Demon Sword

When he hobbled into the mess hall, he saw Meg sitting at a table with half a dozen of the younger guards buzzing around her like flies at a cowpat. She was smiling tautly up at them: Pretty Will and Iain of Clachan and others. Toby strode over at a moderate gallop and came up behind them. He stumbled into Will, jabbed an elbow in Iain's kidneys, and accidentally trod on Robb Long's toe.

'Sorry,' he remarked. 'I'm not usually so clumsy.'

They took a thoughtful look at his face and made their apologies and went off to another table. He sat down.

'It's good to see you, Meg… What are you glaring like that for?'

'I am not glaring!'

Oh, yes, she was.

Her dress was much simpler than the fantastic court gown he had seen her in before, just plain green wool with pleats and no sleeves. Her hair was back in braids. She was a country lass again — but oh, she was lovely!

While he was out of breath, a great sweaty cart horse. He was also tongue-tied. 'I've been worried about you.'

'Oh? Well, you knew where I was, didn't you?'

'Yes, but… Well, I have to stay in the barracks.'

'There are a thousand pages. You could have written a note if you wanted to speak with me.'

'Never thought of it.'

'What are you worrying about?'

He was so pleased to see her — why was she looking at him like that? 'Just wondering if you were all right.'

'All right?' Meg said with a shrill laugh. 'All right? Living like a lady in a castle? How could I not be all right? The only thing that isn't all right is that one day I'll have to wake up and be the tanner's daughter again and go back to scraping hides.'

'Enjoy it while it lasts!' He was. 'Is Rory behaving himself?'

'Oh, that's it? Lord Gregor is a perfect gentleman.'

Which was exactly what he was afraid of. She had turned her head away, but he saw a wash of pink on her cheek.

'What's wrong? I mean, if there's something troubling you, I…' I what? He was as much of a prisoner as she was. He couldn't do anything.

'Toby,' she whispered, suddenly sounding not at all like Meg Tanner. 'He says he loves me!'

'You don't believe him, I hope?'

'No other man has ever told me that.'

Oh, zits! He leaned his elbows on the table and put his forehead on his palms so he had to look down and wouldn't stare at her. 'Meg,' he told his biceps, 'dear Meg! I can make a lot of money prizefighting in England. I'll save it all. In a few years — before I get the few brains I've got knocked out of me — I'll come back to Scotland and rent a few acres, and buy a horse and a plow. Then I'll find me a girl, and marry her, and make her very happy. I've never had family. I want people to love: a wife and lots of children. I would be the best husband and father I could be. I'm strong. I could do the work of three men and prosper. And I won't be anyone's man, except my wife's, and I'll always be true to her. But at the moment I can't ask any girl to believe in that dream.'

'How many years? Five?'

He looked up. Why were her eyes so shiny? Did she want him to talk of love? He didn't even know what friendship was, let alone love.

'At least,' he said. 'Maybe ten. Sorry — I'm not the one for the fancy speeches.'

'What do you mean by that, Toby Strangerson?'

'I mean he's a glib-tongued rascal. He was brought up at court, and you know what sort of morals they have! You told me he was devious yourself. He's out to trap you. He'll try to… I mean, he'll talk you into… You don't know anything about him!'

She tossed her head, snapping braids like whips. 'Yes, I do! I know he's a gentleman, which is more than I know about you. He's a courteous, educated—'

'Oh, is he?' He shouted her down. 'And I'm just a big safe lout who's handy to rescue you when some man you're teasing gets violent, but not rich and sweet-talking and able to dress you up in fancy clothes?'

Meg stared at him in utter silence.

'I shouldn't have said that,' he muttered.

She stood up. 'No, you shouldn't.'

'But you know what he'll do, Meg! He'll get what he wants from you and then toss you aside because you're not good enough. That's all he wants, just to… you know.'

Meg said, 'Oh! Oh, you are a boor, Toby Strangerson. A brainless boor!' Her voice shrilled across the tables.

'Don't take any more bastards back to the glen, Meg!'

'What? How dare you say such things about me?'

'I didn't mean—'

'Yes, you did! You called me a loose woman!'

'No, I didn't!' He, too, was yelling at the top of his lungs. They would hear him in Fillan. 'Any woman is loose if… I mean can be… you know a man turns her head with words and talks her into… Oh, demons! I promised your Pa I would look after you!'

'That's why you're taking musketry lessons, I suppose? And playing swords all day? You smell like a stable.'

'You're crying!'

'No, I'm not!' She spun on her heel and flounced out of the mess.

There were grins everywhere.

He ate without noticing what he was eating.

He found Hamish by himself in a corner, eating and reading at the same time. He sat down on the same bench.

'I want to write a letter!'

Hamish looked up in amazement. 'Did I just hear—'

'Can you get me a piece of paper and a quill?'

'Steal paper?' Hamish said doubtfully. 'Paper costs money!'

'And wax. And ink, too.'

Hamish dutifully went off to the library and returned with a sheet of paper and writing tools. Toby turned down more fencing lessons and wasted the whole afternoon struggling over a letter. In the end he had five blots, six scorings-out, and three sentences: I am sorry about I was a boor. I was just am worried if you might get hurted and hoping you forgiving me. Your good friend, Tobias Strangerson.

He sealed it with the wax and handed it to a page to deliver. Then he ran up to the gym and threw Neal Big around like a sack of oats.

The next day the sun was shining, but no one came to summon him to the loch. They tried him on archery. In an hour he was putting his shafts alongside the gold at two hundred paces with a hundred-pound bow. In the afternoon he learned that he had a fair eye for firearms, although he knew most of his success stemmed from sheer brute strength, guns being cumbersome things that out-kicked any mule.

There was no reply from Meg — not that day, nor the day after.

He had no way of knowing if his letter had reached her.

CHAPTER SEVEN

It was another morning. Toby had been wrestling, so he was wearing trews. He had added a mask and plastron to fence short swords with Gavin the Grim, who had gained his name from his unchanging gentle smile —