Demon Sword

waited. She reined in and looked down at him and Hamish. No, she was just looking at him. Heart hammering, he bowed and awaited her pleasure, staring at the jeweled buckles on her tiny boots, the sable trim on the rich fabric of her robe. He had never seen a real lady before.

'Look at me.'

He raised his head. Her eyes were shiny black, and terrifying. Her features were noble, beautiful, deadly, framed by the lappets of her hat and the ruff under her chin, so he could only guess that her hair would be black and beautiful, too. Her smile touched only the scarlet lips and not the fatal eyes. She was appraising him like meat in a market. No one had ever looked at him quite like that before. Evil comes to the glen. It had arrived. He was certain that it had arrived, and told himself not to be a fool.

'Do you speak English?'

'A little, my lady.' Actually, he spoke it better than most, because he practiced with the soldiers, even though they laughed at his accent.

'Your name?'

'Tobias Strangerson, my lady.'

Again her lips smiled, but they smiled at him, not to him. They indicated satisfaction, not humor. 'Are there many more like you around?'

He stammered. 'M-my lady?'

'Your size? Highlanders are notoriously big.'

'I'm bigger than some, my lady.'

Her chuckle made the hair on his neck stir.

'Well, you are certainly adequate.' She wheeled her horse and rode back to the trail. She spoke to one of the black-robed men, who turned his head in Toby's direction. The inside of the cowl was dark, as if there were no face there…

Idiot! How can a man not have a face?

Then the lady rode on. Her entourage clattered after her — the nondescript woman who must be her serving maid, the four men in the spooky robes. They trotted off up the hill to the pass.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The fusiliers at Bridge of Orchy were just as bewildered as Toby, for they did not know who the lady was either. They had rushed out to present arms for her and she had ridden past without even looking at them. They had certainly not dared challenge her — she was gentry at the least, probably nobility. This sudden intrusion of excitement into their monotonous vigil did not stop them noting that Toby had carried their bag of oats all the way on his back. That now seemed like a very foolish feat of showing off.

'Couple of the men bet me I couldn't,' he said. 'They sent Hamish along as a witness — didn't they Hamish?'

Hamish blinked and then agreed, but an impish gleam in his eye hinted that the story was now certain to be put about.

About a mile back along the homeward road, Toby realized that his companion was being unnaturally silent.

'Tired?'

'No.'

There was certainly something wrong when Hamish Campbell kept his mouth shut for more than five minutes. Bubonic plague?

'What did you mean about hexers and adepts?'

'Nothing,' Hamish muttered. 'We go to the sanctuary in Dumbarton every summer, and last year Pa took me to Glasgow, too. The acolytes wear robes. That reminded me. That's all.'

It was not all, obviously. After a moment, he added, 'Saw a picture in a book once of an adept conjuring a demon, and he was wearing a robe like that.'

Toby scoffed. 'Proves nothing! You're saying all I have to do is put on a flouncy robe with a cowl and you'll believe I can conjure demons.'

Hamish told him he was a cynic and fell silent again.

The light was failing, cut off by cloud and mountain. They would not be home until after dark. Poor Bossie would be howling to be milked. There would be water to fetch, more wood to chop. Toby would sleep well tonight. They would be too late getting back for him to have any more nasty interviews with the steward. If Granny Nan was in her wits, he could ask her advice — although he was pretty certain she would tell him to stay honest. It was what she'd taught him all his life. Easy for her to say, but an old woman who could survive on half a bap a day might not understand a young lad's interest in regular wages.

Almost as if Hamish were listening to his thoughts…

'Toby?'

'Mm?'

'Don't go back to the castle tonight.'

Toby took a hard look at the kid. Was this what he had been building up to? Hamish had sense when he chose to use it, more learning than Toby the bastard would ever have, and lots more brains.

'Out with it!'

'The lady. Did you see the emblem on her horsecloth?'

'No.' Toby vaguely recalled the horse's gear, but he had been much more intent on the rider.

'It wasn't obvious. A black crescent. It was on the back of her glove, too.'

'You're an expert in heraldry?'

'Of course not.' Hamish stalked on in silence.

'Sorry. Tell me, please. Whose arms?'

The boy shot him an anxious look. 'Pa borrows books from the castle sometimes. There's hundreds there. Old Bryce lets him borrow them and Pa lets me look at them too if I'm careful.'

Toby had absolutely no interest in books, but he suspected that Hamish worshiped them so dearly that he probably couldn't ever lie about them. 'And?'

'About a year ago, I suppose it was… I was reading one and I found a poster in it. Somebody had folded it up as a bookmark. It was a Wanted Dead or Alive poster. It didn't have a picture, but it described a woman just like her, and it mentioned a black crescent.'

'Who is she, then?'

'Lady Valda.'

'Who's Lady Valda?'

'I asked Pa. She was a lady at King Nevil's court. His, er, consort. They weren't married, but she was sort of first lady, even so.'

She had certainly looked like the sort of lady who would grace a court. 'And she was wanted dead or alive? For what?' Nobility did not indulge in crimes like theft, and murder they usually got away with. 'Treason?'

Hamish frowned in thought. 'It didn't say what for. The reward was ten thousand marks!'

'What? You're joking! That's more than they've got on Fergan's head. It must have been some sort of a joke!' There wasn't that much money in the world.

'Maybe. I'll ask Pa tonight.' Hamish did not seem convinced. 'But it was nine years ago… The poster was dated 1510. She must have been pardoned since then, or she wouldn't be riding around with her black crescent showing, would she?'

Toby tried to estimate how old the lady was and realized that he did not have the flimsiest notion. She could be any age. She was very beautiful, that was all he knew — beautiful in a sinister sort of way. Why would a former royal courtesan from London be roaming the cold Highlands of Scotland? Women might see romance in this: the exiled beauty now forgiven and making her way back home.

Hamish was talking again. 'She'll certainly be staying in the castle tonight, Toby. Let me fetch your money from the steward. You wait outside.'