by Kara Griffin
Voices came but Brodin wouldn’t move. He’d been wronged. His heart and head taunted him to take retribution. Yet he stilled his hand and held back.
Someone grabbed him from behind and held his arms. His sword dropped and clanked the stone of the floor. Ten men entered the small cottage, taking up the space of the floor betwixt him and his former love.
Alexia’s father stood behind him. “What say ye, Brodin, what goes here?”
“Thank God ye came. He tried to kill me, Da. I know not why. He’s maddened.” Alexia ran to her father and wept. Her false tears would fill a bucket. “He is ireful that I wouldn’t do unspeakable acts with him. I’m gladdened you came when you did, Da.”
Her father comforted her and glared at him. “You would harm my daughter?”
Brodin never knew Alexia to be sensational, but she’d enabled tears to flow. Her sobs reaped looks of despair amongst the men inside the cottage. He wanted to applaud her performance, for the woman was talented at her deceit.
“I tried to kill her?” He was astounded and aghast at her accusation.
Sheriff Norval Sweeten glared his affront at his daughter. “I should’ve sent ye to the cloister, aye the nunnery is the only place I can keep you from your sinful deeds. You shall leave at the soonest.” He handed Alexia off to his comrade. “See to my lass. I will deal with the Grant.”
“You will pay for this Brodin. I swear I will find a way to repay you. Aye, you’ll look over your shoulder for the rest of your days. Please, Da, listen … I don’t wish to go to the nunnery. I won’t cause further strife—”
“We will discuss the matter later. I cannot look upon you for you have sinned your last.” The sheriff turned his back to her and scowled at him.
Alexia was taken away shrieking her objections, and Brodin gave her a look of disdain as she was forced from the cottage. The woman was intent to kill him. It wasn’t his fault her father thought her sinful. The lass had consorted with him and who knows who else. Brodin scoffed at his foolishness. He stood before the sheriff unable to voice the words to protest his innocence.
The stout man fingered his graying beard. “As the sheriff of this village, I must make sentence for your crime, lad.”
“I committed no crime. She sent someone to kill me. You heard her threaten me. I returned to question her and we were discussing the whys.” He pulled free from the man who held him.
“Be that as ye say, you cannot go around intimidating young lassies with your sword. I shall send ye off to attend the Bruce. Aye, you shall go and not return for at least five years. During that time ye shall forget Alexia and the happenings of this day. I cannot have ye spreading vile remarks of my daughter and have my position imperiled. Nay, you must go.”
Brodin scowled, for it would take longer than five years for him to forget or forgive the treachery of her doings.
“I shall let your clan ken of your sentence. It is because of your father’s good standing that I don’t give ye a harsher punishment. My men will escort ye to the Bruce’s holding this day.” Sheriff Sweeten nodded to his men. “Aye, for we cannot have ye making threats on young lasses, especially when you compromised them in the first place. I ken about your liaison with my daughter, with others’. You shall not soil our daughters again.”
“I soiled no one. I was going to ask for her hand …”
“Await me outside,” he said to his men. He approached Brodin and spoke low, “We both grasp my daughter is a dishonorable woman. I ken you’re not at fault here, but I cannot have the villagers thinking me merciful. I must uphold my authority at all costs, even at the price of your freedom for only a short few years. I aid ye more than you know and sending you away will ensure none will speak of this matter …” He shoved him toward the doorway.
When Brodin retreated outside, two guards took him into custody and dragged from the cottage. He wanted to dispute the claims, but the sheriff waved him off and strolled away. Brodin swore upon all that was holy, Alexia Sweeten would regret this day and her decision to end his life.
Chapter One
Dumfries, Scotland
January 1313
Fifteen years of war ravaged his beloved Scotland. As much as Brodin Grant wanted to admit their independence from England was at hand, he couldn’t unbind his pledge to his overlord. King Robert the Bruce had his loyalty and support even though their sovereign wanted his head in a noose for what he deemed betrayal. The time to resolve the matter with his king approached and he’d have to figure out what life had to give.
Yet, his heart would forever be plagued. Brodin realized he’d never have a wife or children. He wasn’t one to dwell on such matters, for his past secured his fate. But longings of holding a wee bairn of his own tightened his chest. As he trod carefully through the cave, averting the children at play, he was happy at least to be part of his adopted clan. His fellow-guardsmen took up residence in the wilds of Dumfries on their return to Scotland after their self-imposed exile. And since, many people joined their family. It was getting a mite crowded in the spacious cave they occupied and the noise level nearly unbearable.
Why children awoke so early in the morn was beyond him. They scampered about the cave, those that learned to walk, and the others sat upon a tartan on the floor. Scattered about them were numerous toys he’d carved. Brodin had a wee bit of skill when it came to the dagger. With nothing other than sheer boredom occupying him of late, he whittled and kept himself from going mad. He’d made blocks of varying sizes, wooden balls, horse figures, and woodland animals. The children seemed to enjoy the objects and he enjoyed making them.
Brodin grumbled at being awakened but decided he might as well rise. Once the children began their day, all others would do likewise regardless of their want. He snatched a cup from the table and poured the remaining mead in the cask.
Almost ten years had passed since he’d been sent to serve the Bruce. Back then, he was given the high honor of commanding his father’s soldiers. But the unfortunate liaison with the Sweeten lass prevented him from that duty. His life changed forever that day, yet he wasn’t displeased for he’d met his brethren: Graeme Cameron, Heath Fraser, and Liam Kincaid. Their alliance went beyond brotherhood. And even if he had to put up with the many children running amok the cave, he’d do so without complaint.
Heath’s son Ethan tottered toward the makeshift hearth. A good fire blazed within and filled the upper cavern with smoke. Brodin scooped the one-year-old into his arms to prevent him from injury. “Where is your mother?”
The bairn, a blond-reddish-haired lad who resembled his father, gave him a mirthful grin.
“Hot,” he said, hoping the bairn would understand.
Brodin tired of inactivity and the recent years of peace, mainly because he knew the day would come when the English king would return. He hoped his king was ready to face their main adversary. Regardless, he and his comrades would protect their beloved king. He smirked at his thought. Beloved was generous especially since said king wanted their heads in a noose. That forced them to stay hidden in the dank cave in the remote woodland of Dumfries.
Heath lifted his son from his lap into the air and caused the bairn to squeal. “My thanks. I couldn’t get to him in time. I’ll be gladdened when we can return to our clans.”
“Aye, or if you keep adding to our numbers, we’ll need to find a bigger cave.” Even though he’d jested, Brodin didn’t laugh. The cave was their only source of sanctuary and its location in the dense woods protected them from being found. Many sought refuge in various caves throughout the lands from the English when warranted, but theirs had become home.
Heath scoffed. “When the spring comes, we should leave. The king is content with his mild raids on the English border.”
Brodin suspected it only a matter of time before the English king retaliated. “Mayhap, but I doubt England’s king will find those raids trifling. He’s a mite busy these days with ample problems in his own lands. Nay, I say he’ll come to seek injustice e
ventually.”
“I don’t deem so. The war is at an end. We’ve gained our independence,” Heath said and lifted Ethan higher causing the bairn to squeal again. “Perhaps we should go to Robert and ask for his forgiveness. I’m growing weary of his avoidance of us.”
“It won’t be long before he remembers.”
Graeme, the chosen leader of their group, slid upon the bench and took his cup. After chugging most, he wiped his dark beard and narrowed his eyes. “Who remembers what?”
Brodin chuckled. “Our king. He’ll remember us eventually.”
“Aye, and we’ll deal with him then. Och, I’m all for returning home. I’m doing my damnable best not to get Kerrigan with child.”
Heath bellowed. “A problem we all face with our own wives.”
Thankfully Brodin didn’t have a wife and such a worry didn’t concern him. He grinned at his comrade’s jest even though Graeme’s tone suggested seriousness.
“I think we should meet with Robert and force a decision. We cannot keep our families here in the outskirts of Dumfries for much longer. The children grow restless as do I.” Graeme finished the drink and handed the cup back to him.
Brodin didn’t have as much to lose as his comrades. They had wives, children, and clans to return to. He had two brothers and a clan, but since he’d been gone so long, he doubted anyone would miss him if he didn’t return. There was a time when all he thought of was his homecoming. What would he do with his life when this was over? He considered it briefly. That hefty decision would need painstaking reflection.
“Perhaps Robert doesn’t consider our deed as treasonous. Others have done worse,” Liam said, joining the discussion. His comrade was saddled with lassies and a dominant wife who was as bonny as she was formidable. Makenna didn’t birth Liam’s first daughter, Darcy, but she considered the lass her own. Their second daughter, Ingrid, was the bonniest bairn he’d ever beheld. Liam stood by the pottage pot and scooped a bowlful for his daughter Darcy.
The pottage’s scent filled the domain and made his stomach grumble. Brodin hadn’t eaten his morning fare yet, but their discussion was of more import.
“Be a good lass and sit on the cover with the bairns. Be sure to eat all your food,” Liam said. She nodded and took the bowl from him.
“We disobeyed him. All we did was leave the isle. Nothing untoward happened as a result. None of us were captured to testify that Robert killed Comyn at Greyfriars. The matter was settled with King Edward’s death. Besides, it’s not as if we tried to usurp our king or tried to assassinate him.” Heath gave a firm nod.
“I am the only one without family and have nothing to lose. I say I go to Robert and speak our peace and gain his approval to rejoin our clans. If I don’t succeed …”
His comrades immediately shook their heads.
Graeme set a hand on his forearm. “Just because you have no wife and children, doesn’t mean you’re unimportant or have no family. Nay, we will need to be patient.”
“I detest that we hold up here in a cold cave. If we return home, I doubt Robert will give a care.” Brodin wasn’t fearful of the king. Robert would do his will eventually and they might as well face it. He wouldn’t fear his death, not after living so many years with the threat of it hanging over his head.
Heath said, “We’re not living here, but existing. The women and children shouldn’t suffer because of our deeds. Robert will either execute us or pardon us. We should enjoy what life we have left.”
“We have time before spring comes to consider this,” Graeme said.
But Brodin wasn’t willing to wait. “I’d wager the coin that the king pardons us, but only if we seek him out. We should do so now when Robert least expects it.” The coin he wanted to wager was Graeme’s most treasured possession brought back from the crusades by his grandda. Graeme used it to bring about their loyalty toward one another. Whoever held the coin got to suggest the next wager. Their loyalty would’ve come regardless of the coin’s value. For years they’d used it as a means to jest, but Brodin’s proposition of a wager wasn’t a jest at all.
“None are to accept Brodin’s wager. We’ll discuss it further and decide when the weather warms enough to travel.” Graeme didn’t wait for their response but set off to speak with his son. William was growing into a fine lad and if they were home, he’d foster with one of their clans for his training. The lad would make a good soldier like his father.
Liam ran toward the vines that protected their cave from wind and harsh weather. His wee lass just learned to walk. Ingrid was sweet, but often a minx. She was about to traipse through the vines when Liam caught her. His comrade stood, looking outside for a moment before he returned to the table. “It’s cold as hell and there’s a few inches of snow covering the ground.”
“We’ll need more wood for the fire. I’ll fetch it.” Brodin rose and set off to see to the chore.
Makenna took Ingrid from Liam and he followed him outside.
Brodin raised his face to the sky. Only puffy clouds smattered the cerulean expanse. The day would be brisk, but at least it wouldn’t snow.
Once he and Liam collected enough wood and set it near the cave entrance, he ambled to the nearby ossuary. The cave was a small gloomy place where previous ancestors rested their dead. It was as good a place as any to house their horses. At one time, they had a squire who saw to the keep of their warhorses, but the lad fled and never returned. Being in the ossuary reminded him of Gilroy.
He hoped the lad found his way. Although, when they discovered he’d gone missing nearly two years ago, they were angered that he left without a by-your-leave. Gilroy often went about his way, but somehow he’d always found his way back to them. Not this time. Too much time had passed and Brodin didn’t expect to see the lad again. He hoped Gilroy hadn’t gone and got himself killed.
Brodin tended to his horse and put away the tools they used for their care. When all was tidied, he strolled outside and hesitated to return to the cave. As he stood there in the solitude enjoying the peacefulness and quiet, he noticed a lad walking forward.
“Jimmy, what goes?” Brodin approached and searched his face for a sign of his regard. The lad was one of Rohan’s lackeys who often delivered messages. Rohan owned the largest mead hall in Dumfries and he was also privy to their secrets. He’d aided them in the many years of their exile, since that unfortunate night at Greyfriars.
He swiped his face with his sleeve. “Rohan says to come. You have visitors.”
Brodin raised a brow. “Do you know who comes?”
“Nay, he says be quick about it for they won’t await long.” Jimmy inclined his head and backed two steps before turning and hailing off from whence he came.
Brodin pursed his lips. Who would possibly visit him?
Liam joined him outside the ossuary and laughed at his expression. “What has you bewildered? Was that one of Rohan’s lads I saw running away?”
“Aye, Rohan says I should come. Someone awaits me, but he doesn’t name them. I’ll head to the village and placate my curiosity.”
“Do you want me to go along?”
He shook his head. “It’s too cold to travel to the village.”
Liam grumbled and shoved his shoulder with enough force to make him step back. “Are you saying I can’t handle a wee bit of chill?”
Brodin laughed but sobered. “Not at all. If I wasn’t called, you bet your arse I’d be in the warm cave this day instead of freezing mine off. Let Graeme know where I’ve gone.”
“Bring back a cask or two of wine for the women. They’re fond of the drink and grouse when there’s nothing but the harsh brew or mead.”
“Aye.” Brodin agreed and readied his horse. He placed an extra tartan about his body, hoping it would keep him warm during the jaunt. As he set out, the sky pitched and the weather changed in an instant, but that was his beloved land. One minute it was sunny with a warmth to the breeze, the next gray and dismal. So much for a brisk sunny day. The clouds turned glo
omy and concealed the expanse, and the wind gusted. Brodin hastened his pace and wanted to reach the mead hall before the snows began.
He reached the village, almost chilled to the bone from the pace of the ride and hale wind. The entrance to the hall appeared vacated, but Brodin needed to enter through the back. If whoever visited him was a foe, he wouldn’t make his apprehension easy. Behind the hall, he spotted three of Rohan’s lads. They moved out his way as he entered. Stale odors permeated from the building. Besides the stale ale, those that occupied the hall added to the stench. Brodin wouldn’t spend more than a few minutes in the place and didn’t know how Rohan withstood it.
Inside the back room, two serving lassies smiled. He bowed his head in greeting and searched for Rohan in the large room where drink was served. At this time of day, the hall should be crowded, but the patrons were sparse. The proprietor was easy to spot for he was a stout man with a full beard and rutty cheeks. But what caught him was the man’s bellowing tone. Brodin found Rohan sitting at his favorite table near the hearth along with … He stared hard at the patrons. His brothers sat drinking and boasted about their bruises.
“Alan, Grifin … what are you doing here?” Brodin nudged Grif over and he sat on the bench next to him. His brother Grifin didn’t resemble him with his light hair and even lighter eyes. The blueish hue was much muted, more so than his bright eyes.
Rohan poured him a cup of ale and scoffed. “Glad ye came hastily, Brodin. These two caused a ruckus and chased all my patrons away.”
“I suppose that’s where you got the black eye, Alan, and the bloody nose, Grifin?” Brodin would’ve taken delight in hearing the tale, but Rohan wasn’t pleased about having his establishment in disarray. Given the state of the tables and the absent patrons, his brothers must’ve caused a melee worth Rohan’s missing coin.
His brothers didn’t retort but sat grinning as if prideful. Alan was the staidest of the three. He’d always been so. He had the same hair coloring, almost black strands, and nearly the same shaded eyes. Yet he was formidable and never one to appreciate a jest. Leastways, Brodin and Grifin had similar tolerant dispositions until the day he was sent to serve the Bruce. Then he’d taken on the staid traits of Alan.
