Read Online The Forest Laird by Jack Whyte - Free Book Online Page B

slowly, silhouetted now against the window’s light. “Did you, now? I hear he is a doughty fighter. And what happened to make you change?”
    For the first time, Ewan looked surprised. “He turned to invade Wales, to conquer my folk and make us part of England. I am but half Welsh, but I would have no part of that, and my father was newly dead, so I came to Scotland to care for my mother, who was Welsh.”
    “Scrymgeour. Your father was a Scot?”
    “Aye, from Kyle. Bruce country.”
    “Archers are seldom farmers.”
    “True. Nor am I one.”
    “Your father did not own a farm?”
    “Once, he did. But it was hard, sour ground. He fell sick and could not work. And then he died.”
    “So what entitles you to live in Ettrick Forest?”
    I was having difficulty making sense of what was being said here because the two men were talking obliquely, their tones, although I could not see how, evidently conveying more than their mere words. I glanced at Will and saw from the frown between his brows that he was as perplexed as I was.
    “ Entitles me?” Ewan’s voice was suddenly harder, and he moved his jaw in a way that emphasized the disfigurement of his mashed nose. “I might argue with you, Sir Malcolm, on your choice of words. But the entitlement, if such it was, sprang from the ill nature of a bullying, strutting fool who thought himself all-powerful.”
    Sir Malcolm’s head tilted slightly.
    “My mother, rest her soul, was a healer,” Ewan continued. “Had been one all her life and was famed for it. A good woman with a good calling. A local lairdling had an infant son who fell sick, and so he sent his people to fetch her, to cure the boy. But the child was beyond help. He died of whatever ailed him and his mother named my mother witch and they tried to hang her. I saved her life, but in the doing of it blood was spilt and I was outlawed.”
    “What lordship was this?”
    Ewan met the older man’s eye. “Ormiston.”
    “Of Dumfries? Sir Thomas?”
    “No, sir. Of Clewes, Sir Walter.”
    “Thomas’s brother. I know him well. You call him fool, but he is not.”
    “Sir Walter is dead, sir, these three years. His son William is now Laird of Ormiston.”
    “Aha. And he seems not to be the man his father was. Is that what you are telling me?”
    “I tell you nothing, Sir Malcolm. I was but answering your question.”
    “Aye, right.” Sir Malcolm hesitated. “You said you saved your mother’s life, yet buried her but recently. Were the two events connected?”
    “Aye, sir. They found her again, in a place where I thought her safe.”
    “And?”
    “They hanged her.”
    “I see. And this time you were not close enough to save her.”
    “No. But they were still close by when I arrived. They sought to hang me, too.”
    “And?”
    “They will hang no more old folk. Nor young, for that matter.”
    “And so you head for Selkirk … How many did you kill?”
    Ewan sniffed. “All of them. I am an archer. They had clubs and blades.”
    Sir Malcolm was frowning. “How many?”
    “Fourteen men, all save one of them hirelings bought and brought to keep the local folk in terror. And four dogs.”
    “Sweet Jesus! And William of Ormiston?”
    “He was the fourteenth man.”
    Sir Malcolm’s frown deepened to a scowl, and suddenly Will spoke up, his voice taut with urgency. “He was trying to kill us, Uncle. The man Ormiston. Ewan had left him alive. We were watching from the slope above and he came at us, trying to ride us down. His horse almost trampled Jamie, but he rolled clear and the rider turned around again to kill him with his sword, and Ewan shot him from the valley bottom, two hundred yards below us.”
    The tense, dark brows smoothed slightly and the eyes beneath them turned to Ewan. “Is that true?”
    The big man shrugged. “It was a touchy shot. I might easily have missed and had but one arrow left.”
    “From so far away?”
    “It was a good distance. I made the shot.”
    “And my nephew