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BECAUSE SEONA HAD A habit of sleeping until just before the noon meal, Beitris used her time straightening Elena’s bedchamber, dusting and gathering clothing that needed to be washed. It rarely took very long, nor did any of her other chores, at least not until the cranky Seona woke up and started finding fault with everything she did.
“The Red cannae even dress herself,” Beitris muttered as she softly closed Elena’s door. She could hear the teacher playing with her children in the next room, so Beitris decided to see about Master Balric’s writing room. She crossed the hall, softly knocked, and waited.
“Come in,” Balric said.
Gently, she opened the door, closed it behind her, and then walked to his table. She knew not to touch his writing desk or any of his writing tools, but he had a habit of spilling drinks on his table. Therefore, she normally brought a damp rag with her as well as a dry one. Sure enough, there was yet another spill to clean.
Not once did she notice he was watching her, and thought herself in trouble when she heard him say her name. Rarely had he spoken to her and she was amazed he even knew her name. Beitris slowly turned to face him. “Aye?”
“Dinna be alarmed,” he assured her, “I am not displeased. I was wonderin’...hopin’ actually, that you might enlighten me.”
“Me – enlighten a scribe?”
He smiled. “I can think of none more up to the task than you. You see, my question has to do with the clan, and as you are a member, you likely have the answer I am seekin’.”
“I see. What question have you?”
“Perhaps you might sit while we talk. I do occasionally get a crick in my neck from lookin’ up, particularly here where the lads are much taller than I.” His comment made her smile and he was pleased when she took a seat at the table. “‘Tis about the edict.”
“Oh.”
“I am not quite understandin’ it. From where did it come?”
“We know not,” Beitris admitted.
“But the men live by it and none question it?”
“What question should there be? In other clans, a lad is allowed to do as he pleases with his wife. Here, he is still the master of his family, but some things are forbidden such as hurtin’ his family out of anger.”
“I see, but suppose a lass is...shall we say, unmanageable? What does the clan do in such a case as that?”
“Well, if the lass harms her husband or her child there is banishment, unless...”
“Unless what?”
“Unless she is with child.”
Balric raised an eyebrow. “What is done if that be the case?”
“I have yet to see it, but we are told that the lass is separated from her husband and any other children until the babe is born, and then must surrender it to her husband before she is banished.”
“How ghastly.”
“I think so too. ‘Tis what a mother fears most, and therefore...”
“She keeps her anger set aside?”
“Aye.”
“Yet, are the children not corrected?” he asked.
“Of course, and most sternly. But not out of anger – out of love. There is a difference. We are taught that if we feel more anger than love, we must take a walk until the anger subsides. That way, the correctin’ is done out of love alone.”
“I find that quite pleasin’.” Balric folded his arms and considered it for a moment. “Tell me the rest of it. The MacGreagors give sanctuary to...”
“Seona,” Beitris huffed. “Michael was mistaken when he took her in and we all know it.”
“Yet, he did not take her in – she was left here without his say.”
“I have heard that. Do you know how it happened? Kester said her guard left early in the mornin’ and said not a word of farewell.”
“Kester is precisely correct.” Balric noticed the slight giggle and then the smile Beitris gave him. “What?”
“Precisely correct? I know not the English word ‘correct.’”
“I see. Do they say I often forget myself and say things in English instead of Gaelic?”
Beitris giggled again. “They do, but they dinna mind. You are well liked, Master Balric, as is your sister, your niece, and your nephew. We pray you shall all stay.”
“I am pleased to hear it, but back to my question. I understand the edict prevents Michael from sendin’ Seona away no matter how bothersome she is.”
“It does. She must leave of her own accord.” Beitris watched as Balric lowered his gaze, studied the floor, and whispered the words – of her own accord. “How?” Beitris asked at length.
“Precisely the question. How?”
“She has no guard to protect her, but if she wished to go, Michael would send someone to see she got some place other of safety,” said Beitris.
“As I recall from the tellin’ of the stories, Laird Neil MacGreagor used itchin’ powder to rid the clan of enemies.”
“Aye, we used it on the English a time or two as well.”
“Truly? I have yet to hear that story. Do you know how to make it?”
“Master Balric, we cannae. Itchin’ powder causes great sufferin’, is impossible to rid a place of, and suppose the children...”
“Ah yes, I see more clearly now. “ For the first time, he actually noticed the pleasant looking woman seated in front of him. She was not a beauty as some women were, but she had a smile he found most attractive. Her eyes sparkled when she giggled, she kept herself clean, and her hair nicely braided. Having braided his little sister’s hair more often than he cared to admit over the years, he admired a woman who left not a strand hanging down. “Are the others trying to think of a way to get her to leave of her own accord?”
“Kester would know more than I on that score, but if there is a way I’ve no doubt some will try it. They hate her more than they hated Beezer.”
“Beezer?”
“The goat, Master Balric. Beezer was a goat what come to have his throat mysteriously cut. He deserved it too, always waitin’ till one of us had our backs turned affore he charged. Once, he butted me a good one and I landed flat on my face.”
Balric gleefully clasped his hands together. “I do so love a mystery. Have you any idea who killed it?”
“Could have been anyone. I thought of it a time or two myself, but if I was to guess, I would say ‘twas Owen. He had a grin on his face the whole day long, and as you know Owen hardly ever grins.” She abruptly stood up. “Will that be all, Master Balric?”
“For now. I do hope you shall come talk to me often.”
“About what?”
“Anythin’ you like.”
She again favored him with a smile and then went back to her dusting. Reluctantly, Balric returned to his writing. The story of the golden sword was longer than the previous ancient stories, and twice he had to ask Michael to repeat part of it. Yet, it was a fascinating story and soon, he was so involved in the writing he did not notice when Beitris left the room.
*
BEITRIS WOULD HAVE allowed the Red to sleep all day, but Michael asked that she wake her, so Seona could hear what he said when he addressed the clan. The good mannered Beitris softly knocked before she opened the door, but all Seona did was turn over and go back to sleep. Therefore, it was payback time and Beitris delighted in slamming the door not once but twice.
Seona turned on her back and then struggled to rise up on her elbows. “I shall have your head for this,”
“If you can catch me,” Beitris shot back.
“Go away,” Seona demanded, as she lay back down and pulled the covers up over her head.
“I cannae, Michael wants you dressed and downstairs.”
“I care not what Michael wants.”
“Nevertheless, you are to be awake before he speaks to the clan.”
“Why? What am I accused of this time?”
Beitris put her hands on her hips. “Slothfulness, if you ask me.”
“I am anythin’ but lazy.”
“Not accordin’ to me.” Beitris grabbed the end of the blanket and ripped it out of Seona’s hands. “Get up!”
“Give that back!”
“You refuse to obey our laird?”
“I most assuredly do.”
Beitris happily handed the blanket back. “Very well, then so do I. When next you rise, I shall not come when you call. Dress yourself, if you can, or go without. It makes no never mind to me.” She walked out and for the third time, slammed Seona’s door.
Elena stood in the hallway grinning. To show her esteem for what the maid had just done, she playfully curtsied to Beitris. “I do so admire you,” she said. “I am never quite so brave as all that.”
“We are hopin’ you shall be,” Beitris said as she accompanied Elena down the hall toward the stairs.
“We?”
“Aye. Michael favors you and we are...”
Elena wanted to hear no more of that and interrupted her. “Why were you tryin’ to get Seona out of bed?”
“Have you not heard? Michael wants the clan to gather before the noon meal. He said to wake her so she could attend, but she has refused.”
“Do you know what he will say?”
“She is Laird Dalldon’s daughter, and there is trouble to be had. I suppose he shall say just how much trouble to expect.”
“Oh.” Elena said. Changing the subject, she asked, “How goes your weavin’.”
“Very well, thank you. I do so enjoy sittin’ in front of my window while I work. ‘Tis far more pleasurable than workin’ in my brother’s cottage. Michael has done me a great turn by askin’ me to care for you. Please say you shall stay?”
Elena smiled, “For you? Anythin’ – if ‘tis possible.”
*
MICHAEL WAS GRATEFUL when Murran brought a short stool for him to stand on. He was normally taller than most anyway, but standing on a stool would give him the advantage of seeing all the faces he loved. They were the men who took a vow to protect him, the women who trusted him, and the children playing in the glen who were always happy to see him. He looked for her, but among all the eyes watching him, none were Elena’s. Her brother was there, however, and Michael nodded his appreciation.
When he spotted Beitris in the crowd Michael asked, “Where is Seona?”
“Still in bed, the last I saw of her.”
“I see.” Michael glanced once more at all the faces waiting for him to speak and then began. “As you now know Seona is not an Allardice, she is the daughter of Laird Dalldon. She ran from her father to avoid marriage to a Frenchman and now fears he will kill her if she is returned to him. Accordin’ to good sense we should, but accordin’ to the edict, we cannae turn her out.”
“I can,” said a woman in the crowd. Her comment was met with some smiles and just as many frowns.
“There is more,” said Michael. “I have commanded her to stay within the castle walls for her safety. Even so, if she does not obey, do not stop her. The choice is hers and the MacGreagors imprison no one. Agreed?” He paused while they gave their consent. “Furthermore, she refused the Frenchman against the King’s wishes.”
At that, Rory let out a long, low whistle. “The king wishes her found too?”
“No doubt he does,” Michael answered. “She was to secure an alliance with the French for the sake of the kingdom.” He paused again to let them absorb his words.
A man shouted, “I say we take her to the king. He will see that her father does not harm her.”
“Aye,” said Michael, “but there is more. She claims to carry a MacGreagor child.” He looked first at the normal frown in Owen’s expression, and then at Murran, whose color appeared to be draining from his face.
A man shouted, “If she is with child, no Frenchman shall want her...no Scot either.”
“Laird Dalldon’s daughter?” Murran finally managed to mutter. “When he finds out I...I mean...we shall all die.”
“I say marry her off,” said a man in the back.
“And have her and her blood mixed with ours for generations?” a woman shouted. “I’ll not hear of that!”
“Yet,” Diarmad thoughtfully said. As always, the clan quieted to hear what the elder had to say, “if she is married, her father shall not want her back. Once he is over his upset, the poor MacGreagor who does right and weds her, could simply set her aside after the babe is born.”
“What about the king?” Rory asked.
“Who is foolish enough to marry her?” Owen asked.
Standing in the front row, Kester put her hands on her hips. “He who was foolish enough to bed her in the first place!” Her comment got more than one laugh.
“Fortunate is the lad who is already married,” a woman said more loudly than was necessary, as she too put her hands on her hips and glared at the man beside her.
“Let it be, Agatha,” the man shot back.
Michael stared at the man for a moment and then looked away. Yet another who might be the child’s father was not what he wished to learn. “We cannae be certain who fathered her child, but as long as it might be a MacGreagor, we must protect the babe as if ‘tis one of our own. Agreed?” This time, the clan was far less enthusiastic, but most did manage a slight nod. “Well, that be all of it. Now you know as much as I. Arm yourselves, lads. We know not who may come seekin’ her next.” He put his hand on Rory’s shoulder and stepped down off the stool. With Rory beside him, he walked back through the castle doors and into the inner courtyard.
“How goes the bridge?” Michael asked. The time of overwhelming sorrow over the loss of Lindsey seemed to be coming to an end for his second in command, and Michael was glad to see it.
“‘Tis slow and hard work, but Murran is helpin’ me move the rocks. He and Owen found a pile upriver and have been bringin’ them to me.”
“Good. When you are ready, I shall have the other lads help.”
“Michael, what are you goin’ to do about Seona?”
“I have yet to decide. Have you a suggestion?”
“She cannae stay here. The wives accuse their husbands, and some might well deserve it.”
Michael stopped. “Seona has been more temptin’ than I imagined.”
“If you like, I shall marry her.”
Michael stared at Rory. “Why?”
“‘Tis what little I can do for the sake of the clan. With Lindsey gone, I am not likely to find happiness now anyway.”
“There is a difference in being unhappy and being outright wretched. Seona shall not likely be faithful to any husband, and shall bring shame on the lad she weds. Nay, I shall not have you married to one as...uncarin’ as she.” At the relief in Rory’s expression, Michael smiled. “Tell the council to come before supper and I shall hear their suggestions.”
Rory looked confused. “Did you truly mean it when you said we shall not recover her if she is snatched?”
“So long as she believes me, we shall have no problem with her in that regard.”
“Then we are to give chase.”
“Unless I can think of another way.” Michael continued across the inner courtyard, stopped at the door, and then asked, “Tell me true, how are you these days?”
“Old, tired, and filled with regrets. I have come to understand that Lindsey would never have been mine, even if she lived. It eases the pain some.”
“If ‘twere any other time, I would send you off to fish and rest, but...”
“But just now I am needed here?”
“If you have your wits about you.”
Rory rolled his eyes. “When did that become a must?”
At last, Rory’s sense of humor was back and Michael chuckled. “See that the guards keep a close watch for I am convinced we shall be spied upon.” He saw his best friend’s knowing nod, watched him walk back to the outside door, and then Michael went into the castle. Taking the steps two at a time, he climbed the stairs and went to his bedchamber to change clothes. He cast off his common clothing, and put on his white shirt, light blue and green patchwork kilt, fastened the matching length of cloth over his shoulder and changed to shoes that laced up to his knees. They were the clothing normally saved for festive occasions – and for war.
*
MICHAEL’S FOOT STILL hurt when he finished dressing and went back downstairs. What he wanted most was to sit in his Great Hall and rest it for a spell. Instead, four angry women were waiting for him when he entered.
“Welcome,” he said with a smile as he made his way to the seat at the head of the table. “Will you not sit?”
“We come to complain,” said Agatha. Her hands were on her hips, her voice was steady, and her eyes were determined.
As was the custom, he could not sit until they did so he asked again, “Will you not please be seated?” None of them moved, so he narrowed his eyes. “I command you to sit!” Instantly, each of them pulled a chair away from the table and did as they were told. The relief on Michael’s face was evident when he lowered his large frame into his chair, extended his legs, and placed his aching foot atop the other. “Now, what is it you wish to complain about?”
The mother of ten, Ursula was the first to speak up, “The rain caused half our land to flood this mornin’.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” said Michael, “but why has your husband not come to tell me?”
Ursula huffed. “He digs a ditch to let the water run off.”
“Does your land not always flood in a heavy rain?” Michael asked.
“I suppose...” she started to answer.
“‘Tis a curse,” Siobhan interrupted, “and you well know who brung it.”
Michael wrinkled his brow. “Who?”
“Seona,” Siobhan spat, “and you well know it too. And there be a very strange black horse in the glen what belongs to no one. I say it...”
Finalla could not wait to have her say, “Three days past, my Thomas nearly fell in the river. He would have drowned, surely”
“And this mornin’ I found this,” said Agatha. She set a long stemmed red rose on the table next to Michael and then laid a pink one beside it. “‘Twas on the same bush, mind you. What have you to say to this?”
Michael took his time and looked each of the women in the eye. “Am I to understand you think Seona has the power to turn a red rose to pink, to cause a child to fall in the river, and to make a field flood?”
“She killed Lindsey as sure as I am sittin’ here,” Ursula shot back. “Everyone knows it.”
“We want her gone.” In a huff, Siobhan folded her arms. “We want her gone this very day.”
“I see, and what about the edict? Do you wish me to disregard the very thing that protects you from a cruel husband, father, or brother?” The muscles in his face tightened and his voice began to steadily rise. “Tell me true; do you wish me to send her to her death?”
Finalla hung her head. “I do not, but my Adam...I mean, he...”
She looked so distressed, Michael quickly softened his demeanor. “He what?”
“Well, some say he might have...she could have...tempted him.”
“You accuse Seona of beddin’ your husband?” Michael bluntly asked. “What answer did he give?”
“He says he did not, but I dinna believe him.”
“There, you see,” said Agatha. “Seona sews the spirit of mistrust amongst us all. She is evil, I tell you, evil to the bone.”
“Have you any proof of Adam’s adultery?” Michael asked Finalla.
“Well, no,” Finalla admitted, “but some say...”
“Aye, and some say the stars are not where they should be in the sky, the cows moo louder beneath a full moon, and the water in the waterfall runs up instead of down on the third day of every month.” He realized he was speaking loud enough for half the clan to hear and calmed himself. “I say, you shall send those who have somethin’ to say to me, and let me hear the proof with my own ears. Until then, there is nothin’ to be done.”
“Put a guard on her door at night,” Siobhan suggested.
Michael was not yet quite over his anger, but he did not raise his voice. “Aye, and to whose husband shall I give that chore? Nay, I shall not hold her prisoner when you have no proof of her wrong doing.”
“There is proof of her trickery with Owen and Murran,” Agatha argued.
“What proof is that? Murran, whom I remind you is not married, was seen kissin’ her, and Owen walked into the forest with a lass – the name of whom no one knows. ‘Tis too little proof to hold her prisoner in this castle or any other.” As much as he hated to, Michael stood up. “When you have proof, I shall be more than pleased to hear your complaints. Until then, bother me not on this subject.” He waited while each of them stood, pushed the chairs back in place, and then left the Great Hall. As soon as the door closed, he sat back down, folded his arms on the table, and laid his head atop them. He could not remember being so tired and the day was not yet half over.
Michael didn’t think he fell asleep, but he must have for when he raised his head, Kester was standing at the other end of the table watching him. “What complaint do you bring on a miserable day such as this?”
“Are you unwell?” she asked.
He couldn’t help himself and yawned. “Nay, I am merely in need of sound sleep.”
“Perhaps you should go to bed. We can manage without you for a time.”
“Perhaps I shall. First, why did you come to see me?”
“Brenna wishes you to come.”
“Has she a complaint as well?” Michael sarcastically asked.
“Aye. ‘Tis a bee sting.”
Michael felt bad about his behavior and instantly stood up. “Where is she?”
“Upstairs in her bed.” Kester watched Michael hurry out the door, touched Birdie on the head, turned around, and headed outside. “Shall we not see what the clan is up to this day?”
*
FOR SOME, A BEE STING was just a passing annoyance that healed in less than a week. For others, especially children, it was not only serious but could cause swelling in the throat and even death. Outside Brenna’s bedchamber door, Michael took a deep breath so the child would not see the concern on his face. Ready, he softly knocked and waited.
“Come in,” he heard a weeping Brenna say. When he opened the door, Elena was sitting in a chair on the other side of Brenna’s bed and looked as though she might cry as well. He politely nodded, and then went to the child he found propped up on pillows on her bed. “I hear you sat on a bee?”
There were huge tears in her eyes, but she managed a slight smile. “I dinna sit on it, it sat on me.”
“Oh, I see,” said Michael. “Where did it sit on you?”
She pushed out her lower lip and pointed to a place on her forearm. Halfway between her wrist and her elbow, the sting was already beginning to swell.
Michael sat down on the bed beside her. “I was stung once.”
“You were?”
“Aye. My father took his knife and very, very gently removed the stinger. Shall I do that for you?”
“Can you...without cuttin’ me, I mean?”
He glanced at Elena and then returned his attention to the child. “Your mother would have my head if I cut you.”
She was not that easily convinced, but just after another tear rolled down her cheek, she whispered, “Very well, you may try it.”
Michael pulled his dagger and gently took hold of her hand. “Hold very still.” He raised her arm a little, so he could see the stinger and then very carefully scraped the skin until the stinger came out. When he was finished, he lowered her arm a little, and looked for a tiny black dot that would indicate the stinger had broken off. There was none. “That should do it.”
“You cut your beard?” she asked as she wiped the tears off her cheeks with both hands.
Michael showed off one side of his face and then the other. “Do you approve?”
“You dinna look so silly now.”
“Silly?” Michael playfully gasped.
“Brenna, ‘tis unseemly to call a grown lad silly,” her mother scolded.
“Yet, some lads are silly and I am sometimes one of them.” He leaded forward, kissed Brenna on the forehead, and then stood up. “Will you not wait right here for me?” As soon as she nodded, he hurried back out the door. A short time later, he returned, walked to her bed, and set a kitten in her lap.
Brenna’s eyes brightened, “For me?”
“Aye, but you must be the one to feed it, for that is how they learn who they belong to. And choose the perfect name. A name once given is a name for life.”
“I shall,” she promised, “I surely shall.” Brenna let the kitten climb up her front, sit on her shoulder, and curl up in the warmth of her neck. In no time at all, the kitten was fast asleep.
This time when Michael left, Elena walked out behind him. “Thank you, Michael.”
He thought to take her into his arms, but they were so estranged lately, he feared her rejection. Instead, he looked deep into her eyes for a long moment. “Do you not know I would die for you and your children?” He waited, but she had nothing to say in return, so he could but walk away.
*
WHAT ELENA WANTED MOST in the world was to be in his arms again. As soon as he was out of sight, she slumped against the wall and closed her eyes. He seemed to be saying he loved her, but then, he would die for all the others in his clan too. Still, there was no mistaking the look in his eyes. He did love her and she loved him. They might even be happily married soon, if it were not for – Seona.
Not wanting her child to be alone any longer, Elena went back in. The Kitten was sound asleep and so was Brenna, so she walked to the window to look out. The well-worn paths were nearly dry, people were standing in groups talking, and she smiled when she spotted Kester going from group to group. Furthermore, the lads were dressed in their kilts instead of their long pants, and now that she thought about it, so was Michael.
She elected not to hear Michael’s speech, but now she was curious, so Elena was pleased when she saw Kester walk back to the castle. She opened the door to the children’s room and waited.
“How does she do?” Kester whispered. Beitris had kindly carried Birdie up the stairs, and waited to see where Kester would go.
“Michael removed the stinger and brought her a kitten,” Elena answered.
“Good. Wait here a moment.” Kester slipped into her bedchamber and came back holding the hourglass Lindsey gave her. She went in, found a chair and sat down. Beitris set Birdie on the floor beside Kester, and smiled when the dog curled up and went right to sleep.
“Bless you,” Kester whispered. She waited until Beitris was gone and then set the hourglass on the table and watched as the grains of sand began to pour into the empty side. “I thought Brenna might like watchin’ it.”
Elena quietly moved a second chair close to Kester’s and sat. “That is very kind of you.”
“Where might Samuel be?”
“Outside with the other children.” Elena thoughtfully folded her hands in her lap. “What did Michael tell the clan?”
“All of it – who she truly is and that she claims to be with child.”
“He told them that too?”
“Aye. Between the two of them Murran would be the one to do right by Seona. Then again, she deserves the grumpy Owen.”
“What if she refuses to marry either of them?” Elena asked.
“What if she married a MacGreagor and is not truly with child?” Kester asked. “I see no swellin’ in her stomach. Of course, if ‘tis a MacGreagor child, ‘tis too soon.”
“How I pray she is not with child. Would Beitris not know for certain?” Elena thoughtfully asked. “Has Seona not suffered sickness of a mornin’?”
Kester scoffed, “Seona has not seen a mornin’ since she came to us.”
“True, but perhaps that is why.”
*
IT WAS BALRIC WHO WENT looking for Michael and found him in the Great Hall. He knocked and then stuck his head in the door. “If you need an ear to hear, I am available.”
At last, Michael’s foot had stopped hurting. He waived Balric in and then sighed. “Do you know why Elena wants nothin’ to do with me lately?”
“She’s not said a word to me, and I suspect that is not your biggest problem.”
“Aye, but that one plagues me most.”
Balric was amazed. “You are in love with my sister?”
“I am, but she does not encourage me.”
“Perhaps she is afraid of losin’ another husband.”
“Or perhaps I have erred in some way,” said Michael. “If only I knew what has upset her, I could set it right somehow.”
“Give her time. I know she fancies you, I have seen it in her eyes. She will come to you when she is ready.”
“If I dinna go daft first.” He shrugged and then motioned for Balric to sit. “The council shall meet shortly. Care to stay?”
“I would indeed, as an observer, naturally.”
Right on schedule, there came a knock on the door and Rory ushered the members of the council in. This time, Murran was asked to join elder Diarmad, Brandon, Owen and Michael’s second in command, Rory.
“What say you?” Michael asked after each of them found a place to sit at the table. “Will the lads fight to keep Seona out of harm?”
“I say we find this Osgar lad and make him come get her,” said Owen.
“I simply want it over with so we may build my shop,” said Brandon.
Elder Diarmad quietly put in, “With the hearth on the north and not the south end. The north is far colder than the south.”
Brandon rolled his eyes. “Yet, the fire will last longer if ‘tis built in the south end. Everyone knows that.”
“Lads,” Michael interrupted. “Perhaps we might discuss the hearth later?”
“Perhaps I dinna need Diarmad’s advice, too,” Brandon shot back.
Frustrated, Michael glanced at the smile on Rory’s face and tried his best not to smile back. “Will the lads fight or not?”
“They will fight,” Owen answered, “if you command it. The question is – will you command it?”
Michael closed his eyes for a moment. “I have no choice but to uphold the edict. Aye, if I must I will command it. Have you any questions?”
Rory cleared his throat and squirmed in his seat a little. “‘Tis about Lindsey’s bridge?”
“What about it?” his laird asked.
“Michael, I know not how to build a bridge.”
In spite of all their pending troubles, all of them laughed, even Michael. “When all is settled, I shall go with you to find a lad to instruct us.”
Rory’s eyes lit up. “Splendid. What would you have us do?”
“First,” Michael began, “send lads up on the hills to warn us as soon as they see the Kennedys or the MacKintosh comin’. Owen, we have few fighters as good as you. See that the lads are well armed and ready. We shall forego practice for a time so as not to tire ourselves. Brandon, gather the lasses and make certain they know what to do. Tell them to set all their water buckets outside so they shall be easily got in case of fire.”
“And me?” asked Diarmad.
“You, I put in charge of prayer and beg you to say plenty of it.” Michael appreciated the elder’s nod. “And see that Kester dinna try to do the fightin’.”
“Are we to heat the oil for the pots?” Brandon asked.
“We have no oil for the pots and have not had in years,” Michael answered. “I am not even certain where the pots are.”
“In the root cellars,” Owen muttered, “with roots in them.”
Rory sighed. “Apparently, with no pots of hot oil, we shall be in need of a miracle.”
*
LAIRD CONALL MACKINTOSH was a different sort of man. He drank neither wine nor ale, not for any religious reason, but because he never learned to like it. An older man, his speckle gray beard and hair made his blue eyes seem all the brighter. An outdoorsman for the most part, his excellent marksmanship with a bow and arrow was admired throughout all of Scotland. It was that skill alone that helped him conquer the position of laird when the former produced no sons. He, on the other hand, had ten sons and two daughters, although it took three wives to accomplish it.
Clan MacKintosh was smaller than most, with far less in the way of wealth than the more prosperous Swintons, MacGreagors, and Kennedys. What they did have was a river with plenty of fish, the same river that wound its way between the hills, past the land of the MacGreagors and then rushed on to the sea. It was at the river’s edge that MacKintosh spent a good deal of his time fishing. Instead of waiting for a fish to get hungry enough to fall for a baited hook, he found spearing them challenging and his sporadic success exhilarating.
Fishing kept him out of his small keep, which, with so many children, was prone to get crowded more often than not. Furthermore, fishing allowed him time to think and on his mind was the plot to take Dalldon’s daughter from Laird MacGreagor, return her to her father, and collect the reward.
He and Laird Kennedy agreed to bring fifty warriors each, meet at the ancient Roman bridge in three days, and ride to the MacGreagor glen together. If Michael admitted he had Seona, they would simply relieve him of her – unless Michael was stupid enough to fight to keep her. There was that. Furthermore, the more MacKintosh thought about it, the more he considered the bargain struck between him and Kennedy grossly unfair. Kennedy needed the money far less than MacKintosh and would likely squander his half.
MacKintosh pulled his spear back, aimed, and struck a mighty blow into the side of a ten inch fish. With one end of the twine wrapped around the end of the spear and the other around his wrist, he began to pull his prize to the side of the river.
Indeed, MacKintosh needed the entire reward for himself.
*
IN THE OLD DAYS, THE Kennedys were a very large and proud clan, more often than not at war with their neighbors, the Swintons. Even after their numbers dropped during the English occupation, the plague, and the many battles fought to free Scotland, they remained strong and most clans did their best to stay on the good side of the Kennedys. Laird Kennedy feared no one, and had a formidable number of followers, including men good with swords as well as bows and arrows. None of his warriors were as good as MacKintosh, but good just the same.
The Kennedy village had changed over the years. No longer was the keep a sprawling one-story structure situated in the middle of the village, with added rooms and an ordinary thatched roof. Now, it was an impressive two-story stone structure with the lookout towers necessary to watch for an English attack. Although he was less than fond of his wife, they had an understanding which made their marriage tolerable for them both. She was to remain faithful, thereby securing the purity of his bloodline, and he was to keep his liaisons a secret, especially from her. So far, both had remained true to the bargain.
Seated in his Great Hall, instead of wondering how to get Dalldon’s daughter away from Michael, Kennedy found himself obsessing over what he had learned about Osgar Allardice. Not once had he imagined Osgar to be Dalldon’s nephew, and therefore Tam and Seona’s cousin as well. That he did not know confounded him, for many were the days Osgar sat at his table drinking ale and telling of his adventures.
Kennedy took an apple out of a bowl on the table, decided he didn’t want it, and put it back. He was expecting a visit from Osgar and it was long overdue. In the past, he had no reason to doubt the authenticity of Osgar’s stories, but just now he could not be certain any of it was true. Furthermore, if Osgar killed a man at Dalldon’s request and then was not paid, more than likely it was Osgar who helped Seona escape. If Kennedy could figure that out, then so could Dalldon. Perhaps Osgar was already dead. That would explain why he did not return as he had planned. The apple looked good after all, so he picked it up, cut a slice out of the side, and put the slice in his mouth.
Everyone agreed Dalldon needed to die, and Kennedy couldn’t help but wonder why Osgar had not killed him by now. Just then, he thought of something. Kennedy abruptly stopped chewing and quickly swallowed. “If both Dalldon and his son die, Osgar might well be in line to inherit.” Just as abruptly, he dismissed that possibility. “Tam shall not die, surely.”
