Chapter Four
The morrow broke at McGowan castle, and Kyle leaped from his bed with glee. It was the day of the hunt, and he was terribly excited to ride through the countryside in pursuit of his quarry. His chambers were stark in contrast to his brothers, which was often a subject of jest between them, but it was the way he liked things. He quickly brought his bedding together in a neat fold and dressed in rugged, woodland garments. Then he took up his long dagger, belted it to his waist, and practically pranced out of the room.
As he waltzed down the stone corridor, past the drapes and tapestries that were a poor attempt at bringing some color to the monotone building, he passed his brother’s servant girl, bringing a bite of breakfast and fresh water for the basin toward the Laird’s chambers. Kyle snagged a fresh chunk of dark bread from the tray, gave her a wink, and continued as she stood there blushing. The sun was just rising as he walked into the yard, and he made his way past dreary-eyed peasants to where he spied Domnal waiting with the horses.
“Good morrow, me Laird,” Domnal said, handing the reins off to Kyle as he arrived.
“And tae ye, Domnal,” Kyle replied, taking the reins and running a hand through his horse’s mane. “Are we prepared?”
“Aye, much as we can be,” Domnal answered with a bob of his head. Leaning up against the stable walls were two long hunting spears, and a short hunting bow with arrows had been fastened to the saddle bags.
“Then let us nay delay,” Kyle said boisterously, mounting up on his horse. The morning smells were cresting with the sun, and the dew was light that day. Domnal handed him the spears, then mounted his own horse, after which Kyle passed one of the spears back to him. Now equipped, they turned their horses toward the gate and began clopping toward the countryside.
“How was the evening, Laird?” Domnal asked, falling in line behind Kyle. “Any servant girls catch yer fancy?”
“There only be so many,” Kyle answered, chuckling. “And how is yer wife?”
“With child again,” Domnal answered with a grunt and a sigh.
“Another blessing, eh?” Kyle laughed out. “How many is that now?”
“Six,” Domnal said, spitting over his saddle. “Six hungry little blessings. Bastards eat faster than I bring haem food.”
“Well, let us catch a beast fer ye tae feed them,” Kyle joked back. “Whatever we catch is yers.”
“That’ll be the die,” Domnal said. “Since ye said that, we’ll nay catch a thing.”
“Let us hope that nay tae be the case,” Kyle said back with a grin. “Come on.”
They wound their way out through the gate and followed the worn dirt path down a ways into the fields before the castle. The dew and morning mists were settling and didn’t rise above their horses’ knees as a few peasants appeared on the horizon, lugging their carts toward the castle. They continued to walk their horses for a bit longer until they met the flat ground at the end of the castle’s defensive slopes, and Kyle looked to his old friend.
“Are ye ready then?”
“Do I have a choice?” Domnal replied, flashing a grin.
“Ha!” Kyle called, spurring his mount onward, and the two began to race across the wide valley floor, their hunting spears held high, as the sun crested the top of the hills and shone down with a glittering radiance, lighting up the dew upon the grass.
This is what Kyle lived for. He let out a whoop and a bellow of exuberance as he felt the cool morning air cutting through his flowing hair and the jostle of his horse’s hoofbeats. He imagined himself upon a field of battle, charging toward the English lines, ready to cut the Sassenach to ribbons for the freedom and glory of Scotland and the King.
He could practically see them, standing in their formation, their kettle helmets glistening in the sun, their spears bristling, and he could hear the battle cries of his own comrades behind him, bringing the fight to the enemy, charging on in the face of danger. He longed for such glory and fame, such excitement and chaos. One day, he would seize it.
They rode on for a good while, banking to their left and climbing one of the hills that gave them a view of the valley and the castle, now in the far distance. They paused there to take a drink of water and a dram of whiskey while they drank in the view before continuing into the rugged Scottish countryside.
After a while, they came to a patch of thin forest, which they knew to be good hunting grounds, and began to walk their horses through the brush, scanning the ground for tracks and keeping an eye on which way the wind blew. They moved in silence for fear of disturbing the game and used their hunting spears to move branches from their path.
“Here,” Kyle whispered, stopping suddenly. He pointed down with the spear to a fresh set of tracks, and they both recognized the imprint of a stag upon the forest floor.
Domnal looked between Kyle and the tracks and gave a nod. There they leashed their horses to a tree, stowed their spears, and took out their hunting bows with the small accompanying quivers.
Quietly and cautiously, they stalked their prey, moving through the brush after the line of tracks. It was an old way of hunting and the sort that the high nobles of both England and Scotland would have mocked, but it suited Kyle just fine. He did not have the patience for the large hunts the richest organized, with hot meals and tents and troops of hounds. He preferred this closeness to the earth and this silent stalking to the almost artificial ceremony that hunts had become for so much of nobility across Europe.
Finally, the stag came into view, and the two crouched behind a large set of bushes as they spied the creature. He stood in a small clearing, grazing upon the foliage, and he had not yet smelled them.
“After ye,” Domnal whispered. At the sound of his voice, the stag snapped its gaze in their direction. Kyle knew he had to act fast.
Kyle drew forth an arrow and brought it to his bow with long-practiced skill while he stood suddenly from the brush. The stag began to turn in fright as he appeared, but it was too late. He let the arrow fly with brutal precision, and just as the stag was tensing for a bound, Kyle’s arrow landed neatly in its neck. The beast went down with a stifling groan, kicking out in pain, and Kyle ran toward it, drawing his long dagger and slid the blade across the great beast’s gullet. Then the stag lay still.
“Well done!” Domnal roared out, clapping twice as he stood from their hiding place.
