CHAPTER ONE
“Daenae think I will take it easy on ye because I’m still a little rusty from me injuries,” Fergus warned. Aiden and Fergus had gone out to spar in the forest, so that the other guards didn’t see Fergus struggling from his injuries. The two men walked along the tree line next to the castle until they got to a clearing.
Fergus had a few moments before he met with the council, and he wanted to stretch his legs. Running a clan was no easy task, but the council, filled with those his father trusted, helped him stay calm and take care of things.
Aiden was part of that council as Fergus’ man-at-arms, but Fergus wouldn’t take it easy on him.
Aiden scoffed. “Nay, ye’re nae. Daenae give me that. Yer injuries were ages ago, so daenae think I’m goin’ to take it easy onye.”
Fergus smirked, enjoying the banter. “All right, then let’s see what ye got, shall we?”
Aiden drew his sword, and Fergus did not, bouncing around as he spaced his hands far apart in a fighting stance.
Aiden frowned, hesitating. “What are ye doin’, Me Laird?”
“Sparrin’,” the Laird said simply.
His friend stared at him. “Without a sword?”
“Ye said ye wouldnae take it easy on me, did ye nae?”
“Ye think ye can beat me unarmed?” Aiden asked incredulously.
“I think I can beat ye with both hands tied behind me back,” Fergus said, and Aiden shook his head.
“Ye’re mad.”
“Perhaps,” Fergus agreed and lunged at him. Aiden tried to sideswipe him with the back of his sword, but Fergus darted away.
“Ye’re a wily one, I will give ye that,” Aiden said with a laugh, swinging the back of his sword toward Fergus again.
Fergus ducked the blow again, and Aiden cursed.
He went after his laird again, and then the sound of hoofbeats stopped them.
Malcolm Allen, one of their younger clansmen, barely old enough to fight, rode up to them.
“I apologize, Me Laird,” Malcolm said, breathing hard. “I’ve been sent to fetch Aiden. His brother is sick.”
“Sick?” Aiden sheathed his sword. “How sick?”
Malcolm shook his head. “I daenae ken, sir. I was just told to come and tell ye that yer mother’s askin’ for yer help.”
Aiden frowned and turned to Fergus. “Can I take him into town to see if I can find a healer?”
The healer who had helped Fergus with his injuries years ago was now dead, and another had not taken his place. Fergus had been looking for one for months. He hoped Aiden had better luck.
Fergus nodded. “Aye, Aiden. Anythin’ ye need.”
He knew that Aiden’s brother was born sickly, a failure to thrive, the healer had said. He was not yet seven and had many health problems.
Fergus had his own problems with his sibling’s health—his sister, Lottie—so he understood.
“I will stay here, do some trainin’ by meself,” Fergus said, and Aiden’s frown deepened.
“By yerself, Me Laird?”
“I will be all right,” Fergus insisted. “Daenae act like me nursemaid.”
