The Forest Laird(26)

“Aye, the bone stopped it frae bein’ deeper.” He looked down at himself. “Was I in the water?”

“Aye, for a bit. We pulled ye out.”

“I’m freezing!”

“Aye, well, so are we. It’s February.” All three of us were shivering, and Will stood up. “I’ll light a fire, ’gin my tinderbox is still dry.”

“Ah, Jesus!” Another hiss of pain and a gentle dab at the swelling on his head. “Mine will be, if yours isna. It’s in my scrip, sealed wi’ wax. Let’s do it quick then, for I’m turnin’ blue.”

Half an hour later the three of us sat naked by a roaring fire, and the pale warmth of the sunlight felt cold on those parts of us the flames could not reach. Will and I had cut willow sticks and stuck them in the soft earth to support our wet clothes, and the garments were steaming steadily, closer to the fire than we could sit.

Will reached out and took the Viking’s chin in his hand, tilting it to where he could see the large swelling beneath the still-wet mat of yellow hair. “Can you see right?”

The Viking twisted his head away and glared at Will. “Of course I can see. My eyes are open, are they not?”

Will held up his first two fingers. “How many fingers?”

“Two. D’ye think I’m daft?” The Viking shut his eyes and rolled his head carefully on his neck. “My head aches hellishly, but I’m fine otherwise. So … who are you two, and what are you doing here?”

“We live here. Or close by. We’re students at the Abbey.” Will introduced the two of us, naming us the nephews of Sir Malcolm Wallace of Elderslie. “And you?”

“Andrew Murray. That’s our family name today, but it was once de Moray, and before that de Moravia.”

The name was familiar to me. “There’s a Sir Andrew Murray who is the King’s justiciar in the North, is there not?”

“Aye, Sir Andrew Murray of Petty, on the Moray Firth. My father.”

“You have a firth named for you?” Will was impressed, but the other shook his head, smiling.

“No. It was we who took our name from the firth, back in the days of King David, when first we came from Normandy.”

Will whistled. “How come you here, then?”

“I came with my master, Lord John Balliol. He is now in conference with your Abbot, on the business of the King.”

“Your master?” Will contrived to sound amused. “Are you a servant, then?”

Murray shrugged. “Of a kind, I am. I am squire to Lord John. His senior squire. I am to be knighted come my eighteenth birthday, in three months.”

“You are to be a knight?”

The other looked surprised. “Aye. Aren’t you?”

Will laughed then, but did not pursue the topic. Instead, he reached sideways to pick up one of the quarterstaves we had rescued from the river. “Where did you learn to use this?”

“Lord John. He spent much time in England when he was a boy and learned the skills of it there. He has used one ever since, and watching him and Siward training with them when first I joined his service, I asked to be taught it, too.”

“Who’s Siward?”

“Lord John’s Master-at-Arms. An Englishman. He’s also my instructor.”

“He taught you well. You almost had me off the bridge.”

Murray sniffed. “I hate ‘almost.’ It never wins. I was the one who went down.” He glanced then at me and smiled. “Are you two brothers, then?”

From that point on the day passed quickly, with Andrew feeling better all the time and soon losing the ache in his head. We discussed a surprising number of things, sitting there waiting for our clothes to dry sufficiently to be worn again.

It was obvious to me early on that Will and Andrew would be firm friends, and it pains me, looking back, to admit that my first reaction was one of intense jealousy. The logical part of my mind told me at once that this new friendship must surely be a transient thing, since Andrew Murray would move on within days, returning with his master to his home in the far north. But the wrench of recognition that I would no longer be Will’s single boyhood friend came hard and brought with it a bitter resentment of the newcomer.

But then, thank God, my sourness vanished as quickly as it had arisen, for I saw that their attraction to each other was as natural as sunlight. They were almost equally sized, and only a year separated them in age, and they both thought similarly about many things, including physical prowess, of which the quarterstaff was merely the first symbol. Of course these two would be friends, I thought, for they were equals, in athletic prowess at least, and Will could no more resist Murray’s natural grace and charm than I myself could.