by Alisa Adams
“But ‘tis dangerous. It is a heavy weapon to wield. Ye could cut off yer foot or... or... something,” Tristan sputtered looking only at Ceena.
Ceena scoffed at him. “Only if ye are untrained in its use. And if it is not weighted to the person who will be wielding it.” Ceena looked at Brigda who nodded her head in agreement.
“Who will make and weight this weapon fer ye? Who is gaunnie make such a weapon for a woman?” Tristan insisted.
Brigda cleared her throat. “My guard, Warwick MacClaren, made a Lochaber ax for me,” she stated.
“And this guard will make one for Ceena?” Tristan asked, his jaw seemed locked and his mouth firm.
“War is dead,” Brigda said dully.
Tristan started to say something, then narrowed his eyes, lost in thought. “Ye said his name was War?” he asked her, calmer now.
“Yes,” she said. She bent to her food not wanting to answer any questions about the man she had loved and lost. Brigda did not see Tristan look over at his brother. Gordon’s eyes were also narrowed, deep in thought.
Ceena noticed it. “What is it?” she prodded at Tristan.
“Nothing,” he answered, “I dinnae agree that this weapon should be handled by a woman, that is all.”
“I can handle it, very well too,” Ceena said proudly.
“Aye, she had surpassed me,” Brigda agreed.
“Ceena is something of a weapons expert,” Godet said with pride.
“’Tis a dangerous weapon,” Tristan repeated. “If ye be carrying it on yer horse, ye’ll chop his ears off in yer first battle,” he declared.
Ceena, Brigda, Godet and Ina and Flori stared silently at him in shock. Tristan and Gordon thought for sure they were going to start crying.
“That is a horrid, horrid thing to say, Tristan,” Godet admonished him in a horrified whisper.
Tristan’s jaw dropped in shock. “Worse than saying ye could cut yer foot off?”
“Aye!” they all said in unison. Ina had tears in her eyes.
“Dinnae say anything more, brother,” Gordon mumbled.
“Like I would be so clumsy as to cut my horses ears off swinging me Lochaber ax!” Ceena said indignantly.
Gordon couldn’t resist. “So, ye did have one made for yourself? A copy of Brigda’s?” he asked with genuine curiosity.
“Aye,” Ceena answered warily.
“And ye and Brigda are both adept at using it?” Gordon asked her.
“We all are, yes,” Ceena answered him.
“Who made ye this weapon?” Gordon pushed.
“I make our weapons,” Godet answered him in a modest voice. Her eyes were cast down at her plate.
Gordon watched her, feeling impressed. “The blade as well as the long shaft?” he pressed.
“Aye,” Godet answered matter-of-factly.
“With what materials?” Gordon said in a low voice.
Godet’s head came up sharply at that. “I didnae use any of yer metals or woods. I brought me own.”
“Ye truly make all yer own weapons?” Gordon asked, surprised.
“She does,” Ceena answered proudly. “All of our dirks and our sgian-dubhs. Our father taught us all, but Godet has a special skill,” she said. She looked over at Godet with a smile as Godet pulled a small black knife out of her bootie.
Gordon stared at the knife Godet had just pulled from her boot. “Dae ye always carry a sgian-dubh in yer boot?” he asked casually, holding his hand out to inspect the small dagger.
“Sometimes I dae, sometimes I dinnae. Ye niver know when ye may need it. It’s a canny little dagger to have on hand,” Godet explained, handing it to him.
Gordon held her sgian-dubh in his hand. Turning it this way and that, studying the black metal and the workmanship of the wooden handle. The handle was stunning. It was carved with birds in flight etched into the wood, giving the hand a better grip. The handle itself was shaped slightly like an hourglass and had silver banding on each end. The silver was also covered in scrolls of flying birds. It was very feminine and exquisite, yet still so sharp that it was deadly and lethal. He handed it back to her and she placed it in its small matching scabbard. He was able to see that it too had scrollwork on the wood and the silver ends. His eyes met hers. It was easy to see that she loved creating her weapons and was proud of this skill. He was amazed at this young woman. She continued to astonish him.
“’Tis an exquisite knife. I would be proud to carry that meself,” Gordon said in a husky, raw voice.
“I thank ye,” Godet said modestly, not knowing how to take Gordon when he was looking at her this way.
“I would commission ye to make me one if yer willing?” he asked her politely.
Godet looked at him, stunned. “Ye would truly carry a knife decorated like jewelry? And pay me for it?”
“Oh aye,” Godet said emphatically.
Godet thought for a bit. “Mine has seagulls on it, to remind me always of Fionnaghall. What would ye like on yours?” she asked him. “Perhaps sheathes of barley? To represent yer whiskey. I could etch scrolls of the barley grasses into the handle and around the grip and the ends perhaps,” she told him, deep in thought.
Gordon was stunned once again. “Aye.” It came out in a rasp. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Aye, I would be proud to carry a dagger made by yer hands,” he said in a husky, low voice. And in only a moment, she had come up with something personal to etch on it, something that would mark it as his. She was remarkable and so thoughtful it made his heart fill to bursting out of his chest.
Later that evening when the ladies had left the table, Gordon stood staring into the great hearth. He was watching the flames as they leaped and danced. He was deep in thought. Tristan came up to stand beside his brother.
“Dinnae ye find it curious?”
“What?” asked Gordon as the sound of his brother’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Those thoughts had been filled with mysterious silvery-blue eyes, smiling cherry lips, and black curly hair.
“Dinnae ye find it curious?” Tristan repeated impatiently.
“What are ye talking about Tristan?” Gordon asked.
“That they make their own weapons, that Ceena and Brigda can use a Lochaber ax?”
“They had claymores when we went up against the Munroe and MacKenzie warriors in the meadow outside the Bogle woods,” Gordon said dismissively.
Tristan blew out a breath. “Yes, and they handled the big swords surprisingly well, admirably in fact. Ceena particularly was impressive.”
Gordon looked over at him, “Really? I thought that Godet was the most impressive,” Gordon stated firmly.
“No, definitely Ceena,” Tristan replied forcefully.
“Oh, little brother…” Gordon laughed as he shook his head with his hand on his hip, his other arm was braced on the mantle of the hearth.
“But did ye not hear that Brigda can wield the long Lochaber ax?” Tristan said, ignoring his brother laughing at him.
“Yes and that is most curious for Brigda. I would like to see her fight, but I dinnae think she can. I think it was a token gift.”
“Gordon, it was who made the gift that caught me ear…” Tristan said, leaning in to get his brothers attention.
Gordon looked at him again, his eyebrow raised. “Who?”
“War MacClaren,” Tristan said quietly.
“Now how did I miss that?” Gordon murmured. “He was the big MacKenzie warrior that came through here almost dead,” Gordon mused.
“Aye. But Brigda said ‘War is dead’.”
“War said he couldnae go back to the MacKenzie castle as I recall,” Gordon stated. “Was it the MacKenzie Laird that beat him near to death?”
“Aye, I remember,” Tristan said, now deep in thought. “But he couldnae tell us why or what happened. He was beaten too badly. He was barely able to tell us his name. The day he woke up was the day he slipped away from Conall.” Tristan looked at his brother, shrugging his shoulders. “If it is even the sa
me, mon?”
“How many men named War could there be? And where is he now?” Gordon mused as he went back to staring into the fire. “We dinnae need to concern ourselves with him now. We know what the MacKenzie is capable of.”
22
The five women were all mounted on their horses in a field out of sight of the castle. They had set up their own training course so that Brigda could get used to fighting on horseback. They had been teaching Brigda the different battle movements, commanding her big gelding Avens to rear or kick out. Now, Brigda and Ceena were holding their Lochaber axes.
“We need to make sure we dinnae cut our horses ears off, just as Tristan said, that skiver!” Ceena said testily from atop her horse, Whins.
“Niver!” declared Ina. “Ye would niver dae such a thing Ceena. Nor ye Brigda, isnae that correct?” she said as she pet her horse.
Brigda hesitated, hefting her Lochaber ax in one hand and getting the reins just right in her other hand. “I certainly hope I don’t. I have grown rather fond of Avens even if my backside has not,” she said wryly.
The girls all started giggling. They stopped at the sound of hoofbeats. Coming over the hill was Aunt Hextilda on her pony, King Bobby. She rode up to them and stopped, catching her breath as she stared up at the girls where they sat on their giant draft horses. Aunt Hextilda’s little pony snorted and pranced proudly with his neck arched as the big drafts lowered their huge heads down to sniff their small friend.
“I thought ye should know, I’m feart the pastor has arrived. He’s been gone for months visiting other clans, but he’s here, now in Conall,” she said breathlessly. Her gray wispy hair was blowing around her head in the breeze like thistledown.
The girls went silent, looking at each other. Brigda’s face had gone ashen and she looked at Godet. “Does this mean…?” Godet whispered.
Aunt Hextilda looked up at her. “Aye, there’s to be a wedding they said, Laird Gordon and Tristan. I heard them and I came to ye immediately,” she explained clutching the reins of her pony tightly. King Bobby threw up his head at her harsh hands and she immediately lightened her hold of him. With shaking hands, she petted him as she crooned an apology to the regal little King Bobby.
“But what of my father? Will he be coming? Doesn’t he want me to marry Mungan instead?” Brigda said with a trace of fear in her voice as the words rushed out.
“Noo dinnae go all bowface!” Aunt Hexy said in agitation, seeing Brigda’s pale, stark face. “I heard him telt a mon to send word to yer da. Ye’ll end up merrit either way with either man. Ye cannae be glaikit and haud, ye must have the gumption to go. Haste ye back to Fionnaghall!”
“Wha...?” Brigda asked.
“She said ye’ll be married either way to either man. She said we cannae be foolish and wait,” Ina explained. “She said they have sent word to yer father, and we must go now. She said to hurry back to Fionnaghall.”
“Oh dear,” Flori whispered as she clutched her mare’s mane, “I thought we would have more time…”
Godet was biting her lip. “Gordon is marrying Brigda before her father can marry her off to Mungan and get control of the ports.”
“Or...” Ceena said, smacking her fist into her hand and startling her horse who was resting peacefully with her on his back. “Gordon is luring the MacKenzie here to confront him and fight him!”
“Oh dear,” Flori whispered again.
“It could be a trap…” Brigda said, looking at Godet.
“But what if it’s not?” Godet answered her.
“If it’s not, what then?” Ceena replied, looking between the two of them.
“Then Brigda marries Gordon and Mungan forces me, or even one of ye, to marry him. Thus, keeping control of Fionnaghall,” Godot concluded in a faint voice.
“But Godet,” Ceena said animatedly, “if ye marry Gordon and Gordon defeats the MacKenzie then Brigda is free! And ye will have married the man ye love.”
“But does he love me or is he just after what he would gain with Fionnaghall?” Godet asked. “It makes more sense for him to marry Brigda. It is a more powerful alliance to be sure!”
“Ye must go noo!” Aunt Hextilda cried. “Take back Fionnaghall! Neither the MacKenzies nor the Munroes can have it!”
“Aye,” Godet said thoughtfully. “We must take ourselves out of this situation and make sure we are in control of our own fate. We cannae be just sitting by waiting to see who defeats who or who marries one of us to gain this or that. We must take back our own fate!”
“Aye, yer father would be furious to think that his Fionnaghall would be used this way. He fully intended for Godet to be the heir to the castle with her own choice of husband,” Aunt Hextilda stated emphatically.
“I thought I was betrothed to Gordon?” Godet said with a wry grin.
“Aha!” Ceena exclaimed. “Now, ye have to admit it Aunt Hexy! Admit ye made that up to get us all out of Fionnaghall and away from Mungan!” Ceena demanded.
“Och, dinnae be a wee clipe aboot it! It had to be doon and ye all know it!” Aunt Hextilda revealed dramatically. “Noo, what will ye be doing? Ye have a braw plan, stop yer blethering! Ye are not alone noo, the Ross warriors that Mungan chased off are found and with ye. Ye must get yerselves all back to Fionnaghall and push those manky, gallus, boggin, scunners out of our home!” She took a heaving breath. “Ye are not leaving me behind. I am not too auld to help ye!” she declared raising her fist.
Ina stared at her aunt with wide eyes. She loved it when the dear ancient lady got emphatic in her speech for she dropped into the old Scots language. Ina was always learning about a new word here and there. Ina turned to the others. “She said—”
“The point of it was clear, Ina, thank ye. We dae have a good plan. We should stop talking and start doing. We have our warriors back with us. And yes, Mungan and his men are all the names that Aunt Hexy called them,” Godet said as she smiled resolutely. “We must be off to gather our things. Some clothes, food—”
“Our weapons,” Ceena added.
“Yes, our weapons,” Godet said with a nod. “And those men that will help us.” Godet looked at Flori. “Loughlin?”
Flori sighed. “I won’t be able to keep him from going with us,” she said on another sigh.
“Aunt, ye must return to Conall. Gather foodstuffs that we can carry that will last for several days and I thank ye for yer help,” Godet said, nodding as Aunt Hextilda turned King Bobby around and headed back to the castle.
“Gather the Ross men that came back with us,” Godet said to Flori. “We will need every one of our old guard and warriors from Fionnaghall to help us. Now that we have our men back, we have a chance against Mungan. Thank goodness he didn’t manage to get rid of them like he thought he had and they stayed close to Fionnaghall, there in the Bogle Woods.” Godet looked at Flori sternly. “They must not be obvious leaving Conall altogether. Tell them to slowly disappear from Conall like smoke and to meet back at Fionnaghall.”
“And I will gather the men that accompanied me here to Conall. We need some MacKenzie warriors on our side!” Brigda declared. “And I’ll be sure to tell them to wear their MacKenzie plaid, that will frighten those Munroe warriors and any MacKenzie traitors that are allied with them.”
Godet reached over from where she sat on Bluebell and put her hand on Brigda’s arm where it rested on Avens withers. “Ye could marry Gordon, it wouldnae be the worst thing. He is a good man and it would protect ye from being married to Mungan if that is yer da’s plan.”
“No, I dae not want Gordon. And he doesn’t want me. I dae not want to be any part of my father’s vile deeds. He has killed too many good people to get his way. I will not make it easy for him to keep doing that.” Brigda stopped, swallowing hard. “I have loved a man like I never thought was possible. I couldn’t possibly give myself to any other man, I just can’t,” she said on a stifled sob.
“Then ye are calm and glad in the heart to ride with us? Ye could be hurt or killed,
Brigda,” Godet reminded her softly.
“I am going with ye whether ye want me to or not,” Brigda said emphatically. “And if I die, well, my father no longer has me to use as a pawn just to gain more power.” Brigda looked down at the handle of her Lochaber ax. She ran her fingers lovingly over the elegant scrolling of intertwining hearts crafted by Warwick’s hand, for her. “And I will be with my Warwick,” Brigda ended in a low voice.
Godet looked around at her sisters. Brigda was her sister now too. She vowed to herself that she would protect them all. “My sisters,” Godet began firmly in a quiet, steady voice, “we must gather what we need and meet back here at dusk. Keep this amongst ourselves, tell only the Ross warriors and Brigda’s men, not Laird Gordon.”
“Or Tristan,” Ceena added quickly. “He’d insist on coming as well. We dinnae need that one.”
Brigda was staring at Godet and her sisters with tears coursing down her cheeks. “Brigda? What is it? Ye dinnae have to dae this!” Godet insisted gently.
“No, that is not it, not at all,” Brigda sniffed, wiping a lock of bright red hair out of her face. “Did ye just include me as one of yer sisters?” she asked tremulously.
Godet stilled and smiled at her. “Aye, I did. Ye are one of us. We dae this together,” she said, her smile growing bigger as Flori, Ceena, and Ina added their agreement, reaching out to hold each other’s hands and taking Brigda’s hands as well. They formed a circle, there atop their big horses. Five very brave, very fierce, and very determined sisters.
The girls returned to the castle and as casually as they could, they went about getting what they would need for their journey back to Fionnaghall. They knew they would have to be there for the meal in the great hall. Their absence would be too obvious.
With the pastor at the table, the meal was subdued with only a little conversation going on around the table. The pastor sat with Gordon near the head of the table and he kept up a conversation with Gordon and Tristan. The pastor kept looking between the ladies and Gordon, trying to figure out which one he was here to marry the Laird to. Gordon had not answered that question, but instead, each time he had redirected the conversation to something else. The pastor noted the black-haired eldest sister who had seemed very nervous and would not look at the Laird, though Laird Gordon kept trying to catch her eyes. The pastor had decided by the end of the meal that it was this woman that Laird Gordon wanted to marry for he had not stopped staring at her since she had come down the stairs into the hall.
