Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Peter returned from the lake to find his traveling companion sitting and nibbling a biscuit.

"Feel better?" Mort asked. He carefully licked the crumbs from every one of his fingertips.

Peter wondered at the man's own appetite and he didn't mean food. At none of the inns they'd stopped at had the man shown any interest in the local women for hire. He seemed only attuned to Peter and his comfort. To call that loyal was an understatement. Peter had even encouraged the man to take his leave earlier in their travels. But that was back when Peter was determined to remain celibate. The man just shrugged and said his place was at Peter's side.

"I feel refreshed," Peter said.

The man quirked a smile. "I can see you do."

Peter bent to retrieve his clothes. "You might want to take a dip as well. Help put a lock on those lips of yours."

"My lips are at your disposal alone, my lord. If you no longer wish to hear my stories, I will indeed cease and desist."

"I never wanted to hear your stories." Peter popped his head through the neck of his shirt. "Why ever would you think that I did?"

"You must be prepared for what you may face here. The King wishes you to stay on to settle the matters disrupted by FitzOsbern's departure."

"That departure was quite a while ago. Why the sudden interest in the area now?"

"Ah, so you do have need of my knowledge?"

"You're prattling thus far has not demonstrated knowledge." Peter shook his head like a dog to help the drying process. Too late he realized his words had finally struck a nerve. The man was tight jawed, his gaze locked on the dark forest behind them. "I am sorry, Mort. I do find my tongue is not well kept when I am so clearly frustrated."

The man did not respond. Instead, he straightened and extracted his sword from his palfrey's saddle.

Three or four riders quickly approached. Peter stepped beside Mort, wondering how the man could have spotted the group before he did. "Can you tell if they are Normans?"

The Normans were not well liked in the area. This had been one of the last areas of England to be subdued under King William and their loyalty was still highly suspect. By the looks of the surrounding area, the tactic the King had used against them had been savage with the harrying still quite visible everywhere they went. Peter had his orders. He also had compassion.

Mort shook his head, his voice low. "They are not, my lord."

As one, they mounted their horses. Peter drew his blade. "I do not believe they know we are here."

They exchanged looks and retreated into the darkened, western woods to watch their approach.

Three, young riders burst onto the field laughing, their horses winded beneath them.

"And you cheated as always, Lachlann!" A tall, red-haired man atop a courser had spoken. He reined his mount in to face the other two riders. His accent difficult to understand.

The one called Lachlann had long, black hair and a smile from ear to ear. "I know a shorter way is all."

The stumpy blond puckered his mouth. "And you're being chased by the devil."

Lachlann rubbed at his groin. "Aye, the devil in the form of a brown-haired fox. She's riding me hard."

He leapt from the horse then led it to the edge of the lake. He dropped to take a drink as well.

"Methinks you wish she was riding you hard," the first man replied then followed suit.

They laughed, relaxing alongside the water. They had bare legs and knee-length coverings of course material. But they appeared young and strong.

The blond stood beside the water, about a head shorter than the other two but stockier in build. He crossed his arms, taking a wide stance beside his horse.

"She would have been well-bedded if I'd laid hands on her."

Peter settled himself but remained wary. Like a spark to dry grass, relaxed teasing could quickly turn to death blows.

"Don't believe that'd be true, Aldred," Lachlann said. He closed the distance between them. "If I couldn't succeed, why do you suppose you'd have gotten any?"

Peter sensed the growing tension between these two and, as if on cue, their voices were suddenly tight. The smiles a little less jovial.

Lachlann shoved the other against the horse. The beast skittered.

"Enough!" The last one still squatted beside the water spoke. His voice held the ring of authority. "You're wasting your strength fighting with each other."

The two dropped their battle stances and turned toward their apparent leader. "What are you thinking, Niall?"

"It was a strange setup is all. Those three men with the one lass." He dragged his hand across his wet mouth and stood.

"Perhaps she was their hostage?" Aldred said.

"And they passed her around when they wanted some." Lachlann guffawed at his own joke. Aldred shoved him gently, their past disagreement forgotten.

Niall nodded, his expression tight with suspicion. "No, he could be correct, Lachlann."

The long hair on this one made him appear younger than the other two but Peter would have guessed at perhaps sixteen summers. Surely too old to be traipsing around the countryside in search of a good swiving.

"It could be something like that." Niall went to his horse and adjusted the saddle with quick gestures before straddling it again. "We can catch them if we cut them off through the glen."

Shouts of excitement surrounded him.

"We shouldn't have any trouble rounding them up." The blond directed his horse around in preparation of mounting as well. "Are you game, Lachlann?"

Lachlann, suddenly serious, stood frowning, unmoving. "But who will get the lass?"

So pathetically desperate. Peter knew it'd be the leader who got the girl and he felt somewhat sorry for the female. These three were pups.

Without the slightest hesitation, Peter urged his mount forward, emerging from the darkness. Sword in hand, he approached the suddenly silent group. Their hands empty, they glanced at each other as if to ask where this man had come from. Mort followed behind.

"So what is this talk of a brown-haired fox I hear? Are they common in these parts?" Peter was surprised how much he sounded like his father. Also a powerful soldier. He flinched in remembrance. "Perhaps you need leave it to men who can handle such a hunt?"

Niall tipped his head, a definite tenseness. Perhaps he only feigned nonchalance. He surveyed Peter before answering. "Norman?"

Peter nodded and waited for the inevitable ranting that usually followed but ready in case they wanted to fight it out. The King was the usurper and he needed to go back to Caen. This young man did not seem so inclined.

"I am Niall of the MacDonell Clan." He came abreast of Peter. His confidence was surprising for one so young. Peter felt an instant liking to him.

"A Scot?" Peter asked. He'd not met many of the northern tribes.

Niall smiled, causing a crease at the corner of his eyes. "We try to come upon our prey unidentified. It gives us the advantage."

In a flash like lightning, the three lads shifted from being individuals to a unified fighting force. They were armed with swords and their war cry but they were also armed with something less tangible. Their shoulders shifted back. Their heads tipped, as if attuning to each other's movements. As one they moved, circling Peter. They forced him from his horse. Mort put his hands up in surrender. Peter dropped his weapon carefully to the ground.

The point of Niall's long blade stopped short of Peter's chest even when the lad dismounted. Peter allowed himself to break into a broad smile and clapped his hands in a slow rhythm.

"Well played, lad. I thought you to be three untrained villagers and yet here you have me at a disadvantage."

They did not break from the unified front. Their faces remained stoic.

"You'd have done better to stay hidden and let us pass than to confront us, my friend," Niall said.

"I see you are right." Peter bowed slightly in acquiescence, both arms outstretched.

He turned his arm slightly, curling his hand in a fist. He knocked the loosely held sword hilt, the edge of the blade hitting against the silver band at his wrist. Peter stepped in tight to grab Niall around the chest, moving him in front. The sword fell harmlessly at his feet.

"Weapons down. On the ground." Peter took the dagger from his belt and held the tip to Niall's throat. "Don't make me ask again."

Niall struggled to loosen the man's grip circling his neck, his horse shifting beside him. The other two quickly placed their swords on the ground in front of them.

"So you are quicker than you appear, old man." Niall managed to squeeze out the compliment.

Peter snorted. "And you are far more aggressive than you appear." He pushed him at his two friends. "Do you provoke a fight with anyone you come across?"

The three exchanged glances, seemingly confused by the question. Finally Niall turned back and shrugged. "Yes."

Peter laughed out loud at the audacious answer.

"So the Scots have earned their battle-loving reputation."

Mort just shook his head.

What should he do with these enthusiastic would-be warriors?

"Should I speak to you about chivalry and the proper way to woo a lady rather than to just take and jump on anything that has breasts?"

Aldred's jaw dropped, aghast. Peter bit his lip to keep from laughing.

"No wooing!" Aldred sounded as if he'd just been ordered to cut off his arm. "We would have no interest in that."

Niall shook his head and rolled his eyes in apparent embarrassment at his friend's outburst.

"What about you?" Peter asked. "Is that your true name? Niall?"

Niall sized Peter up once again with a very somber look on his face. "I had no need of jumping on anything I came across. The travelers were from across the sea and they were on our land."

Aldred jerked his head toward Niall. "What? You said you'd like to get a piece of that!"

Niall reddened slightly. Peter knew how it was. Boys needed to impress each other with their constant virility. Well mayhap it was just to impress each other.

"They got away from you then?" Peter asked, his brows rising.

Judging by the blush creeping down Niall's neck, Peter believed he had the right of it.

He couldn't resist adding. "And they don't even know the area? Tsk. Tsk."

The intended jab struck home. Niall started breathing heavier and his friends gathered closer, their chins dipping lower. Any divisions were closed up tight.

"Rest easy now, lads. I'm just trying to anticipate what I should do if I come across this…much sought after…wench."

"Give her to me!" The blond burst out, easing the tension, a smile on his young face. "I'll know what to do with her."

Peter shook his head. "Well, if you'll leave us in peace, we have no quarrel with you." It was to his benefit if he could get through this encounter leaving them unscathed. Their unity as a fighting force was inspiring. He'd like to be able to tap into that for his own use. Allies were more beneficial than combatants. "Would that be to your liking, Niall?"

The relief appeared heartfelt. Peter was glad he'd read the boy correctly. "We've no quarrel with you either. We can be on our way—"

"To hunt our prey," the black haired one added, his big grin splitting his face.

Niall gave him an irritated look. "—on our way and leave you unmolested."

A humorous statement since Peter was the one holding the blade. "That would be much appreciated."