“It is a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Laila said softly, and Kyle blushed further.
“So, what did ye kill?” Gavin asked, nodding to the blood-stained garments Kyle still boasted.
Kyle’s head was moving a mile a minute, and he couldn’t keep up. He had burst in acting a fool in front of a beautiful woman, but she was the English woman? He had been told all his life that Englishwomen were horribly ugly since they gave birth to the monsters that invaded and scorched the country, but that clearly wasn’t true. He was a fool for ever believing it. Now, he had to see her tomorrow? What would he say? Blast it all though, she was gorgeous.
“Well?” Gavin asked expectantly.
“A man,” Kyle blurted out, and before his face turned any redder than it already was, he turned tail and slammed the door behind him. Kyle frantically rushed back down the stairs, the beautiful woman alternating with the dying man in the forest in his mind’s eye. It had been a long day, and he needed a drink.
He walked back into the castle yard and let the cool night air wash over him. A drink. He needed a drink. He adjusted his course for the common house inside the castle walls, and within a few moments, he walked into the low building, bustling as ever with customers.
Commoners who lived within the castle walls often gathered here in the evenings to enjoy a drink after a long day. Kyle himself was no stranger to the establishment, having spent many evenings taking dram after dram with Domnal or others, and so he was met with a boisterous cheer.
He saw the bakers and the butchers—the butchers were often covered in blood themselves from their daily tasks—and the weavers and the carpenters. Several clapped him on the shoulder as he passed toward the bar, ducking his head under the low beams that held up the thatch roof. He took a wooden cup of whiskey from the barkeep and clomped down at a small table in the far end of the common house, his large frame a bit too big for the chairs and began to drink. After a short while, the mood of the common house came to a standstill, and Kyle looked up to see Gavin in the doorway.
“Drink! Be merry!” Gavin assured the room, and the mood came rushing back as Gavin walked toward Kyle’s table.
“What d’ye want?” Kyle asked, brooding over his cup.
“Tae talk tae me, brither,” Gavin answered, sitting across from him. The barkeep deposited another cup on the table and shirked away without a word. “Is that so wrong?”
“What’s wrong is that lass?” Kyle replied, glancing up from his cup.
“Ah, why is that?” Gavin asked. “Because she’s a pretty sight tae behold?”
“Because I dinnae have a say,” Kyle responded hotly. “I nay have a say.”
“Ye ken how this works,” Gavin said dismissively. “I get the say. I’m older.”
“Who decided that?” Kyle asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Some fuckin’ King a lang time ago,” Gavin said, raising up his cup. “Drink wae me, brither.” It didn’t take too much convincing.
“Very well,” Kyle said, clunking the wooden cups together. They both drank deep and long, letting the fire water burn down their throats and settle into their stomachs.
“Besides, I dinnae have a choice,” Gavin said, burping out after his drink. “Ella likes her.”
“Bah,” Kyle said and found himself smiling a bit. His brother could always make him smile, and he could never stay mad at him.
“But tell me o’ yer hunt,” Gavin said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “Ye say ye killed a man?”
“A woodsman,” Kyle said softly, the image of the man writhing in pain coming again to his mind. “He attacked me, he an’ his paltry band. Domnal got another wae an arrow.”
“Who were these woodsmen?” Gavin asked, his face becoming serious.
“They said something as they ran away,” Kyle said, frowning as he tried to remember. “The MacLeans, I think they said.”
“The MacLeans?” Gavin asked, leaning forward suddenly. “Are ye sure?”
“I think so,” Kyle said, looking up at his brother’s concerned complexion. “Who are they?”
“An outlaw clan that fought fer the English,” Gavin said, stroking his chin as he was often seen to do. “It’s troublin’ tae think they’re here in our lands now.”
“What cain we do?” Kyle asked.
“We must make ready,” Gavin grumbled, furrowing his brow. “I’ll call tae clan together on the morrow. We’ll have a war council. If the MacLeans are here, they winnae leave till we make ‘em. Rest well, treat that lass right; I’ll see ye on the morrow,” Gavin concluded. He drained the rest of his drink and stood, flashing the barkeep a warm smile. Then he made his way out of the common house, with the common folk parting like the sea before him.
Kyle took another few drams and then left, walking out into the yard once more. Night had fallen in earnest, and the sky was lit up with a brilliant belt of stars. The air was cold, and Kyle shivered a bit as a breeze took hold of the castle, sending all the banners into a blustering wriggle, and once more, Kyle thought of the poor man in the grass.
Was that how it always was? He had seen men beheaded and seen men hang but never before had he planted his own blade in a man and watched him crumple. It was altogether different, and it unsettled him. Perhaps more unsettling was this strange creeping feeling that was climbing up his spine, working its way into his brain.
It was a feeling of power and strength, of conquest and victory. There was something frightfully strong about killing a man who had tried to kill him, and while he was still troubled by the experience, he was also troubled by this new feeling, and he knew not what to make of it.
He thought of his father when they had brought him back from the battlefield, cold and dead. He thought of the Englishman who struck the killing blow, whomever he may have been, and if he had writhed on the ground in such a way. He almost felt bad for the man.
Then his thoughts turned again to the beautiful Englishwoman. What a day it had been; he had made such a fool of himself in front of her on top of everything else. He knew he would see her the next day, and he blushed at the thought, then he hurried off to bed, seeking sleep and a reprieve from all the turbulent things in his mind.
