He laughed. “Mother, I would have been very stupid not to have been scared. I was terrified. When you look at so many men with swords and pikes, every one of them wanting to kill you...my commander told me they were just as scared as I was, but that is no comfort when a sword is aimed at your heart.”
His mind went back to one of the many battles the Scots fought against the English.
“I was in the front row of the pikemen,” he said slowly, “but I had a claymore, and a hundred yards away there was a wall of horses, and every horse had a knight. Their armor was bright in the sunlight, and we had to squint to see them properly. Each cavalryman had a sword and an axe, and every one of them was clad in metal. We had little armor and our men were inexperienced, whereas the English troops were all battle-hardened seasoned warriors, experts in the art of combat. However, when one of our commanders rode out and faced off with one of theirs, and killed him by splitting his skull with his axe, then they knew they were not invincible. A great cheer went up from the Scots when this happened, and we had fresh heart.
“Then came the horses and the knights wielding heavy swords and axes, but our pikemen were close together in a schiltrum and although they were better armed and better armored, we fought them off.
“I remember a big horse rearing above me. I saw its hooves about to crush me and tried to stab it with my claymore, but claymores are not meant for stabbing so my thrust had no force because I could not draw my arm back far enough. The rider leaned over and tried to chop me with his axe, and I will never forget the venom in his eyes—I have nightmares about it to this day. I cannot remember how I did it, but I found enough room to swing the claymore and I beheaded him, then his head landed on the grass at my feet. I was so full of fury and bloodlust that I stamped on it and it cracked, then turned to mush, with brains and blood oozing everywhere.
“Another horseman was behind me but I managed to block the swipe of his sword, which would have cloven my shoulder, then I raised my shield and hit him in the face with it. The boss of my shield had a great sharp point about three inches in length, and it went into his right eye above his visor. He screamed and fell from his horse. I was just about to finish him off with the claymore when the horse reared up, then two hooves the size of our dinner plates drove down into his chest. He died at once...or I hope he did.
“I do not wish suffering on any man, but my country is full of the people that I love. This is Scotland, and those English men are foreigners. They have no right to take our land. Damn them all!”
Alex’s voice had risen in anger, and he was pacing around the room, swiping at an imaginary enemy as if he actually had his huge double-handed claymore in his hands. Tears of rage were pouring down his cheeks and as Robina went to soothe him he began to weep openly.
Donna began to weep too. “We all feel the same as you, Alex,” she said softly, going to kiss him as he leaned on Robina’s shoulder. “Give yourself peace, Son. Someday it will all be over and we will drive those monsters back over the border where they belong.”
Alex nodded and gave her a watery smile, but he did not let go of Robina, as if she were his safety and sanctuary now. “I am sorry, Mother,” he said hoarsely. “I am behaving like a maid. But sometimes all this just comes out.”
“You are not behaving like a maid.” Donna shook her head firmly. “All men have to cry sometimes, even big strong ones like you. There should be a name for this thing you are feeling, because a lot of soldiers feel it. You are not alone.”
Alex peeled himself reluctantly away from Robina and sat down next to the fire again, wiping his eyes. Bearnard brought him another glass of whisky. “The good stuff!” He smiled. Then, in an unexpected gesture of tenderness, he kissed Alex’s hair and patted his shoulder. Alex covered Bearnard’s hand with his own and the two men smiled at each other in a moment of friendship and understanding.
Robina had said nothing during Alex’s emotional outburst. She knew that it was better to let him work everything out of his system than to try and stop him. Sometimes he would have nightmares and would wake up shuddering and moaning, but she knew that all he needed was her arms around him.
12
Livestock
Glengour Estate boasted a very fine herd of Scottishblack-faced sheepwhichgrew excellent wool and yielded fine mutton. They were well looked after and jealously guarded, but no matter how much trouble was taken, animals that lived outside occasionally wandered away. Accordingly, when a ewe and lamb went astray, Alex did not fret too much, but when the second pair went missing and could not be found, he began to feel uneasy.
He rode out to the spot where the sheep normally grazed. It was a dry, level patch of ground next to the River Gour, which at that point was really no more than a burn. Across the Gour was the Campbell Estate, which belonged to Lockie, and it was very easy for each laird to cross the river and trespass on the other’s land. This had hitherto not been a problem, but when hostilities began between the two landowners it soon became one.
Alex sent for his head shepherd, Jack Mullan, to speak to him about the matter. Alex bade him sit down and poured him a goblet of ale, then sat back in his chair, frowning. He had always found that the best way to approach a problem like this was with tact and reason, not aggression, so he adopted a reasonable tone when he spoke to Jack.
“Jack, how are you?” he asked, smiling.
Jack flushed and shook his head, looking downcast. He was a little bald man with faded, baggy blue eyes. He was approaching sixty, loved his job, and loved the animals he cared for—especially his prized sheepdog bitch, Millie. He had been a sheep man all his life and would die that way, and no sheep had ever gone missing under his care before. He was furious, and his pride was hurt.
“Tae tell ye the truth, M'laird,” he replied, “no’ sae good. I hae ne’er lost a sheep afore, yow or tup, an’ that’s a fact.” He shook his head. “I dinnae mind tellin’ ye I’m ragin’, an’ sorry for lettin’ ye doon.”
“You are the best shepherd I ever had, Jack, but nobody is perfect,” Alex said soothingly. “Give yourself peace. Do you think they could have been stolen?”
Jack thought for a moment. “Only by Laird Campbell’s men...they are the only anes who could get ontae that land, M'laird. But surely they widnae dae onythin’ like that?” He was shocked.
Alex thought for a moment. “Not on purpose, perhaps, but there is always a possibility of bad apples getting into the barrel,” he said thoughtfully. “I will be sending some guards in with you tonight to capture any thieves. I know you are all very vigilant, but there must be somewhere that they cross the river where you cannot see them.”
“The river makes a turn jist up the hill where a’ they fir trees is, M'laird,” Jack replied. “The sheep dinnae like it up there, so we dinnae watch it sae much.”
“You will watch it tonight,” Alex said grimly, “and so will my soldiers. And so will I.”
Looking at the Laird’s grim face, Jack shivered.
There was a half moon that night, which was only seen occasionally through gaps in the clouds. Alex and his men had ridden part of the way then tethered their horses in a stand of pine trees and walked the last quarter of a mile.
Alex had deliberately gathered his sheep into one small area with the aid of Jack, two other shepherds, and their dogs. When they reached the right spot, Jack was there to meet them. They spoke in the quietest of whispers.
“Seen anything yet?” Alex asked.
