8
Rhys awoke the day before the wedding. The inexorable pull of destiny hauled him forward through life without mercy, without giving him a chance to think about anything. As soon as he awoke he raised his hand to his mouth and rested his finger against his lips. The taste of her still lingered, the taste from the kiss that he had been unable to resist. He hadn’t intended to do it. He had done as his father asked and had tried to be aloof but as they stood up there alone in the darkness he was filled with an irresistible urge to be close with her, to hold her in his arms, and when he did so he felt a heavenly feeling envelop him.
And now that he had experienced the sensations again he could place the feeling. It was similar to the same thing he felt whenever he was alone in the beauty of nature and completely separate from the world, when he was at peace and had nothing on his mind. Kissing her was a delight. Even now he could remember the way she felt in his arms, how she had shuddered and smiled as they broke away from the kiss, how her eyes had sparkled in the moonlight and looked like deep pools of silver. She had placed another soft kiss on his lips, as though she was claiming him as her own. He smiled as a wave of arousal ran around his body, and for a moment he thought he would be burned up by the heat.
His father had warned him not to fall in love and now he was worried that he had. He had never experienced love before and, in truth, he hadn’t had any time for it. But it had happened without warning, without preparation. Caitlin had come along and completely shaken his world. If it wasn’t love then it was a lot like it, and he was racked with guilt about the plan. He had lied to her and told her that she could come back and see her family whenever she liked. She hadn’t suspected that anything was amiss as he learned the layout of the keep, specifically the placement of the armory and the barracks. She had given him everything he needed to know to help his father conquer the keep, but she had also given him her kiss and her heart as well.
It made him sick inside. A wave of revulsion swept through him as he swung his legs out from underneath the sheets and perched on the edge of the bed, holding his head in his hands. She was to be his wife. She had been nothing but honest with him, yet all he had given was betrayal and false promises. It pained him to think of the moment when she would inevitably find out the truth, find out what he had done. Bryn would be killed, as would most of the other people she knew. She would be spared. But what life would she be condemned to with a man who had shattered her heart and robbed her of her virtue and innocence? If that’s what it meant to be a Frasier then was a Frasier the kind of person that Rhys wanted to be?
Rhys had to ask himself a lot of hard questions. Caitlin had challenged him the previous night when she had asked him about what kind of man he wanted to be. When he looked at himself he felt awful because he wanted to please his father, but now he wanted Caitlin to forever look at him the way she looked at him the previous night—with love in her eyes.
Thoughts careened through his mind and he found himself wishing that he didn’t have to go through with his father’s plans. But he couldn’t back out now. He would not betray his father. He needed some guidance. He needed to speak to someone else about his thoughts, someone who he could trust implicitly, and the only two people that came to mind were his brothers.
Rhys strode out of his room with purpose, and was at least glad that he didn’t have to wear anything as ridiculous as he had worn the previous night. He hid his eyes from the people he passed as he was afraid that they would glean some of his anguish. His long loping strides ate up the ground. He was about to leave the keep and visit the Frasier camp outside. His brothers had wanted to stay with familiar people rather than in the McClearey keep. But just before he walked out the door he heard a pattering of footsteps behind him and a voice calling out. He turned around to see the jogging form of Bryn approaching. Rhys forced a smile.
“Morning Laird McClearey,” Rhys said.
“Dinnae ye worry about all that. Ye’re gaeing tae be family taemorrow. Call me Bryn,” the older man said, slapping Rhys on the shoulder. Rhys nodded and squirmed as Bryn referenced the wedding. Rhys knew they would only be family for a couple of days. Bryn was a dead man walking.
Bryn was about to say something when he noticed the distant look in Rhys’s eyes and he frowned.
“Are ye well lad?” he asked.
Rhys looked stricken and his eyes flared in panic for a moment, but he managed to keep himself composed. Out in the wild when he was tracking prey he often had to slow his heartbeat and remain still and patient for hours on end. It was a skill that served him well in moments like these.
“Just a wee bit tired from everything that’s been gaeing on,” he said, and forced another smile. Bryn nodded in understanding and the concern left his face.
“Aye, well, it’ll all be over soon and ye and Caitlin can begin ye life taegether. I’m glad tae see that ye are getting on well. There are nae many men who can handle a lass like her. She’s always been a free spirit, and she speaks her mind as well, although I’m sure ye are well aware of that already.” He gave Rhys a knowing smile. Rhys chuckled a little and nodded.
“Oh aye, and I’m sure it’s gotten her in plenty of trouble,” he said.
“That it has lad, that it has. But there’s one thing I wanted tae speak tae ye about. Ye see, even though ye’re on good terms with Caitlin, ye hae nae really seen her brothers yet and, well, they’re protective of her. It’s a silly thing really, as they’re just wee lads, although Mark is getting stronger every day. But it would mean a lot tae us, and tae Caitlin, if ye spent a few hours sparring with them.”
Rhys looked anxiously towards the door that would lead to his brothers and hopefully a resolution to his inner turmoil, but he could not ignore Bryn’s pleas. Rhys was aware how much it would mean to Caitlin as whenever she spoke about her brothers her eyes lit up.
“I’d be happy tae,” he said.
“They’re in the courtyard,” Bryn said, and patted Rhys on the back again. Rhys sighed as he turned away from the door and briskly walked to the courtyard where the three boys were waiting. Mark, who was the tallest and looked the spitting image of his father, was holding a sword well and moving with quite a good bit of grace. Dominic, the next eldest, was trying to hold his own against Mark, but he didn’t have as good a handle on his technique and so he was being driven back. Pip, the youngest, was standing beside them, holding a weapon of his own, although it was a child’s sword and looked more like a needle than a weapon. Rhys strode up and stood on the edge of the makeshift arena they had created in the middle of the courtyard.
“He’s here!” Pip cried out in a high-pitched squeal. Mark and Dominic stopped their bout and turned to face Rhys. Dominic met him with a smile, but Mark’s gaze was even. Rhys was no stranger to the look in his eyes; it was a look of pure anger.
“It’s a pleasure tae meet ye,” Mark said, holding out his hand. Rhys clasped hands and could feel the younger lad putting pressure on him, trying to exert his strength, but it was nothing compared to what Rhys could endure so he merely shrugged it off.
“Are ye gaeing tae spar with us?” Dominic asked.
“Aye, we are gaeing tae be brothers after all,” Rhys said. Each lie he spoke stabbed at his heart, but he didn’t know what else to say.
“Me first,” Mark said, and flicked his wrist to draw a pattern in the air with his sword. Rhys didn’t have his own sword on him, so Dominic allowed Rhys to use his.
“It’s lighter than I’m used tae,” he said as he inspected the weapon and tested the weight of it. He strode in front of Mark and took a measure of the man. Mark was tall and strong compared to other boys his age, but he was like a child compared to Rhys. The competitive fire that was a natural part of every Frasier man flared inside him, but he had to remain composed. This wasn’t a duel where the goal was to crush the opponent. These were Caitlin’s brothers and it was an opportunity to bond with them.
He got into his stance and nodded at Mark, who came at
him with far more fury than Rhys had prepared for. The blade whirled and slashed in the air. Rhys stepped back as he deflected the wild strikes and was concerned at the gleaming rage in Mark’s eyes.
“I’ve been impressed with ye sister,” Rhys said through clenched teeth as he dodged one blow and fought back with one of his own, meeting Mark’s sword with his own. The familiar tremble ran down his arm and he clenched his grip even more tightly on the sword. “I’m looking forward tae marrying her.”
This remark prompted another vicious response from Mark, who pummeled Rhys with his sword. Rhys’s defense held; he was far too good a swordsman to allow himself to be overwhelmed with such unfocused anger. But Mark kept coming and Rhys didn’t want to hold him at arm’s length for too long. At some point, he would have to fight back, but he would also have to rein himself in, as the last thing he wanted to do was cause these boys any harm.
“I take it ye are nae a fan of the marriage?” Rhys asked as he held his sword firmly and tested the strength of Mark. Their faces were inches apart and Rhys could feel the hot, fervent breath of the teenager.
“Ye are nae husband tae her. Ye are a Frasier, ye dinnae belong here!” Mark spat. He drew the sword back and then doubled over, lowering his center of gravity as he spun around and slashed the sword against Rhys’s back. Pain bloom as the blade struck the sinews of his broad back, and a cry of despair burst from his lips. It wasn’t enough to fell him, just a flesh wound, but they were only supposed to be sparring, not drawing blood.
Rhys turned to face Mark, who had a malevolent smirk on his face. He held his sword aloft as though he had just proven something, but he had only angered the beast. Rhys could feel the warm trickle of blood settle against his clothes and he made the pain a part of himself. He wasn’t about to let Mark enjoy these games any longer.
“I learned from my da,” Mark said. “Strength and size is nae everything.” His words had a boasting tone and he ran in again. This time Rhys watched him more closely and saw how his eyes darted to a certain spot. His body twisted. Rhys had hunted enough prey to know the movements of when they were going to strike, and he prepared himself. When Mark was near him Rhys moved with great agility and Mark thrust his sword against empty air. Rhys spun on his heels and brought the pommel of the sword down onto Mark’s back, sending the boy sprawling to the ground. He yelped in pain and the sword fell from his grip as he cradled the blistering pain that ran through his neck and the base of his skull. Rhys quickly kicked the sword away and then stood over Mark as the boy rolled onto his back. He looked up and saw the point of Rhys’s sword bearing down on him.
“Aye, they’re nae everything, but neither is aggression. Ye hae a lot tae learn,” Rhys said, scowling. Mark breathed heavily and snarled at Rhys, but didn’t make a move, for the sword was threatening. Rhys let him stew in his fear and anger for a few moments before he took the sword away and picked up Mark’s, now wielding both weapons.
“Ye first lesson is tae never let ye sword out of ye hand if ye can help it. As long as ye’re nae dead ye can fight, sae dinnae give intae pain. Make it a part of yerself. Let it fuel ye tae fight even harder.” He held the sword out to Mark, who took it begrudgingly. Dominic was in awe of Rhys’s show of dominance and easy dismissal of Mark.
“That was amazing!” he cried as he ran up. “What else can ye teach us?”
“I dinnae ken if I should,” Rhys said carefully. “I’m nae sure I’m wanted here.”
“Oh, dinnae worry about him. He’s just sad that Caitlin is gaeing away and he doesnae want tae admit it, sae he’s trying tae act like a man, but he haes nae idea how tae.” Dominic shot a look at Mark. “She’s never been happier.”
“Except when she found that family of hedgehogs!” Pip piped up. He took his sword and mimicked Rhys’s movements, poking it in Mark’s general direction. Mark was sitting on a stone bench, sullen and sulking. He waved a hand in Pip’s general direction as though he was swatting away a fly. Rhys nodded in understanding and tried to give the boy the benefit of the doubt, for he remembered what it was like to be that age himself.
“Can ye teach me how tae beat him? I’ve never done anything like that,” Dominic said.
“I can give ye a few tips, but if ye want tae beat him ye are gaeing tae hae tae practice like ye life depends on it, because one day it might.” Rhys handed the sword back to Dominic. He taught the boy how to stand and how to thrust, how to shift his weight between his body so that he was prepared to switch between attack and defense within a single motion. As he explained, Rhys noticed that Mark pricked his ears up and started listening as well. Rhys invited Mark over to join in with them. Mark looked uneasy for a few moments, but then obliged and joined Rhys and Dominic.
Rhys took them through some simple movements and then showed them how sparring should be done. He taught them how to follow the movements of their opponents and their eyes, as well as anticipating where they were going to move. The boys seemed to think the lessons were invaluable, but Pip was feeling left out.
“What dae ye think of my weapon?” he cried, scurrying up to Rhys. Pip presented the sword as though it was a precious treasure, holding it aloft in two hands. Rhys pursed his lips and regarded the young child, suppressing a smile at how strange he looked. Rhys took the sword. It was so light that he might well have been able to snap it in two if he had placed it over his knee. But he held it with the same reverence and respect as if he was holding Pip himself in his arms. Rhys held it in front of his eyes so he could test the angle of the sword, and then pricked his thumb to feel how sharp it was, before handing it back to Pip.
“It’s a fine weapon for a fine warrior. Ye should be careful. I’m sure ye’ll slay many foes with it,” Rhys said. Pip’s face lit up and he jumped for joy, although when he took the sword back in his hands he looked somber. Rhys smiled as he turned back to the elder brothers.
“I know our families hae been enemies for generations, but that’s changing, and we’re the ones who are gaeing tae hae tae change the most. I want tae take care of ye sister, and I think being protective of her is a noble quality.” He nodded towards Mark.
“Will ye give us more lessons after ye are married?” Dominic asked.
“Aye, if ye and ye da agrees,” Rhys said. “Keep in mind what I told ye, and keep practicing.”
“I’m sorry for drawing blood,” Mark said.
Rhys smirked. “It wouldnae be the first time, and it’s just a flesh wound,” he said as he walked away, leaving the three brothers alone. Just before he went back through the keep to see his own brothers he turned to have a look at them sparring together. It was an idyllic sight that brought to mind his own childhood, and he was filled with a profound sense of regret that they would likely be casualties of the attack. Perhaps he could find a way to arrange for Pip to be kept safe, but Mark and Dominic…well, Mark would fight to defend his home, and Dominic would do whatever his elder brother did. There could be no convincing them otherwise, and it was a saddening thing to think of them being slaughtered along with all the others. His head dropped as he walked through the keep, and he had a rueful expression on his face.
Rhys was not distracted by anything as he walked through the keep. He made it through the other side and marched the short distance across the soft grass to the Frasier camp. The place was filled with carts and wagons and a lively atmosphere. The air was heavy with the smell of ale, and despite these people not being allowed in the keep to stay, they had not stopped themselves from having a good time. There were songs in the distance and most people were in a good mood, although as he walked along he passed Black Pete, who was slumped against a wagon having drunk himself into a stupor.
Horses whinnied and he nodded to people as they greeted him. They were all eager for things to proceed, and he could tell that his father had informed them of his plan by the light in his eyes, and a few comments that hinted. More than a few people said that the wedding was going to be the beginning of a new era, and they all congr
atulated him on doing a good job at pretending to enjoy his time with the McCleareys, as though it was completely beyond their comprehension that he might actually be genuinely enjoying himself.
He found Shane and Sean sitting by themselves in a tent that had been erected to offer them shelter. They were throwing dice against a wooden crate and cheering. When they saw Rhys enter their faces lit up.
“There he is! How is it being at the beck and call of some McClearey lass?” Shane asked, and both brothers chuckled to themselves. Rhys wondered how many jokes had been said at his expense over the past couple of days.
“Actually she’s a bonny lass, high in spirits,” Rhys began, but he couldn’t continue as his brothers looked at each other and broke out in laughter again.
“Oh, dinnae tell me ye hae actually gone and fallen for her?!” Sean asked, slapping his thigh and shaking his head.
“And I thought we haed enough problems,” Shawn added.
“Dinnae ye worry about me, worry about yerselves. What hae ye been daeing?” Rhys asked.
“Ah, just waiting for the right moment,” Sean said, winking at Rhys. Rhys sat down with his brothers and picked up the dice to prevent them from playing while he was in their presence.
“I take it Da haes told ye about the plan then?” Rhys caressed the dice and felt them press hard against his palm.
“Aye, he came around and told us all, although we’re tae keep it quiet.” Shawn put his finger to his lips.
“I knew Da wouldnae hae signed a treaty like that unless he haed something else planned! It’s a real delight tae know that we are gaeing tae be a part of history, all of us, fighting alongside Da,” Sean said with pride.
Highlander's War 0f Clans (Scottish Medieval Historical Romance) Page 7