Manachan grinned. "My father will give us seed for planting, he be a right dead brilliant farmer."
It was the first of many smiles Stefan would see that night and he stayed with the slaves even though he wanted nothing more than to swim the river and go to Kannak. He talked to each man, learned of his family and found his nature pleasing. He asked each why they were sold and most of their stories were more like his than of any crimes they committed. Only two admitted stealing. Each claimed it was the Brodies who sold him.
"Our new home will border Brodie land," Stefan warned.
"Good," said Manachan, "I've a message to give them." All the men laughed and their laughter sounded like music. It was nearing dawn when they finally settled down enough to sleep.
The next morning, Stefan watched each choose his weapon, mount his new horse and accept his bag of food. Then he watched them ride away together and at last, it was his turn.
*
The shortest route between his grandfather's side of the river to the Macoran side was to swim, and in summer the water did more meandering than rushing. He rode his grandfather's horse down the river bank until he was sure he recognized the other side, dismounted, handed the reins to his grandfather and then waded into the water. It was ice cold but he didn't care. All he could think of was getting home.
The currents were stronger than he expected, but nothing could defeat him now and he swam hard to reach the other side. He climbed out onto the flat rock where he often filled the bucket with water, paused just a moment to catch his breath and then stood up. His first hint that something was wrong awaited him there. Jirvel's bucket was half buried in the sand along the shore. He stared at it for a moment, pulled it free, dumped out the sand and then rinsed it in the river. That's when he noticed a hole in the bottom, tossed it away and smiled his relief. "Cast off, were ye?"
He almost forgot, turned to wave to his grandfather and then headed up the path to the cottage. But his foreboding was back and the closer he got, the more certain he was that something was wrong. The land looked deserted and the heather had nearly overrun the place again. He finally dismissed that too; perhaps Jirvel would not let Macoran give her a man to help them.
He should have been able to see the cottage by now and when he could not, he slowed. Careful to walk quietly, he eased closer until suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks.