The Huntsman of Alba by Dr. Doug Chapman

Author:Dr. Doug Chapman [Chapman, Dr. Doug]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781959958048
Publisher: Tiree Publishing House LLC
Published: 2023-02-27T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

The riders reached the campfires in the growing dusk. Smoke rose in swirls, vanishing into the dark blue sky as they headed through the orderly filing of military tents. The white canvas structures had the weathered appearance of prolonged use: stained, filthy, and above all, occupied. Soldiers paraded amidst the smell of ale, sweat, and smoke wafting through the makeshift housing. Gamblers rolled away their savings for a chance meeting with lady luck. Men with tankards boozed and boasted of times long ago. A particular cluster of troops formed a circle around two burley hooligans, expressing their pent-up energy through their fists.

Hawk enjoyed watching the soldiers turn their heads in baffled surprise at the sight of Sir William. They nodded in acknowledgment of the unknown knight. The knight, in plate armor and a blue-feathered helm, was a perfect contrast to their shirtless frivolity. Even Lady NicNeev’s olive-green tunic and pristine yellow braided bun drew the soldiers’ eyes. Mòrag didn’t bring any attention.

In fact, Mòrag wasn’t even with the three riders. She had, as they planned earlier, gone over the hill to find a spot where Tiree could hide.

“Any wandering guardsmen would think him a hero for shooting such a beast,” Sir William had remarked.

Mòrag agreed and searched for a safe place to stay. She would join them shortly.

The rest of the band marched past the tents into the full view of Urquhart Castle.

Situated an outcropping of land, it jutted out into Loch Ness atop a motte. The castle stood as a beautiful amalgamation of stone and wood. The soldiers’ campfires dazzled the castle’s surfaces. Two square stone towers stood within a high stone wall. A wooden hoarding bridged the two towers along the wall’s battlements.

Something dark dangled from the window of one hoarding. Hawk squinted, then his eyes widened. His mouth dropped slightly and his brow furrowed. The charred remains of a person hung from a window, bringing the foul stench of burnt flesh with it. The body’s leg had fallen off, while its face listed, unrecognizable and distorted. But it was once a person, that the huntsman knew. Sir William and Lady NicNeev didn’t seem to notice the charred body.

The huntsman rode beneath the imposing castle gate.

Two guards moved in front and blocked their entrance. “Halt. State yer business,” the taller one commanded.

“We’re here to see Lord Gospatric III of Dunbar,” Sir William boomed, taking off his helm to project his voice. “By order of the king.”

Sir William placed a hand on his cloak and flapped the blue-and-white cloth to the side of his mount, as if it weren’t already abundantly clear that he was a knight in King David’s service.

“Sir William Maurice of Holyrood!” a voice cried from inside the castle courtyard.

A man wearing the same plate and cloak as Sir William strolled up to the gate. Without a doubt, the man pledged his service to King David. Unlike Sir William, however, he sported a full head of brown hair.

“Welcome! Welcome, old friend,” the man said, grabbing hold of Sir William’s horse as he dismounted.

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