Demon Sword

there was murder in the air.

Six of them in a circle, the traitor in the center.

Toby concentrated on Fat Vik, the big one, the leader. His father had more money than most, which was obvious from the fancy pin in Vik's bonnet to the shoes on his feet. Even his plaid was bright, the green and black dyes of the tartan not yet faded, and his belt buckle was metal, not horn or bone — very grand was Vik the tanner's son. He wore a very confident sneer as he stood within his private army.

Evil is coming. Terrible things will happen if you get into a fight today.

Toby Strangerson was not the only man who worked for the English, but he was the only one without family to back him. Everyone knew he had been fathered by a squad of Sassenach soldiers, so roughing him up or killing him would be a gesture of defiance, a message to the Sassenachs and all their other hirelings. Nobody would remember who'd done it. Didn't see. Just a bunch of bairns… Would've stopped them if we'd realized…

He put his fists on his belt so they wouldn't shake; he swallowed the odious fear taste in his throat. Sweat raced down his ribs under his wool plaid.

'Was that you screaming, Vik?'

Vik's mouth twisted. 'Oh, you can hear, can you, bastard?'

'You talk too much. I'm busy right now. You going to challenge at the games?' Toby had won his last seven fights. He could take Fat Vik in one short round.

'You won't be in the games. No traitors—'

'No? Then meet me at the ford tonight. Three rounds? Or no limit? I don't care.'

Vik glanced briefly at his cronies. 'And a gang of your Sassenach friends there to help you? Oh, no! We'll settle this right here and now, traitor.'

The circle was closing, moving in very slowly, enjoying the suspense.

'Settle what?'

'Traitor, traitor!' Crazy Colin was already jittery, his face twisting in an idiotic leer. Demons! Had they given Curd-brain a knife?

'Traitor, is it?' Toby hardly minded being called a bastard — he'd worn that badge all his life — but he did mind being called a traitor. 'Remember when you joined up, Colin, three years ago? When the laird called on the men of Fillan to back King Fergan? Remember that day, Colin? I was there, Colin, up at the castle. I tried to enlist with Laird Dalmally, too.'

The laird had laughed. Toby had been one of many fuzz-faced boys trying to join up that day, but he'd also been the tallest man there, even then. The laird had called him the longest fishing pole in the glen. But he had tried! He'd been refused. He might have died on Parline Field. He might have come back maimed, or crazed like Colin, but he was not a traitor. He wouldn't work for the English now if anyone else could give him a job. Every one of these six would jump at a chance to take his place on the Sassenachs' payroll.

Crazy Colin leered. 'Death to traitors!' There was nothing in his head to argue with.

Toby turned his attention back to Vik. 'I don't recall seeing you at the castle that day, Fatso.'

'I was there!'

'You must have been kneeling, then.'

That won a chuckle from Rae and Bryce. Pale with fury, Vik stepped nearer and the others closed in also, tightening the belt one more notch. Conscious of the two behind him, Toby waited for the kick in the kidneys or the first flash of blades.

'So you're on your feet now. Why're you making so much racket?'

'You stay away from my sister, traitor!'

Stay away from my sister… Stay away from my daughter… Toby knew those words well enough, too. No family in the glen would let Big Bastard Strangerson near its unmarried girls. But in this case, the charge was absurd. Meg Tanner was only a child, with a bad habit of wandering around near the castle. Toby had seen her safely home the previous evening. That would be excuse enough for Vik.

'Meg? You're the one who messes with kids, Vik, not me.' Toby raised his voice to shout down whatever was coming next. 'You should look after her better. Keep her away from the soldiers.'

'I'm going to keep you away from her!' Vik howled.

That should have been the cue for the action to begin, but it didn't. Obviously Vik did not trust his followers to back him unless Toby hit first.

Only Granny Nan's prophecy held Toby back. His heart thundered, his fists were clenched and shaking. Terrible things will happen… 'You're a coward, Tanner. Tell you what: You meet me tonight at the ford, and I'll fight you with one hand tied behind my back.' He could not hope to win, but the whole village would turn out to watch, so there would be fair play.

The others exchanged surprised glances, tempted by the chance of seeing a three-fisted fight.

'He's lying!' Vik shouted. 'He's the bastard son of a Sassenach! He's a traitor and a bastard.'

'Hit me, then!' Toby stuck out his chin. 'What's the matter? You scared, Campbell?'

Vik Tanner was really Vik Campbell, and that was the root of Toby's trouble — they were all Campbells, every one of them except Willie Bain. Just about everyone in the glen was a Campbell, which was why they all had other names as well.

Vik grew desperate. 'Colin! Do him, Colin!'

Crazy Colin giggled and produced a cleaver as long as Toby's forearm.

Rae shouted, 'Wait! Hold it!' He grabbed the madman's wrist. Bryce rallied to his aid.

Toby became aware of jingling and clumping and a squeaking of axles behind him. The miller's cart was bearing down on the group, with Iain himself cracking the whip. The mob scattered out of the way — Colin gibbering and frothing and fighting against the others' efforts to control him.

Salvation!

'Oh, Miller, sir!' Toby said, forcing his throat not to shout. 'I've got a message from the steward!'

'Whoa, there! Whoa, I say!' The fat man hauled briefly on the reins, slowing the rig. 'Up here with you, lad! What's the old scoundrel wanting now?'

Neal made a grab for Toby, but Toby slipped by him and jumped for the cart. The miller's whip cracked in the air behind him, making his pursuers dodge back. He snatched hold of the boards and swung a leg up; was almost thrown off as Iain lashed the horse and the ramshackle outfit lunged forward, rocking and rattling over the uneven road, creaking mightily under its load of meal sacks. The gang yelled taunts as the miller bore their victim away to safety, and a moment later the horse was splashing across the ford.

CHAPTER TWO

For several minutes, Toby could only cling to the bench and sweat through a flurry of cramps as his stomach tried to empty. His whole body shivered, his heart thundered. There was a taste of acid in his mouth. He enjoyed a fight if it was honest and sporting and no hard feelings after; what he couldn't face was the thought of a rat pack — being held, knives, kicking, down on the ground, unable to fight back…

It hadn't happened. He was still whole. He had avoided the fight, so Granny Nan's prophecy did not matter anymore. He hoped the hob would tell her so and she wouldn't have to keep worrying until he got home tonight. It usually tattled to her about what was happening in the glen. Folk used to say if a child sneezed twice, Granny Nan would appear with one of her simples before it sneezed a third time. Women going into labor had always known that the midwife would arrive when she was needed. She couldn't get around much now, but when he came home in the evenings, she usually knew more of the news than he did.

'Thank you, sir,' he mumbled eventually. Already the little cart had left the river behind and was climbing the gentle slope to Lochy Castle.

The miller had not said a word since his passenger embarked. In Toby's mind Iain Campbell was always linked with childhood memories of leading the donkey around and around the millstones, one of the chief joys of