Would he end up in the crypt alone and unloved?
He rose from his slumber and made his way downstairs to the courtyard. There he washed with water from the well, letting his naked skin dry in the first warming rays of the summer sun.
It had always been his tradition.
Awake before anyone else to let the sun hit his flesh, making him feel alive and glad of it. Who needed a wife when he had the highlands for a bride?
Returning to his bedchamber shortly afterward, he dressed, and then made his way down to the armory. The new sword was ready. It was sitting by the hearth, an open invitation to thieves.
Not that anyone would dare steal the laird’s blade. It would be recognized at once from the M in the handle. None could hope to pass it off as their own or risk selling it. So there it remained until he came to claim it. The blacksmith had done a good job. Now time to test it.
Lachlan was waiting for him in the training arena, back to him, bent over his armor, rubbing linseed oil into the leather.
“I swear your hair gets whiter every day,” Jock said, sneaking up behind him with sword drawn, nudging him in the shoulder with it.
Lachlan spun around, the tip of his own blade jabbing Jock in the ribs. “You’ll have to be quieter than that if you want to kill your sword master.”
“So your ears aren’t fading as fast as your muscles?”
“You’ll be old one day, my lad. Mark my words.”
“Never as old as you.”
Lachlan barked out a laugh before getting to his feet. “Ready?”
The next hour was spent fending off attacks from his mentor. Lachlan had been teaching him sword fighting since he was barely able to lift a wooden blade into the air.
“You never stop learning,” Lachlan said as he said every time, their session winding down at last.
“Nor finding new places to bruise,” Jock replied, rubbing the small of his back. “I’m still not sure how you managed that one.”
“You got cocky and overreached, it’s always your downfall. Let the enemy come to you, dinnae be so eager to lunge for them. Learn some patience, my lad. It’ll stand you in good stead in battle and in life.”
“As if I haven’t learned patience having to listen to you for the last twenty years.”
“Aye, and have you ever been killed in battle?”
“Not yet.”
“Then your lessons haven’t been a total waste.”
After practice ended, Jock breakfasted with the rest of the clan in the great hall, remaining after most of them left, the remainder of the morning dedicated to administration of the clan’s affairs.
His almoner and financier were deep in talks at the far end of the table while he handled a dispute between Kirrin Abbey and the smallholders over fishing rights to the loch.
“I settle it thus,” Jock said once both sides had put their case to him. “The abbey shall have the right to fish in the loch as it has since its foundation.”
“Good,” the abbot said. “So that’s that.”
“I am not finished,” Jock said, drawing the man up short. “The villagers will have the right to provide for themselves whatever fish they can catch on Sundays while the abbey concerns itself with worship, and if I hear any more talk of arrows being fired by either side, I shall remove the rights from both of you and eat the fish myself. Is that clear?”
“Aye, my laird,” the delegate from the smallholders said with a slight bow. “And you have my gratitude for your beneficence.”
“What say you, abbot?” Jock asked.
“It is a sad day when an abbot has fewer rights than a peasant who is permitted to fish on the Lord’s day. Mark my words, it is a small step from there to demons crawling up out of the depths to take over the souls of all sinners.”
“God made us all equal in His eyes, did He not?”
