“Aye,” Irvine stated. Whatever his great-uncle was going to suggest, he could perform. His father had taught him all that he needed to defend himself, and if his great-aunt hadn’t decided that he should be laird, Irvine would have been one of her warriors instead. He enjoyed the feel of a sword in his hand, the way that the horse felt under his legs as he rode through the moors.
“Alright,” the older Scot finally said. “A task that is meant tae show the lad’s ability to overcome obstacles that a laird will find in his reign.”
“Get on with it,” Irvine’s mother muttered, causing Irvine to have to hold back a laugh.
“There is a farm,” he finally stated. “A day’s ride from here. ’Tis a large settlement now, having grown over the years past. Mah own sister attempted tae purchase it years ago but to no avail.”
“Wot does a farm have tae do with this?” William asked angrily. “The clan doesnae need any more land.”
“Aye, but ’tis a strategic advantage tae protecting the clan,” one of the elders snapped. “It could be a warrior outpost if we can get the land. The buildings, ye could grow yer training.”
William couldn’t argue with that. Irvine knew that he had long wanted to find another training ground for the growing number of warriors that the clan had, and it sounded like the farm would be a good advantage.
“Wot must I do then?” Irvine spoke, standing. “Wot is the task?”
“Get them tae accept the deal that will be offered,” Great-Uncle Kenneth answered, a peculiar grin on his face. “And prove yer worth.”
“Seven days,” one of the elders said after a few moments of discussion. “The land is very valuable tae the clan. We will give ye seven days.”
Irvine rolled his shoulders. So, he was to be a negotiator and not fight his way through some silly challenge. “Aye, I accept.”
How hard could it be to get the farmers to agree anyway? Their coffers were full. No farmer would turn down the sheer amount of funds that Irvine could offer in exchange for the land. “I will send a missive today.”
“Then ’tis settled,” the elder stated with a nod. “Good luck tae ye, Irvine.”
Luck wasn’t what he would need. It would be far too easy to accomplish this task and come back a victor.
2
Bridget Wright led the horse into the stall and patted its flank. “That was a good job today, Buttercup,” she cooed as the horse bumped the feed bucket on the wall next to her. “I think ye do deserve another bucket of feed.” Her father thought she spoiled the horses, but Bridget knew that if they didn’t treat the animals as they should be treated, then their farming would be lazy, and the tenants would suffer.
After filling the bucket, Bridget walked into the next stall and picked up the pitchfork, spreading fresh, sweet-smelling hay on the floor for the next horse. The sun was starting to hang low in the sky, which meant that the horses from the work fields would be coming in shortly, and she would be quite busy with rubbing them down and feeding them for the next hour or so. Taking care of the animals was her favorite part of the day. Her father had given her the position as soon as she could hold a brush properly, and now she was known for her great care. She had named all the horses herself and would rather be in the barn than with the other women, tending to the small hovels that were their homes.
“Bridget!”
Bridget turned to find Merdia standing behind her, her face wreathed with a smile. Merdia was in her twentieth year as Bridget was, with lovely curling red hair and bright blue eyes that had all the men swooning after her. She relentlessly teased her friend about choosing one of her suitors, but Merdia refused to do so right yet.
“Merdia,” Bridget acknowledged, “wot brings ye in here?”
“I know a secret,” her friend stated, singing the words. “Would ye like tae know?”
“Of course not,” Bridget said, leaning against the pitchfork. “For then, it wouldnae be a secret.”
“Perhaps not,” Merdia replied. “But if the secret was aboot me, I would want tae know.”
“Aboot me?” Bridget echoed.
Her friend nodded, and Bridget sighed. “Alright, tell me wot ye know.”
“Fraser is going tae ask for yer hand,” her friend whispered, her eyes sparkling. “I heard it from James, and James is never wrong.”
Bridget sighed at the news. She knew that Fraser had wished tae court her, but they weren’t some noble Scottish gentry. They were nothing but farmers attempting to make do of their lives.
Besides, she didn’t wish to be courted by him. Fraser was the blacksmith’s son, having joined their small band of tenants a few years ago. He thought himself to be a future leader like her father was currently, but Bridget thought that he was lacking the finer qualities her father had. People respected Leathen Wright, whereas she had yet to see anyone respect Fraser.
“He’s far too handsome for his own good,” Merdia was saying. “Ye will make fine bairns.”
Bridget snorted. “I’m not looking tae make any bairns, Merdia. I dinnae need tae wed right now.”
