Ian pinned Calum onto his back. “So that is the way of it, brother?” He didn’t give his brother a chance to respond, but threw a fist across the man’ jaw.
In a matter of seconds, Ian found himself beneath his brother’s weight, as a fist pummeled his face. Once the men were back on their feet, the fight did not cease. They were equals when defending themselves with their bare hands. Each one giving as good as they got, but never besting the other.
Ian’s vision blurred from the blood and sweat that clouded his eyes, but he did not miss the look of concern in his captain, Seamus MacLeod’s eyes. Exhausted, both he and Calum fell to their knees weak, battered, and bleeding. Ian expected his captain to haul him to his feet like a lad of twelve-years-old again, but something halted the man.
Onlookers watched silently, without the brothers ever knowing Hettie MacLaine marched across the list, the roped handle of a wooden bucket gripped in one hand. Ian and his brother remained unaware, as both men continued to throw intermittent punches, as small surges of their strength returned. A mixture of sweat, and dirt clung to their skin, as they leaned upon one another to stay upright on their knees. Neither wanting to yield.
One of the stable lads informed Mo Daol that her pigheaded grandsons were making good on yesterday’s challenge. She was furious, as she crossed the bailey. Dust kicked up behind her and she muttered under her breath. “By days end, ye two dunderheads will know a few things about stubbornness.” She knew the odds were stacked against them, especially when her own husband, Hector was afflicted with the same fault. These MacLaine men and their pride!
With a wooden bucket in hand, she crossed the list and headed in the direction of the sparring men. Not a word uttered from her lips, as she moved with a purpose through the crowd. Men, women, and children parted, as she drew closer. Those who knew her well would not question her motives. The morning was warmer than usual, and the foul odor wafting from the pail was strong enough to assail those she passed, while crossing the tiltyard. The laughter around the crowd grew when they realized what she held in the bucket and predicted the intended outcome.
Blinded by their need to rise above the other, neither man saw her approach. When Ian and Calum attempted to rise once again, Mo Daol raised the bucket above the pair. It hovered above her grandsons for a heartbeat. With her, other hand she raised the bottom of the pail until the contents spilled all over them.
In unison, both men growls echoed in the list. “Aaarrrrrggghhhh!” Mo Daol’s actions left them both with their mouths agape. When they found out a woman—an old one at that—bested them in front of their men they would not be pleased. They came to their feet, their faces mottled in outrage, but before they could say word, Mo Daol silenced them with a single look.
Swill ran from the tops of their heads, down their faces and chest. Calum’s nose turned up as the putrid smell assailed his nose, and Ian quickly wiped the slime from his eyes. The sight of these to hulking warriors covered in swill was enough to make Mo Daol laugh out right, and if she were not so angry with the pair, she would have.
She wrinkled her nose, at the empty bucket and spun on her heels. From over her shoulder, she shouted. “Ye two dolts get yerselves to the loch and clean up. Ye stink of sweat, pig slop and dishonor!” The men and women in the list broke out into a cacophony, when all the two brothers could do was stand there covered in slop.
Pig slop ran down the side of Ian’s face and into one of his eyes. A chuckle from Calum turned his head, and a moment later both of them laughed. “Come Calum! Let’s clean the stench and sweat at the loch. I am near to withering away with famine.”
Before either of them took a step in the direction of the loch, Ian put his hand upon Calum’s shoulder as he walked away. The man halted. “Draw?” Ian waited for his brother’s response. The moment his brother’s muscles relaxed under his hand, he knew all was right between them.
“Aye. Draw. Though a few minutes more…” He gave Ian a playful prod upon his shoulder.
Ian laughed as he shook his head. “Nay! I am weary and fair hungry myself.” He sniffed the surrounding air near his brother, and took a whiff of his own underarms, Ian’s face grimaced when he realized he did not fare any better than Calum and said. “Away to the loch.”
When there were no longer chunks of pig slop in their hair, and they no longer stunk of swill, Ian and Calum walked to the shore. One of the lads at the keep brought each man a clean tunic and trews, and whisked off with their dirty plaids that were left upon the rocks, and brought them to the castle laundresses.
From behind the tall grass that surrounded this area of Lochbuie, Ian picked up a clean cloth from the large boulder and patted himself dry. The sun-warmed cloth felt good against his cold, damp skin. Though the sun hung high in the sky, the cool breeze was typical of October in the Highlands. Ian tried to keep his growing unease at bay, but the assessing look was back on Calum’s face and he knew he failed.
Calum never minced words. “So are ye going to tell me what goes on in that head of yers?” He brushed the last of the filth from his only pair of boots and waited for Ian’s response.
Ian was already pulling on a clean pair of trews and tunic as he sat upon a rock when he said, “I do not know what ye speak of. All is well, and even if it was not, it would not concern ye.”
“Mo Daol was right.”
Ian’s head snapped up.
“Yer a bad liar.” Once the slop-covered boot was clean, enough Calum continued. “I read the missive…about Campbell and such. Ye know tis not something ye have to endure alone, Ian. Bran may be Laird of Dunnideer, but we are all MacLaine’s. Ye are still our brother. If ye have need of us…”
Ian shook his head. “Nay, I can handle this on my own.”
When Ian saw the determined look in Calum’s eye, he knew this conversation would not be over until Calum said it was over.
When his brother cocked a brow at him Ian said, “All right, ye persistent bastard. We’ll talk.”
The last thing he wanted to do was share the bizarre dreams with his brother. Perhaps, if it was, Bran he may have been more apt to share it, but this was Calum. The man did not have a serious bone in his body. He also did not believe in any of Mo Daol’s bloody nonsense of a legend or the book for that matter. “Are ye up for a ride after the mid-day meal?”
Calum pursed his lips and said. “Aye, I suppose a ride, after we eat of course, would be doable. However, if given a choice between listening to ye blather on and on, or tumble the new kitchen lass, Glenna.…”
Ian cut off his words. “Well, if ye’d rather tumble a wench by all…”
“Nay!” He shouted and sent him one of his brilliant, legendary smiles that melted near every lass in Aberdeenshire. “A ride and a bit of hunting.”
The hiss of a single arrow was the only sound that could be heard before the large stag fell to the ground. Sometimes Ian wondered if his brother was born with the eyes of a hawk. No normal man could see through such a dense area of trees and hit its mark with such precision.
Ian offered up a smile toward his older brother as he shouted. “Ye got him!” The smile turned sullen when Ian realized Calum had taken the beast down with a single arrow.
Calum was the first to dismount from his horse when they reached the dead animal. His brother removed a large dirk from his boot and handed it toward him. Ian glared at him annoyed.
In response, Calum grinned and reminded Ian of the bargain the three brothers made years ago. “Do not look so displeased, Laird.” He jested. “Ye know the bargain. If ye kill yer prey with a single blow, the others have to gut it. Seems to me ye have got big job on your hands…since Bran is not here to help ye.” Calum made a pompous display of crossing feet at the ankles, as he placed his hands behind his head and rested upon a large rock a few feet away.
There was no need in putting off the task, so Ian went straight to work and cut the stag from end to end. The day turned warmer and Ian stopped occasionally to wipe the sweat that
gathered upon his brow. Ian knew the weather would be splendid when the thick morning mist burned off.
“Why don’t ye make yourself useful, Calum, and get a rope from my saddle bags.” He motioned toward the low-lying branch where his horse was tethered. It was not hard to miss the annoyance in Ian’s voice. The sound of Calum’s boisterous laughter caused the large horse to skirt to the side. With a gentle caress to the horse’s nose, it quieted. Calum rose and retrieved the rope, and went to work securing the rope around the buck’s hind legs. “Come now, Ian. Yer a man of yer word, are ye not?”
Ian scoffed. “If I recollect, it seems to me that Bran and I have always done the skinning.” He tore the knife through the stag’s hide.
Calum laughed. “Do no’ blame me. Tis no fault too be well skilled with a bow.”
There was no other he knew of who could shoot truer than Calum. All of them had a competitive spirit and it hindered their judgment the day they struck the bargain. It was too late to go back now. Standing straight up, Ian pointed to the other end of the rope that still lay in Calum’s grasp as he spoke. “Do not just stand there, throw it over the limb above so we can hang this beastie.”
It took three attempts before his brother could get the rope to wrap around the thick limb, and with Calum’s help they worked together to raise the dead stag. Calum secured the loose end to a nearby tree and questioned Ian. “We have some time while the beast hangs. Now is the perfect time for ye tell me what has ye in such a state? I did not want to alarm Mo Daol, but ye do look like shite, brother.” He smirked at his own jest.
Grabbing the wineskin, Ian used the remainder of his water to rinse the blood from his hands. “Aye. There is a good reason for that…I have not slept for the past three nights.” He dried his freshly clean hands with a rag. There was a curious look upon his brother’s face, but where did one start a tale involving legends and haunting dreams.
Ian knew his brother’s thoughts on Mo Daol’s active imagination, and in the past, he had been less than sensitive with the older woman. On many occasions when Calum was a lad, his mum boxed his ears for such insolence to an elder.
His brother grew impatient. “Well, why?” He paused when he saw a painful twist in Ian’s expression. “Jesu! Ye are not going to tell me Mo Daol has gotten into that thick skull of yers, are ye? Damn it, Ian! I should have known it when we intercepted your message regarding the Tir Nam Famhair. It’s a bunch of wild stories about giants, witches and magic.” At those words, a breeze blew and stirred the canopy of leaves above them.
“Nay.” His response was no more than a whisper, but loud enough to stop his brother’s rant. “Ye know me Calum. I do not want to give in to her folly of the Tir Nam Famhair, but there have been…” Looking up from his hands Ian stated. “These dreams. Dreams I canno’ explain, but with each night that passes they become more vivid.” He picked up a twig from the forest floor and snapped it in two as he continued. “There is a lass. The first time she vanished before my eyes. Each time I have found her well. She sits upon the grass under an alder tree in the glen and reads. Then last eve…”
His brother nodded for him to continue.
“I spoke to her and she gave me her name.” Ian threw the remainder of the twig to the ground and stood. “I know of no other way to explain it to ye. I feel foolish, as it is…what with the legend, but I canno’ help, but wonder if there is something significant or familiar about her.” He paced back and forth before Calum. “Her voice is as a lure, and I find myself tempted to test my fate at the end of her line.”
“If the lass is not in danger, why is it ye are wrought with worry?”
Ian’s jaw twitched, and knew his brother saw it as well.
He listened as Calum reiterated his story. “So ye have this dream and there is a lass named Caroline. Is the maid pleasing to the eye, because if she has the face of a horse, then I could understand these dreams would be so bothersome?” His brother chuckled.
Ian sent him a dark look, but answered. “Aye, she is a verra pleasing to look upon.”
He knew Calum to be deep in thought. It was the same look when he aimed his arrow. Calum shook his head in his direction and spoke his thoughts aloud. “It does not make much sense to me, Ian. Why would dreaming about a fine lass, who is not in danger have ye upset?” He kicked at the fallen twigs at his feet. “Unless…This is not just about a dream, is it Ian? There is more. That is why ye sent the missive to Bran, though I do not know why ye requested Mo Daol to return her musty old tome to Moy.”
As soon as he saw the curious glean in Calum’s eyes, there was no use keeping the threat from Argyll a secret, though he would rather keep it from Mo Daol for the time being.
“Aye, there is more. The dreams have kept me from a full nights rest the last couple of days, but other matters have me concerned. However, I canno’ help but wonder if the two are connected. I would have ye keep this between the two of us.”
When Calum nodded his acquiesce, Ian continued. “Some time ago, when we were lads, grandsire took out a loan with John Campbell, Argyll’s uncle. He paused and let his brother absorb the details of his plight. “Less than a sennight ago Argyll sent his henchman, who is also his nephew, Damon Campbell to Moy to recoup on the unpaid debt or they would be forced to take Lochbuie for the Campbell’s.”
Just the mention of the Campbell’s, Ian watched the heat rising up his brother’s neck as he shouted. “They will not get Lochbuie! This is not a fight ye will have to face alone, Ian. Ye must know Bran and I are behind ye in this. If your coffers are low, we can send word to Dunnideer to cover what is owed.”
He nodded his head. A slight smiled pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Nay, the debt was paid near on three years now, and was settled before grandda passed on. I was there to witness it myself….as was Damon Campbell.”
A sense of relief washed over Calum when he told him the debit was paid. “Well, then what is the trouble. Ye need to show him the deed with the earl’s waxed seal, and his signature that it was indeed paid. Jesu Ian! Ye near took ten years off my life with your somber antics.”
“Would it be that simple, do ye not think I would have done so already?” He reached out toward his horse, Artemis who sensed the tension building in the air. The horse skirted slightly at Ian’s mounting temper. Ian gently patted the side of the horse’s neck and he settled.
“What is ye are saying, Ian?” Calum responded.
Still trying to rein his ire, he enunciated each word slowly. “I do not have it. That is what I am saying.”
Playing the role of the concerned brother, Calum’s agitation was visible, but misplaced. “Ye have been laird for nigh a year and ye have already lost important documents that belong to Moy! Do ye understand the ramifications of what will happen if ye do not bring forth this deed to prove the note was satisfied? Especially, if Argyll can produce documents that say otherwise, and with the English usurper swaying his loyalties, he can do it. How could ye be so careless?”
The surge of his temper grew with each word Calum spoke. As always, both of his brothers felt the need to correct him, as though he were still a lad of twelve. Ian’s responsibility may be larger than that of Bran, but he was a man grown now. Who was Calum to criticize? As a third son, he should have been cloistered with the priest. Instead, he was flitting about Scotland and France selling his sword arm to the highest bidder.
The words wounded him, that Calum thought he lacked the ability to manage his clan, but his brother was wrong in his assumptions.
“How could I have been so careless? What is it ye imply, Calum? That I am not able to do my duty, as laird?” Before he let his brother speak, he replied. The menacing sound of his voice stilled Calum where he stood. “I did not lose the deed, as ye assume. I know exactly where it is. I have flushed out the traitor who would have seen Moy into Campbell hands.”
A grave visage haunted Ian’s face. It had always been their way. They were close and looked out for each other, but on this accou
nt, Calum overstepped his boundaries.
Ian was shocked when Calum murmured his humble apology. “Forgive me, brother. I assumed too much.” He offered his hand out in apology.
It was several moments before he took a hold of the out stretched hand, and knew the apology was genuine.
The tension between the two men lifted, his brother said. “When we get back to the keep I will help ye search high and low for the deed. It must be in Moy somewhere.”
Calum had no love for their grandmother’s whimsical tales of magic and destiny, so how did he tell him that Delilah, the Fae healer, sent Tir Nam Famhair to another realm with the deed still within its pages? Worse, how would he convince his non-believing brother, that there was some truth in the Fae’s abilities?
“The deed is not at Moy.”
With a look of confusion, Calum said. “Ye know this as fact?”
He nodded. “Aye. I know.” When his brother did not move to speak, he went on. “The deed was in the folds of the Tir Nam Famhair. I know ye do not believe in the power that lies within the book. We were of a same mind until recent events have proven otherwise.”
He was flabbergasted when Calum stood silent, even after he stated his beliefs swayed toward the folly of magic. The sight caused him to ramble on. “Delilah, the Fae healer has sent the book far away and cast a spell to protect it from falling into the wrong hands again." God’s wounds! Did he just speak of magic and spells? Why would the man not speak. “Calum have ye heard what I have said?”
The man’s answer came when he tossed back his head a roared his laughter into the sky. Tears ran out the corner of his brother’s eyes, and at one point, he was close to falling onto his arse from lack of air. It would serve him right if he choked of his own accord.
While his brother continued to find humor in his dilemma, Ian did not utter another word, but went about the task of securing the stag over the extra mount brought along for the purpose. When all was secure, he did not hesitate to mount Artemis, and start back toward Moy alone. He was exhausted, and would not stand around and listen to Calum make light of Moy’s troubles.
Kissed by the Laird (First Ladies of the Fae Book 1) Page 7
