“Christ on the cross,” MacNear barked out, strutting up beside them. “If it ain’t little Kyle McGowan.”
“And the old man MacNear!” Kyle fired back, breaking out into a large grin.
“Oi!” MacNear gawked. “I ain’t that old yet, lady.”
“Ye’re old enough, ain’t ye,” MacFraise interjected, and the whole of the welcome party had a bit of a laugh together.
“Come in, make yerselves at home,” Gavin said, gesturing for the servants to take their horses. “We will meet in half-hours’ time. There is much tae discuss.”
“Aye,” MacLeod said, sliding out of his horse’s saddle. “We look forward tae it.”
“But nay before a bath!” MacNear threw in loudly.
The servants came and took the reins from their riding horses, while others unloaded small pieces of luggage from saddlebags, and the clansmen were led into the tower where their chambers had been prepared.
“Come on then,” Gavin said to Kyle. “We will await them once again.”
Kyle began following his brother toward the hall, still glancing about the yard for any sign of Laila. No matter how hard he tried, he could not banish her from his mind, even with all the excitement of the day. Still, there was no sign of her.
While they waited for their guests to change and make ready, Gavin had the table in the hall set with food and drink enough for ten, and the two of them took up their places at the head table. Taking a deep breath, Gavin poured them both a dram of whiskey and passed one of the wooden cups to Kyle.
“Tae the clan,” he said, holding his cup aloft.
“Aye,” Kyle replied, knocking his cup against Gavin’s. “Tae the clan.”
They drank it down, and Kyle felt the hot burn of the drink in his throat. It was early yet to start drinking, especially anything stiffer than ale, but at meetings such as these, drink was expected, and Kyle knew that by the evening, they would all have had more than their fill.
After a short while, the family leaders came down from their chambers, dressed in fresh clothes and their hair tied back. They were altogether a different sight from the rugged men that had come down from the hills that morning, and they sauntered to their positions around the table. When all were present, the servants filled their cups, and they all held them aloft, waiting for Gavin’s word.
“Me friends,” Gavin said, standing from his seat. “I welcome ye once more tae me home, the home o’ me faither and his faither. Ye are longstanding allies who have held our clan up in the darkest o’ times. I thank ye, I welcome ye, and I hope for a good council.”
“Hear, hear!” MacNear called out, stomping his feet in enthusiasm. They all drank down their large cups of ale and then took their seats.
“Eat!” Gavin cried with a large smile. Kyle could see that the alcohol was already worming its way into Gavin’s brain. He had always been a bit of a lightweight, and Kyle smiled as he took his third drink of the day. There were two things he knew himself to be better than his brother at, and they were fighting and drinking. They sparred every morning, but it was seldom that they drank in this quantity.
The council settled into their meal, for it was customary that they should eat and drink for a time before anything of consequence was discussed. The clan leaders exchanged some small pleasantries, with MacNear doing most of the blathering. Kyle saw a few eye rolls from the others, and he grinned to himself.
He remembered being a young lad, and watching these same men, though they were far younger at the time, sat around the same table, talking of war with the English. He remembered his father, explaining the Bruce’s strategy and how they had made their plans for mustering their men. It all seemed so long ago, and yet, nothing had truly changed at that time. Things were as they always had been, and there was some comfort in that.
When the period of eating and drinking before business had been satisfied, the servants came and removed much of the food, though they left some bowls of bread and many pitchers of ale, and once again, cups were refilled, then, finally, it was time to talk of war.
“Me Laird,” MacRhone said, his gray hair catching the light of the candles fastened to the wall behind him. Though it was the middle of the day, the hall did little to accommodate the sun, and as such, it was fairly dark within the room. “Ye have called us here tae talk o’ war. So, I ask ye, what is this fight that we are nay privy tae?”
“Aye,” MacNear added. “This is a time o’ peace. So, who are we tae fight, and why?”
“Me friends, ye ask a fair question,” Gavin began, standing up once again from the head table. “We have been at peace since ye fought bravely beside me faither, and our great King tae repel the English all those years ago. But now a new threat has shown itself, not from beyond the border, but from within our own country.” The room grew still with anticipation as Gavin hung on his words.
“An outlaw clan has come tae our lands,” Gavin continued, “Me brither has met them in the hills, and it is only a matter o’ time before they come ta eyer villages and farms. So, I have called us together tae stop them and rid our lands o’ these brigands.”
“Tell us o’ this clan,” MacRhone said, looking pensively up at the head table.
Gavin nodded to Kyle, indicating that he should stand and speak of his encounter with the bandits. Kyle suddenly felt horribly nervous. While he liked to talk a big game, public speaking was still fairly terrifying in its own right. He stood slowly, cleared his throat, and said,
“They are the MacLeans,” Kyle said, gazing out at the four attentive faces before him. “I met a small party in the forest not two days ago; they were hunting, so I know their camp tae be close.”
“And what makes ye sure they will nay pass on?” MacLeod asked. “Why should I muster me men tae fight if we nay need tae fight? Should me men die for such a thing?”
“Me man and I,” Kyle continued, “killed two o’ their party.”
