He eyed the woman as he left, all but dismissing her as they searched the keep for Richard. Disgusted by the care of the manor, Brendan searched room to room.
Colin met him outside the room he’d just inspected. “I cannot believe my poor bairn was held prisoner in this filthy pigsty. I’m even more incensed. God has my gratitude for sending Kate to my lass.” He voiced his affront, and shared a heated look with Brendan.
Brendan continued the search in the upstairs chambers, and ran across a maid who volunteered information on the whereabouts of de Morris. He joined his brother in the hall after a thorough search, assuring himself the man had withdrawn.
“Colin, a maid upstairs told me Lord Richard has fled to another keep located a few miles to the south. He’s not here.”
Colin gave the signal and they left the de Morris keep. Brendan rode next to him, silently. Forty MacKinnon warriors went along on the mission. Mist made the air dense, but the early morning sun tried to cut through it. Brendan didn’t mind the dreariness, because he was used to being out in the cold and wet weather. The closer they got to holding they searched for, the more agitated he became. All were quiet, except for Colin.
Colin spoke softly to him, “I was enraged at the condition of the keep my daughter was held in. It makes me incensed every time I think about it. We should be close. Do you deem he’ll be there?”
“If he’s not there, we’ll keep looking.”
They reached the location, a keep enclosed by a stone wall. Brendan jumped from his horse and climbed a tree to get a better look. He surveyed the holding from the branches of the tree he’d scaled, and watched the sentry posted for signs of weaknesses.
“Let us ride up to the wall. We have the proclamation from Henry. That should secure us an invite inside.” Brendan smiled at that, knowing it wasn’t true. No man, even an Englishman, would invite them inside, given that they looked ready for battle.
Brendan stopped his mount next to his brother’s, and the rest of Colin’s men filed in behind them. A man approached the threshold of the rampart and looked somewhat nervous. Mayhap they did appear as though they had just fought in a hundred-year war. Their size intimated many men, yet the large red-haired man courageously leaned forward.
“Who goes there? What do ye here?” He cupped his hands and bellowed.
“I’m looking for Richard de Morris. Is he within?” Colin shouted, as he looked up at the stout man, shielding his eyes against the backdrop of the rising sun.
“Nay, he is not here.”
“Who are you?” Colin asked.
“Who am I? Who the hell are you? You’ve come to my wall, so you’ll be telling me first, who you are, and what you want of Richard.”
“I’m Colin MacKinnon. I’m going to kill Richard de Morris.” Colin took his sword from his scabbard, aiming at the man.
“Rather blunt, are you not, Scot? Richard is a friend of mine. What did he do to make you want to kill him?” The man leaned on the crenellation, waiting for his answer.
“Send the devil out so I can kill him. I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
The man grunted. “If you want access to my keep, you’ll be telling me why.”
Colin practically growled at the man. “He abducted my child and held her in the filthy pigsty, he calls home. He took her right out of the king’s castle, from under his protection. He threatened my sister-in-law’s life and that of her tenants. He deserves to die.”
“Well, damn, I don’t know where he is. He left a few days ago.”
Brendan touched his sword’s handle, itching to draw it out. “He lies. The maid said he’d left a few hours ago.”
“Where did he go?” Colin shouted up at the man.
“I know not, he only stopped by for a short visit.”
“Who the hell are you?” Colin demanded.
“Harry Fitzhugh. See here, the man’s not here, and I won’t have you storming my keep. You’ll be on your way now.”
“You haven’t heard the last of us, Fitzhugh,” Colin said and he turned his horse.
Brendan nudged his horse next to his brother’s. “What are we going to do now? Should we storm the holding and see for ourselves? Let’s go in and overtake the keep. I’m ready to fight.”
“Aye, I know you are, Brendan. We certainly will storm that keep, but not until I have my men survey Fitzhugh’s holding.”
“Why wait? We should rush in there like we did at de Morris’.”
Colin’s face turned stern, a look Brendan understood.
“I’m not an arse, Brendan, and won’t rush in there without knowing how many men we’ll face or what the lay of the land is. I won’t risk my men’s necks without knowing all the details. Who knows what this Fitzhugh’s soldiers number. Let us make them believe we retreated. We’ll move to the woods and discuss our battle plan. I’ll not leave England until I find that clootie.”
Brendan grimaced. “Neither will I.” He didn’t particularly agree with his brother’s plan, but Colin was sensible when it came to warring. Brendan was more a fighter than a strategic thinker, which was one of the traits he admired in his brother. Still, he was sure if they had just invaded the keep Fitzhugh wouldn’t be able to thwart them. He wasn’t about to contradict his brother’s reasoning and decided to keep that thought to himself.
They rode into the woods and made camp. Colin, Walt, and Gil, crouched next to a drawn layout of the keep, inscribed with a stick onto the ground. Colin marked the posted guards. “How many men do you think Fitzhugh has inside?”
Brendan began to pace in his customary manner. “Will it matter?”
“Nay. I need you at your best, Brendan. Do you deem you can put aside your contention for the man, and the king’s demand, from your mind for the coming battle?”
“It’s all ready been put aside, been forgotten. Stop harping on it like an old woman. It matters not that I am fighting with the English.” To assure his brother of that, he unsheathed his sword.
“I noticed flaws in the keep’s design. I think we shouldn’t scale the wall, och go behind and see what’s there. Better to do the unexpected. We’ll wait until nightfall.”
“Aye, I agree, they’ll probably be expecting us to come at the gate again or lay siege. Fitzhugh seems confidant that his holding is secure, which makes me think he has many soldiers inside.”
“That could well be a diversionary tactic, Colin. I guess we’ll see when we return.”
The men rode hard back to Fitzhugh’s holding when the sky darkened, which didn’t wind their horses or themselves. Both men and beasts were aptly tuned for battle, and the anticipation of finding Richard de Morris lent a spark of energy to them. Brendan had wiped the paint off his face, because he wanted Richard de Morris to see his expression, to know his adversary, and to see the look of pure hatred on his face when he killed him. When they reached the keep all was quiet, too quiet.
Colin whispered to Brendan, “Something is amiss. Can you hear anything?”
“There’s no one inside the lower bailey nor atop the walls. I don’t hear anyone about, yet only early evening. There should be people milling about or at least a sentry posted. Do you deem it’s a trap?”
“Aye, definitely an ambush. Let’s scale the walls and find out.” Brendan’s impatience wore him down, he paced while they discussed nonsense.
Colin shook his head. “I don’t know how many soldiers Fitzhugh has, I’m hesitant to walk into an ambush. We know not if this Fitzhugh has mercenaries or more knights inside.”
“Let us storm the keep and find out.” Brendan began the climb to the rampart of the stone crenellation, and no soldiers stood atop. He looked below into the courtyard, and no people walked along, not even a servant, soldier, or craftsman. “My senses tell me there is doom within, Colin. I can’t deny my instincts.” Brendan kept his eyes trained on the entrance of the manor, but didn’t see any movement.
Colin motioned to his men and they made their advance on the manor. They slun
k down the walls, through the courtyard, and made their way to the door. They moved like shadows, hidden in the recesses of nooks along the way. It didn’t matter, no alert sounded.
Once inside the keep, they found Fitzhugh. They stood staring at him, he didn’t move.
“Ah, Fitzhugh had a feast without us, lads.” Colin’s jest didn’t gain him a single laugh from Fitzhugh, nor from his men. His voice wasn’t at all jesting. Fitzhugh was dead, sitting at his table, as if he was enjoying a fine banquet. Uneaten food remained on the table, and Fitzhugh had been sliced at the throat and killed instantly.
“What the hell happened here?” Walt asked, as he came from the hall that led from the back.
“Looks as though a friend might have turned on Fitzhugh whilst he was enjoying a fine supper. Let’s find the servants, there must be some around,” Colin said.
“My question is: where are his soldiers?” Brendan listened for sounds inside the manor.
As they walked throughout the keep, they found several servants hiding in chambers above and below the main floor. They gathered them in a large chamber just off the hall. Fitzhugh’s people appeared frightened of the warriors, and they crowded together in a corner. Brendan walked to an older man, who looked as though he might offer information.
“Sir, I’m Brendan MacKinnon. His majesty, King Henry, sent us here to find Lord Richard de Morris. Has he been here?”
The man was indeed old. Brendan thought he might be hard of hearing, so he questioned him again in a louder voice. He hoped the man would be forthcoming, because the women looked as though they would swoon if approached.
“I can hear ye, boy, no need to shout,” he grumbled. “You say you’re from the king?”
“Aye, we are. We need to know what happened here, your lord is dead. Can you tell me anything?”
“What’s your name, son?”
“Brendan MacKinnon, at your service.” He rolled his eyes heavenward, then frowned. Couldn’t the man hear him? He said he had, yet didn’t. Brendan decided to use intimidation to gain his compliance. He stepped forward and towered over the man. Of course, the man’s back hunched slightly, making him appear to be bent over.
The old man waved his hand at Brendan. “Back up, lad, I won’t crane my neck to the likes of you, looking up at ye. Lord Richard was …” The man began coughing and sputtering.
Brendan hoped to get answers before the man croaked in front of him. He stepped forward again and pounded the man’s back, for which he received a grimace and the man’s drawn-in breath.
A dauntless elder lady stepped forward. “Sir, let him be. Davy always coughs like that.” She helped the man to a chair and turned to him.
Brendan thought perhaps the lady was the aged man’s wife. She spoke rather loudly, likely from having to speak to her husband.
“Sir, Lord Richard was here earlier. He and Lord Harry fought. None saw Lord Richard kill him, but we know he did. After the servants set the food, they were directed to leave them. We found our lord dead, and we were afeard that Lord Richard remained, and that he would kill us, too.” She stopped to pat Davy on the back then continued. “Lord Richard must have run off a short while ago. And many of the servants did as well.”
“Where are Fitzhugh’s solders?”
“My lord’s men were severely decreased due to the crusade. He lost much wealth and hadn’t been able to pay the knights. Many left when their service ended.” Davy supplied that information.
Brendan nodded. “Damn, he’s gone again, Colin,” he all but shouted.
The aged man didn’t seem to notice his aggravation and mumbled absently. “The lot of them ran off, just left me and the women here to see to the Lord. They be frightened of spirits and claimed the lordship’s goost would kill them. Our lord wasn’t all that bad, was he, Mary?”
Mary didn’t answer her husband, but gave him a disgruntled look. So like a wife to disagree with her husband. Brendan could see Katie’s expression, one of which rivaled Mary’s.
“Is there anything we can do for you before we leave, old man?”
“Aye, ye might want to let the king know, and have him send someone …” The old man commenced coughing again and Mary pounded his back.
Brendan nodded and followed his brother out the door.
Colin grumbled that he was in need of a good soaking in the loch to get the stink off him from being in such filthy keeps. Brendan couldn’t agree more. After visiting that place and de Morris’, a good dip in the loch was well-needed. He wouldn’t feel clean again until he returned home to his beloved Highlands.
As they left Fitzhugh’s holding, several knights surprised them. Brendan pulled his sword free and took up the fight. At least, he was able to release his frustration at not finding Richard. He used his foot to hold a man on the ground, and he used his dagger’s butt to knock him unconscious. When he looked around for more foes, he realized the fight had ended. Colin motioned for them to move into the forest, where their steeds waited.
They rode to a clearing, an hour’s ride from Fitzhugh’s keep, and surveyed the damage to their men. Several men had been wounded and needed tending. Brendan made a fire while Colin gauged their injuries.
Colin winced when he saw Walt lying on the ground. He ran to him and knelt down beside him. “Walter, where are ye hurt?”
“I’m struck in me chest, it does not bode well, lad.”
“You’ll be all right, Walt.” He looked around for his brothers then assessed the wound.
“Nay, don’t bother, ‘tis a grave day for me, lad. I must speak to Brendan before I die. Get ‘em for me.” Walt’s chest heaved.
Colin jumped up and called to him. He paced beside Walt, frowning. “Walt, you cannot tell him, the news will destroy him.”
“I cannot die without telling him. He deserved the truth long ago. I always promised myself I’d tell him one day, and that day is today. Get ‘em now,” Walt insisted in the strongest voice he could muster.
“Brendan.” Colin shouted over the camp.
Brendan heard the shout and he strode toward Colin and Walt. He knelt beside Walt and noticed the blood soaking his tunic. “Are you all right? Got yourself injured?”
“Listen, lad, I have something to tell ye … before I meet me maker.”
“Walt, you will not die. Come, let us take care of you. Colin, send for Ben, he’s good at tending wounds. We’ll have you healed in no time.”
“Nay, ‘tis a fine day for death and I will meet it like a man.” Walt grabbed Brendan’s tunic, pulling him close.
Walt’s strength amazed Brendan. Even with his injury, he was able to force him closer. Brendan helped him to a sitting position, by holding his shoulders.
“I should’ve told ye this years ago, not now when it matters not … och, I never had the heart. Your mother and I … we had an affair long ago. I loved her more than any woman. You are not Donald MacKinnon’s son.”
“I’m not?” Brendan spoke low as the words sunk into his mind. Not Donald MacKinnon’s son. He searched Walt’s face for verity and looked into his own gray eyes. Now that he looked at Walt so intently, he realized he was looking at an older version of himself. Why had he not realized the resemblance between them before?
“Nay, you are my son. I want you to know how p-proud I am of you, l-lad.” Walt’s voice broke on the last word and he sobbed.
Brendan slouched at the news and released Walt’s shoulders. “You’re my father? Not Donald MacKinnon? I don’t know what to say.”
“Aye, Maggie gave you to me, but I could not tell you ere now. I shouldn’t have kept it from ye, but I was sworn to take it to my grave. I always w-wanted to claim ye.”
“Why … Why didn’t you tell me?” Brendan sank back, watching him intently.
“Maggie made me promise not to tell you. I uh …” Walt weakened and his voice faltered.
Colin leaned over him and joined the conversation. “Walt, you’ve always been like a father to us, all of us. We care about you, t
oo.”
“You’re good lads. Continue to care for … each other. You are good s-sons.” Walt closed his eyes, the pain in his chest clearly evident on his face.
“Walt.” Brendan shouted, and shoved Colin out of his way. He sprawled over him, calling his name. It couldn’t end like this, he needed to speak to him, wanted to tell him how much he respected him.
Walt opened his eyes and whispered, “Lad, I lost my love … don’t lose yours. Do you hear me, son?”
Brendan nodded. Walt’s breathing ceased. His blood covered Brendan’s tunic, but he wouldn’t let release him. Colin tried to get him to release Walter, but he wouldn’t budge.
“Brendan, he’s gone, there’s nothing we can do for him now. Release him.”
He shook his head. “How could I have not known?”
Colin didn’t answer. “We have to get him on a horse and away from here. We’ll take him home and bury him. He must be placed with honor.”
Brendan didn’t hear him. Seething with hostility, he wanted to pound something. “You don’t seem surprised by this news. Why? Did you know of it? How long have you known?” His voice lowered and forewarned his brother of his rage. He wanted to flail his brother alive. His chest butted against Colin’s aggressively, and he knew they’d come to blows. As anger increased his actions, Brendan couldn’t help his enraged reaction.
Colin shoved him backward, returning the furious look. “Back off, Brendan, you don’t want to do this. I won’t lie to you, but you’ll just get indignant. Damn it to hell, if I had told you long ago, you would have overreacted. I didn’t want to upset you, and besides, Walt made me promise not to tell you. I would never deceive him.”
“Mayhap I don’t want to know this,” Brendan groaned out, and he backed up a step.
“I should have told you. I found out Walt was your father right before you told me about our ma’s plight. Do you remember? It was when Julianna left me and I was a wreck.”
“Aye, I remember. He made you vow never to tell me, and you disregarded my feelings on the matter? Were you ever going to tell me?” Brendan’s throat constricted.
“I’m sorry, Brendan, but he promised Ma that he wouldn’t tell. He never did. I couldn’t go back on his request, but I would have eventually told you. Walt was a man of honor, Brendan. You should be proud to have had him as your father. Count yourself blessed that you didn’t have the father Robin and I had.”
Lass' Valor (The Pith Trilogy) Page 22