‘It is a capital offence among our people to trade the cúnna to strangers,’ explained Christopher.
‘Though,’ observed Sól, ‘Shirken once plan to take them for himself.’ At his friends’ expectant silence, Sólmundr had flashed his gap-toothed grin. ‘When enough of his men lose their heads, he give up idea. Even the puppies take man’s hand off at the wrist. Nach ea, mo ghadhar?’ he said, scrubbing Boro’s head. ‘Only the Merron can to handle na Cúnna Faoil.’
‘In that case, I should have gifted Shirken ten of them,’ muttered Wynter. ‘Five for him and five for his pestilent daughter.’ At the men’s lack of comprehension, she grinned. ‘Though the poor hounds would have need of a purging after, I should think.’
Sólmundr laughed.
‘The poor things would need more than a purge,’ smirked Christopher. ‘Shirken being rotten to his core, they would as likely die of poison.’
Then Razi, chuckling, had asked, ‘Who is Shirken?’ and the mirth had quickly drained from the conversation.
Wynter groaned at the memory and wandered across to where Razi stood a little apart from camp, staring up into the rocks above.
He glanced at her as she approached. ‘Those creatures have gone,’ he said.
‘How do you know?’
‘I have been watching since first light. Only a few moments ago I saw them run along the base of that ridge and move off in that direction. Your warrior friend is right, there are two of them.’
Wynter pulled her cloak tight and shivered. ‘Where are they going, I wonder?’
‘Even the devil’s spawn need to eat. I suppose they have gone to hunt.’
She shrugged her cloak high around her neck and Razi winced at the bruising on her throat. ‘Your neck is livid,’ he said. ‘Do you have any difficulty swallowing . . . um . . .’ He peered at her, once again struggling to recall her name. He couldn’t seem to hang on to it at all.
Wynter refrained from yelling, I’m Wynter! It’s Wynter, Razi! Try and remember! Instead she said, ‘I am the Protector Lady Wynter Moorehawke, my Lord.’
Razi frowned uncertainly; the formality seemed to take him by surprise.
‘Delighted to meet you, Protector Lady,’ he said, bowing slightly. ‘If your chaperones don’t mind, I would be pleased to check your throat.’
She allowed him to guide her to a rock and sat down, raising her chin while he gently probed her neck with his fingers. He did not once ask how she had managed to ring her throat with bruises.
‘Do you enjoy being a doctor, my Lord?’
He smiled. ‘It is all I ever wanted to be.’
‘It is unusual enough. A king’s son would surely find himself with more urgent things at hand than lancing boils and dressing scurvy.’ His fingers paused at her throat. She pressed on. ‘As a pastime it is commendable, but surely your duties in court would present you with tasks infinitely more important?’ He sat back, staring at her, and she knotted her hands together, almost afraid to continue.
‘You consider the relief of suffering to be a task beneath us?’ he asked softly. ‘The saving of lives is, to you, a pursuit unworthy of a king’s son?’
‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘But a man such as yourself must surely have bigger obligations?’
‘Obligations,’ whispered Razi.
‘Yes, my Lord!’ she urged, thrilled to see recognition flare in his eyes. ‘Do you remember? Do you remember what your obligations are?’
‘Mary,’ he said in amazement. ‘How could I have forgot her?’
‘Mary,’ said Wynter flatly. ‘You remember Mary.’
‘She needs my help.’
‘Jesu Christi!’ Wynter threw her hands up despair. ‘Razi! I swear to God, if I need to shove you down another hill, I shall! You are bound to drive me to—’
Before she could say any more, a horse screamed in the pass above them and a stranger’s harsh cries of fear had them surging to their feet.
Boro tried to run up the shingle slope, barking and straining against his chain, eager to get to the fray. Sólmundr was dragged several feet, his cursing muffled in the covers that had been drawn up over his head. Razi leapt across his kicking body and raced for the horses. As Wynter skirted the men, Christopher threw back his covers, grabbing his sword, and shouted at her in hoarse Merron: ‘Cad é, Iseult? What is it?’
‘Get your weapons!’ she yelled. ‘Something’s happening on the ridge!’
She reached Ozkar just as Razi finished bridling his mare. Without waiting to saddle up, he grabbed the creature’s mane and leapt on, urging her up the path.