by Reece Butler
Chapter Three
“Give me that spyglass,” said Rory. “I see sommat moving to the south.”
Tearlach MacDougal kept his grip on the glass while pushing his twin away with his elbow. It still astonished him how easily he could see so far beyond Duncladach’s high walls. The spyglass was one of the first items purchased with Fiona Fraser’s dowry. A flash of red and yellow caught his eye.
“Jesu! ’Tis a herald with a tabard. I canna see—”
Rory yanked the spyglass out of his hand. “My eyes are better.”
“Nay by much,” he grumbled. “My arrow hits the mark more than yers.”
“’Tis the red lion of Scotland,” said Rory in awe. “Why would a herald of the king ride here?”
“Mayhaps alliances from our brothers’ marriages have caught the eye of King James,” suggested Tearlach.
“Dinna jest. ’Tis nay a good thing when the king puts his eye on ye.” Rory gestured with his free hand. “Well? Are ye gonna tell Laird Somerled the king’s man is here?”
Tearlach didn’t take orders from his younger twin but it was said more as a suggestion. Plus, he was curious if Somerled knew why a herald would visit. He strode along the wall walk, through a passage, and into the gatehouse’s upper hall. Somerled and Niall looked up when he burst in.
“A king’s herald approaches. He’s wearing a tabard that would fair blind ye. Do ye ken why he’d come here?”
Somerled scowled even more deeply than usual. “If we’re lucky he’s passing through.”
As Duncladach was on a point surrounded by water and land claimed by the Earl of Argyll they all knew it wasn’t likely. Somerled shoved his new chair back. It not only had a cushion, it had arms. The screech of wood on stone echoed through the room. Other than the three of them there was a chair and desk, and a chest. He began pacing, jaw and fists tight.
Niall leaned one shoulder against a bare stone wall and watched. “Mayhaps the king wishes to ken why Laird MacDougal hasna answered the call to visit His Majesty at Stirling Castle.”
Somerled shot a glare at his twin. “I told ye, I willna go to court and leave ye to be poisoned.”
“That was fifty years ago,” replied Niall patiently, though it must be the hundredth time he’d said it, or thousandth.
“Argyll is waiting for me to leave Duncladach so he can send Campbells to attack what’s left of our land.” He shook his head. “There’s nay reason for King James to have me at Stirling.”
“He’s the king,” replied Niall blandly. “He doesna need a reason.” He shoved his shoulder on the wall and straightened. “Ye’ve been putting him off for too long.”
The slow burn Tearlach had been experiencing for weeks ignited. He was the third son, the first of the second set of twins. He and Rory had proven themselves men long ago. They should not be left out of such discussions.
“The king sent Clan MacDougal a message?” asked Tearlach, his tone sharp. He checked with Niall, who shrugged. “And ye didna think to mention it?”
“Laird Fraser said ’twas a suggestion.” Somerled stopped to look out a window. It faced the Firth of Lorn so he was not watching the herald approach.
“When a man such as Lord Lovat says yer king suggests ye do sommat, ’tis an order,” said Niall bluntly.
Somerled cursed. He returned to his pacing, staring straight ahead as if trying to see into the future. His bare foot hit the corner of the chest, recently sent by Lady Kiera MacKenzie as part of her dowry. He tripped, banged his leg, and crashed to the floor. He snarled a curse and lifted his foot. Blood welled from his little toe and his knee.
“Damn! Who put this in my way!”
“Laird,” said Niall softly, making a point, “ye have a chair, a desk, and now a chest in this vast hall. Methinks ye could find yer way around them.”
“Damn, I broke it.” Somerled glared at his toe. His forehead suddenly cleared. “Artair!” he yelled. Their second-youngest brother hurried in. “Get me sommat to wrap my leg, all the way to my hip. And splints.”
“For a wee toe?” demanded Tearlach. “Are ye daft?”
“Nay, ye fool, for a broken leg!” Somerled, hobbling on the heel of his injured foot, carried his chair over to the chest. He sat and put his foot up on it. “I canna ride to Stirling Castle with a broken leg.” He bared his teeth like a wolf anticipating victory. “Tearlach, ride out with Rory to meet this herald. If we are in luck he is wishing to pass the night and go on his way.”
Artair hurried in with strips of cloth and a pair of wasters, their wooden practice swords.
“And if we are not in luck?” asked Tearlach.
Somerled patted his thigh. “Then I willna be able to ride off with him, will I?”
He and Rory saddled the two best horses, which wasn’t saying much, and rode out.
“That herald fair glows in the sun,” said Rory.
Tearlach admired the bright tabard featuring the lion of Scotland. Their clan had supported the wrong side too often in the past. It was the reason they’d lost eight castles and hundreds of square miles of land, almost all to Clan Campbell. This generation of MacDougals were all King James’s men.
“Aye. ’Tis a sight to stir my heart,” replied Tearlach.
“What do ye think he wants?”
“Our laird didna tell us King James has been wanting Somerled to visit him at Stirling Castle. Somerled ignored the messages. Mayhaps this steward is here to haul him away.”
“And if Somerled can’t ride?”
Tearlach released a slow smile. “Niall won’t leave him behind, and we are next in line.” He and Rory shared a message. “Did ye nay say ye were wishin’ for a wee adventure?”
“Aye. We’ve not even seen Loch Awe.” He leaned sideways and slapped Tearlach on the shoulder. “Stirling’s in the Lowlands where they have wee puling manlings. A pair of braw Highland laddies will be a sight for the lassies, aye?”
“I wish to do more than look at a lass!”
Both of them wished to escape, if only for a while. Life had been very hard until recently. This year enough clansmen had returned that they’d planted much of the seed purchased with Fiona’s gold. That would help next winter if the weather cooperated and no raiding parties rode through their fields.
He and Rory knew their life’s work was to support their clan. That meant obeying Somerled. Every now and then it itched at him something fierce. Six of their brothers had found new lives elsewhere. They had wives, homes of their own, and bairns. Fiona had even birthed Morag, the first daughter born of a MacDougal in over a hundred years!
Those brothers had done things and been places. He and Rory had not even been sent out to foster. They’d been needed at Duncladach to care for and train their twelve younger brothers.
Was it too much to ask they be allowed one adventure?
They’d never find a wife behind the walls of Duncladach. Someone had to marry a woman who knew how to run a castle, the sooner the better. They were too busy working, hunting, or training to do all the things that were needed to make Duncladach more than a pile of well-fitting rocks. It was fine when they were young, but now their fortunes were changing and they had a reason to be proud. Duncladach should reflect that. The brothers who’d been fostered had spoken of what they’d seen, and tasted. He’d like to have someone else cook, and one day have a few bairns about the place.
“He rides alone,” said Rory quietly as they approached. “Is he a fool?”
“Do ye not recall yer lessons? An insult to a man in the tabard of the Kingdom of Scotland is as if ’twas to the king himself. He could have left his men with the Campbells or MacGregors.”
They doffed their bonnets and bowed in their saddles to the gray-haired man. He had a keen eye, noting all about them.
“Clan MacDougal welcomes ye, Sir Herald,” called Rory. “May we ask ye to Duncladach to sup with us? ’Tis lowly fare, but filling. If we can ease yer journey we would be honored.”
The herald looked
at them closely. “Is one of you Laird Somerled MacDougal?”
Tearlach’s face heated at their lack of courtesy. “Pardon, we get few visitors. I be Tearlach and this is Rory. Somerled is in the hall.”
“We are the second set of brothers,” added Rory. Tearlach gave him a look he hoped one day would shut him up.
“Why is your laird not here to greet me?”
“He had a wee injury to his leg and canna ride.” Tearlach angled his horse and swept his arm to the north. “May yer humble servants escort ye to our hall?”
“We have good ale now.” Rory kept his horse far enough away that Tearlach couldn’t smack him in the head for talking.
“And wine?”
“Aye.” Rory nodded. “Angus and Gillis didna wish Laird Fraser’s boat be too heavy, so we helped them move a few casks to our cellar.”
“Such a kind gesture.” All could hear the irony in the herald’s voice. He made a study of their old but well-patched saddles, plaids, and boots. “I am the Herald Sir Parlan Murray of Strowan. I left Kilchurn Castle this morn.”
“Then ye’ll no doubt be wishin’ for some fresh air,” said Rory.
Murray’s lip twitched at the carefully phrased comment about the implied stench of Campbells. It confirmed what Tearlach thought about the man’s wit. He gestured for Murray to precede him. He took the herald’s right, making Rory nudge his horse to the left.
“Tell me of Clan MacDougal of Duncladach. I ken there are sixteen of you, half from your father’s two wives and the rest from six other women. How old was Somerled when he took over as laird?”
“Sixteen,” said Tearlach.
“We were thirteen, the next three were twelve, and—”
“Rory, let the man ask a question before ye go shooting off yer mouth!”
“Ye’re as bad as Somerled, makin’ a man pull teeth to hear a few words.”
“Tearlach,” asked Murray, “could you ride ahead and pull a cask from Duncladach’s cellar? I’m thinking I’ll need a bit of wine to clear my throat after this ride.”
“Aye, Sir Parlan.”
The herald wanted answers, and he’d get them more easily from Rory. Tearlach gave his preening brother a warning look before touching his heels to his horse and encouraging it forward.
“Is that real gold thread around yer lion? ’Tis awful bright.”
“As is Duncladach with its lime harling.”
“Fair blinds ye, aye?” replied Rory cheerfully. “The wind blows the rain sideways here, and the lime keeps it out.”
“How is it against cannons?”
“Now, that I canna say as none have got close enough to try. Do ye think ’twould go through eleven feet of rock?”
Or maybe Rory would be the one learning for a change.
Chapter Four
Rory held out a bit of cheese to the cat sitting beside him on the bench. If the rest of them got a bit of a feast due to the visiting herald, so should Shadow. Tearlach still sent him warning glances from down the table, which he ignored. He let his twin think he’d given away masses of secrets because he liked to see him steam. It wasn’t true. First because the MacDougals didn’t have many secrets. And second, if there was a chance they could escape for a few weeks instead of one of the other sets of brothers, he wanted to be the one with his arse on a horse heading south. With Tearlach, of course. It would be no fun to have an adventure alone. The restlessness that had plagued him for years might finally be put to rest if he got to travel.
The next set after him were Torquil and Ewan, and they wouldn’t go anywhere. Torquil was badly scarred, courtesy of a severe whipping by a couple of rogue Campbells when he was a lad. Ewan had visions, seemed always in pain, and couldn’t be near anyone without feeling what they tried to hide. He got visions from touching anyone but Torquil so avoided everyone else. The two of them always sat one end of the table with the four youngest at the other. This hall, one floor up, was where they spent most of their time when they weren’t working elsewhere. The long wooden table showed the marks of many generations of MacDougal males.
“Ye can say what ye wish in front of my brothers,” said Somerled to Herald Murray. “We are all Clan MacDougal.”
Murray nodded his thanks when Niall refilled his glass with wine. The herald was the eyes and ears of the king. One did not refuse this man anything.
“You have done well, Laird MacDougal. The brothers you fostered out made excellent matches. Rory tells me Laird Fraser gifted you with this excellent vintage. The man sets a fine table.”
“’Tis more of a hostage than a gift,” said Niall. “Should the man return, we’ll be able to offer him a wine he’ll enjoy.” His eyes showed he’d been imbibing more than usual. Not that they usually drank anything more than ale.
“He and his lady wife are in Stirling while their ship goes around Scotland. They may visit as they pass on the way home.”
“We will look forward to it,” said Somerled. “We have much to thank them for.”
Their brothers thumped the table in agreement. The past winter had not been full of worry of starvation. They’d been hungry and cold, but far less than in previous years, thanks to the bounty provided by their brothers’ wives.
“Was the Earl of Caithness generous?” asked Murray.
“Aye, once Alana gave him a grandson,” said Niall. “He wasna pleased they called the babe Dougal. Since the lad will be a Sinclair, Cormac and James wished to keep sommat of the clan in the laddie.”
“Did you hear about Kiera MacKenzie’s babe?” They all shook their heads. As they didn’t get many visitors, their news was sparse as well. “MacKenzie wrote King James that his daughter was safely delivered of a son named Dougal MacKenzie, Master of Kinrowan.”
“Another Dougal?” said Somerled. The room echoed with roars and pounded wood.
“’Tis a fine name!” called Dougal. The third youngest, he enjoyed causing trouble.
“And a daughter,” continued Murray when he could be heard. “They named her Elizabeth after Lady Kiera’s mother. Dougal is calm but the lassie has her mother’s temper, said MacKenzie.”
“We’ll open another bottle to celebrate that.” Niall joined his brothers in thumping the table once more. They all grinned at the good news. “Not a lass for a hundred years, and now there’s two!”
“Aye, Fiona’s wee Morag was a welcome surprise,” said Somerled. “’Tis a shame they’re so far from Duncladach.”
“You could visit,” said Murray slyly.
“Nay, I canna leave Duncladach,” growled Somerled. He narrowed his eyes in warning. “’Tis all we have left. I willna have it overcome by Campbells, or the ones within poisoned.”
“I hope wee Dougal and Elizabeth keep Duff and Malcolm as busy as they kept us,” said Niall. “At least they’ll have many hands helping.”
Murray allowed the change of subject. “Ye had no nursemaids for yer brothers?”
“One old woman and Mary, the mother of Artair and Zander. We still mourn her though she died when Zander was two. At one point we had seven brothers less than six years old.” Niall shuddered.
“Aye, and ye put the care of them on us,” said Tearlach. He gave the youngest four a stern look. They grinned back. “I dinna ken how they didna perish with all they got up to.”
“Came close to killing one or two of them,” said Rory, eyeing them. “That night when I found all those toads in my bed—”
“We couldna find a plague of locusts for ye,” said Dougal, wide-eyed and innocent. “’Tis in the Bible. ’Twas the only book we had,” he explained to Murray.
“Aye, we wished to bring a pestilence to smite him,” added Finn with a wide grin. “Ye said MacDougals dinna lie so we told ye we did it.”
“’Tis the only reason why I didna—”
“Is that why there’s no new MacDougal bastards?” asked Murray, interrupting Tearlach’s threats and Somerled’s finger-tapping.
“Aye. We willna leave our sons scattered hither
and yon, not kenning if they be cared for or not. At least our father had the women bring the babes here,” said Niall.
Somerled leaned forward. “A herald wouldna ride all this way to tell us news of our brothers.”
“Nay, Laird MacDougal, ’tis for you I have come.” Murray’s eyes narrowed. “I was sent to get your arse on a horse and haul you to Stirling Castle to meet with your liege, King James of Scotland. You ken him, aye?” he asked sarcastically.
“My leg—”
“When were you attacked?”
Somerled sniffed. He scratched his cheek. Tapped the table. “Ah, ’twasn’t an attack, though blood was spilled. Just afore ye rode in,” he grudgingly admitted.
“How?”
Somerled squirmed. Rory kept his face carefully blank. He wanted to laugh as he’d not seen his laird put on the spot before. A faint tinge of red touched Somerled’s ears and cheeks. Rory ducked his head to hide the grin he couldn’t totally keep back. Somerled would not lie to the king’s man, but he would do anything short of it to stay at Duncladach and keep it safe.
“I tripped over the damn chest,” he admitted, grumbling. “’Tis new, and I wasna looking where I was going.”
“New?” Murray raised an eyebrow. “ I thought ye had naught?”
“New to us,” corrected Niall as Somerled twitched. “A gift from Laird Fraser.” He lifted his glass. “One by choice, unlike the wine.”
“Dammit!” Somerled grimaced. “The lad is right. MacDougals dinna lie.” He turned on his bench, having given the padded chair to Murray as he was a knight and higher rank, and lifted his bandaged leg. “I tripped o’er the damn chest as ’twas in the way.” He unwrapped it quickly. “Bashed my knee and broke my toe. But I could ride if I must.” He hesitated, then inhaled and met Murray’s stern look. “If I leave Duncladach the Campbells will attack. This is all we have left. But if the king wishes, I will go. Alone, with my brothers here to keep our land safe.” He glared at them. “And ye’ll not eat or drink aught but what ye’ve caught and prepared yerselves.”
