“Where is Malcolm?” Kieran came up from behind. Unlike him, the younger man didn’t seem as spent. Although his broad chest did lift and lower continuously from the exercise, his brother looked renewed and unhindered by the fact he carried not just his sword, but his bow and quiver as well.
“Inside, I suppose,” Tristan replied. “Why?”
Kieran didn’t reply at first. Instead, his steady hazel gaze moved to the doorway. Finally, after the barrel was available for them to use, his brother spoke. “He is sending me to the north post. Probably to keep me away as spring comes.”
It was a true statement, but Tristan wasn’t about to say anything to his short-tempered brother.
The low growl of Kieran’s complaint made it evident his brother was not pleased at the assignment.
Tristan understood why Malcolm felt the need to send the youngest away. It would help keep the clan war at bay a bit longer.
Tension between Clans Ross and McLeod meant the weak truce between them, mostly due to winter, could easily be broken. Although there was no doubt in Tristan’s mind they would battle again, both clans needed time to recover after a long season of war.
He studied Kieran for a moment.
“Ye are needed at the northern post. Warm weather always brings with it threats of the Norse attacks. If Malcolm allows it, I will go in yer stead.”
“Ye know damned well he won’t allow it. Tis my need for revenge that he fears. That I will do something to cause the war to start anew.”
The water in the trough was frigid and just what was needed. The brothers washed up in silence.
After, they made their way through the wide archway into the keep. Its thick, wooden door was left open to allow for fresh air into the dim, smoky interior.
Flames from candles in wall sconces flickered in the breeze as they walked past. The sounds of plates and cups against wooden tables filled the room in an almost musical rhythm.
Holding trays of trenchers of food high, servants weaved through the room, making their way down the rows of tables, deftly stepping over dogs, babes and spills.
People ate while conversing, interrupting the dialog with long draws from tankards and cups. In the center of the room, a child that cried loudly suddenly stopped when the mother lifted it up to her lap.
Tristan’s first inclination was to sit with the other guardsmen. But upon inspection, the table was already filled. An archer circled another table and sat down, not leaving room for him there either.
“Ye can sit here,” a comely woman invited, motioning to a small, but empty space next to her. Tristan peered down her blouse when she leaned forward, exposing her ample bosom.
“Thank ye.” He sat at the edge of the bench when she slid over. The space was so tight that she was plastered against him, which neither of them minded.
“Yer brother request ye come up to the high board,” a young maid said as she tapped Tristan on the shoulder.
The woman next to him whimpered. “I was hoping to speak with ye,” she murmured.
“I will come and find ye later,” Tristan replied, knowing exactly what they planned to do. It had little to do with speaking. The woman’s lips curved in response.
He walked up to the high board noting Kieran was already being served. The loud rumblings from his stomach made him glad food was already waiting at his place.
“Is there a reason both of ye avoid sitting here?” The deep timbre in Malcolm’s voice was a sure sign his brother was not in a good mood. “Ye are the laird’s brothers.”
Tristan and Kieran exchanged glances, each hoping the other would reply to their brother. When Kieran remained silent, Tristan replied.
“I was simply hoping to find company for the night.” He did his best not to grin, knowing it would only make Malcolm angrier.
“I came up here directly,” Kieran said.
“Only after ye couldn’t squeeze in at the archers’ table.”
Both looked to the table where the archers made a comical sight. They sat so close together that their elbows touched whenever they brought food to their mouths.
“Why are so many people here today?” Tristan asked, annoyed that he couldn’t eat in peace. The lamb stew was delicious, served with freshly-baked bread slathered with creamy, churned butter. He dipped bread into the broth and bit into it.
“I held hearings all day and my wife invited almost every family with concerns to remain for the meal. She said people looked gaunt,” Malcolm grumbled. “They look fine to me.”
This time, all three studied the families who ate with gusto, most barely lifting their heads except to mumble a word or two.
With their mother and sister gone to visit cousins, the control of the kitchens and household was placed on the shoulders of Malcolm’s wife, Elspeth. The beauty was a gifted healer but, in Tristan’s opinion, too softhearted to be a laird’s wife.
Since she’d arrived, the hound population had tripled. And they’d taken in lame horses, which enjoyed daily feedings and the expanse of the clan’s corrals.
In addition, two cottages had been built for foundlings and orphaned children, who were being watched over by newly-hired women to oversee their care.
Sitting on the end of the table chatting happily with her best friend, Ceilidh, Elspeth seemed oblivious to the chaos of the room. Instead, they smiled, watching a babe toddle down an aisle until landing on its bottom and bringing bread to its mouth.
Just then, a guard approached.
“Laird, a messenger from the Mackenzie is here.”
Immediately, all three brothers tensed.
Malcolm motioned the messenger, who remained at the doorway, forward.
The young man looked around the room with a confused expression. Being they had a reputation for being ruthless and hardened, the somewhat festive atmosphere didn’t suit.
“What say ye?” Malcolm asked the messenger in a low voice, signaling that the messenger should speak softly and not be overheard by those nearby.
The young man pulled a missive from a sack that hung from a strap across his body and held it out to Malcolm. “Greetings from my laird, the Mackenzie.”
“Stay and eat. If ye can find a space,” Malcolm said, scanning the room. “Perhaps ye would prefer the kitchen,” he added and motioned a maid over.
The young man’s face brightened. No doubt, he was ravenous after a long day’s ride. Surprisingly, he was quickly seated with a family who made room for him.
Malcolm tore the wax seal and read the message. He then folded it and tucked it into his belt. “After the meal, come to my study,” he said and then leaned forward and repeated the same to their uncle.
Letting out a breath that he could finish his meal, Tristan returned his attention to the food on his plate.
After the meal, Tristan meandered toward the study. He slowed next to the table where the woman who’d offered him a seat remained.
He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “What is yer name?”
“Adele,” she replied with a saucy smile.
“Please remain here for the night. I am sure we can assure ye accommodations,” he continued, not particularly caring that Malcolm glared in his direction.
The atmosphere in the study was tense, curiosity the only thing keeping everyone quiet. Along with Kieran and his uncle, Gregor, Ruari was also present. It was rare that his cousin would be in attendance, the loner usually rebuffing any invitation to attend to family gatherings and such.
Malcolm pulled the missive from his belt. “The Mackenzie requests our presence. According to this,” he lifted the parchment, “he wishes to discuss the ongoing clan war between us and the McLeods.”
“What business is it of his?” Kieran bit out. “He has made some sort of pact with the McLeod, I have no doubt.”
Gregor Ross, the late laird’s brother, shook his head. “Not necessarily. Yer father and the Mackenzie were good friends. If anything, he is requesting peace since both of our clans are in allian
ce with them.”
“To what means?” Tristan asked. “We have little to do with them and he does not need us.”
Malcolm cleared his throat. “The Mackenzie will use the dispute between our clans to his advantage. He will offer payments and purchases of land under the guise of wishing peace when what he really wants is to grow his territory.”
“Our fight is not about land. Tis about revenge, ensuring those dogs pay for killing Da,” Kieran said, his face twisted in anger. “Send back the message that we are not interested in hearing what he has to offer.”
Malcolm shook his head. “Tis not so simple.” He turned to Tristan. “What say ye about this?
“That we should make a show of accepting his invitation, listen to what he has to say. A McLeod will likely be there as well, so this will give us the opportunity to learn what they plan.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Gregor said. “I believe McLeod asked the Mackenzie for reinforcements, but instead they offer talks.”
Kieran stalked toward the door.
“When do ye leave for the north post?” Malcolm asked.
The youngest barely slowed his pace. “Two days hence.”
For a moment, no one spoke. Finally, Gregor looked to Malcolm. “I advise against ye going. Send either me or Tristan.”
“I will go,” Tristan offered. He was ready to learn what he could and ensure they were informed of what the McLeod planned. “If the McLeod went to the Mackenzie to ask for help, it begs to ask, who else are they seeking assistance from?”
Although Clan Ross was formidable in size, boasting over five hundred warriors, Clan Mackenzie’s force was double the size.
Preferring to remain at peace with the powerful clan, they’d entered an alliance a decade earlier. Since then, there’d never been any problems between them.
The Mackenzie and their father had become friends over the years. However, only a fool would put his full faith in the powerful man. Known for being ruthless and preferring power over anything else, the Mackenzie’s reputation was not one of a being fair.
“Ye can go. Take Ruari and Ian, along with twenty guards.”
Tristan nodded and looked to his cousin, who seemed more shocked than pleased. “Can ye survive without yer horses for longer than a sennight?” he teased the sullen man.
“Tis not the horses I miss, tis being around other people that I can’t abide,” the large man snarled. “Mackenzies especially.”
Chapter Four
Duin, Merida’s horse, moved with the fluidity that told of its fulfilled desire to be outdoors and without the boundaries of a corral or stable stall. Merida gave it leave to keep its own pace, knowing that although the beast would push boundaries, it would be forever mindful and not do anything to hurt her.
Whether her parents and guards grew more annoyed with the distance she kept ahead of the party did not bother her in the least. It was, perhaps, to be one of the last times she’d have the freedom to be alone, riding without the restraints of a husband, no obligations to anyone or anything.
Her hair came loose from its bindings as the wind ripped through it and she laughed at the idea of her appearance upon arriving at Mackenzie Keep. Hair loosed, gown askew, breathless and upon a sweaty animal, surely the last thing on anyone’s mind would be that she, the daughter of a less than influential laird, would make a good match for a Mackenzie.
Duin slowed and she sensed the approach of a rider. Her brother, Ethan, came alongside. Why he’d come was anyone’s guess. Probably her father’s attempt to keep him from doing more harm. The fragile truce between her clan and the Ross’ would not last now that spring arrived. It would take little to fan the embers into another raging fire of battles, death and suffering.
As it was, their clan was barely able to survive, the effects of Ethan’s rash action rippling through each and every clansperson. Even now, their courtyard was overfilled by those displaced by the clan war. Women attempting to find a way in life without a husband, having to feed their children, clung to what they could to make life normal again. Meanwhile, confused orphaned children scraped by on a daily existence of what they could scavenge.
It was a sad affair, a daily reminder of the harshness of life. Merida slid a glance to Ethan, who sat straight upon his steed. With burnished brown waves down to his wide shoulders, he made for a handsome sight. His gaze was always flat, unyielding, and his expression was usually stoic.
All her life, Merida had known her brother was not a good person, sometimes even fearing him for the cruelty he would display against not just animals, but other people. And yet she kept a place in her heart open to him in hopes that, one day, he’d allow kindness to seep in and touch what was deeply buried within.
“Ye have to slow. We will rest just over the ridge there,” Ethan said, pointing to a slope not too far away. “If ye break yer neck, Mother will be most displeased.”
“Would ye be as well?” She looked to him, waiting for a response. Perhaps he’d surprise her again like he’d done when finding out she’d stolen away from the keep while caring for the injured warrior.
He shrugged. “Not particularly. It would be yer fault.” With that, he rode ahead, holding up a hand to signal to the guards where they’d stop. She followed his progress as he circled to a shallow creek and dismounted. Jaw set, his upper lip curled in distaste when two guards laughed about something. In that moment, Merida felt sorry for her brother. How could a person not find at least a bit of joy in life? Her brother’s view on life made her sad.
When she dismounted and guided Duin to the water’s edge, her mother hurriedly neared. With an expression akin to someone who’d tasted a bitter fruit, her mother clicked her tongue. “Merida, ye look a fright. It will not do for ye to arrive at the keep looking as such. Rinse yer face and wash yer hands and arms. Ye will ride the rest of the day in the wagon with me.”
“I prefer to ride…”
“No, we have given ye most of the day upon that dastardly beast. I kept expecting it to throw ye. The animal is more fit for battle than to be ridden by a lass.”
Used to her mother’s distaste for her affinity for her horse, Merida smiled. “Duin loves me and would never hurt me. Tis the last bit of freedom I may have.”
At the softening of her mother’s face, Merida felt relief. It was quickly gone, however. “I know, Child. However, ye must be presentable. Remember, not only do we come as guests of the Mackenzie, but also as the wife and daughter of Laird McLeod.”
Acknowledging the truth of her mother’s words, she let out a sigh. “I will ride with ye.” Merida trudged to the water’s edge to where her horse had meandered.
Wandering away from the others and taking advantage of the privacy, she relieved herself behind some bushes and then washed up in the clear water. Although frigid, the water felt refreshing and clean. Merida straightened, taking a deep breath.
The chilly breeze blew up from the water to caress her damp face and Merida took a long breath. The combination of blue sky, green trees and water was beautiful. Perhaps she could find Ethan and point her observations out to him.
Her brother didn’t acknowledge her approach. He was crouched down, drinking from the creek.
“Did ye notice what a beautiful spot this is?” Merida lowered to her knees and peered at him. “Is it our land?”
Ethan slid a narrowed look in her direction. Not looking around as she’d expected, instead he shrugged. “I believe we are on Mackenzie lands.”
“I wish we had a place like this one? Do we?”
Giving her a droll look, he straightened and stretched.
“Merida,” her mother called. “Come now.”
Taking Duin’s reins, she tugged the reluctant animal away from the grasses and back toward where the others were. “Coming, Mother.”
*
Mackenzie Keep stood proud, perched high on a mountainside, visible from a long distance away. Wide roadways led up to an intimidating set of wooden gates atop which archers
remained at the ready.
Outside, on both sides of the gates, were mounted guards keeping watch for any threat. The idea of it was ludicrous. No one in their right mind would ever consider an attack on one of the largest, most powerful clans in the Highlands.
Nonetheless, the impressive show of force and sheer magnitude of archers atop the thick walls surrounding the keep never ceased to fascinate Merida, who’d visited often as a child.
On this day, however, the size of the keep and number of guards had a different effect. It signified more of a prison than a home, a fortress as impossible to get into as it would be to escape from. Heart thundering in her chest, Merida gasped for breath and leaned out the side of the wagon, looking for Duin.
He’d been tethered to one of the guard’s horses. It was the third guard to attempt to keep the unruly beast in line. Duin did not take kindly to being tethered to another horse, nor did he particularly care for most men.
“I should see about him,” Merida said when her horse bucked and snorted making the equally huge warhorse it was tethered to sidestep.
As if God took pity on Merida, her father had come alongside the wagon atop his own black steed. “See about yer beast. I do not know how ye can make it mind,” he grumbled.
Thankful for the opportunity to get away from the confines of the wagon, she jumped down and raced to Duin, barely missing a step and mounting.
“Remain alongside me,” her father called, and she rode closer.
The gates to the keep were open and, still, it was as if an invisible wall remained in place. Even after being motioned to enter by guards, Merida held Duin’s reins tight, communicating to the horse that it should behave.
Duin, however, cared little for the unfamiliarity of the surroundings and skirted sideways, pawing at the ground to show its displeasure.
“Ye should have left that damned beast behind,” Ethan remarked with a frown. “Who is going to care for it here?”
A Hardened Warrior Page 3
