The Hound at the Gate by Darby Karchut Page B

clutched in his fist, Finn answered. “Getting our weapons. Gideon sent us to get them.”
    â€œAre ye injured?” The Knight asked Lochlan.
    Lochlan grimaced as he raised his arm up and down. “It’s okay. More numb than anything.” He bent over carefully and picked up the sheath he had discarded earlier.
    â€œFinish yer errand, then.” He waited while Finn and Lochlan located the rest of Mac Roth’s weapons and consolidated them into one box along with Gideon’s, then followed them out of the building. “Straight back to yer masters now. And no picking another fight on yer way.”
    â€œWe didn’t start the last one,” Finn protested, hoisting the box in his arms. “Ennis did.”
    The chieftain cocked an eyebrow at Lochlan. “And this one here dinna say anything to make the situation worse?” He shot Lochlan an I-thought-so glance when the boy blushed. “‘Deadly with blade, deadlier with tongue’ is the auld saying about the O’Neills.”
    â€œThat’s for sure,” Finn said, giving his friend a wink.
    â€œOh yeah?” Lochlan nodded at Finn. “So, what do they say about the MacCullens?”
    â€œâ€˜Tempers as fiery as their hair.’ Now, away with ye.” With a final stern look, Mull waved them away.
    Taking a wide detour around the field, Finn and Lochlan headed back to their campsite. As they walked along, Finn spotted the black-haired girl he had noticed earlier walking ahead of them toward the campsite, her ponytail swaying side to side as she marched briskly along, and her hurley over one shoulder. Reaching the trees, she stepped around a stand of pine and vanished from sight.
I wonder who her master is
.
    His thoughts were interrupted by a hiss from Lochlan. His friend was flexing his injured arm, wincing.
    â€œHurting?”
    Lochlan hesitated, then nodded. “Don’t tell Mac Roth, okay?” He pressed his lips together into a thin line. “I’ve
got
to go on that hunt tomorrow morning.”
    Then maybe his dad will get off his back
. He thought back to the scene between Lochlan and his father outside the diner, then to what had just happened with his cousin. “Families suck,” he blurted out. His face burned when he realized he had said the words aloud. “Sorry. I didn’t mean
your
family.”
    His expression carefully neutral, Lochlan kept his eyes fixed before him. “Sometimes, I…I hate my dad.” It came out in a croak as if guilt choked him.
    I would, too
. “Yeah, I can’t stand most of my cousins.” He shifted the box, easing the strain on his arms. “Well, Liam’s okay.”
    â€œHe’s the one that’s the same age as you?”
    â€œYeah. His master got hurt on a hunt, so he’s not here this year. And my aunt and uncle are okay, too.” He snorted. “When they remember I’m alive.”
    Reaching their campsite, Finn spotted Gideon bent over the wooden crate, one hand holding its lid open. He turned around at the sound of the boys’ approach. “Did ye find the—Ye gods, what happened?”
    Finn began to explain, leaving out the parts where he had missed his punches. Meanwhile, Gideon took the box from him and set it on the ground next to the crate. He opened it, retrieved one of his more simple hunting knives, and slid it into the empty sheath hanging from the back of his belt. The Knight then pointed to a pair of nearby camp chairs.
    â€œSit,” he ordered, then disappeared into his tent. A few moments later, he emerged with a handful of clean rags and a Mason jar filled with a greenish-brown solution. It sloshed when he swirled the
sláinte
nettle potion to mix it. He opened the jar, wetted down one of the rags, then handed it to Finn. “You know what to do.”
    Finn held the soaked cloth to his bruised face; the familiar sting meant the healing brew was doing its job.