Prologue
Duncrub Castle, Perchshire, Scotland, 1622
It was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. Not slight like the ponies of other boys, but braw, with a chest like a great cask of ale, and a coat that shimmered dark gray, like a sword, or the dreadful eye of the Corryvreckan itself, a whirlpool so immense as to draw even the most magnificent of ships to a terrible fate far below.
His pony.
Young Will cradled the oval-shaped currycomb in his palm, gingerly scuffing circles along the animal’s neck and shoulder, even though there wasn’t a speck of dust left to dislodge.
He’d need to choose a name. Something reminiscent of the great heroes of old. Something suitable for kings.
“Don’t think you’re better than me just because Da gave you some old hack.”
Will’s hand froze. Though his heart jolted, he forced himself to stillness. It was best to suffer his older brother’s taunts in silence.
He waited for the inevitable cuff on the shoulder, or along the side of his head, but it didn’t come.
Slowly Will resumed his currying.
“Naggy old swayback old hack.” Jamie was at his shoulder now, singsonging his insults. His voice had just begun to change, and the awkward cracking seemed to enrage the already volatile youth.
Will felt his cheeks redden. He concentrated on the comb, making intent circles, until his pony’s skin shivered.
“Oh, are you going to cry?” Jamie’s hand reached over Will to slap the beast sharply on the neck.
Ears flicking impatiently, the animal gave its tail an abrupt swish.
“Don’t cry, little Willie.”
He stilled. It was his seventh birthday. He’d not see this day ruined like all the others.
“Are you sad I don’t like your wee naggy beast?”
Not this day. It was already so much more special than any he’d known. The most special of his life. His father had woken him early, leading him to the stable at dawn, where his birthday present had been waiting.
“This old hack isn’t that great.” Jamie began to pace a slow circle around them.
Will used the opportunity to slide the halter from his pony’s head, wanting to replace it as quickly as he could with his bridle.
The leather was tacky in his fingers, just polished, and the scent of oil gave a twinge in his nose. The pony took the bit placidly, and Will nearly crumpled with relief. He’d not have to struggle in front of Jamie, and in that moment, he thought surely that he and this animal were destined to be as one. Will eased the straps of the bridle over his ears, thinking it impossible to love an animal more.
“All the lads get their own mounts.” Jamie squatted at the pony’s rear, as if examining the legs. “He’s not so special.”
Anger swelled in Will. His brother dared pretend to inspect his pony, when all knew the boy knew next-to-naught about them.
It was Will who knew horses. Will whom their father had singled out, time and again, for special instruction. See this, Will, this is how to mend a split hoof. See here, Will, how this beast was lamed.
It was Will who’d been given his own pony well before any of the other boys had.
It was time to stand up to his brother’s bullying. He would fight back this time. He would.
Will’s breath came quickly, shallow panting high in his chest. He overturned a bucket and kicked it to rest beneath the stirrups. Taking both reins into his left hand, he relished the feel of supple leather sliding through his fingers. He stepped onto the bucket, placed his foot in the stirrup, and hauled himself over.
His pony made a low chuffing sound and the mass of him felt so right beneath the saddle.
Though there was a quiver in his voice, Will turned his head and said, “You’re just sore Da thinks me the better horseman.” A small smile pursed his lips, pleased at how the words had come out.
The answering silence made him look, finally, at his brother.
Jamie was twelve and the meat on his bones had yet to catch up to the scrawny length of him. Will recognized bits of their Da on his brother’s face, but it was the look their father wore when he was riled. As if the Rollo features had settled sharp and angry onto his brother: the precise nose, but thinner and hooked almost to a point. The edge of cheek and chin turning Jamie’s face gaunt instead of fine.
Exhilaration and fear both spiked in Will’s veins. It was a heady feeling, looking down from the saddle, watching Jamie’s face pale, that mouth sputtering, for once speechless.
His response, when it came, was deathly quiet. “Horseman ? You’re a boy. A baby. Not a horseman.”
Jamie’s hand was swift, darting at the pony’s rump like the lash of a whip.
Will didn’t have a moment to contemplate the jostle of the saddle beneath him before his mount took off with a start, tearing through the stable like a rabid animal.
Jamie’s laughter and the startled whinnies of the other horses flashed like a thunderclap, then were gone as Will’s pony burst out, taking the pasture at a full gallop.