Chapter Twenty-Five
Drew
Drew Menzie made his way down to the tavern. It was late at night and poor Lina had suffered from another bad headache.
The kind of headache that told him something bad was about to happen. The only thing he could think to do was go outside the walls of Duart Castle and find out what else was happening on the Isle of Mull.
Because something was definitely brewing. They could all feel it.
Connor would go to MacVeys and Rankins. Dyna would go to MacQuaries and MacLeans, but he knew where the best place was to gain information from the undercurrent of the world—the local tavern.
He stepped inside the tavern at Craignure, not surprised to see it nearly full. He took an empty seat at the bar, ordered a drink, tossing the man a coin while he crafted his story in his mind.
“Where you from?” the man behind the bar asked.
“I just came across the ferry this eve. I heard there was someone paying good coin for warriors. Know you of who I could see about it?”
“Aye, I might,” he said, nodding to a man leaning against the wall.
Drew stayed where he was, waiting to see if the man would approach. He had unkempt brown hair with a beard that appeared to be new. He wasn’t tall, but he had broad shoulders and carried a sheathed small sword.
And he had a strut that tried to impress everyone.
It didn’t impress Drew.
When he finally approached, Drew gave the man the same story. “Are you the man hiring?”
“Aye, but we don’t need you yet. In about a sennight. We’re gathering forces now.”
“Against whom?”
“You don’t need to know. You just have to show up and fight. Bring a good sword.”
“Where?”
“Not certain yet. You can get word back here in two days. I’ll let the man behind the bar know where you will meet us.”
Drew said, “Suits me fine. I love a good battle.” He noticed the man had a scar on his right cheek, not recent. He also had recent scratches as though he fell into a pile of nettles. “What’s your name? So I know who to ask about.”
“You don’t need to know. Just ask the man about the force. He’ll know.”
Drew took a swig of his ale, waiting with the hope that he would say more. The man didn’t move, taking a swig of his own drink. Finally, the scarred man asked, “Know you much about the Grants?”
“Not much. A little.”
“How many guards at Duart? And how many fighting Grants are there?”
Drew shrugged and said, “I heard someone on the ferry say he was a Grant. He was bragging to everyone about the force they had. And that there were a few Grants here.”
“Alex’s sons here?”
“Just one. Mayhap some grandsons.”
“How many total?”
“He said they had four score, and that two score more were coming in a sennight. Don’t know if he was being honest or bragging. Didn’t know the man.”
The man turned to take his leave, but the man behind the bar said, “You need to pay, Sholto.”
Drew hid his smile. Now he knew the man’s name, and when he walked away, he noticed something else.
Sholto walked with a limp, and his hand went to his thigh when he stopped.
Probably rubbing the same spot where Brynja hit him with her dagger.