by K. E. Saxon
“Good God! The man was more evil than I’d ever imagined.”
As if he’d not heard the words of his host, Daniel continued, “I swung my own sword then as I propelled myself toward him, repeating my oath again.” There was a slight pause before he continued, “And then: a flash of steel, a sharp pain in my skull, and total darkness.”
He scrubbed his hands over his face and eyes, his mind numb and his body wearier than ever before. Dropping his hands to his sides, he took a deep breath and slowly released it before saying, “I have no idea of what occurred after being struck by the broadside of my sire’s sword.” When Daniel ran his hands through his hair and felt the raised scar again, he growled deep in his throat. A feeling of utter frustration at his loss of memory enveloped him once more. “I have been told by my clansmen that I came home within what must have been only days of that incident.” Turning, he looked directly into Laird Donald’s eyes. “I had my father’s head strapped to my saddle, just as I had boasted I would.”
Laird Donald was silent for long seconds as he studied the pain-ravaged visage of his young guest. He cleared his throat. “You killed your father, then? I had heard the rumors, of course, but I thought them false.” Feeling the need to quench his suddenly parched throat, he signaled for more ale.
Daniel shrugged. “In truth, I know not if ‘twas I that killed my father. I had a fever upon arriving home, from a festering wound on the back of my head. And I had marks on my body—indicating a sword battle.” Crossing his arms over his chest once more, he continued, “Angus has told me that I was confused for a time after my return, most likely due to the fever. I do know that I intended to kill my father if the opportunity arose. I just cannot say for sure that ‘twas I who did the deed. The evidence suggests that I must have accomplished my aim, but I may never know for sure what actually took place that day unless my memory returns.”
After taking a long draught of ale, Laird Donald said, “Aye, lad, that may be, for I’ve heard of such before. Sometimes the memory returns, but it may take many years. Other times, the memory is lost for evermore.”
Sighing, Daniel settled back on his bench. “I tell you this because I have a request to make of you. Laird Maclean, my grandfather, has decided that he wants to claim me as his heir and has directed his clansmen to accept me as their laird upon his death. I do not seek to have, nor do I want to have, that title. Yet, he will not take my refusal, and his continued missives cause great unrest in my clan.”
Laird Donald sat forward, resting his forearms on the table. “But the Macleans are a strong and powerful clan—more powerful even than the MacLaurins. And the holding is a large one, and quite profitable. I cannot ken why you scoff at such an offer.”
“My loyalty lies with my mother’s clan,” Daniel explained, “and tho’ they are not currently as powerful as the Macleans, that will not always be the case. They are the only family I have known and their needs come before anyone else’s in my heart. Besides, I have seen naught honorable, nor generous, in the Maclean line and do not want to be allied with it in any way.”
Laird Donald nodded. Tho’ he did not agree with the young laird’s opinion of the Macleans he could certainly understand why he believed such. “What has this to do with your visit here? With the request you would make of me?”
“I have heard that you are good friends with my grandfather and that you are a reasonable and just man. I ask that you speak to my grandfather on my behalf. Persuade him that I shall not change my mind and that I renounce my kinship to his clan. Then, help him find an alternate successor.”
Laird Donald scratched his bearded cheek. “Aye, Laird Maclean is a friend of mine, but you should meet with him yourself to convince him of your resolve. ‘Tis the best way to have him understand your position.”
Daniel shook his head. “Nay. Neither I, nor my clansmen, want any association with Clan Maclean, and I cannot allow my grandfather to continue sending messengers requesting my presence.” He clasped Laird Donald’s forearm. “Tho’ I no longer harbor a need to lay waste to Clan Maclean, ‘tis not so for the others in Clan MacLaurin—they hold a very strong hatred toward them. If I do not bring back with me a written contract, signed by Laird Maclean, promising that he will not name me as his heir, then the MacLaurins will be forced to declare war.”
“Then there is naught for it but that I help you sever ties, it seems,” Laird Donald replied sadly. “‘Twill take a few days to get things settled, I’m sure. I pray you, stay as my guest until that time.”
Realizing he had no other choice, Daniel said at last, “I shall do as you ask, but I shall only stay for three days more. Please make haste in delivering the message and returning the contract.”
“Aye, that I shall, lad.” Laird Donald rose from his chair. “Allow me to show you to your bedchamber.”
Maryn, who was hiding just outside the open doorway, had heard the entire exchange—tho’ she’d not understood the meaning of some of the words that were used. She did understand, however, that something terrible had happened to the giant’s family and that he was very sad. Tho’ she felt pity for him, it did not lessen her fear that he might do her papa harm. Wanting to be ready if he decided to do something bad, she set her practice stone in the cradle of the slingshot and took aim.
“My thanks to you, Laird Donald,” Daniel said as he walked with the other man toward the entrance. Remembering Angus would need a chamber as well, Daniel began, “I’d be obliged if—oooff!” A small object collided with a furious force directly into his groin. He doubled over. “Blood of Christ!” he yelled, his voice strangled, his face flushed bright red.
“Maryn Donald!” the older man bellowed at the top of his lungs, stomping toward the origin of the projectile.
Maryn sat in her hiding place with both hands covering her mouth, her eyes, full moons in her crimson face. She’d pulled the sling so taut that the cradle had accidently slipped from her fingers and the stone had gone flying—and hit the giant in his manly parts! She’d heard the maids in the kitchen say ‘twas a man’s most tender place and that young lasses were not to notice that place until they were wed. Now her papa was going to think she’d noticed the giant’s manly parts and hurt them on purpose!
Laird Donald loomed over his daughter, his left eye twitching with ire. The veins in his throat pulsed as he struggled to form words around the constriction that had formed there.
Maryn had never seen her papa so angry before. Cowering and scooting backwards, she cried, “‘Tis sorry I am, Papa! I did not mean to notice his tender man-place, I promise! Pray, be not so vexed!”
“Come to me, daughter,” Laird Donald said harshly.
She clasped her hands together as if in prayer. “I did not mean for the stone to fly from my sling, I truly did not. ‘Twas a mishap. I wanted only to protect you in case the giant tried to hurt you.”
This softened Laird Donald’s ire and he relaxed his stance. “Do not make your confession to me, lassy. You owe the confession to our guest, Laird MacLaurin.”
Maryn scooted out of her hiding place, dejected and forlorn, and walked over to the man who was still bent over at the waist and breathing hard. “Laird Giant, ‘tis sorry I am that my stone hit you—I swear, ‘twas not on purpose. I did not mean to do it—please believe me!”
Daniel lifted his head and looked through the mist in his own eyes into the bairn’s wet brown ones. Something about the lass, with her big watery eyes and sorrowful expression, softened his heart. He could not bring himself to crush her feelings further by reproaching her. “I believe you,” he managed to wheeze out. When he was finally able to force air past his constricted throat, he said, “Fret not, lass, you only wounded me, you killed me not. I will be well, you shall see.”
A smile as bright as the morning sun—and just as warm—broke over the bairn’s face, allowing Daniel to at last see the loveliness her father had spoken of earlier. Aye, he understood fully now why she had Laird Donald and the rest of her clan
wrapped around her finger. And now, he supposed, she had him there as well. He laughed at his own folly and stood up, ruffling the mite’s hay encrusted hair.
Knowing from experience that this was the time to retreat before she got in more trouble, Maryn turned and skipped out of the hall, waving. “Farewell, Papa. Farewell, Laird Giant.”
Daniel’s eyes followed the bairn as she left, remembering with a pang the innocence of that age. Sighing, he turned his mind back to the present and addressed his host. “Laird Donald, I must inform my clansman, who awaits me at the campsite, that we shall be staying three days more. I would appreciate having another chamber prepared for him, as he is an old man and needs the comfort of a soft bed after our long journey.”
Once Daniel was assured Angus would be welcomed into Laird Donald’s home, he left for the campsite.
*
As Daniel had expected, Angus was not pleased that they would be staying longer than had been anticipated, but the older man’s temper was soothed when Daniel promised him a comfortable bed for the duration of their stay.
As Angus gathered his belongings, he warned, “‘Tis likely, lad, that Laird Donald has already sent word to the Maclean of your arrival.”
Daniel’s jaw clenched as he tossed his leather satchel over the rump of his steed. Slowly nodding, he replied, “I confess, I had not thought of it before now, but, aye, you are right. Yet, I trow, ‘tis much too late for us to turn back from our course.” Scrubbing his fingers across the soft hair of his youthfully stubbled chin, he asked, “Angus, how am I to proceed if Laird Maclean arrives at the Donald holding? The thought of being in the same room with the man makes my skin crawl.”
Angus was silent for a moment as he thought of all the ramifications of a meeting with the Maclean grandfather. On the one hand, the MacLaurin clan would not be pleased by a meeting between the two after another solution had been raised—and devotion to clan was the most sacred thing in the Highlands, more sacred than church, or king. On the other hand, Angus was beginning to believe that the Maclean laird was not going to yield until he’d had a face-to-face conference with his grandson.
“I believe the best thing for you to do,” Angus said at last, “is to accept a meeting with your grandfather and force him to quit his relentless requests for your allegiance. In fact, the more I think on it, the best place to have the meeting is at Laird Donald’s home. ‘Tis neutral territory and ‘twill help to have the laird as a mediator.”
Daniel eventually agreed to Angus’s proposal and the two warriors returned to the Donald holding, resigned to the meeting they’d been avoiding for so many moons.
CHAPTER 2
Neither Daniel nor Angus was surprised when Laird Maclean arrived with a number of Maclean warriors early the following morn.
Daniel felt a tide of nerves overtaking him at the prospect of the coming meeting as he stood in the courtyard with Laird Donald. Watching the aged laird slowly lead the mounted Maclean warriors through the gate’s portal, he instinctively widened his stance and crossed his arms over his chest.
While the old man dismounted and instructed his men to retire to the soldier’s quarters, Daniel scrutinized him. He was ancient, at least seventy, and his hair was as white as the snow in winter, with jagged ends that hung down around his face. The reddish-grey color of his brows and beard were a stark contrast to the pallidness of his skin and locks, and his face was deeply etched with age.
Daniel tensely waited as Laird Donald walked up to his friend and greeted him. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he mentally bolstered his resolve. This meeting was for the good of his clan. If successful, there would be no bloodshed and that alone was reason enough to break the promise he’d made to himself, and his clan, to never meet with the father of his family’s murderer.
As the two friends walked up to Daniel, he saw his heritage reflected in the sea-green color of the old man’s eyes.
“So, you’re the young buck I’ve been trying to get an audience with these past moons. Let me look at you.” The old man ambled closer to Daniel and did a slow perusal of him. “Well, you’ve certainly got my coloring, but you’ve clearly inherited your height and looks from your MacLaurin kin.”
Unsure of how to respond to the old man’s observations, Daniel said only, “Laird Maclean,” and gave him a curt nod.
“I am,” he answered just as stodgily, tho’ there was a definite twinkle in his eye.
Laird Donald leaped into the silence that followed, asking both lairds to come inside to break their fast. “There will be plenty of time to conduct our meeting while we fill our bellies.”
The two estranged kinsmen followed their host into the great hall; the younger one still a bit nervous, and the older one ever more optimistic.
As Daniel walked beside Laird Maclean, he studied him from the corner of his eye. This was not the barbarous man he’d expected to meet. In fact, he seemed rather affable; a trait he saw very rarely in men of the old warrior’s power and influence. Would Angus agree with his assessment of Laird Maclean? He knew not. If only Angus had not been so stubbornly set against being a part of this initial meeting!
Laird Donald called for the food to be brought in before turning to Daniel, saying, “While we await our repast, will you share with me some of the details of your recent additions to your stronghold?”
“Aye,” Daniel agreed, relaxing once he realized they would not immediately begin the difficult discussion of the subject which they were meeting about. And what he would relay was of no danger to his clan’s security. Settling at the table, he said, “This spring past we rebuilt the gate tower, making it so high that the sentry can almost see to the next shire in all directions—much to my neighbors, the MacPherson’s, despair.” Daniel chuckled as he began the tale of how they’d interrupted the other clan’s attempt to steal MacLaurin cattle.
Fergus Maclean listened while his grandson spoke to his good friend. As he watched him, he saw the kind of man he’d wanted his son to be. This lad was strong and courageous, with a keen wit and a generous spirit that was highly regarded in the Highlands. He only wished that he could take credit for any one of those qualities in this stranger that was his grandson, but he could not.
“…and then we sent the reaving bastards back to their holding, covered in the filth of the dung hole we’d used as a trap.”
The two other men laughed. “Aye, ‘twas a fitting end to such mischief, I trow!” Laird Donald roared, slapping his palm on his knee in mirth. After the trenchers were settled in front of the three, he said, “Now, then, let us get down to business.” Taking the pitcher from the young server, he poured another tankard of ale for himself before passing it to Laird Maclean.
Daniel sobered immediately and straightened his spine. “Aye,” he agreed, giving a quick nod and a glance in Laird Maclean’s direction. Having felt the weight of the old man’s stare from the moment they’d settled at the table, he was feeling even more ill at ease about the coming discussion. Yet, he reminded himself, his grandfather was not the savage man he had assumed he would be. Nay, he seemed to be a good and honorable man, much like Keith MacLaurin had been. He thought again of Angus, his mentor, and again fervidly wished for the older man’s presence.
“Fergus, Daniel has requested that I mediate this meeting between the two of you,” Laird Donald said. “Have you any objections? Let us speak of those first before we discuss the reason you came here today.”
Fergus shook his head. “I have no objections.”
“Fine, then, let us start with how you found out about your grandson’s existence. I’ve known you for years and only this day past did I learn that Jamison had a son. How long have you known about him?”
Fergus was hard pressed to look his friend in the eye. “I’ve known about the lad since almost the moment he was conceived.”
This was a part of Daniel’s past that he had not heard before. He hurriedly swallowed the portion of meat he’d been chewing and sat forward in his cha
ir, his eyes drilling into this stranger, this grandfather he’d never known.
“But, before I speak of that time, I believe I must give my grandson a bit of history regarding my son.” He gave Daniel an intent look before saying, “My son, your father, had a cruel streak in him, even as a lad. My wife, Deirdre, and I tried for years to work the venom out of Jamison, but to no avail. As is the custom, we fostered him out to train with another clan, but he invariably was banished from one after another of them within the span of six moons for some vicious prank or other.”
“Aye, I remember,” Laird Donald interjected, nodding. “I was a young laird then, only a few summers older than Jamison, when the final folly occurred—you nearly lost an ally and went to war over that one.”
“Aye.” Fergus turned to his grandson to explain further. “Jamison was accused of swiving the wife of one of my allies that had fostered him.” He paused and looked into the amber depths of his tankard a moment as the memories flooded his mind. “After that imprudence,” he said after a moment, “I decided ‘twould be the wiser course to keep Jamison home to train with his own clan.” Glancing at his friend, he said, “Deirdre and I still believed that he could grow to be a better man,” before turning his gaze back to his grandson. “When, out of spite, he shot all the songbirds from the tree outside his sister’s window within days of that decision, my wife and I ceased believing we would ever see a change in him.”
“How did he meet my mother?” Daniel asked softly. No longer capable of stomaching the food, he pushed his trencher to the side.
Sighing, Fergus pushed his trencher aside as well. “He captured her on one of his raids.”
