by Jessica Loft
“Are ye hearin’ a damned word I’m sayin’, man?” Angus all but roared.
“Aye!” Beaste exclaimed, turning his head to look at his friend as they started walking up the steps. “But uh, could ye tell me again? I think the cold rattled me brain.”
Angus rolled his eyes. “I said, get up ta ye room and get dressed, would ye? Ye father wants te talk with ye.”
“Later,” Beaste grumbled. Angus reached out and grabbed Beaste’s arm, stopping him in his tracks.
“Listen, I know, probably better than anyone else in this forsaken countryside how much of a horse’s arse ye father was ta ye. Ye got te worst of te beatings, not just from him but ye brothers, and he always encouraged a bloody nose or a black eye. Ye’ve never been like him Beaste, not once in ye entire life, so don’t start now, all right? He’s dyin’. I know you know he’s dyin’, and when he’s gone ye’ll be our new leader. Now’s the time te pay attention, and if possible, start to undo all of this bad that ye father created.”
Beaste sighed, and nodded his head. Angus may have looked like a big slow ox, but he was sharp as a tack. He was right.
“Aye,” Beaste agreed. He took a few steps upwards. “I’ll go see him now.”
Angus raced after him and stopped him once again.
“Och, what now?” Beaste asked. “Don’t ye want me to talk to me da?”
“Oh, aye son, I do,” Angus agreed, nodding his head. “It’s just, I think it might be best if ye at least put some britches on first!”
Beaste looked down, remembering he was indeed naked.
“Right,” Beaste said nodding his head. He took the stairs two at a time towards his quarters. “Britches first, then off we go to see da.”
CHAPTER 4
Rob stared intently into the flames, his mind not on the battle at all, but on his family. He missed them somethin’ fierce, and an ache had started to grow in his heart from it. It had been nearly six months since he’d been home- a much longer span of time than he and his men had planned for.
Christmas had come and gone and he had sent gifts of salt and teas home to his family from the nearest town at the time. He’d also found a set of needles for Merida’s stitching and a cloak lined with rabbit fur for Lizbeth. In return they had sent him a new wool cloak with his tartan stitched into the back and a pair of fox fur gloves, both of which he loved. In the letters he received from his wife, he had found out that Lizbeth was now with child. She would not share with whom the father was, but he knew his daughter. She was not foolish or prone to bouts of fancy or lust. If she had given her treasure to a man, it had been out of pure love.
Of course, he couldn’t say the same about the father, whoever he was. Each day though Rob wished to meet him on the battlefield so he could cut him down for the way he treated his precious daughter. What kind of man left a pregnant woman?
Tray stepped into his tent, quickly pulling him from his thoughts. He had been gone three days on a peace mission in hopes of ending the war. “Sit down, man,” Rob insisted, pointing Tray to the seat closest to the fire. “Tell me how it went!”
Tray helped himself to a large hunk of bread and cheese and a pitcher of ale before he spoke. The ride back had been long and full of anxiety. After being told such good news, it only stood to reason that he was being set up for a trap. However, no ambush came and he had made it back to the camp safely.
“All righty, here’s the news,” Tray said at last. “O’Cleary’s dyin’, hell he been dyin’ fer quite some time from what I heard, but he’s officially on his death bed now. Te King has deserted him and cut off his resources. With no one to enforce his laws, his people have started to rebel and take back their freedom. His son, Beaste, is te one that met with me. Good lad, all things considered. If he means what he said then we be headed for peace among all Scots.”
Rob thumped his mighty fist on his thigh and stood up in excitement. “That’s great news, Tray!” He exclaimed. “After all these years of war, we can finally rest!”
Tray shook his head. “Nay, mate, nay. Beaste predicts that after the King of England hears that the Scots as a whole have united he will pull back from te land for a short period of time. But he will come back, with enough warriors to make up for the hundreds he lost from Alan’s alliance.” Tray’s face grew dark and serious. “When it happens, it may be a war we cannot win, Rob.”
Rob waved his hand in the air. A year. It would most likely be a year maybe two before the King came back in with his warriors and tried to take the land. That would give him more time with his family, and at the moment that was what he cared about more than ever.
“So, what does this Beaste want to do next?” Rob asked, pressing forward.
Tray looked at his friend for a moment, wondering if he’d even heard what he had just said. Finally he simply sighed and shrugged his shoulders.
“He would like te meet wit ye and te other three leaders of the rebellion and strike a peace treaty. He seemed very anxious to meet you. Said you nearly took his life, and then saved it. Haven’t the slightest idea what he meant by that.”
Neither did Rob, but he didn’t care about what he could or couldn’t figure out in terms of riddles in the moment. He could only think of one very important fact: they were finally going to be able to go home.
~
“Ouch! Watch it love, that’s me stomach ye kickin’ there,” Lizbeth soothed. She placed her hand on her rounding belly and smiled softly down at it. To her great surprise, her mother hadn’t tried to beat her with a broom handle when she told her she was pregnant.
“Te church may think it’s a sin, but between ye and me, te church has no clue what bein’ a woman is like,” Merida had said upon hearing the news that she was going to be a grandmother.
Auntie Thistle had been right, the morning sickness had gotten worse before it had gotten better, and more than once there were days where Lizbeth could do nothing but lay in bed and hope she wouldn’t get sick all over herself. On those days where she could nothing her mind often went in search of Beaste to distract her. She remembered his handsome, chiseled face, his long black hair, and his warm, muscular body that once held her so tight.
There were rumors that the war was ending, and it was all thanks to him. In the deep depths of her heart she had started to hope that he would return to her once it was over, but she knew she was just being foolish. He would have no idea that she was with his child, so why would he return?
Unless, of course, he had meant what he had said and truly loved her. For the longest time she told herself she didn’t miss him, but once she started to feel the baby move she gave up on the lie. She missed him with every fiber of her being, and something told her he missed her too.
Spring was coming, finally, and with summer her baby would be ready to come into the world. Lizbeth had never been more excited to meet anyone in her life. She talked to her often, at least she felt that it was a her. Lizbeth would teach her how to hunt, how to fish, how to climb trees and build shelters, and she, like herself would never have a need for a husband, but only a want for one.
“Lizbeth,” Merida called from the house. “Come on and bring te snow in would ye? We need te get it melted for te broth.”
Lizbeth looked down at her nearly full bucket of snow and continued to fill it. Just yesterday she had been able to shoot three pigeons with her bow, and they were about to make a mighty fine meal. At times the winter had been rough, especially with her constant dizziness. Since her mother couldn’t hunt, they had been forced to slaughter one of the sheep and most of the chickens. They had kept the cow and the calf alive because they needed the milk, but because of that they had grown rather thin. Now that Lizbeth’s sickness had passed though, wild game graced their table aplenty once again.
Right as she was about to enter her home, she turned around one last time and looked towards the woods. She knew that buried behind the wall of trees was a little hut where once upon a time a man with a wound to his side had been br
ought back to health. He had talked to her, and smiled at her, and told her he loved her. For a moment she pretended he was there, simply waiting for her to return from a day with her mother. He would pull her into his arms when she came home and kiss her on the lips. Then, after a warm hug he would prop down on his knees and kiss her rounding belly where their daughter lay nestled safe and sound. It was a beautiful picture, one she barely allowed herself to admit to. But it was hers, and no one could take that from her.
CHAPTER 5
“I’m going to get her,” Beaste said suddenly.
“Who?” Angus asked. They stood by the graveside of old Alan O’Cleary, wearing their dark shirts and traditional kilts for the ceremony. Everyone had shown up for the send off of the body but only for pretense. As soon as the pyre was lit they had all disbanded, not really caring that the mean old bastard had finally died. Only Beaste and Angus had still remained to watch the flames eat at the body of the old devil.
“Lizbeth,” Beaste replied. He’d finally seen enough, and decided to turn his back from the flames. It would start to stink any minute and he didn’t want to be around for that. In his heart he felt a tinge of sadness for his father. Not for his death, but for his life. It had been hard, and cruel, and empty. And he would be damned if he would let his own life end up like that.
“Really?” Angus asked, surprised. They been friends since birth practically, and in the thirty years they’d been like brothers he had come to see that though an excellent fighter, Beaste was also quite the romantic. He had the lass’s of the village lining up to woo him, and he had taken their hearts one by one. Because he was a gentleman he had always courted the girls, but after a month or so it would fall apart.
It had been nearly seven months since they’d ‘rescued’ him from the wilderness, and to that very day any time Beaste had a spare moment he would talk of her beauty, her strength, her intelligence. Hell, half the men of Beaste’s clan that heard about her had fallen in love with her just by hearing about the kind of woman she was.
“Yes,” Beaste said, nodding his head. “Next week we ride to the old McCollough Castle to sign the peace treaty between us and the rebel leaders. Once it’s done I’ll confess my love to her father and ask for her hand in marriage.”
Angus clapped his friend on the back, truly happy for him. The rein of the evil Alan O’Cleary had ended and Beaste was driving the clans into a new dawn. On top of it all, he had found the love of his life and he would finally be reunited with her. It was a great time to be alive indeed!
~
Rob’s Camp
“No,” Herrin said firmly, his old beady eyes boring into Rob’s. “I won’t sign it.”
Aaron, the other leader of the rebels and the men surrounding the table all groaned in frustration. With the death of Alan O’Cleary a peace treaty had been offered. Rob, Aaron, and all of their men had agreed to sign it, but they needed all three signatures of the rebel leaders to make it official.
“Look old man,” Rob growled, losing his patience. “We need a rest. All of us. We have families, and you have your heathens. We all have a home that we miss and want te get back to!”
Herrin was the oldest of the rebel leaders, and the oddest. His clans were wood people; some even called them the fey. They lived in the trees and followed strictly to the old pagan ways. He, more than the others, believed in an eye for a whole body. After his high preistess and his bastard son were killed by one of O’Clancy’s raiding parties, he had made it his sole mission in life to destroy anything and anyone that the O’Clancy clans stood for.
“I’ve spoken me mind, and my clan will not participate in such a treaty.”
Rob shot out of his chair, his meaty fists closing around the old man’s throat with surprising speed. Herrin’s men went to stop the fight when Tray stepped in, holding a bow and arrow at their captain’s eye.
“Let em work it out,” Tray snarled. He’d had enough the wars as well. He missed Thistle and his brood, and he wanted time badly to mourn for the death of his son. The battle that took him had been fierce, and had nearly wiped out their ranks. He survived until the very end, but infection from his wounds had sadly taken over. If there was a chance Rob could change Herrin’s mind by beating the bloody pulp out of him, then damnit it he was going to make sure he beat the bloody pulp out of him.
It was several minutes before Herrin gave in and Rob wrangled his rage for the nasty old coot. “All right, all right!” Herrin gasped. His fingernails dug at the skin of Rob’s hands, leaving little rivulets of blood trailing down to his wrists.
“Get te bloody hell off me and let’s talk,” He added, pushing away at Rob’s larger figure. The man let him go and took a step back. He’d barely broken a sweat fighting the old man. He felt like he was prepared to go rounds for hours if the bastard didn’t cooperate.
“Fine,” Herrin said, after catching his breath. “I’ll sign te fuckin’ peace treaty. But let it be warned here and now, once my signature be on it, my clans will never fight wit ye again, am I clear? If not King James then some other English Twat wit a silver spoon up his arse will try and come to take our land. Ye’ll fight every battle from here on out on ye own.”
Aaron put a hand on Rob’s shoulder and he leaned down to hear what the man had to whisper to him. When he was finished, he turned his head and nodded toward him.
“Aye, we hear ye warnin’,” Rob replied, rising to his full height. “Yet still we choose to sign te peace treaty. Te English will come like ye say, that we know. But unless we have peace among all te clans we won’t get te rest and trainin’ we need te beat them. So we accept your withdrawal from te rebels on te condition that ye sign te peace treaty. It is a risk we be ready te take.”
Herrin stared coldly at the two other leaders for a long time, his beady eyes boring into them as if he could see through the flesh and right into the soul.
“Fine.” He said at last. “Then we have an accord.”
CHAPTER 6
From inside their home Lizbeth heard her mother squeal loudly. Thinking she was in trouble, she rose as quickly as she could from her knees and waddled into the house. Her time was quickly approaching, and in less than a month she would finally be meeting her baby girl.
“Mum, what is it, what’s wrong?” She sat the basket of seeds down on the floor and walked over to her mother, whom had her back curved over a piece of paper. Lizbeth felt her heart stop. It was a death letter from the battles. Surely it must be. Which is why it surprised her all the more when Merida turned around to show her wide smile and tear stained cheeks.
“It’s ye father! He’s comin’ home!” Merida exclaimed. The two women shouted in joy and through their arms around one another. He had made it. Against all odds he had made it and now he was coming home.
“What else does it say?” Lizbeth asked, looking towards the letter.
“It says that ye father will be signing a peace treaty wit de O’Cleary clan in four days time, and he’s asked that we join him at the castle there for the celebration afterwards.” Merida looked around their small home, her mind instantly compiling a list of what needed to be done.
“Why, we’d have te leave today to make it on time! Let’s see, I’ll get old Shamus te look after te animals and maybe we can get…” Her voice drifted off as she stepped out of their home in search for old man Shamus, leaving her daughter standing pale and shaken with the letter in her hands.
The O’Cleary castle. Where, surely, Beaste O’Cleary would be. The idea of seeing him again both excited and frightened her. What if he didn’t love her after all? What if he completely ignored her? It would be like having her heartbroken all over again! Her mind and heart were racing to the worst possible outcomes of the situation, and though she wanted to see her father badly, she suddenly realized that she couldn’t possibly go.
“What are ye just standin’ there for, lass?” Merida asked, coming back inside. “Get te food ready and pack ye best dress. We’re leavin’ along with
Thistle and her brood within te hour.”
“Nay,” Lizbeth replied, looking up to meet her mother’s gaze. “Nay I can’t. I won’t go.”
Her mother stopped moving and gave her daughter her full attention. “Oh yes ye are,” she said gravely. “Ye won’t stay behind for this, no matter how scared ye may be ta see Beaste again. It’s time te be te strong woman I know ye are and confront him!”
Lizbeth’s jaw nearly fell to the floor. She had never told her mother who the father was and she knew her Aunt Thistle would have taken her secret to the grave. Her mother laughed at her expression, and continued to go about preparing for their trip.
