Demon Sword

good crystal like that.

Annie's sharp eyes had noticed.

He tucked it away again quickly. 'It was a present from Granny Nan. You know how she was always looking for pretty things to take to the hob, but lately she grew quite odd about it, worrying, hunting and hunting. And last night… saying good-bye… think she confused me with the hob… Just want to keep it for a while…' That was enough explanation. Annie wouldn't tell anyone, and why should it matter if she did? He took a very large bite of fresh bap, not as good as Granny Nan's, but quite adequate.

Annie nodded solemnly. 'When Eric left, I gave him a new plaid. The old one's still hanging on the peg, waiting to be washed.' She gathered up her sewing bag. She paused on her way by the table. 'What's wrong?'

'Nothing,' he mumbled. Her husband had died before Toby was born.

'You were giving me an awful funny look, Toby Strangerson!'

He felt his face redden from his chin to his hair. 'I was just thinking that I never suspected you of being a sentimental person. And I was wondering why you told me about the plaid.'

She went on her way, out of his sight. 'You've got some growing up to do yet. You're a cynical lad, Toby. Understandable, of course. There's a sword ben the house that you are to take with you.'

'Sword? I can't use a sword!'

She appeared at his side again, dangling a bucket in each hand. 'And who's ever going to find out? The likes of you wearing a sword will not meet many challenges, I doubt. One look and they'll be tipping their hats to you. Old Bran Westburn sent it. He says it's drunk much English blood in its time, but it's getting thirsty again. So you'll take it. I'm off to milk.'

'I can do that for you!'

'You stay here!' Annie snapped. 'Eat until you can eat no more. Then take the sword and your bundle and be on your way like I said. We'll have no good-byes.'

Toby started to rise.

'Eat!' she barked.

He sank back on the stool. He was completely full, but he reached for the meat again to please her. How to put his gratitude into words? He was a tangle-tongue, with no gift for speeches. 'I don't know how to begin to —'

'Then don't. I want no thanks from you, Toby Strangerson.' She paused in the doorway. 'You're a nice enough lad, but I'm glad you're leaving, more glad than I can say. The whole glen will be cheering to see you gone and the only pity is that you aren't taking the no-good Vik Tanner with you. We'll get him out somehow, though, or some husband'll knife him, and that'll be all of you.'

Stunned, he said, 'All…?'

Her face was shadowed, but her voice was bitter as sloe berries. 'Married off over the hills or wandered away. Don't you understand? You've been the shame of the glen all these years. Did no one ever tell you? Did you never hear of the Taming? Oh, they tamed us, I can tell you, tamed us well! All the strong young men had gone and few returned, but there were still men here. They had things between their legs, anyway, so they claimed to be men. But they didn't burn the castle when the Sassenachs took the women. After a month or so, when the English had tired of the six, they offered to exchange them. No grandmothers, they said, but we younger ones could take their place, spell them off. Do you suppose we lined up at the gates?'

He could only shake his head, his throat knotting painfully.

'You're very right!' Annie grew louder. 'We didn't. Of course I had three wee ones to care for, so I couldn't go, could I now? We all had some excuse. Children. Husbands and fathers who locked us up. Who was going to be first to volunteer to be a harlot? Who wanted to satisfy a squad of Sassenachs every night? All those widows… but we all had excuses. Men and women both, we had our excuses. And this way there could only be six Sassenach bastards, no more. That was important. No more than six. Well, six there were of you, and every day since you were born, Toby Strangerson, the sight of you has been a cut across the eyes for us, a reminder of our shame, a reminder that we were too cowardly to help our own! So leave the glen. Take your rotten half-brother with you — I wish you would. When you've all gone, then perhaps we can start to forget.'

She marched out the door with her buckets, firing a final shot: 'I want no thanks from you.' Then she had gone.

Toby rose. He had lost his appetite; he wanted no more of her hospitality on those terms. Providing a meal and some clothes was certainly easier than whoring for Sassenachs all winter.

It helped, though. He need feel no guilt for accepting help.

So much for the Campbells' friendship.

So much for their famous courage.

CHAPTER TWO

He was almost out the door when he decided that there could be no harm in looking at the sword. He went through to the other room. Annie had not picked a very good hiding place — he could see right away that there was something under the pallet. It would certainly not be very comfortable to sleep on. He knelt down and reached for it.

It was a two-handed broadsword, double-edged and almost as long as he was. It seemed both old and of poor quality, probably made right here in the glen. The guard was a simple crosspiece, and there was a weight on the pommel for balance. In the hands of a strong man it would have had value against a knight too much armored to move nimbly, but knights did not fight like that anymore. Nowadays the gentry stood behind the guns and directed the cannon. Even on a rainy day, when firearms were unreliable, a shield and short claymore or a musket with a bayonet would be a safer weapon. The blade was well nicked by use, but had been sharpened and greased recently, probably that very morning. The scabbard was a crude thing of wood and leather that looked ready to fall apart.

He had no use for a sword like that! It was heavier than a sack of oats. It would attract attention to him, and he was not much over a mile from the Sassenachs at Bridge of Orchy. Common sense told him to put it back where he had found it and leave without it, but the feel of the worn leather binding on the hilt and the sense of power as he hefted its weight sent shivers all through him and filled him with a hateful, irresistible longing. A blade like that would make him a man to reckon with — a big man with a big sword.

He slipped the strap over his shoulder. If he found it too heavy, he could always throw it away in the bog, yes? He slung his bundle over his other shoulder and walked out into the dusk.

There was no road where he was going. Beinn Inverveigh on his right and Beinn Bhreacliath on his left were masses of darkness against a stormy sky. Glen Orchy closed in around him, narrow and eerie. The moon would be up soon, but meanwhile he stumbled on the rough ground, stubbing his toes. He passed four or five cottages at a distance and twice dogs barked, but no one came to the doorways to wave. Now he knew what the Campbells thought of his departure—good riddance!

The feeling was mutual.

Going to see the world. Going to seek his fortune.

With a sword! Why did he covet that great blade so strongly? Was it Toby Strangerson who felt that way, or the demon? In a few minutes he would meet up with his companions. Then perhaps a thunder of diabolic heartbeat and his arms would take over, the sword would whistle through the air, slicing heads clean off. He ought to throw the horrible thing in a patch of bracken and go on without it.

He didn't — or couldn't.

He wondered why, during his two episodes of possession, he had heard his own heartbeat drowning out all other sounds. He was not normally conscious of his heart, although obviously it had been pumping away since his birth and would continue until the exact moment of his death. An immortal might find that constant thumping very strange, or even annoying. It was almost as if he had been forced to listen to what the demon heard. The cure for possession was a blade through the heart.

He heard a shout behind him and turned.