Chapter 8 #3
A group of men had emerged from the tangle of undergrowth as silently as ghosts, forming a ring around Ronan and his companions. Most carried clubs or stout sticks, but one carried a flintlock much like Ronan’s own. The weapon was aimed directly at Ronan’s chest.
The man holding it was broad-shouldered with a thick beard and small, suspicious eyes. “Good morrow,” he said brightly. “And who might ye be?”
Ronan didn’t answer.
“I asked ye a question,” the man said, taking another step forward. “Who are ye and why are ye trespassing? This land belongs to Lord and Lady Murdoch.”
Eamon snorted. “The hell it does.”
The leader’s eyes flicked to Eamon and Ronan cursed the lad’s big mouth.
Undeterred, Eamon glared at the man with the pistol. “This is free land. Anyone can walk here.”
Ronan shot Eamon a warning glance then slowly spread his hands. “We dinna want any trouble.”
The man barked a laugh. “Is that so? Then why are ye armed?”
“These are dangerous times.” As he spoke, Ronan studied the men, assessing their numbers, their positions, the weapons they carried.
The leader jabbed the pistol towards Ronan. “So they are. Drop yer weapons and hand them over.”
“And if we dinna?”
The man smiled unpleasantly. “Ye willnae like the answer to that question.”
“Ah. So ye are common bandits then?”
Anger flashed across the man’s face. “It isnae wise to insult the honor of a man with a pistol pointing at ye. This is Lord and Lady Murdoch’s land. We are merely here to collect tax for crossing it.”
Eamon snarled. “Tax? How dare ye? We have more right to this land than anyone! We live here—”
“What my friend means,” Ronan said, cutting across Eamon’s outburst. “Is that we are passing through and have the same right to use this trail as ye do.”
The last thing Ronan wanted was for these men to learn about the existence of the Steading. Seeming to realize his error, Eamon snapped his mouth shut.
Behind the leader, one of his companions shifted. Ronan saw nervousness in the young man’s posture, not confidence. Nervous men were far more dangerous than over-confident ones. This could go very bad very quickly.
He took a slow breath, then he nodded. “All right. No need for unpleasantness. Men, put down yer weapons.”
Nobody obeyed. Ronan twisted around to glower at them. “I said, drop yer weapons!” But he gave Eamon the slightest nod and spread the first three fingers on his right hand, a signal they’d agreed upon long since.
Eamon gave a minute nod in response, showing he understood Ronan’s unspoken instruction. He dropped his staff to the ground at his feet, and everyone else did the same. The leader visibly relaxed. A mistake. The moment his attention shifted, Ronan moved.
Years of training flared to life. One step. Strike. His hand clamped around the barrel of the pistol and he twisted hard. The leader cried out and the weapon came free. Ronan raised the muzzle, pointing it at the man’s chest.
In the moment of shock that rippled through the group, Ronan’s men moved.
Eamon grabbed up his staff and whacked the butt of it into the nearest man’s midriff.
Tam tackled another, taking them both crashing to the ground.
Duncan drove another man backwards with a shoulder charge, whilst Alec took out another with a well-aimed punch to the midriff.
Within moments it was over. The men were disarmed with staff and spears aiming at them.
The leader’s face had gone white, from fear or fury Ronan couldn’t tell. He let the pistol’s muzzle dip slightly.
“Tell this Lord and Lady Murdoch something for me,” he said. “These are free lands and banditry willnae be tolerated. Nor will attacking innocent people.”
The man swallowed then nodded.
Ronan stepped back but kept the pistol trained on the man. “Go. All of ye.”
The bandits needed no further encouragement. Branches snapped and leaves rustled as they fled. Within seconds they had vanished into the trees.
Eamon burst out laughing. “Did ye see his face?”
Tam grinned. “I thought he was going to piss himself.”
Ronan didn’t laugh. He stared in the direction the bandits had disappeared.
Something about all this bothered him. Deeply.
They had dealt with bandits and brigands before but this felt different.
Lord and Lady Murdoch? He recognized those names.
They held vast amounts of land to the north.
Could they be trying to use the unrest to expand their holdings?
Claim land that didn’t belong to them? If that was so, it spelled trouble for the Steading.
He handed the pistol to Eamon. “Come on. Let’s get back.”
They retraced their steps through the woods but once back to the moorland, Ronan insisted they take a longer, more roundabout route home.
He sent Bran and Skye ranging ahead while the others checked constantly to ensure they weren’t being followed.
From now on there would be no more foraging trips outside the valley.
As the sun began its descent towards the western horizon they drew closer to the Steading and Ronan’s unease only deepened. He had spent years building a refuge here, years keeping the world’s troubles beyond the cliffs. Yet, despite all his efforts, that trouble was drawing ever closer.
How long until it found them?