“His word is good, too,” Àdham said, suspecting that Mar trusted Ewan no more than James did. “What news have you had of Balloch and his army?”
Mar made his next cast, shook his head at the result, and passed the dice cup to Caithness. When Mar turned back to Àdham, Caithness—behind Mar—grimaced and rolled his eyes, stirring a tickle of unease in Àdham.
But Mar said lightly, “Jamie’s orders tae me were tae extinguish such sparks o’ disaffection wi’ the Crown as might still flicker hereabouts, after Alexander’s defeat at Lochaber and ultimate submission. I doubt that his grace expects any great battle here, though. Not wi’ such a force as we be gathering tae prevent one.”
Shooting another look at Caithness to see that gentleman’s lips tightening, Àdham resisted the urge to tighten his own. Diplomatically, he said, “Mayhap you are unaware, sir, that his grace’s people have intercepted messages between Balloch and Alexander, in which Balloch threatens to attack before mid-September, which is now less than a sennight away. That is why his grace ordered reinforcements.”
“Och, aye, but ’tis still gey peaceful here. We have a jug of claret and mayhap a clean goblet, so help yourself and join in our dicing. We needna fret over Donal Balloch today, for we heard this morning that he has convened a meeting of some sort on the Islet of Carna in Loch Sunart. So, he is dunamany miles away yet.”
“He may be nearer than you think, though,” Àdham said dryly as he stepped onto the dais and moved to pour himself some claret.
“’Tis true that Balloch has only just reached Loch Sunart, your lordship,” Caithness said. “So, although I lack your experience in these matters, I believe we should be making more exact plans to defend ourselves. We should, at the least, set watchers along both coasts of Loch Linnhe.”
“We’ll discuss tactics and such later,” Mar replied. “Make your cast, lad.”
“With respect, your lordship,” Àdham said carefully as Caithness shook the dice in the cup and spilled them out, “I must agree with Alan.”
“Then ye both forget that I led the royal army against the second Lord of the Isles at Harlaw and defeated him soundly. He was a seasoned warrior. Donal Balloch be nae more than a scruff wi’ eighteen years o’ life tae his credit.”
“But Harlaw was two decades ago,” Àdham protested. Seeing Caithness wince, he added hastily, “Again, I do speak with respect, your lordship.”
Caithness grinned but clapped a hand to his mouth when Mar glanced at him.
“Aye, I feel your respect, Àdham,” Mar said sardonically. “But I should no ha’ tae remind ye that I defeated Alexander and his army o’ ten thousand nobbut two years ago at Lochaber. And, whatever ye think, we ha’ nae army o’ Islesmen tae fret us today. Loch Sunart lies miles beyond yon mountains tae the west.”
Controlling his consternation, Àdham looked again at Caithness.
“Likely, he’s right,” Caithness said. “I dinna ken where this Islet o’ Carna lies in Loch Sunart. But unless it be right at the mouth, by the time they row out o’ the loch, south to the Sound o’ Mull, all the way through it, around that long point at this end, and up the length of Loch Linnhe, the distance must be more than fifty miles. We’ve had nae wind since I arrived, and even the best oarsmen need rest.”
“I expect that Balloch had reason to convene his forces at Loch Sunart,” Àdham said, gazing at a point between the two. “See you, both Malcolm and my uncle, Fin of the Battles, have spoken of a five-mile river glen that connects Loch Sunart with Loch Linnhe. You might ask Malcolm about that.”
“Sit,” Mar said, indicating the stool beside his own. “If ye mean tae suggest that Donal Balloch might order his men tae carry their galleys such a distance uphill and down . . . Sakes, man, ’tis a daft notion!”
The dice cup was still. Caithness made a half-hearted attempt to pass it to Àdham, who ignored it and looked again from one man to the other.
“Does either of you know of an area a dozen miles south of here, where Loch Linnhe widens into a vast sea loch some three times the width of what it is here?”
Mar nodded, frowning. “Aye, sure, but if ye’re telling me that that is where your river glen meets Loch Linnhe, ye must still be thinking that Donal’s men could carry galleys up over a mountain and down for a distance o’ five miles or more.”
“That river glen is called Glen Tarbet, your lordship,” Àdham said. “I have never seen it. But you know as well as I do that a tarbet is where men did once carry or drag boats from one body of water to another. I’d wager that with small galleys and thirty or more oarsmen to carry each one, Donal’s men could portage them to Loch Linnhe. That would reduce your fifty miles to less than fifteen.”
“Blethers,” Mar snapped. “I ken fine that men ha’ dragged boats across Kintyre and from Loch Lomond tae Loch Long, because men talk o’ such. But ye must think yon glen be flat as a board, Àdham. The hills o’ Morvern be too high and treacherous tae carry any boat that could hold thirty oarsmen over one o’ them.”
“Nevertheless, what if—” Àdham began only to have Mar cut him short.
“I’ll grant ye that I ken more about the central Highlands than I do about the Isles or yon lochs betwixt here and them. But I’d wager that Glen Tarbet be nobbut a watershed o’ burns flowing intae both lochs from hills above them. The name may mean only that men use it now and now as a pass through those mountains.”
“But if that pass is low enough and the river flows down into Loch Linnhe, they could drag the boats up. And, even if they don’t bring boats—”
“Sakes, lad, d’ye never give up?” Mar demanded testily. “I tell ye it be a watershed, which it is. So now ye suggest that Donal Balloch would come without his boats! Sakes, how could he get safe away back tae his Isles without them? The man may be daft enough tae challenge me and my ever-growing army, but he’s no so daft as tae leave his boats behind in Loch Sunart whilst he fights us!”
He glowered at Àdham, tacitly daring him to argue more.
When he did not, Mar said in a more temperate tone, “Now, sit yourself down and take the dice that Caithness be offering ye. Lest ye’re worried about losing yer gelt, I’ll tell ye that we play only for that pile o’ pebbles betwixt us. Atholl keeps our poor Caithness too short o’ gelt tae play for aught o’ worth.”
Àdham took the cup, rattled it, and cast the dice. Then, having cast highest, he collected a third of the stones and left the rest. Casting again, he passed the cup to Mar but continued to worry about Donal Balloch . . . and about Mar.
Despite having many years’ more experience than either Àdham or Caithness, the older man seemed dangerously overconfident about what lay ahead.
As far as Àdham could tell, Mar had considered no strategy beyond a vague certainty that he would beat Balloch because he had beaten his kinsmen at Harlaw and Lochaber. But, lacking a true strategy, whatever tactics Mar employed would more likely lead to unintended consequences than to victory.
The Earl of Mar, Àdham decided, should show Balloch more respect.
Fiona had discovered that setting one’s worries aside was harder than Catriona had made it sound. She had stoically watched Àdham leave, somewhat reassured by the number of men he led. He had left Sirius behind, though, saying that battle was no place for a dog, even one as smart and well trained as Sirius was.
However, Sirius missed Àdham and had little interest beyond trying to sneak outside the wall to follow him. Even Rory failed to distract the dog.
Fiona was nearly as fretful. What if the Comyns had ambushed and killed Àdham and all of his men before the battle began? How would she learn of such a disaster? How long would news of it take to reach Finlagh?
“They are likely not even fighting yet,” Katy said when Fiona asked her a few days later as the three young women were returning to Finlagh after taking herbs from Clydia’s garden to Granny Rosel and visiting ten
ant women whose husbands were away with Àdham. “I heard MacNab say it takes days to reach Inverlochy.”
“As to Comyns attacking him,” Clydia said, “Father says they risk more danger of attack hereabouts than our people do, because on this side of our hills, all the land is Clan Chattan land. More of our member clans also hold lands north and east of Raitt Castle. The Comyns keep safe only because of the royal order to let them keep Raitt. If they attacked any of us in number, even his grace would support the Mackintoshes’ retaking Raitt. In any event, by now, most of the Comyns and their men-at-arms will have slithered off west to join the forces friendly to Alexander.”
“Slithered?” The word made Fiona smile.
“Aye, like the snakes they are,” Katy said. “What do you think of Àdham’s MacNab? I think he is oppressive and likes to make himself important.”
“He seems kind enough to me,” Clydia said.
“Everyone is kind to you,” her sister retorted. “What do you think, Fee?”
“He is reticent,” Fiona said. “But he does serve Àdham well, I think.”
“If you mean to think only about Àdham,” Katy said, “we must distract your thoughts. It is warm enough today to swim. Shall we go to the pond this afternoon?”
Fiona agreed and soon found that the twins, when mutually agreed on a course of action, left little to chance. Scarcely a free moment passed after that without a suggested activity from one twin or the other.
Although grateful for their efforts, after two sunny afternoons came three days of pelting rain that Fiona feared must hinder the royal army. The downpour also filled Finlagh’s hall with noisome odors of wet rushes, smoky fires, and too many people and dogs shut indoors. Fiona longed for open spaces, solitude, and sunshine.
The heavy rain had dampened the warriors’ spirits but merely reinforced Mar’s belief that Donal Balloch was nowhere near Inverlochy.
Àdham, in helmet and mail, spent the first semidry day helping his men check any chain mail they had for rust and ordered every man to make sure that all of his weapons were in order. He had just finished cleaning his sword and replaced it in its baldric when he heard shouts in the hilly southern distance.
Dashing toward them, he saw MacNab to his left, pelting downhill to intercept him.
The squire said urgently as he handed Àdham his bow and quiver, “Some lads met me in them hills yonder, sir, saying they’d run since midnight when they saw galleys miles south o’ here on Loch Linnhe, too many boats tae count in the dark. They must ha’ passed intae the loch’s narrower part by now, so I kent fine ye’d want such arms as ye were no carrying. Them lads was spent, sir. Will ye tell Lord Mar or must I?”
“I’ll go,” Àdham said. “Likely, someone has already warned him. But I’ll make sure of it. I sent you earlier to report to Sir Ivor. Did you find him?”
“I did, aye. He were a mile or so up yon hillside, nearly straight above our encampment. Last I saw of him, he and his men had shot two deer and dunamany rabbits. He expected tae get a third deer.”
“Did you tell him about the galleys?”
“Nae, for I saw him afore I knew o’ them and came straight here tae ye.”
“Then hie yourself back to Sir Ivor. And tell those of our lads that you see on your way to rig themselves for battle. I’ll see Mar about those galleys.”
He tried to sound firm, but he knew that Mar, Caithness, and a few other men were playing cards at the castle, as they so often did—too often, he thought.
Nevertheless, slinging his quiver over his left shoulder and carrying his bow, he hurried downhill and across the plain, wondering just how many men they had, how many Mar had sent off in search of provisions, and how far he had sent them. He knew that Mar had asked Malcolm to take his Mackintoshes as far as Ardnamurchan. But the wily old Captain of Clan Chattan had persuaded one of his eager chieftains to attend to that task, saying that although he was not too old to fight, he was surely too old to travel so far first and then fight.
Gaining entrance to the castle, Àdham hurried into the great hall.
“Àdham, lad, come and take a hand with us,” Mar shouted from the dais.
“I bring urgent news, your lordship,” Àdham said as he stepped onto the dais. “My squire, MacNab, a man to be trusted, just told me that many galleys passed into the narrows of Loch Linnhe last night and are heading this way.”
“In all the rain, they must ha’ put up somewhere betwixt here and there, for the night,” Mar said. “We should post more lads tae watch for them, though.”
“Aye,” one of the other card players said. “Had they rowed all night, they would be here by now and too tired tae fight.”
Àdham saw Caithness and two of the other men exchange looks of concern, if not exasperation.
Mar said to one, “Draw your card, man. We’ll have plenty o’ time when our lads can see their boats from the tower. And we’ll win the day, for we have superior armor. Also, our men keep better discipline than the barbaric Islesmen do.”
A brief image of Fiona’s belief that Highlanders were all barbaric flashed in Àdham’s mind before he recalled that Malcolm was still in the hills somewhere to the south with his foragers. He said, “If I may offer a suggestion, your lordship?”
“Aye, sure,” Mar said. Then, looking directly at him, he added, “I’m thinking ye’d offer it even an I said nae.”
“I’d hold my tongue if you ordered me to, sir, but I’d dislike it,” Àdham said, hoping to win support from some of the others. “I do suggest, though, that we send runners to warn all the men who are out foraging for food and firewood. Deer and rabbits cannot aid us. We’ll need Malcolm and all of our other men-at-arms here.”
“He’s right, my lord,” one of the older men said. “It has occurred tae me that Balloch’s men need only beach their boats a mile or two south o’ here tae ambush us. Anyone who might see them do so and try tae warn us would be just minutes ahead o’ them. Moreover, one canna see that upper part o’ the loch shore from here, even from your tower, due to yon great hill southwest of us.”
“Sakes, we have time tae finish this game,” Mar protested. “Àdham, send some of our lads tae warn the foragers that Donal and his boats be nearer than we thought. Tell them tae get their people moving, and then see tae your own men. Ye may shout for my armorer, too, whilst ye’re about it, and send him tae me.”
Instead, Àdham stopped the first man-at-arms he saw wearing the Stewart badge and ordered him to find Mar’s armorer and help him prepare their master for battle. “Donal’s army may have landed and be heading for us now,” he added.
Turning, he heard someone shout his name and turned back to see Caithness trotting toward him. “I’ll send runners to the chiefs and chieftains betwixt here and Loch Lochy,” he said, as he halted before Àdham. “Ye look after your own lads. And, cousin,” he added, “if we dinna see each other again, I want ye to ken that, although my da doesna make it easy for anyone, ye’ve been a good friend to me.”
“Don’t talk blethers,” Àdham said sternly. “I’ll be happy to knock you on your backside again any time you like, cousin.”
Chuckling, Caithness clapped him on the shoulder, and each went his own way.
Shifting his quiver strap higher to overlap the wider strap of his baldric, Àdham strode across the flats to the woods where his men had set up their encampment. There, he shouted for the few men he saw to find as many of their comrades as they could, spread word of imminent battle as they went, and then assemble back in their encampment until he gave further orders.
“If battle erupts before I return,” he added, shifting his gaze from one to the next, “take your orders from MacNab or any another commander until I do.”
Remembering Mar’s description of their army, he gave a sigh. It was true that most of their men were well trained and disciplined. It was also true that others were jus
t thieves and thugs. Such was true of any hastily gathered army.
And, although many of their leaders boasted fine armor, many others, like Àdham, wore only chain mail between their plaids and their tunics and would cast their plaids aside to fight. Come to that, though, Mar himself rarely wore full armor.
When Àdham had fought with him at Lochaber, Mar had not bothered even with a helmet, saying that his men would more easily know him without it. The man was a fearsome and fearless fighter and a fine leader in any battle. Likely, he would soon take command and would win the day, just as he had said he would.
Deciding to make his way uphill through the forest in hopes of gaining a view of the enemy’s boats and also to hurry Sir Ivor and any others he met as they came down, he had gone less than a half mile when he heard someone or something crashing down through the shrubbery above him, cursing as he did.
“Loch Moigh!” Àdham shouted. “Who comes?”
“Sir Ivor’s Tadhg! Be that ye, Sir Àdham?”
“Aye, what’s amiss?” Àdham called back.
“Stay where ye be, sir, and speak low,” Tadhg said, his voice quieter now. “There be dunamany others in these woods as dinna be our friends.”
Àdham saw him then, shoving shrubbery out of his way as he leaped over deadfalls and other obstacles. The man had his sword still in its baldric but his dirk in hand. As he ran, he kept looking over his left shoulder. Breathing hard, he stopped short of Àdham and gasped out, “They . . . be heading . . . this way, sir.”
“From the lochside?”
“Nae, from above us tae the south, in the hills. They carry a banner, and Sir Ivor said it belongs tae Alasdair Carrach o’ Lochaber, who be—”
“Alexander of the Isles’ youngest uncle,” Àdham interjected.
“Aye, that be what Sir Ivor said. He also said I should no go back up there, sir. But I’m thinking—”
“You can stop thinking of aught save what Sir Ivor will say or do to you later if you disobey him,” Àdham interjected sternly.
The Reluctant Highlander Page 29
