“Aiden, I called you here for several reasons. The first is tae say that I misjudged you earlier. I’ve made too many mistakes over the past few years. It is ironic that it takes a good whack tae my head before I begin tae see things more clearly, isn’t it?” Laird Gòrdan said wryly.
Aiden said nothing. He hadn’t expected those words from Laird Gòrdan. His father was a proud man, and it must have taken much for him to speak that way.
“Where is your other sword?” Laird Gòrdan asked.
“There was an incident outside the doors last night. I lost it, sir,” Aiden replied.
“Tam has told me much of what has happened. You are tae fight Torsten?”
“Yes, sir.” Aiden wasn’t sure what to do about the faint light of concern he saw in Laird Gòrdan’s eyes.
“Have you a sword?”
“Not yet. I haven’t found one that suits me.”
Laird Gòrdan reached over and picked up a long sheathed blade. “I want you tae take mine. Go on, try it and see what you think.” He held it out.
Aiden took the sword and stood. He drew with his left hand and swung it experimentally. It was well balanced and fit his hand well. Dropping the sheath, he grasped the handle with both hands. His wounded right shoulder immediately protested the movement.
“You’re hurt?” Laird Gòrdan saw his wince.
“My shoulder. But I can fight with either left or right hand, so it doesn’t matter.” Aiden sheathed the sword. “It will serve. Thank you, my Laird.” He made to leave but Laird Gòrdan caught his arm.
“Aiden, I’m…be careful,” he said, his gruff voice softening.
“Yes, sir,” Aiden said and strode to the far end of the hall where he began to put a new edge on the claymore.
“Father gave you his sword?” Tam asked.
Aiden nodded, not taking his eyes from his task.
“Dinner is ready, and Skive wants tae take a look at your shoulder.”
“I’ll be along in a minute,” Aiden answered.
Tam left him alone. His brother had been quiet all afternoon. Aiden was plainly worried about the next day and that frightened Tam more than anything.
* * *
Aiden was aware of Rona watching him as they sat at the table. And she wasn’t the only one. He only picked at the stew in front of him, his mind completely preoccupied. The claymore leaning on the bench beside him a subtle reminder of his worry. A bold young boy of about seven years scooted down the bench until he sat in front of Aiden.
“So you gonna fight tomorrow and beat that big, mean man?” the boy asked.
Aiden smiled faintly. “You think so?”
The boy, Brannan, nodded emphatically. “Oh, yes! You gotcha a big sword, don’t you?”
Aiden turned to Rona. “I can’nae beat his logic.”
Rona laughed. “Did you finish your dinner, Brannan?”
Brannan made a face. “Don’t like it. It doesn’t taste very good.”
Apparently he wasn’t the only one as rumblings of agreement came from the other small children seated nearby.
Aiden leaned forward conspiratorially. “I don’t like it much either. What do you think they put in it?” he whispered.
“I tink dead leaves,” said a girl of five years.
He hid a grin as the other children moved closer to contribute.
“Squished frogs,” a boy said.
“Probly bath water,” another said.
Aiden took a bite, pretending to choke as he swallowed. “You forgot crinkly bee wings.”
The children broke out in giggles and followed his example, throwing out more suggestions as they ate.
“What about Jean’s shoe that she lost the other day?” Tam asked as he sat down next to Brannan with his own food. More laughter greeted the newest addition to the stew. The grownups smiled as they watched the brothers’ ploy to get the children to eat.
“Nothing like the old Gamble Stew trick, is there?” Tam asked quietly.
“You have tae get it down somehow, don’t you?” Aiden replied.
“You two are horrible! That soup was very good,” Rona said.
“She probably ate everything in front of her when she was little.” Aiden winked.
Rona couldn’t keep a straight face, dissolving into helpless laughter with the brothers.
Jean left her place and scrambled onto Tam’s lap. “Sing us a song! Please!” she pleaded. Tam was good natured and had a vast store of songs which made him a firm favorite with the little ones.
“Please! It’s been about fifty months since you sang for us, I tink!” another boy chimed in.
“Has it really been fifty months?” Tam exclaimed.
There were emphatic nods all around from the children. Tam obliged with a lively song about a young boy and a mockingbird. Aiden leaned forward on the table and listened to the old song. It was the first time he had heard his brother sing. Tam had a pleasant tenor voice that carried throughout the hall. As Tam finished, Brannan requested his personal favorite, the “Song of Taran” in which the warrior Taran had to defeat a fierce dragon.
The quiet hall was transformed as it filled with song and laughter. Everyone joined in, their troubles forgotten for the moment. Aiden slipped away unnoticed. He visited the few sentries still posted. Despite the truce, Aiden did not trust Adalwulf.
“Get some rest now, Aiden.” Skive finished putting a fresh bandage on Aiden’s shoulder.
Aiden pulled on his shirt and the thick leather tunic that had replaced the brigandine. “I can’t. The sentries change in a few minutes.”
“I’m afraid you’re outvoted on this one,” Jamey said. “You need tae sleep. Let us worry about things tonight.”
“You won’t be of any use tomorrow if you don’t rest,” Blair put in. Aiden gave in, not unwillingly.
Everyone else in the hall was turning in. They left a place for Aiden by the hearth.
“You wouldn’t mind one more song, would you, Tam?” Ailsa asked as she struggled to put the children to bed.
Tam pulled out a small pipe from his pouch and began playing a soft melody. The children quieted instantly as the quiet notes of the lullaby floated through the air.
Aiden lay down on the pallet and wrapped his cloak around him, listening to the music. By the time Tam finished, he was asleep.
Brighde watched Aiden. He lay on his side with the claymore resting in the crook of his arm. Tomorrow this young warrior would decide their fate. The fire burned lower, and he shivered in a dream. For generations her family had woven the plaid of the Clan. She gently spread a blanket over him. That night, Aiden slept in peace under the blue plaid of Clan Canich.
Chapter 12
Andras was in trouble again. He had come in from the training grounds and was stabling his horse when he was confronted by an angry Kara.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.
“Putting my horse in his stall,” Andras replied, slightly puzzled.
“This is Delyth’s stall.” Kara gestured to her gelding. “Everyone knows that.”
“This was where I was told to keep Emil,” Andras argued.
Despite knowing her status in the Hawk Flight, he was apparently not going to back down. Kara’s temper got the better of her, and she began to tell Andras just exactly what she thought of him and his horse.
Darrin and Will happened into the stables at that point. They had met each other once before the Calorin War and had struck up a new friendship in the few days that Will had been at Kingscastle. They watched openmouthed as Kara and Andras argued. Darrin didn’t know whether to laugh or not as Kara used some choice words in Calorin.
They were interrupted by Corin’s stern voice. “What, exactly, is going on here?”
Everyone turned to see him in the doorway of the stables, papers in hand.
“Sorry, Captain, but he’s trying tae take my stall!” Kara pointed to Andras.
“Kara, I have those orders for Lynwood ready to go. You hav
e ten minutes,” Corin said.
Kara shoved Delyth in the stall and ran off to change. Corin caught sight of some grinning stable boys loitering nearby and guessed what had happened.
“Andras, I believe that Captain Pedr assigned you stall 17C. It’s in the next row over, a common enough mistake if you don’t know your way around and if no one helps you like they should.” Here he shot a glare at the stable boys who scurried quickly off. “While you have Emil out you can deliver these to the Dyffryn outpost. The garrison captain there is a little abrupt so try and be polite.”
Andras looked like he wasn’t sure if he should be offended at that. Corin handed the dispatches to Andras, and the young man rode from the stables.
“Well done. You were almost nice to him, Corin,” Darrin said.
“He hasn’t been quite as irritating recently. And it saved me from hunting down Bran to do it,” Corin said. Will and Darrin chuckled as they led their horses into stalls. “Oh, when you have a minute can you come by? I need you to sign these,” Corin asked Darrin.
His brother glanced at the papers. “You and father already signed these,” Darrin said, puzzled. “These are for Madoc, aren’t they?”
Corin grimaced at the name. “Yes. He won’t read anything unless it’s been signed by the ‘proper authorities.’ Which, in his opinion, I don’t count as.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t, ah, ‘talked’ to him about that yet,” Darrin commented.
“I could, but then he’d start citing all sorts of rules and regulations and the ‘talk’ wouldn’t end so well.”
Will laughed. “I should tell you that I’ve decided tae stay if you’ll still have me.”
“That’s the best news I’ve heard all week.” Corin smiled. “And as ‘Supreme Overlord of the Papers,’ I can put you anywhere you want.”
“The term is ‘General of the Warbands,’” Darrin corrected.
“A detail,” Corin interrupted.
“Anyway, we thought the Hawk Flight might be a good fit,” Darrin said.
Corin approved immediately. “I just promoted Aeron to lieutenant at Lynwood Keep, so Flynn needs another man in his patrol. I think you and he will get along well. I’ll let him know as soon as I can. But if you’ll excuse me, my duty as ‘General’ calls me back.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Kara met Corin in his office. He handed her the papers for Lynwood, and she stored them safely in the leather satchel that hung over her shoulder as he, with much muttering, continued to dig through the piles of paper on his desk.
“Finally. These are mostly for Liam’s patrol.” He handed her a stack of letters from the men’s families. On their frequent trips to Kingscastle, Kara and her brother would pick up and deliver letters back and forth to the men who were out on patrol. She also placed the letters in her pouch before fastening it securely shut.
“Is that all, sir?” she asked.
“I hope so,” Corin replied.
Kara couldn’t stop the light laugh that escaped her. She hadn’t quite gotten used to seeing the Captain surrounded by papers and with ink stains on his fingers.
“I know it’s a mess,” Corin commented wryly. “Darrin keeps threatening to assign me a secretary.”
“Is there any reply from Lynwood?” Kara asked.
“No, those are just the commission papers for their new officers. How are things between you and Kieran now?” he asked casually.
Kara blew a sigh. She and her brother had an argument the week before and hadn’t quite made up.
“I haven’t talked tae him in a few days. I said we should go visit our family in Braeton. We haven’t seen them in years. But he says we’re both too busy and can’nae just leave. So, I’ve been mad and it made me blow up at Andras today.”
“I wondered where that came from.”
Kara blushed. “Sorry, sir. I’ll try and make it up tae him. Someone should be nice tae him.”
“I am nice,” Corin protested with a grin, and Kara laughed. The warband knew the Captain’s opinion on the newest recruit. “But about Kieran, I can give you both some leave time if you want, or there’s talk about holding the Festival this year. Your family could come then.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll talk tae Kieran about it,” Kara said. “Good luck, sir.” She gestured to the desk.
“Thanks. Ride safe, and I’ll see you out there in a few days,” Corin said.
* * *
For the second time that day, Corin found himself thinking about Mera. Since the day they met in the stables, he had crossed her path more than usual. A fact he greatly attributed to his sister and mother.
He didn’t deny that he enjoyed talking with her. It was refreshing to talk to someone who wasn’t chasing after him because he was a prince. Or, more importantly, the long lost prince that had turned up to form the famous Hawk Flight. He had a feeling she understood him a little more than most because she had treated him when he had, well, almost died a year ago after the battle. She had guessed most of his story when she saw his scars but had not said anything about it.
His musings were interrupted by a knock on the open door of the study. He looked up to see a thin, stoop-shouldered man. He wore a scholar’s robe, and clutched a satchel under his arm.
“How can I help you?” Corin asked him.
“Sire.” The man bowed. “Prince Darrin assigned me to help you with all…this.” He looked at the desk with something akin to horror in his eyes.
Corin saw immediately he wasn’t going to get rid of the man at all. “All right, there’s another desk over there.” He nodded to the opposite wall. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name.”
“Gerralt, your highness,” the man replied.
* * *
“Sire, there seems to be no indication of whom this is from,” Gerralt said a few hours later.
Corin glanced at the paper. “Oh, that’s Captain Bryn from the garrison at Carnedd.”
Gerralt sniffed. “I don’t see how your highness can tell. This handwriting is atrocious.”
Corin knew the comment was directed at the writing in all the letters, including his.
“Gerralt, leave that one on my desk please. Bryn needs a reply soon.”
“That’s the fourth one today that needs a ‘quick reply.’”
“I know,” Corin said. “As you’ve been so kind to point out, I’m a little behind. Don’t worry, it’ll get done. I’ve already decided I’m not going out on patrol tomorrow.”
Gerralt continued to sort out papers. “Sire, it seems all this letter is lacking is a signature.”
“Gerralt, I told you that you can just call me ‘sir.’ Everyone does. Or if you want a title, ‘Captain’ will do just fine,” Corin said patiently for perhaps the third time that morning.
Gerralt’s sniff indicated what he thought of “everyone.” “Now, Sire, about this one.”
Corin resisted the urge to punch a wall. It was going to be a long day.
* * *
The lights of Kingscastle glimmered through the dusk, and Andras kicked his gelding up to a brisk trot. It had taken him longer than anticipated to deliver the dispatch. A nicker and hoofbeats sounded in the darkness behind them, and Kieran joined him.
“Andras! What are you doing out here?” he asked.
“I was asked to deliver a dispatch to Dyffryn,” Andras replied rather smugly.
Kieran’s mouth twitched for a suspicious second. “I’m glad I missed out on that assignment,” he said. “Captain Einion doesn’t seem tae like me. I figure maybe I talk too much, but I can’nae help it.”
It seems like no one has any sort of respect around here, Andras thought.
“What are you doing out?” he asked.
“Och, I’m on my way back from my run. Been a long two weeks out and about,” Kieran said. “You don’t mind if we ride back in together, do you?”
Andras couldn’t really refuse, so he nodded.
“Grand,” Kieran said.
/> Andras would have kept up his practice of not associating with any members of the warband, but Kieran kept up a steady stream of conversation, gently pressuring answers from Andras.
Before he knew it, he had given up a wealth of information about himself and his family, but Kieran freely reciprocated, going into plenty of detail about his own life. Andras wished that Kieran had not had so many adventures. It made Andras’s life seem dull and unimportant in comparison. For maybe the first time, Andras found himself thinking that perhaps the warband was not as bad as he had thought.
“I’ve got tae leave my reports in the Captain’s office. You want tae come with me tae the kitchens afterward? We’ve missed dinner by now,” Kieran asked.
Andras stuttered. “I should get back to the barracks.”
“Och, you won’t get in trouble if you’re with me. Besides, your lieutenant should know you got sent out so you’ll have a meal waiting.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive,” Kieran replied cheerfully.
Andras nodded again, and a few minutes later they clattered into the courtyard. Two yawning stable boys took their horses and Andras followed Kieran to the barracks office. Kieran pushed open the door and was halfway to Corin’s desk when a voice interrupted him.
“What are you doing in here?”
Andras estimated that Kieran jumped at least a few inches into the air in shock.
“Hammer of Lleu!” Kieran yelped. “Who are you?”
The man pushed up his spectacles and sniffed. “I’m Gerralt, the Prince’s new secretary. Again, what are you doing?”
“Leaving my reports for the Captain,” Kieran replied. He put a hand to his chest to feel his still-racing heart. “Captain might have left a warning sign,” he muttered.
Andras almost couldn’t help himself. He found the situation funny. What was happening to him?
“Give them to me. I’ll make sure he gets them in the proper order,” Gerralt said officiously.
Kieran looked at him warily as he took the papers out of his pouch and handed them to Gerralt.
“What are those?” he asked as Kieran took something else out of the bag.
“Letters for the families of Flynn’s patrol. These get left here.” Kieran laid them on Corin’s desk, his tone daring Gerralt to argue with him. The secretary chose not to, sniffing in despair of the youth of the warband. Kieran backed out as if he had been confronted by a dangerous animal.
The Wildcat of Braeton Page 11
