He nodded, understanding his suffering. For Griogair, the shock of Robart’s death had diminished somewhat during the long journey to Eddlemont Castle, but he still mourned the loss of his great mentor. Robart was a leader, a true warrior, and very few men had the ability to defeat him. Countless times he had demonstrated his talents at ceilidhs. He claimed the title of Champion in many fighting contests. While it was true that Griogair had come to Eddlemont Castle to foster under Alasdar MacRell, it was also true that the laird’s eldest son took him under his wing. It was he that showed Griogair everything he knew about honor, fighting, and horses.
Peigi, Robart’s widow, approached the table with a pitcher of heather ale and two cups. Her face was pale, and she focused on her task, neither looking left nor right.
“Will ye have a bite tae eat, Griogair?” she asked, her voice low.
“Nae now,” he said, shaking his head.
She lowered her eyes to the cups and finished filling them up before leaving them to their conversation. Just then Hamish entered the great hall with his pet trailing after him. He glanced over at them. When he saw that they were still engaged, he began a game of fetch with his dog. The hound let out an eager bark, and chased after the stick only to bring it back again to its master. This scene played hundreds of times before, and Robart was always amused by the interaction. But he would never see Hamish playing with the hound ever again...
“How did it happen?” Griogair asked, forcing his attention away from the lad and his dog.
Alasdar passed a hand over his brow and let out a deep sigh. The pained expression returned to his countenance.
“’Tis just that,” Alasdar said, his voice weary and old. “I dinnae ken much other than what I was told. All I understand with any certainty is that one son is dead, and the other is missing.”
“Missing?” he asked, raising a quizzical brow.
“Aye,” he said. “’Tis the reason why I summoned ye. As far as I ken Niall has gone tae pursue his brother’s killer.”
“He’ll get himself slain,” he said, his voice flat.
“This is true,” he said, taking in a deep breath, and then releasing it again as if he no longer had any more hope. “I’m aware of how poorly Niall fights. He’s too hot-headed, too unrestrained. The lad isnae prone tae thinking things through, and he almost always falls into traps of his own making.”
Griogair nodded but made no comment. There were numerous times when he and Robart had to get Niall out of scrapes with the neighboring clans. Robart used to complain bitterly about his brother’s hotheadedness, but there was nothing that could be done to keep the younger MacRell in check.
“What can ye tell me?” Griogair asked quietly.
“A few days ago, I sent Robart tae buy horses from clan Ellison,” Alasdar said, fingering the cup that sat in front of him. “The Lowlanders are known for acquiring horses that are guid for warfare. The task was straight forward, and I fully expected them tae return by now. Instead of gaining beasties, a man arrives carrying the corpse of my eldest son. He then informs me that my second son has gone tae seek revenge on his own.” He almost choked on the last words. Locking his eyes on the far wall, he cleared his voice and continued. “From what I understand, my sons and their men were ambushed while they camped for the night. In fact, they were asleep when Robart woke and sounded the alarm. He set off tae chase down the thieves. When the others finally caught up with him, they saw him killed and his steed taken.” His tone hardened and he clenched his jaw. “’‘Twas bad enough that they stole thirty of my mounts, but they also took the life of my eldest son.”
“Where was Niall last seen?” Griogair asked.
“I dinnae ken. My sources say that he’s still in Ellison territory.” He leaned an elbow on the trestle table and rested his head on his fist. For a long moment, his helplessness hung in the air. “Vengeance for my first-born is a necessity ye understand. But ‘tis a fool’s errand tae challenge another clan without the full backing of your own kin. At this time, I’ve committed my men tae meet at Bracken Ridge. ‘Tis a commitment that I cannae back out.” He let out a staggering breath. When he lifted his head again, he stared at Griogair with a dullness in his eyes. “With the war coming, there’s a real chance that I might die. I’m nae prepared tae have my youngest son perish and leave my clan without a leader.” He dropped his fists and slammed it down on the wooden table, causing it to tremble. “I cannae put the clan’s future at risk.” He looked up, his expression bleak. “I would send one of my men tae retrieve the lad, but I believe that ye are the only one who can bring him back alive.” Alasdar’s voice dropped, becoming more intense. “Can I count on ye tae bring back my only remaining son?”
“Aye, I’ll do whatever it takes tae bring him home,” Griogair said, standing tall. He owed it to Alasdar but most of all he owed it to Robart. Even if they didn’t share the same blood ties, they were still family.
Chapter 6
With elation in her heart, Sileas rode across the heather-covered grassland, the medicine tucked safely inside the pouch that she strung across her shoulders. She didn’t even mind the cold air whipping across her face. At long last she had the anecdote that would save Androu’s life. This potion was touted high and low, and scores of people testified to its healing properties. Of course with this kind of reputation, it caused the price of the medication to rise to almost unaffordable prices. Her mind quickly flashed to the red-haired stranger that had bought her wares. Once again a swirl of guilt settled in her stomach, making her feel uncomfortable. It was fortunate that she would never come across the horse-trader again.
“Besides, the Highlander needed yarrow, and I had some tae sell,” she said, trying to assuage herself of the nagging self-reproach. “It wasnae as if I forced him tae buy the herbs from me.”
But then the familiar setting came into view, and all thoughts of the Highlander fell to the wayside. Off in the distance, she could see her precious heath and rolling hills. The low-growing woody heather and western gorse formed splashes of purple and gold across the horizon, setting the land ablaze with vibrant color. The peel tower itself was situated on one of the tallest hills, and this vantage point afforded them a clear view of the land. Thus if an invasion occurred, they were poised to sound the alarm, and take refuge in the tower until it was safe to come out again. Luckily they hadn’t had to deal with any serious perils aside from the few disturbances that occurred over the past week.
“Home at last,” she said, slowing her horse to take in the magnificent view of the strong hold. The entire structure overlooked a small village, however a handful of thatched houses were built just outside the protective wall. Having the fortification in plain view provided comfort and security to her and her people. Usually she took her home for granted, but today she found time to appreciate the peel tower’s careful construction. The barmkin wall was erected at the western approach, while the remaining sides of the fortress were naturally protected by a steep valley. At the very bottom of the incline ran a stream that was particularly useful for fishing, washing, and providing water for the meager livestock that they owned. Beyond the burn was an expanse of trees and shrubbery. Armed escorts accompanied them into the woods whenever they needed to gather nuts, berries and mushrooms.
Making her way through the gate, she moved past the small chapel in the courtyard, and headed straight toward the stable.
A servant worked on collecting cabbage from the garden which was located on the eastern side of the tower. She paused in her labor, her long face watching as Sileas made her way to the stable. It was a difficult chore for one person to work the entire garden, but other tasks around the peel tower were equally as heavy. Still, Sileas needed to remember to come back, and assist the servant with the harvest. After that it was her duty to find out what else needed to be done, and help out where she could.
She was well aware that the labor around the peel tower slowed down when the clansmen went away. This happened periodically
since her father Fearghus Ellison led frequent reiving expeditions. Over the years, Sileas had learned not to ask too many questions about where they went. When they returned, her father and his men always had enough bounty to buy food and supplies for the clan. There were occasions as well when her father brought back special gifts for her. One day he had handed her a beautiful gold pendant.
“’Tis bonny,” she whispered. “Thank ye.”
“’Tis a bonny present for a bonny lass,” her father said, grinning.
The medallion was small, about the quarter of the size of her palm although it felt weighty. At its center was a rectangular ruby, and circling the edges of the jewel were a fine spiral of ferns.
Her fist closed around the pendant and she clutched it close to her heart. She had never received anything so exquisite in her life, and she imagined that it was something that one of the beautiful ladies would wear at Queen Gertrude’s court.
“Where did ye get this jewelry, Da?”
“Never mind where it came from,” he said, the smile fading from his lips. Then losing interest in her, he moved to join his men.
Undeterred by his abrupt reaction, she went in search for a piece of string since there was no gold chain to accompany the medallion. Once she found a cord, she threaded it through the jewel and secured it around her neck. At least once a day she brought the pendant out to admire. But then they were attacked by reivers. As they pillaged their home, one of the thieves saw the necklace at her throat.
He advanced toward her. “What’s this?” he asked, lifting the jewel up for a closer inspection.
“’Tis mine,” she cried, grabbing the medallion and yanking it back.
The bandit smirked and before she could react, he pulled out his dagger and sliced through the string while the jewel dropped into his hand. Having no use for her, he shoved her away, causing her to stumble against the wall. She cried bitterly when the marauders left with the only valuable possession that she owned. For days afterward she was despondent over her loss. But she learned a valuable lesson as well. Whatever spoils that her father brought back, some person somewhere was also lamenting their loss. From then on, she took no joy in receiving ill-gotten tokens, and she told him so. When her father stopped bringing her gifts, she was relieved. Now if only she could convince him to stop reiving all together.
The stable came into view, and Sileas quickly dismounted. A stable boy appeared to take her horse.
“Johne will arrive shortly,” she said, handing him the reins. She was eager to return home and rode ahead of the old clansman, but she knew that he was right behind her. She gave her pouch a light pat to assure herself that the vial was still there. Taking the steps two at a time, she made her way up the stone stairs that led to the great hall.
As soon as she entered the hall, she felt the blast of heat emanating from the hearth, enveloping her in its cozy embrace.
The tower cat glanced up from licking its paw. When it saw that it was only Sileas, it continued with its task. Meanwhile her mother sat next to her brother’s pallet, her head bent almost in prayer. Her aunt Jannet was beside her, her arm around her sister in an attempt to give her comfort. They were both quiet, as if they expected the angel of death to arrive at any moment.
The feeling of lightness that Sileas experienced a few seconds ago diminished. Androu’s illness had lasted so long. His coughing rattled in his narrow chest, and she cringed every time she heard it. Her mother must have sensed her presence because she stirred slightly and peered toward the hall entrance. There were deep shadows under her eyes, but a hopeful look appeared in her depths when she noticed that Sileas was heading in their direction.
“Ye are back,” she said, her voice a mix of anticipation and trepidation.
“Aye,” Sileas said, walking up to the small group. “I sold the hares and obtained the herbal potion from the town healer.”
Her mother raised her hand to her mouth as a soft sound escaped from her. “Ye are nae jesting are ye? Because if ye are, ye would be most cruel...”
She perceived that everyone had their doubts about whether she could obtain the necessary remedy. It was tough, but she managed to get it. Unable to keep the grin from spreading across her face, she dug into the pouch and produced the vial.
“This is it,” she said, handing Crystane the bottle.
Her mother took it from her, and cradled it in her palm as if it was more precious than the crown jewels. “Ye truly perform miracles, Sileas. I cannae believe ye were able tae purchase this potion.”
“I could hardly believe it myself, but I found a buyer who was interested in the game. He also bought the yarrow plants.” Her conscience started to prick at her, but she thrust the feelings aside. Forcing her thoughts in another direction, she glanced around. “Where’s Symon?”
“He’s gone tae see that feral horse,” her mother said, her tone disapproving. “If ye ask me, he spends too much time there.”
She twisted her lips to say something but then decided to hold her tongue. In truth, she preferred to spend her time at the horse pen herself, although her mother would never understand the fascination.
“Bring me a cup of ale, Jannet,” her mother said, beckoning to her sister who had gone back to spin wool.
“Of course,” she said, getting up from her stool.
Jannet lived just outside of the barmkin wall, but she worked, and spent much of her free time in the peel tower. She was two years younger than her sister, although after the death of her husband, she developed fine lines around the corners of her mouth, making her seem much older than she was. Sileas had long suspected that her aunt still mourned her dead husband. While she declared that she was content and had no intentions of remarrying, Sileas noticed the hollow, haunted look in her gaze when she believed that no one was watching. But Sileas had never commented on her observation. In some ways she was closer to her aunt than to her own mother. Even when she never asked for advice, Jannet often gave her opinions. But when the situation called for it, Sileas also freely spoke her mind.
After a few minutes, her aunt returned with the heather ale. Taking the cup, her mother carefully poured a tiny amount of the elixir into the drink. At first she swirled the contents to mix the substance, and then went around to Androu’s side. Glancing over at Sileas, she gestured, “I need ye tae lift his head.”
Sileas maneuvered to the top of the pallet, and obeyed her mother’s instruction. At the slight shift in position, her brother groaned a little. His narrow face was as pale as the moon, and his eyelids were shut as if he possessed no strength to open them. A lump formed at the base of her throat. He was only nine years old, and was too young to die. But the fact was, bairns died all the time from untreated fevers. She had already witnessed and attended the funerals of countless children who were unable to fight off their illnesses.
“Ma,” his eyes fluttered open, his feverish gaze searching around him.
“Hush,” Sileas said, taking his hand into hers. It was as hot as coals. “Ma is right by your side.”
When he found their mother in the dim light, his small frame relaxed. Crystane watched her youngest child, worry and concern etched on her countenance. “I pray that the medicine will make him well,” she whispered. Bending closer, she gently touched his jaw. “Open your mouth, lad,” she said softly.
When Androu complied, their mother coaxed the drink down his gullet. Since he was so weak, he took the potion without protest. Once the entire contents were emptied, he let out one long sigh and closed his eyes.
“It appears that he has fallen asleep.” Crystane’s voice was hushed, but there was also a note of hope in her tone, a hope that reflected in Sileas’ heart.
“Da should be coming home in a few days,” Sileas said, setting Androu’s hand back onto his chest.
“Aye,” her mother agreed. “If they arenae waylaid on the way here, they should be home soon.”
Chapter 7
Alasdar had left at first light to rejoin his
men at Bracken Ridge. The morning repast was over, but Griogair remained seated, absently shredding an oatcake between his fingers. By now he should already be making his way out of Eddlemont Castle, however he felt strangely reluctant to leave. The servants were clearing up the leftover food and utensils that remained on the wooden table. But he barely noticed their activity.
His mind revisited the earlier conversation he had with Alasdar. He had tried to garner as much information from him as he could, although the chieftain didn’t know anything more. Griogair had then gone to speak with the clansman who brought back Robart’s corpse, but the man couldn’t offer any more useful information. In the end Griogair had to piece together the location of the MacRell camp, and where Niall might have gone afterward. The first thing in order was to find his foster brother before he hurt himself, and then —
“Griogair?” a voice said at his elbow. He glanced down to find the hound and Robart’s son at his side. He could easily see that this was the offspring of his mentor. The lad had the same coppery hair and piercing blue eyes as his sire. He was small for his age, but he would gain his height within a few years. Still, the expression on his face appeared haunted, as if the innocence was sucked out from him. A year had passed since he last saw the boy, but things had changed faster than anyone expected. That thought generated a wave of sadness to flood into his chest. The youngster would continue to grow older each year, although Robart would never see his son become a man.
“Hamish,” he said. “What can I do for ye?”
As the boy smoothed his hand over the hound’s head, he peeked up at Griogair as if he debated whether he should voice his question. When he made up his mind, he took a deep fortifying breath.
Highland Honor Page 4