
‘I know, Son, but I’m home now. Everything will be all right.’
Callum said nothing, simply sat down by the fire.
‘Captain Lynch?’ Morrick asked his youngest son, cradling his face. The boy was ill-prepared for deceit and his eyes shone with fear.
‘Who is Captain Lynch?’
‘A sailor from the Folly,’ murmured Callum. ‘He rescued us.’
‘Then he has my thanks. Which way?’
He set off running in the direction Declan pointed, and very soon the mud gave way to a narrow fringe of grass which, in turn, became sandbanks. The wide silver expanse of the ocean stretched out ahead of him as he ran. The sand gave way under him as it sloped and he dropped in increments as he moved forward until he was on the flat of the beach where the sand was strewn with lines of seaweed and dotted with rocks. Oystercatchers ran to and fro in the shallows, the black and white of their plumage standing out against the water, and the bright orange of their bills dipping down into the sand.
He turned on the spot and spied figures away south along the beach. Exhausted though he was, Morrick ran, unclasping his cloak so that it fell behind him and was forgotten. The figures drew ever nearer and he lowered his head to gain speed.
He fell several times, each time bursting up again and powering on.
Then he discerned that the two figures walking towards him were holding hands, and nausea began to swim in his belly. He slowed to a walk and eventually stood still, waiting for them to reach him.
The figure on the right walked with a sway of the hips, and her hair billowed westward in the wind. Once more tears ran down his cheeks at the sight of her alive and well. But who was this man holding her hand? He was broad and tall, dressed in the style Morrick had seen aboard ship. A sword hung at his side.
The energy drained out of him, and unable to breathe properly, he sank down to sit in the sand. He took up great handfuls of it and let it escape into the air with the wind.
‘Good morning,’ called the man as the couple drew near.
Morrick made no reply. They drew so close to him that the mark on his face became visible to them.
Rowan threw away Lynch’s hand and leant in closer, eyes wide. She had to be sure.
‘Are you from the Hinterland?’ she asked, still not believing.
He looked up at her, and she felt as though she would become s
tuck in the mire of his deep, doleful eyes as they peered pitifully up at her.
She shrank back from him and began to run back the way she had come.
‘Rowan!’ called Lynch. Morrick stood and ran after her, still without saying a word.
‘You there!’ called Lynch and set off after him. Still Morrick made no reply. He caught up with her in just a few steps and seized her by the arm.
‘Rowan…’ The word came out as a croak.
‘No.’
‘What?’
‘No.’ She strained and tried to pull away from his grasp.
Suddenly Lynch was on him and pulling at his shoulders.
‘Get off her!’
‘Rowan, don’t you know me?’ Morrick cried. ‘Rowan?’
He shoved at Lynch’s chest and roared, ‘She’s my wife!’
Lynch seized hold of Morrick’s wrist and looked for Rowan’s reaction, but she had covered her face with her hands and was yet again running, filled with guilt and loathing, happiness, relief and horror.
‘Let go of me,’ snarled Morrick and when Lynch did not relinquish his hold, Morrick swung his right fist into Lynch’s face. His wounds not yet fully healed, the captain crumpled onto his back in the sand, and Morrick kicked him hard to deaden his leg before launching himself up the beach, calling after Rowan.
She had no idea where she was going, only that she was not ready to confront him yet, or this spectre that looked like him. She lost her footing and sprawled with her face in the sand. The next she knew there was a great weight upon her and heavy breath on her neck. She cried out with tears and snot streaming down her face, mixing with the sand. Congealed gritty streams wet her skin.
‘Rowan,’ he breathed between gritted teeth, ‘what are you doing?’
‘Monster,’ she snarled then shouted aloud, ‘Monster!’
Morrick’s head jerked back in surprise.
‘What are you saying? I survived. We made it through together.’
She roared and tried to throw him off, but his weight was too great and his grasp too tight. But then Lynch was upon him, and a heavy boot crunched into his exposed ribs, once, twice, three times. All the air escaped him, and he immediately rolled away and nursed his side, lying in the sand sobbing.
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