Page 33 of Torin and His Oath (Torin and the Princess #2)

TORIN

I was lyin’ face down in mud, in the darkness just before dawn, rain pourin’ down, a torrential downpour that looked as if it had been goin’ for days. I was takin’ stock if I had survived — the rain too loud tae hear much beyond.

But then I heard rustlin’. I was sure of it. I listened hard: someone was goin’ through m’horse’s bags. I slowly moved my hand tae my sword hilt and prepared tae spring up, though I wasna ready tae stand.

Och nae, I would need tae be up and fightin’. I had tae get up. I must up.

Yet I dinna want tae, I wanted tae lie here in the mud wallowin’ in m’misery.

I counted, one, two, and jumped tae m’feet, splashing all around as I pulled m’sword. Seeing first a scoundrel diggin’ through m’belongings, a man behind me yelled, “Dead man up!” I leapt forward, mud sprayin’, shovin’ the thief away, and began swingin’.

I was fightin’ three men afore I had killed one, with a spray of blood across m’face, running in pink rivulets down m’chest. A second died gurglin’ in the mud and I kicked him from my sword.

A third and fourth raced away. I collapsed back ontae m’arse in a puddle, my back tae a boulder and facin’ the trees tae catch m’breath for a few moments.

I was wet through, sore as if I had been beaten a dozen times over, yet I held the reins of two new horses heavy with packs. I stroked Lambo’s mane. “Och, lad, we hae been under siege. Feels like days we’ve been fightin’.”

He snorted and shook his head, showering me in rain. “Aye, I ken, ye are tellin’ me tae quit complainin’.”

I was wet through, like Mistress Minsdrie’s washin’ after a summer feast. I cupped my hand, let it brim with rain, and drank deep. Och, I was parched — I hadna thought tae fill m’horn after deliverin’ Mistress Lexi tae her home.

I explained tae the horses the point of the story about Mistress Minsdrie: “On feast days she drinks herself blind, and the next morn her washin’ lies forgotten in a reekin’ bucket. When m’tunics hae had the misfortune of steepin’ in it, they carry a stench for days.”

I sniffed under m’arm and grimaced. “Och, I smell near the same now — but the rain will wash the blood and muck of this murderous rampage away. And though we hae been beaten soundly, though the weather is shite, still we keep winnin’. I hae gained two new horses.”

I lumbered tae m’feet, keepin’ one eye on the dark line of forest. Packs were lyin’ in puddles, so I heaved them up and slung them over the back of the third horse.

Then I rifled through the sodden clothes and sporrans of the two dead men, takin’ their weapons and valuables, stuffin’ it all intae the saddlebags as quick as I could.

Gatherin’ the reins, I led the horses through rain and mire toward the cover of trees, choosin’ a hasty path that turned away from the men who had fled. My gut told me if I pressed southeast, I would come upon the burn I needed tae cross intae Muckhart.

I trudged near an hour in the unrelentin’ rain before comin’ tae what should hae been a narrow burn cuttin’ across the path, an easy ford. Instead it had swollen intae a foamin’, brown torrent. Stepping stones had been drowned beneath the roarin’ current. Och nae.

I pulled Lambo short, water streamin’ off his mane. “Ye like this rain, lad? Yer face says ye daena care for it, and I agree.”

Behind him, the other horses stamped, ears pinned in misery. The third horse tugged nervously at his reins. I stroked his withers. “Steady, third horse. I think I will call ye Trì. We are goin’ tae cross. We must.”

I turned tae the second. “And ye, Dà. Aye, I ken, we could wait, but I hae had enough of waitin’ for Max. I daena want another night in the woods, soaked tae the marrow. Better tae plunge through than rot out here.”

We all stood there, watchin’ the torrent boilin’, as if it meant tae drag us all tae the sea. I spoke tae the rushin’ water itself,“But ye winna drown us, burn. Ye will let us pass, for I hae had my fair share of trouble already.”

Lambo neighed, restless. I sighed. “Nae, lad. There is nae time tae seek another ford. Men roam these woods who want tae end me. We go now. Max is waitin’.”

I led Lambo first, the reins of all three clenched tight. The current surged against my legs, icy and bitin’, climbin’ tae my thighs. Lambo fought me, sidesteppin’, nostrils flarin’. Rain blinded me, and behind, Dà balked at the bank. Then Trì shoved at him, panic drivin’ them both intae the flood.

Och, the force near tore me from my feet. My shoulder slammed a buried stone, pain shootin’ fire down my arm. All three beasts thrashed, ropes tangled, their screams piercin’ the storm. For a breathless moment I was dragged under, mud and river fillin’ my mouth.

I burst up coughin’, yankin’ hard, drivin’ us toward the far bank. Somehow Lambo heaved forward, and the others stumbled after, findin’ solid ground beneath them. With one last shove I forced them up the bank, then hauled myself up after, knees sinkin’ intae muck.

Never in my life had I been so soaked. My kilt dragged heavy with water, m’shoulder throbbed, my sword trailed in the mud. I spat grit, wiped the river from my eyes, and glared back at the torrent. “Bloody hell. Twas terrible.”

The three horses stood blowin’ hard, eyes wide and white, packs torn, one ripped open from the crossing. Everything I owned was waterlogged, the road still long, and Max yet far ahead.