He stood up, pulling her away from Morys’ corpse and into his arms. What he had to say, he would say without a dead body between them.
“Then we look tae the future with hope,” he said, holding her as close as he could with all of the layers of tunics and mail in between them. “And any decisions we make, we make together. I’ll not let ye make another decision again for me, even if ye feel it’s the best one for us both. I’ll have a say in it, too.”
She grinned, lifting her mouth up to his for a sweet kiss. “Aye, my lord.”
He closed his eyes, responding to her gentle kisses. “Say it again.”
Her arms went around his neck, her forehead against his. “Aye, my lord.”
“Nay,” he breathed. “Not that. Tell me ye’re me lioness.”
“I am your lioness. To the end of the world and beyond.”
For the warrior known as The Red Lion, they were the sweetest words he’d ever heard.
EPILOGUE
Year of our Lord 1289 A.D.
Early June
South of Foulis Castle, Scottish Highlands
This was not something Havilland had ever dreamed of.
On a beautiful June day, with the sea breezes blowing in off of the Firth of Moray, she was standing on a rise overlooking a field of undulating sea grass. The breeze was whipping it about, creating swirling patterns, and Havilland stood on the crest of the rise with more than a thousand Highlanders. They were all looking across this gentle field at another line of Highlanders about a quarter of a mile away to the south. They were all lined up on this brilliant morning, waiting and watching.
Havilland stood next to Jamison. Dressed in a tunic, breeches, and her mail coat, she was strapped down with her sword and her usual array of daggers. Her husband was also dressed for battle, although his style of dress resembled hers much more than it resembled the Highlanders he was commanding. But his red hair gleamed in the morning sun, making him a very easy target for the opposition. Havilland had asked him twice to wear his helm but he wouldn’t do it. His mother, sweet but firm Ainsley, had asked him as well, but he also denied his mother. He wasn’t going to hide who he was beneath a steel bucket.
This battle was, after all, about him.
Word had gotten around that Jamison Munro had returned to the Highlands and the MacKenzies was more than ready to meet him. They’d sent word to Foulis Castle two nights ago that they would be waiting on the plains surrounding the Burn of Foulis, just to the south of the castle, and they expected Jamison to be there as well. Jamison had anticipated the summons and he was ready for them.
He and his massive army, that is.
It was a sight to behold. Sutherland stood in support of him along with Ross and MacKay. Beaux, Kendrick, and Caspian were back in charge of their own men, having return to the Highlands with Jamison and his wife. On the long trip north, Havilland had become good friends with all three of them. They accepted her and admired Jamison for his choice in a wife.
Agnes MacLennan notwithstanding, Havilland de Llion was quite perfect in their eyes. Not only was she beautiful, but she had a fire in her soul that was reminiscent of the warrior women of the north. They would jest with her and ask her if she wasn’t a Scotswoman in disguise.
But the real test came when they finally reached Foulis Castle. Oddly enough, George and Ainsley accepted their son’s new wife fairly quickly. The story from Jamison was that he had already married Havilland before he received the news of Georgie’s death so there wasn’t much he could do about marrying Agnes MacLennan. In fact, George sent word to old Amos MacLennan and offered up Robert instead of Jamison, which Amos gladly accepted. One big Munro son was as good as the next, he said.
With the bargain sealed, George then sent a messenger to retrieve Robert from Castle Questing but it was at Ainsley’s insistence that Robert not be told why. She suspected her randy son wouldn’t want to marry a fourteen-year-old lass, and especially not one as plain as Agnes, so Robert was returning home to a surprise marriage.
Jamison, Beaux, Kendrick, and Caspian had a good laugh over that fact. Finally, Robert, the trouble-making brother, would get his comeuppance. No more chasing after Eva MacKenzie or any other lass that he fancied. Fear of the wrath of Amos MacLennan would keep him limited to one bed and one bed alone – his own.
But the fact remained that Jamison had come home and, without the marriage to young Agnes, the MacKenzies had him in their sites. There was no avoiding a confrontation with them so when they sent the summons to Jamison, he didn’t refuse it. This is what he’d come home for, after all. Now, it was time to face his enemy.
And that’s what had brought them to this day. Standing on the rise overlooking the fields of Foulis, he turned to look down both sides of his lines; Sutherland, Ross, MacKay were there with hundreds of men, but the most men came from old Amos MacLennan. Amos had been told that Jamison had killed Connell because the man had tried to murder Robert. An attempt on Robert was as good as an attempt on his daughter, so Amos had said, so Jamison had nearly six hundred MacLennan men at his disposal in spite of the fact that they were kin to the MacKenzie. Evidently, a betrothal to the Munro Clan bore more weight and Jamison now had more men than the MacKenzie.
If they wanted a fight, he would give them one.
“I have never seen a battle like this,” Havilland whispered at his side. “What do we do? Do we spend all day staring each other?”
He grinned, looking down at her. He wished she had remained back in the castle with his mother but he knew that had been too much to ask. She was at his side and wouldn’t leave.
“Nay,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulders and kissing her forehead. “Soon enough, the MacKenzie will send a messenger across the field and I will send one tae meet him. They will discover terms and return tae me. If I dunna like the terms, then we will march across the field and squash them.”
Havilland’s eyebrows lifted. “Is this how it is always done?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes.”
“No laying siege to Foulis?”
He nodded. “That can happen, too,” he said. “But a Scotsman’s way of fightin’ isna the English way. We show our strength in other ways.”
“Like facing your enemy across a field and showing them all of your men?”
“Like that.”
Havilland was quite baffled by it all. “The only battles I have ever faced have been from the inside of a castle,” she said. “I have never faced a battle on a field like this before.”
He looked at her. “This will be hand tae hand combat if we fight,” he said quietly. “I know ye want tae fight by me side and I love ye for it, but it’s as I told ye last night – I will spend all of me time worrying about ye and probably get me head cut off. If it looks as if we are going tae battle, will ye please consider going back tae the castle? It would ease me mind considerably, love.”
They’d had this discussion before and she had stubbornly refused. But this time, she looked out over the opposing forces and actually considered his request. Seeing all of those Scots intimidated her although she wouldn’t admit it to him. “I do not want to leave your side,” she said. “If you fight, I want to fight with you. This is my battle as much as it is yours, Jamie. As your wife, if they threaten you, then they threaten me.”
He hugged her and kissed her forehead again. He didn’t want to get into that discussion again because it had become quite heated last night. She had ended up in tears. So he let it go, mostly because he already had a bargain with Kendrick, who was positioned the closest to him – if the battle started, then Kendrick was directed to make his way to Lady Munro and bodily remove her from the fighting. It would be a struggle, to be sure, but Jamison wanted her out of the heat of battle. He only hoped that Kendrick would come away with all of his fingers, toes, and eyes. He knew Havilland could fight dirty when provoked.
But he hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
So he stood with his wife, waiting for the MacKen
zie to send his messenger onto the field. He already had his youngest brother, Hector, waiting to ride to meet him. But the MacKenzie seemed to be hesitating for some reason and he wasn’t sure he liked that. He hoped the man wasn’t waiting for reinforcements to arrive although his scouts told him that they’d not seen sign of any. So they stood and they waited.
Finally, towards the nooning hour, a rider broke away from the MacKenzies’ lines and charged across the field, the horse’s mane and tail blowing in the brisk sea wind. Seeing the rider approach, Hector dug his heels into the side of the blonde steed he was riding, galloping across the grass until he and the MacKenzie rider came together somewhere in the middle, near the banks of a small stream that ran through the meadow.
The moment had come, the moment that could decide the tides of the battle. Everyone was watching them with both curiosity and trepidation. Havilland, in a completely un-warrior-like move, slipped her hand into Jamison’s.
“What do you think they are talking about?” she asked anxiously.
Jamison was watching the pair in the distance. “I dunna know,” he said honestly. “More than likely, the MacKenzie rider is demanding me head.”
She gasped. “Is he?”
He grinned, giving her a wink to let her know he was jesting. “Nay,” he said. “Dunna worry, love. Even if they asked for it, they’ll have tae fight tae get it. And ye’ll not let them have it, will ye?”
She shook her head vehemently. “They will have to go through me first,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Then what else could they be speaking of?”
He simply shook his head, watching as Hector suddenly turned his horse away from the MacKenzie messenger and thundered his way back to the Munro lines. He headed straight for Jamison.
Young, excitable Hector brought the horse to a halt, kicking up clods of earth and spraying anyone within ten feet of him with it, and that included Havilland. A chunk of moist earth hit her on the corner of the mouth and she spit it out in disgust, glaring at the rash young knight, who smiled apologetically at her. Shaking her head at him, she brushed the dirt off her face and chest as Jamison looked at his brother with reproach.
“Do that again and I’ll turn the wife loose on ye,” he said. “Now, tell me – what did the messenger say?”
Hector was agitated. “Padraig MacKenzie wants to know if ye’ll meet him by the stream,” he said. “He wants tae speak wit’ ye. It will just be him. He wants ye tae come alone.”
That was an unexpected request. “Padraig?” Jamison repeated. “Why?”
Hector shook his head. “The messenger dinna say,” he said. “Will ye go?”
Jamison looked out at the line in the distance, pondering the proposal. By this time, Kendrick and Caspian and Beaux had made their way over to him, all of them wanting to know what the messenger had said. When Hector repeated what he had told his brother, the three men looked at Jamison.
“What are ye going tae do?” Kendrick asked. “Padraig is a man of honor, Jamie. He’s not like the rest of those brutes.”
Jamison’s expression was pensive. “Yet he killed Georgie,” he said, turning to glance at his friends. “I doubt this is a trap but the fact that he killed Georgie tae lure me home… how much honor can he have?”
Beaux shook his head. “Padraig dinna order the death of Georgie,” he said. “It had tae be his da. Somerled MacKenzie was much like Connell – the man had that taste for blood in him. Padraig isna like his da.”
That was generally true. Still, Jamison was puzzled and wary. “Then I wonder what he has tae say tae me.”
“You will not know unless you speak with him,” Havilland said quietly. All of the men looked at her but she was looking at her husband. “Make sure your dirk is close at hand when you hear what the man has to say. You have come this far, Jamie. At least he is willing to talk before striking.”
She was absolutely right. It was sage advice from his wife. It was also her approval to put himself in a fairly risky situation but it was the only choice he had. Lifting his hand, he motioned for his horse to be brought forth, the big black beast with the hairy mane and tail. As the animal was brought through the ranks of men, Jamison turned to Havilland and kissed her soft, warm mouth.
“Ye hold the line here,” he told her. Then, he looked at his friends around him, men anxiously awaiting his order. “Go back to yer men. If ye see Padraig move against me, ye will unleash the archers. Do ye understand?”
Beaux, Kendrick, and Caspian nodded grimly, but Jamison looked pointedly at Kendrick at that point. “And ye, Ken… ye know what tae do.”
He meant in taking Havilland to safety. Kendrick nodded. “I do.”
There was nothing more to say. It was difficult not to feel the tension, the apprehension of what was to come, as Jamison mounted his horse. He was doing a fairly good job with ignoring the anxiety until he looked at Havilland’s face. She, too, was trying very hard to ignore the tension but he could see the fear in her eyes. He reached out a hand to her.
“Not tae worry, love,” he said. “I’ll know what he wants soon enough and we’ll know what our course of action should be.”
She nodded bravely. “Hector and I will make sure the MacLennan archers are ready.”
“Good.”
“Where is your dirk?”
He squeezed her hand and let it go. “Where Padraig canna see it.”
With that, he kicked his horse forward and the animal charged off, kicking up clods of soft earth as it went. Racing through the cool morning air, many thoughts were rolling through his head when he should have been focused on Padraig. Thoughts of Havilland and of their future together. Thoughts of his clan and his brothers and the peaceful future they needed. He was even thinking thoughts of de Lohr and of Four Crosses, of Madeline and Amaline, and of Havilland’s desire to return to Wales. So many things rolling through his head when he should have only been thinking about Padraig. Perhaps he was reflecting on a life well-lived and the desire to continue that life. He wanted to see Havilland present him with their first-born son.
But first, he had to get through this day.
He was halfway to the stream dividing the meadow when he saw a rider break out from the MacKenzie lines. Knowing it was Padraig, he slowed his horse and came to a complete halt once he reached the stream. He dismounted, putting the horse between him and the MacKenzie lines to prevent a MacKenzie archer from targeting him. Once off the horse, he stood there and waited for Padraig to arrive.
He wasn’t long in waiting. Padraig made his way across the field in good time, slowing his animal down once he reached Jamison. Unlike Jamison, however, he remained mounted. A stocky man with dark hair and a surprisingly gentle expression, Padraig MacKenzie was well-liked in his clan. His opinion was trusted and he had proven himself to be wise and reasonable. When his gaze finally met Jamison’s, he nodded his head in acknowledgement.
“Jamison,” he greeted. “My thanks for meeting me.”
Jamison remained behind his horse. “I suppose ye have something tae say tae me.”
Padraig nodded. “Indeed, I do,” he said. “The first thing I need tae tell ye is that me da died last week. I am now the MacKenzie.”
That drew a reaction out of Jamison. “I dinna know,” he said. “I hadna heard. I dunna believe me da has, either. He would have told me.”
Padraig shook his head. “No one knows,” he said. “I’ve given orders that the death be kept a secret until I choose tae announce it.”
That didn’t make much sense to Jamison but he didn’t comment on it. “I see,” he said simply.
Padraig smiled weakly when he saw that Jamison had nothing more to say to the news. “I think ’tis time for total honesty,” he said. “I know me da was out for yer blood because of what ye did tae Connell. If ye want tae know the truth, ’tis me da who killed Georgie. He did it so ye’d return from wherever ye’d gone and face his rage. He also did it tae take George Munro’s heir as ye took his. It was a reckoning.”
Padraig climbed off of his horse. He took a few steps in Jamison’s direction and Jamison found himself mentally calculating how fast he could unsheathe his dirk. He was still quite wary of the man’s motives.
“Nay,” Padraig said. “I wanted tae ask ye if we canna solve our hostilities in ways that dunna involve men dying and widows weeping. I have no desire tae fight ye, Jamison. I’ve always believed our clans could live in peace but me da and Connell thought differently. They were entrenched in the old ways, the ways when men had tae fight for their lands and people. But ye and I… we’re different. I dunna think ye want a battle, do ye?”
Jamison wasn’t particularly surprised to hear this, coming from Padraig. It was difficult not to feel some hope in the matter, the possibility that the MacKenzie’s vengeance against him wouldn’t lead to bloodshed, so he struggled against having too much faith in what Padraig was saying.
“Nay,” he said evenly. “But the fact remains that I killed yer brother when he attacked me brother. I’ll not go the rest of me life lookin’ over me shoulder for a MacKenzie assassin, Padraig. If we’re going tae fight, then let’s do it now and get it over with. Let’s settle it today.”
Padraig shook his head. “I dunna want tae fight ye,” he repeated. “And me da’s sense of vengeance isna me own. Connell was a brutal, aggressive man. He lived on the scent of blood, just as me da did. Their vengeance is their own; it isna mine. Ye did what ye had tae do tae protect Robbie. I understand that and so do many others in me clan. It’s not as if ye went forth with the intention of murderin’ Connell. Ye did it tae save yer brother and that’s something we’d all have done in the same circumstances. I canna fault ye for that.”
Jamison was actually shocked to hear that. That wasn’t something he had expected, not in the least. His brow furrowed, showing his surprise and doubt.
“Can I believe such talk?” he asked, incredulous. “Ye brought yer army here today for a reason, Padraig. Ye came for a fight.”
Masters of Medieval Romance: Series Starters Volume II Page 93