The Wildcat of Braeton

by Claire M Banschbach

  “So you would remain here feasting at another Laird’s table while an enemy rules your own? You can’nae wait it out either. You speak of an invasion if we strike back, but Adalwulf will soon grow tired of his games. He will kill Laird Gòrdan and my brothers and seize control. Scodra will become part of Durna, and Clan Canich will be no more. He will spread through Braeton like a disease and find you in the end!” Aiden argued. “Lleu’s hands! Where is your pride?”

  “Pride? You are the one here begging! You accuse us of fleeing, but we are not the only ones here who were driven away!” Artair glanced meaningfully at Aiden.

  “I ran, yes, but I also returned and am willing tae fight for what is mine. I remember a time when insults were avenged at the point of a sword. Maybe Adalwulf truly has nothing tae fear for I see before me only cowards willing tae sacrifice everything for the sake of their lives!”

  The men would not meet his angry gaze and Artair leaped to his feet. “No! We will not go!” he shouted.

  “At least let those willing tae go, go!” Aiden argued.

  “No!” Artair replied again, striding to the door.

  There were more than a few uncertain glances that followed the captain, and Aiden remembered Conan’s words. “Then I challenge you in combat for the leadership of these men!”

  Artair stopped and turned, knowing as well as Aiden that he could not refuse in front of his men.

  “I accept! We meet tomorrow morning at dawn!” he gritted out before leaving the chamber.

  Aiden followed, still seething with anger. Dillon ran after him.

  “Aiden!” he called, and Aiden stopped. “What you said in there, most of us agree with. Just know that Blair and I will be there with you tomorrow.”

  Aiden only nodded his thanks and went to find Conan.

  “I’ve challenged Artair,” Aiden said.

  Conan smiled in satisfaction. “I knew you would understand eventually. Did he accept?”

  “Yes. We fight tomorrow at dawn. I’ve come tae ask you tae oversee it,” Aiden said.

  “Gladly,” Conan replied. “You won’t be able tae use your double swords though. It’s tradition tae use a claymore not your own.”

  Aiden cursed interiorly, but at least Artair would also be disadvantaged by a strange weapon.

  * * *

  Aiden spent a restless night, worried not only by thoughts of the duel but also by concerns about whether Adalwulf still suspected nothing in Scodra.

  He rose well before dawn, dressed and armed himself. His left arm remained bare and he wore the armored tunic. Dillon and Blair met him in the silent hall and escorted him outside the fortress. They halted some distance into the forest in a large man-made clearing. Artair was already there, also attended by two men. The other men of Clan Canich gathered around and Conan stepped forward.

  “You’ve both asked me tae marshal this fight and as such, I choose the rules. You will both fight with claymores chosen by myself,” Conan said.

  Aiden and Artair stepped forward and laid their own weapons on a low table.

  “The fight shall be until first blood or until one of you yields,” Conan continued. “You must stay within the boundaries or forfeit. The winner will take command of the Clan members here. In order tae have a secondary witness, I’ve asked Skive here tae witness the duel. That’s all, lads.”

  Aiden and Artair stepped inside a ring carved into the earth. Dillon handed Aiden a claymore, and Eanraig did the same for Artair. The sunlight grew stronger as the sun broke over the horizon. Birds began to sing in the trees. A sunbeam glanced off a sword blade, making it sparkle. But all of this was lost on the men in the clearing who watched with bated breath as the two contestants closed on one another.

  The glade was filled with the clash of steel on steel, frightening the birds into silence. Aiden struggled at first with the heavy claymore, and Artair pressed his advantage. But Aiden was not easily pushed back. Around and around the ring they fought until they both reeled away from each other. Blood flowed from a slash on Aiden’s arm. Conan leapt in and called a halt.

  “Artair has first blood,” Conan began.

  “Not so fast, Conan.” Aiden held up his sword. The edge was streaked with blood. “Check the underside of his arm.”

  Conan ordered Artair to lift his arm, revealing a small wound above his wrist.

  “There is no clear winner. The fight continues,” Conan ruled.

  Aiden and Artair began to circle each other warily. Aiden feinted, and Artair lunged. They both gave full strength to their blows, trying to wear down their opponent. Aiden stumbled backward and Artair closed in. As he came closer, Aiden fell to the ground, swinging out with his leg and knocking Artair’s legs out from under him. As Artair fell, Aiden sprang up and rammed a foot into Artair’s chest, pinning him down. Aiden’s sword point rested at his throat, and Artair knew he was defeated.

  “I yield,” he said.

  Aiden stepped away. As victor, Artair’s command and weapons now belonged to him. He struck his claymore into the ground and went to the table. He picked up Artair’s claymore and turned back to where Artair now stood. Aiden held the sword out to him.

  Artair frowned in confusion. “It’s yours, as are these men.”

  “I know, but I could use your help,” Aiden said.

  “Well, now you’ve got me convinced of two things. First, you might be able tae overthrow the Durnian. And second, I’d rather be on your side than against you.” Artair accepted his sword.

  Aiden smiled. “Likewise, brother.” He extended a hand. Artair clasped it, and the men burst into cheers.

  “You are a strange people. One moment you are fighting each other, and the next you are friends,” Skive said to Conan.

  The burly clansman laughed. “So we are, and so it shall ever be, I’m afraid. But now young Aiden has his men and a powerful ally in Artair. I only wish I could go with them.”

  “I will go with him to help in this fight. I fear I know something of the trial he will face,” Skive said.

  * * *

  “What do you plan from here?” Artair asked, sitting at a table in the main hall.

  “We need tae get back as soon as possible.” Aiden sat on the table itself. “I told Adalwulf I was visiting a friend in a settlement tae throw him off my trail. I don’t know how well it worked. Our best chance is tae take the Durnians by surprise before they can send for reinforcements.”

  “Who knows you’re here?” Eanraig asked.

  “No one except for Jamey.”

  “Rowan’s boy?” a warrior asked.

  Aiden nodded, tensing for an argument that never came.

  “That’s good. He’s well out of Adalwulf’s way.”

  “How long will it take tae get back?” Dillon asked.

  “Depends on how fast we can travel. I made it here in less than two days,” Aiden said.

  “And we’ll do the same. Lads, be ready tae leave tomorrow morning at first light,” Artair ordered.

  * * *

  Heavy clouds gathered during the night. Thunder growled ominously as they prepared to leave. Laird Dandin’s mother stopped Aiden as he descended the stairs.

  “Your mother and I were close friends. She understood why you had tae leave,” she said.

  “I wish I had been here when she died. I never really told her good-bye.” A tight lump pressed against his throat. He’d avoided thinking about it since Ranulf had given him the news. He’d put too much distance between himself and home, and he was slowly discovering just how much he’d missed over the years.

  “She told me that she thought you were always afraid you would turn intae your father. But you have more of your mother in you than you think,” she said. “She’d be proud of you right now.”

  “Thank you, my lady.” Aiden bowed, hoping she was right. Then he turned and stepped outside.

  The men of Clan Canich stood waiting by their horses. A horse was led out for Skive who looked at it with distaste.

&nbs
p; “I prefer my own feet for traveling,” he said.

  “Why walk when you could ride?” Eanraig asked.

  “I have walked many great distances. If there were not such a need for haste, I would do the same now.” Skive slowly mounted as Aiden brought Narak from the stables. The big stallion snorted and pranced in the cool morning air.

  Skive watched distrustfully. “Is that safe to ride?”

  “Of course. You just feel good this morning, don’t you, boy?” Aiden asked the stallion. Narak whinnied and bobbed his head as if in agreement.

  “You can’nae argue with that, can you?” Artair laughed.

  They sprang up into the saddles as Dandin joined them in the courtyard.

  “I wish you the very best of luck, lads,” he said. “I hope you’ll not hold it against me that I can’nae help.”

  “This is not your fight, my Laird.” Aiden bowed with a clenched fist over his heart. He turned Narak and rode from the courtyard followed by the rest of the men.

  They retraced Aiden’s path and traveled quickly despite the heavy rain that began falling on the second day. As they neared Jamey’s house, a movement flickered on the path through the thick curtain of rain and they halted. It was Maon. The hound was bleeding from a cut and limping badly. When he saw Aiden, Maon started barking wildly and turned down the path, stopping only to look back at them.

  “Something’s wrong with Jamey!” Aiden said to Artair. He drew a sword and spurred after Maon.

  Chapter 8

  Corin sighed and flicked rainwater from his collar. It had been raining for three straight days and still showed no signs of abating. Dylan and Bran had returned to report that Skive had crossed over into Braeton. And so far, all patrols had been quiet.

  Karif perched sulkily on Corin’s shoulder and shook himself from time to time to rid his feathers of extra rainwater.

  “Not much longer and we’ll be home,” Corin told the hawk. He tired of the constant travel back and forth from Kingscastle and wished he could stay in the forest. As the towers of the castle came into view, blurred through the rain, Karif took off from Corin’s shoulder and flew toward them, choosing to fly in order to find a dry perch more quickly. The men of the Hawk Flight urged their horses on, also eager to get out of the rain.

  Corin refused the services of a stable hand in the courtyard as he preferred to care for Zephyr himself. As he finished rubbing the stallion down, a groom came up to him.

  “The mare foaled while you were away, sir. A fine young colt that looks to take after its sire.” The groom rubbed Zephyr’s forehead.

  “That’s good news. Where did you put them?” Corin asked.

  “Down at the end, sir.”

  “Thank you.” Corin stepped out of Zephyr’s stall and made his way to the large stalls at the back of the stables. As he neared, he saw a figure standing at the stall door. It was Martin’s sister, Mera, one of the castle healers. She looked up, surprised, as Corin came up on silent feet.

  “Sorry if I startled you,” he apologized.

  “No, it’s all right,” she reassured him. “I’ve been hearing about the colt from all the children, and this was my first chance to come see him.”

  Corin leaned on the door. The mare stood quietly at the back of the stall, and the long-legged colt lay on a pile of hay, fast asleep.

  “He’ll grow up into a fine horse,” Corin said in satis-faction.

  “What will you do with him?” Mera asked curiously.

  “With his size, he’ll make a good warhorse.”

  “A warhorse,” Mera mused. “I do not mean to pry, sire, but do you think there will be another war?” She hesitated over the next question. The reminder of war was never far away.

  “It’s very possible, but there have been no signs so far.”

  “But you are worried?”

  “Do I read that easily?” Corin asked with a grin.

  Mera smiled. “I have plenty of practice with Martin. How was your patrol?”

  “Fine, up until the last few days, and we haven’t been able to keep dry,” Corin replied. “Martin sends his greetings. He’ll be back sometime next week.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Mera smiled.

  “Please don’t call me that,” Corin said. “You make it sound so solemn. And we have known each other since we were children.”

  Mera laughed softly. “All right then, Corin.”

  Karif landed between them on the stall door. “Thought you abandoned me for someplace warm and dry,” Corin said to the hawk. Karif pecked gently at his hand.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry! I’ve kept you out here! You must be tired and—”

  “I’m all right, really. I won’t drop of exhaustion any time soon.” Corin stopped her with a laugh.

  She laughed with him as they turned to leave the stables. Pausing at the doors, Mera drew her cloak around her and prepared to step out into the rain.

  “You can’t just walk out there!” Corin was almost as surprised as she was, but something in him wanted to see if she remembered their puddle-jumping days. “Nothing but a straight run will do,” he asserted.

  Mera looked at the courtyard filled with pools of water, and a sudden smile spread across her face. “I concur.”

  “Well then, shall we?”

  They took off running at the same time, splashing through numerous puddles, until they arrived breathless and laughing at the foot of the stairs. Corin gallantly offered his hand to help Mera up the slippery steps. Bounding up the last few stairs, they stepped squarely into a pool of water.

  Mera covered her mouth, aghast. Then Corin’s shoulders began shaking, and he was laughing uncontrollably. She couldn’t help but laugh helplessly with him. They entered the castle and shed wet cloaks.

  “My lord?” a soldier addressed Corin.

  “Yes, Andras?” Corin regained control of himself.

  Andras clearly disliked the fact that he had to carry the message. “There is someone here who requested to see you, sir.”

  “Does he have a name, Andras?” Corin’s previous mood was quickly turning into a desire to strangle the young man.

  “I was not told, sir.”

  “Has he been here long?”

  “Since this morning, sir.”

  “Tell him I’m sorry to keep him waiting. I’ll see him as soon as I am able,” Corin said.

  Andras gave a reluctant salute and hurried away.

  Corin turned to Mera. “If you’ll excuse me, ma’am.”

  Mera curtseyed. “Of course…sir,” she replied as they shared another laugh.

  “You haven’t looked that happy in a while,” Amaura said to Mera as Corin left.

  “What do you mean?” Mera asked.

  “Well, you just don’t laugh as much as you used to. Even when Martin is here.”

  “I suppose we just don’t get to spend as much time together anymore.”

  “I know what you mean,” Amaura agreed forlornly. “Corin and Darrin are always busy. And I’m just getting to know Corin again. It’s not fair!”

  “What about you and Trey? Have you talked to him yet?” Mera asked. She and Amaura had grown up together and were as close as sisters and so Mera knew of her dilemma.

  “No, Darrin said Trey will be here tomorrow, so I suppose I can then,” Amaura said.

  “You sound so solemn!” Mera laughed.

  “I just don’t know what to say!”

  “Too bad you’re not a warrior. You could just point a sword at him and make him talk,” Mera suggested.

  Amaura laughed. “You’ve been around Martin too long. I should just have you do it then. Or maybe Kara will lend me her rapier.”

  * * *

  At that moment, the young woman in question walked into the barracks. It was after the evening meal so most of the men were inside. Kara pushed back the hood from her cloak as she returned greetings. Although she and her twin brother Kieran were half-Braeton, they had served as message riders in the Hawk Flight during the war—a fun
ction they still performed.

  She had just returned from an outpost not far from Kingscastle with dispatches for the Captain and letters for the men of the Hawk Flight whose families did not live in Kingstown. They looked up expectantly as she took the letters out of the pouch slung over her shoulder.

  “Here, Ian.” She handed him a letter. “I might have one more in here for you. What’s her name again?” she teased.

  He only smiled and took the letter from his family. Ian had quickly befriended Kieran and Kara during the war and become like another brother to her. As such, they never lost the chance to tease each other.

  “I can only tell you that she likes to fish.” Ian smirked.

  Kara laughed and punched his arm lightly. She distributed the rest of the letters to the men while she joked with them. Andras watched with a frown. He pushed over to where Evan sat, reading his letter.

  “Do you really believe she was in the war?” Andras asked.

  “You don’t?” Evan asked.

  “She’s a girl!” Andras protested.

  “Have you seen her ride?” Evan asked. “She’s better than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

  “Thank you, Evan,” Kara called, not bothering to hide a smirk.

  Both men looked up, surprised that she had heard them. She only grinned. “Just a little trick I learned from the captain in the war.”

  Laughter greeted her comment, but Andras glowered when he saw that Evan was also smiling.

  “How could he teach anything? He can barely walk. I don’t understand the blind devotion,” Andras said.

  The room fell silent.

  “You’d best think carefully before you continue,” Bran said.

  Andras swallowed a bit nervously. Bran was one of the best bowmen in the warband and was not usually known for a calm temperament. Kara almost felt some sympathy for the young man.

  “You’ve never seen him out there, so you don’t know. He can do anything, and let me tell you, laddie, he’s the only reason that we’re standing here free men,” Bran said.

  “Thank you for that speech, Bran,” Corin said.

  Even some of the seasoned veterans flinched at the sound of his voice. Another quality the captain had was being able to appear without warning. Corin leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed. No one was sure how much he had heard.