RIDING HOME
The mist was thick and wavering. Duncan, riding beside his companion, could not see a foot ahead through the wavering, shifting gray that banked around him. He turned to ask Blaine a question, but he was not there.
“Blaine?”
“Yes, milord?”
A voice echoed through the mists. He was three feet or so behind Duncan. As he waited, resting his horse, he heard Blaine ride towards him.
“This is the plain before the castle, is it not?”
“Blessed if I know,” Blaine said innocently. He looked around. “I think so, sir,” he said after a moment. “There are those oak trees. The tall, hollow one. That's it, yes?”
Duncan strained to see where he pointed. The mist hung thick and white-gray around them, but it cleared higher up, so that the tops of trees drifted through. The fir trees were halved, so that he saw pointed tops the seeming height of children, where behind the mist were ancient woods. Before the plain they crossed was a forest and strangely, on its edge had grown a stand of ancient oak trees. As his sight cleared, he saw the shapes against the white-gray of the mists. Blaine was right.
“Whew.”
He sighed, leaning forward on the pommel of his saddle, letting the relief drain him of tension. He had been tense since before they reached the castle. The night within it had been an ordeal he did not want to remember, full of flame light, blood, and conflict. The pursuit through the woods had, if anything, been worse. He had ridden in the woodlands for about an hour, looking for Blaine. It was by some miracle that he had ridden out of them and, after half an hour of whistling, using their planned signal, had found him again, waiting calmly for him as if nothing had happened.
“Long night?”
Duncan pulled a face. Realizing Blaine probably couldn't see him, he sniffed. “Why d' you say that?”
Blaine laughed. “Sorry, sir. It must have been terrible.”
“Yours was bad enough,” Duncan allowed gruffly.
Blaine chuckled. “Yes, but it was all my fault! Fancy getting moved on because of a fox.”
Duncan laughed. Blaine had told him what had happened as they rode out of the woodlands and towards the plains. He had waited in position as he had said he would. He had disabled the guards on the rear gate – knocking them out in quick succession with a wood staff. Then a fox, of all things, had come out, seeing the men, no doubt, and thinking they were something edible. The sentries had seen the movement as the fox dragged the body and Blaine had tried to scare it off. They had been alerted and came running to the gate. Blaine had gone back through the woods to wait until the sentries cleared off. He had been trying to find the gate again when Duncan found him.
“It was good, though,” Duncan nodded. “Imagine if I'd burst out on horseback with you there. Besides, I might never have found my way around if you had not been where you were, waiting for me.”
Blaine chuckled. “You'd have found the way. But the fox saved me, right enough! I'm sure those sentries wondered why in Heaven they'd gone pouring out of the gates for a fox!”
Duncan grinned. “She did save us,” he said. “And we're almost back.”
“I know.” Blaine agreed. “And you have it!”
Duncan nodded, feeling for the hilt of the sword. He had shown it to Blaine as soon as they were a good distance from the castle and together they had fashioned a scabbard of sorts, wrapping it in strips of cloth from their cloaks and making a strap whereby it could hang round Duncan's shoulder. Concealed beneath his cloak, they hoped it would escape notice.
“How's your shoulder, sir?” Blaine asked.
Duncan sighed. “It's not too bad, Blaine.” In truth, it ached, bruised and battered from where someone had struck him, hard, with the flat of a sword during the fight. He had cuts lacing his hands and a wound on his side, but nothing that needed immediate care.
“We should go back, sir,” Blaine said. They had started riding again, risking no more than a walk, wanting to save their horses for a pursuit. They also did not want to risk riding too fast when everything a foot ahead was hidden by the mist. They had both experienced riding into marsh or fences they did not know were there. At high speed it would be fatal.
“We should,” Duncan said, then paused. He was not sure what would be best. He had to leave the sword somewhere safe, but, now that they were out of the castle, he and Blaine with swords and fine horses between them, he was reluctant not to continue.
“Sir?”
“Sorry, Blaine. I was just thinking about where to go next.”
“Not home?” Blaine asked carefully.
“I was thinking...perhaps we should continue?”
“Where?” Blaine asked, sounding, if anything, quite eager to go.
Duncan bit his lip. The problem was, of course, that he had no idea. He had to find a pearl. He had no idea where. Pearls came from Italy at substantial cost, and a pearl would more likely be at court in Edinburgh than any local town.
“I think we should go back,” he said wearily. “We need to hand this sword in, anyhow.” He reached over and patted it fondly, revealing the ragged edge of his cloak.
He looked at Blaine's shirt, biting his lip. The younger man had cursed him when he brought it back with holes. They had changed in the woods, trying not to shout as the cold hit them. When Blaine had realized that a part of his was damaged, he had thumped Duncan, hard, but when Duncan explained, he had nodded gravely, clearly glad he had helped the youth.
Now, they rode on through the aching cold, heading towards Lochlann. Home. It was odd, Duncan thought, distractedly, that he had come to think of it as his home. He had lived there a few months in total, it was true. Nevertheless, it was not that, which made it seem his home, but her.
Alina.
His mind filled with thoughts of her. Her fine-boned face, frowning as she thought. Her soft body, pressed against his where they lay together, as he stroked that silky hair and her plump, tender lips parted below his own...
“Sir!”
Duncan swore as Blaine shouted out. He had been lost in thought, distracted by his thoughts of Alina. “What?” he said, hand against his heart as it hammered with fright.
“You nearly rode into a hole, sir,” Blaine said simply.
Duncan glared at him, and then looked down. He was right. There was a ditch running across the field. Not deep, but deep enough to trip a horse were the rider inattentive. He sighed.
“Thank you, Blaine,” he said, courteously enough. “I was thinking too much.”
“Allus said thinkin' could be dangerous, sir,” Blaine said cheerfully. “That's why I don't overdo it.”
They both laughed. Duncan joined Blaine as they picked their way carefully across the one place where the ditch became a bit more shallow, thumping his shoulder cheerfully as they reached firm ground. “You talk nonsense, you,” he said gently. “I've never known a man use his head to better ends than you.”
Blaine blushed. “Thank you, sir.” He cleared his throat. “But my grandsire, he did allus say that too much thinkin' was sure to kill a man. He allus said to cover your head like a horse in a house fire, that was the way to fight battles.”
Duncan stared at him, utterly bemused. “What?” he laughed.
Blaine just grinned and lifted his shoulders as they rode.
When he thought about it, it made sense. In a fire, the horses' would be blindfolded so that they could safely be led away without being frightened by the sight of the fire. Blaine's grandsire likely meant that it was better to be willfully blind to some possibilities than to let them stop you.
“Your grandsire said some clever things,” he said frankly.
“He also said some daft ones,” Blaine said with indecent glee. “Like: I'm gonna take me hand off yer face. He meant he'd skelp me lug, but why'd he say that?” he chuckled. “His hand was nae on me face tae start off!”
They both laughed.
Duncan rode on beside him, feeling his spirits lift. They were riding home, they had the sword, and soon, it now seemed likely, he would be able to marry.