The Spider and the Stone: A Novel of Scotland's Black Douglas by Glen Craney Read Free Book Online

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    A ROAR OF DISCOVERY RUMBLED across the valley.
    Seeing the first runners emerge from the woods, and now only
five hundred paces away, the clansmen rushed to the finish line.
    Belle elbowed her way into the human funnel that would soon
engulf the runners. In the distance, she saw Tabhann leading the pack with a
confident pace. He pumped his fists in celebration as he outpaced the others by
several lengths, easing his way down the winding path on the last half-mile
sprint across the heather. She narrowed her eyes in disbelief. The Douglas boy
was nowhere to be found. She turned on Red Comyn with an accusing glare, but he
just smirked and slapped the backs of the confused clansmen.
    “All’s right with the world again, lads,” Red announced with
a sinister grin.
    Disappointed that an upset was not to be witnessed, the
clansmen retreated to the ale casks to replenish their mugs and rejoin their
war arguments.
    But Belle held back. She glanced over her shoulder, and from
the corner of her eye, she saw something stagger from the brush on the heights.
Young Douglas, bleeding and heaving, was running toward the camp as if his life
depended on every stride. She rushed beyond the finish line and yelled, “Come
on!”
    The men spun again at her shout, and Red Comyn shoved his
way to the front. He bellowed a warning at Tabhann, who had slowed his approach
to a victory jog.
    Tabhann risked a glance over his shoulder and then forced
his legs into an unexpected trial. The Douglas lad was still running, even after his
beating.
    And he was gaining ground.
    Their excitement ignited
again, the clansmen jostled back to their positions on the finish line and
haggled over last-minute wagers.
    A hundred paces from the
waiting scrum, Tabhann’s legs buckled.
    James caught up with him
and returned the elbow he’d received at the start of the race. Nose and nose
they came, careening, their neck veins bulging and their faces crimson. The
clansmen tightened the finish rope.
    James thrust a hip into Tabhann’s side and lunged across the
line first.
    Tabhann crawled in second, yelling and cursing as Red kicked
at him like a butcher driving a hog to the slaughter pen. One by one, Cam and
the other boys staggered across the line behind him.
    Risking her father’s wrath again, Belle ran to the collapsed
Douglas boy and cradled his head in her lap. Could this really be the same
carefree lad who had kissed her at the start of the race?
    The rules judge—a local priest from St. Bride’s kirk—mounted
a Shetland pony and cantered off toward the pog to confirm the accuracy of the
ax throws against the dragon mark on the tree across the ravine. The clansmen
waited in tense silence for his signal. When the priest whistled to verify that
James had indeed hit his mark, they erupted again in raucous celebration.
     Enraged, Red Comyn
fought a path through the cheering throngs to challenge Wil Douglas. “There’s
devilry in this!”
    “Aye, by your doing,” the elder Douglas said. “Hand it
over.”
    Red felt for his dagger, but several clansmen countered his
threat by drawing their weapons. Finding no allies for his protest, the
chieftain could only nod angrily for his kinsmen to bring up a packhorse. He
reached into his saddlebag and pulled out Scotland’s most coveted prize, a
rusted ax featuring a handle carved with the names of past winners. He slung
the Dun Eaddain ax at James’s feet. “You won’t have it long.” He
led his kinsmen in a huffing march from the camp. “Our business in this pigsty
is done.”
    “The Guardians meet here
on the morrow,” Wil Douglas reminded his old rival. “Attend, or lose your
vote.”
    As the jubilant clansmen hoisted James onto their shoulders
and carried him across the field, Red slapped the back of
Tabhann’s head in punishment and hurried his family away, muttering threats
under his breath.
    Caught in her father’s grasp, Belle was forced to leave with
the Comyns. She risked a glance back at