The Bishop’s Heir Read Online Free PDF Page B

not sure you needed our help at all. They weren’t very well armed.”
    â€œThey’re outlaws, my lord,” came the surprised reply, as if that explained everything. “They raid across the borders for livestock—sometimes even women and children.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œWell, we try to stop it, of course, my lord,” the man went on a little defensively. “The baron posts a regular patrol, as is his duty, but a man can slip off into these hills with half a dozen sheep and never be seen again. The young Laird MacArdry says this particular lot have been plaguing Transha as well.”
    â€œThe young laird—you mean Dhugal, the chief’s son?” Kelson asked, his more personal interest suddenly piqued.
    Gendon raised one eyebrow in surprise. “You know young Dhugal, my lord?”
    â€œYou might say that,” Kelson replied with a grin. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen him lately?”
    â€œLately? Aye, my lord. Every blessed day.”
    But as Gendon gestured toward his men and twisted in his saddle to look, clearly taken aback at this lowland king’s apparent recognition of highland relationships, Kelson had already spotted the object of his inquiry: a slight, ramrod-straight rider wrapped in a grey, black, and yellow plaid which only partially hid the russet leather of a neat Connaiti brigandine. He was talking to a Trurill man balancing on one leg beside his horse, gesturing for someone else to come and assist the man. A mail coif partially obscured the hair which would have made a beacon of his presence out of war harness, but the shaggy brown-and-white spotted border horse he rode was well known to Kelson, though its markings were common enough not to be remarked during the heat of battle—doubtless the reason Kelson had not noticed them earlier.
    The MacArdry heir became aware of the royal scrutiny at about the same moment Kelson first saw him. One look at the riders sitting beneath the royal standard was enough to make him break away and urge his mount into a trot toward the king, grinning hugely.
    â€œDhugal MacArdry, what the devil is that ?” Kelson shouted, pointing a gauntleted finger at the other’s steed and grinning almost as widely as he. “Surely, ’tis no horse that looks so strange!”
    The young MacArdry drew rein and almost flung himself from the saddle, pushing his coif back from bright copper-bronze hair as he thumped to both knees before the king’s horse.
    â€œWhy, ’tis the beast who threw Your Grace the first half-dozen times you tried to ride her!” Dhugal replied. His sword hung from a baldric over his left shoulder, rigged to be drawn from the left, but he half-drew it with his right hand and offered the pommel in salute, face glowing with pride.
    â€œWelcome to the borders—my King! It’s been too many years.”
    â€œAye, and I shall trounce you for a knave if you don’t get off your knees at once!” Kelson said happily, signalling the other to rise. “I was your brother before I was your king. Conall, look how he’s grown! Ewan, you remember my foster-brother, don’t you?”
    â€œAye, Sire—and the mischief which which both of you used to terrorize my pages’ school! ’Tis good to see you, Master Dhugal.”
    â€œAnd you, Your Grace.”
    As Dhugal let his sword slip back into its scabbard and stood, and Kelson jumped down from his tall R’Kassan stallion, Conall also nodded in tight-lipped response to Dhugal’s slight bow in his direction; the two had been keen rivals in those earlier days. Though nearly as tall as Kelson, the young border lord looked hardly older than when he had left court four years before, a sprinkling of freckles across his nose and cheeks only adding to the childlike first impression. Large, square front teeth flashed bright white as his face creased in a pleased, open grin, the smudge of reddish