“Well, we have a bath already drawn for ye,” Lena said when Iris released her, tugging on Iris’s hand. “And a feast like ye have never witnessed before.”
Iris’s stomach rumbled at the thought, and the sisters laughed, tugging their favorite sibling toward the keep’s doors.
It was good to be home.
1
“As ye can see, Laird, we will need tae mark the land clearly tae keep them from fighting over it.”
James Lennox tipped his chair back onto its hind legs, balancing it carefully lest he fall on his arse. It had been a childhood game of his when he was nothing more than a wee bairn, but on a day like today, he preferred to keep his mind occupied with a silly game such as that.
Today was report day for the McGregor clan. Reports on the food storage. Reports on the land. Reports on the warriors. All sorts of reports that seemed to have no ending in sight.
“’Tis a good idea, Malcom,” their laird, Irvine, replied, nodding. “We can get ahead of the fighting before it becomes an issue.”
James watched as his father scribbled his feather across the parchment, making notes that he would then later translate into a large ledger he kept on his table for these meetings. It was dull work that didn’t excite James in the least.
No, he would rather be out in the field, riding his horse or sparring with his best friend, Matteau, until the sweat soaked his tunic and his muscles burned from the exertion.
Anything other than having to feel his ears bleed from his father’s droning voice.
“Next report is the food stores,” the laird said, causing James to suppress a loud sigh.
Truthfully, he should have been used to the weekly reporting by now. Ever since he was a young lad of ten years, his father had been bringing him to his meetings with the laird. They were good friends, and as the laird’s closest advisor, his father was responsible for ensuring that the clan flourished.
And to tell the laird when it didn’t.
But James’s presence in those meetings was because his father had already decided that James would take his place one day and therefore needed to learn firsthand what an advisor role meant.
For James, it was not his dream. His dream was to be on the battlefield, wielding his sword in the name of his laird and clan.
When he had told his father, the elder Lennox had scoffed at the idea.
“Ye are mah only son,” he had told James, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Mah only bairn. It would gut yer ma if ye did something so rash that put yerself in danger.”
James didn’t think about it being dangerous. Of course there was nothing safe about wielding a sword or running into the fray, but it was his passion. No matter how many times he had mentioned it to his father, he had brushed it off, reminding James of his duty to his family first.
That being reading dull reports, which was worse than having one’s eyes plucked out with a smoldering sword.
So James had done the unthinkable. He had started to spar in secret. Matteau had been more than happy to show James all the skills that he was learning in becoming a warrior for the clan. In the predawn hours on most days, they sparred in the forest, well away from prying eyes. There, James had learned theproper way to wield a sword as well as hand-to-hand combat and the use of an ax and shield.
He had learned everything that would keep him safe on the battlefield—everything except how to make his parents see reason in what their son enjoyed doing.
“Wot of the recent skirmish?” the laird was asking, bringing James’s attention and focus back to the conversation.
“A few warriors lost,” his father replied with a frown. “On both sides. Reports are that Wallace thinks he was victorious, but there was vera little tae gain tae begin with.”
James set his chair back on the floor gently as Irvine mulled over the information, scratching his chin as he did so. The infamous Wallace clan was their rival, one that had plagued their village, farm, and their livestock for years. Every time a warrior party was sent to handle the Wallace interference, the report seemed to be the same.
“I want our warriors tae come home,” Irvine finally said with a heavy sigh. “There is nary a reason tae continue this farce of a battle.”
“But it will look like we are retreating,” James blurted out, heedless of his father’s sudden dark glare in his direction. “Why would we go back now?”
“James,” his father warned, slapping the papers on the table before him, “’tis not for ye tae decide.”
“’Tis the truth,” James continued, well aware that his father was upset with him. “We shouldnae leave like we are dogs with our tails between our legs! We should give chase now while they think they were victorious!”
“James,” his father said, a hint of irritation in his voice, “’tis more than just a show of strength that will get us the victory. The necessary discussion will happen at the gathering.”
