by Tommie Lyn
“I’ll be all right, don’t worry about me. I want to make sure you and Coinneach-òg stay safe, too,” he said. “Maybe you should go and stay with Ma while I’m gone.”
Mùirne closed her eyes, trying to keep tears from flowing. She nodded. “You take care of yourself, and I’ll take care of us here at home. You’ll be home again soon, won’t you?”
“I don’t know what to say, my love. I hope I’ll be back home right away, I hope this isn’t anything serious.”
Mùirne wanted to hold him, wanted to keep him from going, but she knew there was no way she could do that. The chief’s word was law.
“I’ll be all right,” he repeated. He touched his lips to her forehead. “I have to get ready now.”
“You’ll need something to eat, won’t you?” Mùirne said, wiping away the tears from her cheeks.
“Yes, I will.”
“I’ll get you something. And food for you to take with you.”
“Thank you, my love,” he said.
Mùirne busied herself making a packet of food, thankful for something to do, something to occupy her thoughts, something to help her stop trembling.
Ailean took off his work tunic and put on his good one. He laid his belt on the bed and spread his féileadh-mòr over it. He folded the fabric into pleats, lay down on it and wrapped the ends across his body.
He fastened his belt to hold it in place and stood. He drew the excess fabric above the belt over his left shoulder and pinned it to his tunic with his brooch. He folded his work tunic put it into a pouch formed by the upper folds of the féileadh-mòr.
“I haven’t cooked supper yet, so this is all I have.” Mùirne handed him a bowl. “Sit and eat.”
Ailean remained standing and ate with such haste he hardly tasted the bonny clabber, one of his favorite foods. He set the bowl on chair and strapped on his sword, dirk and sporan. He got his bonnet from its peg by the door and settled it on the right side of his head at its accustomed angle.
“Where is Coinneach-òg?” Ailean asked when he had finished dressing. “I’d like to say goodbye to him.”
“He went to the woods with the other children to gather bark. I’ll go get him,” she said and started out the door.
“No, don’t bother. I don’t have time to wait. I have to go.”
She turned back to Ailean. “Before you go, there’s something I have to tell you. I wanted to wait until I was sure, butI want you to know now. If anything should happen, I wouldn’t want you—” she began, and caught herself before she could say I wouldn’t want you never to have known.
If there was to be a raid or a skirmish with another clan, Mùirne knew her beloved husband could be injured or killed.
“Well, I want you to know,” she finished.
His face took on a questioning expression. But his look of puzzlement gradually changed to one of understanding and a half-smile brightened his face. “Do you mean…” his voice trailed off, and he fell silent, waiting for an answer.
Mùirne broke the silence. “I think there will be another little one. I’m almost certain of it. If I’m right, it will be born in April or May.”
He laughed softly as he took her in his arms. “Another child! Just what we’ve been hoping and praying for.” He held her close and murmured, “An answer to our prayers.”
She wanted to stay enfolded in his embrace, wanted to cling to him, wanted to keep him from leaving her side. But she knew it wasn’t possible. After too brief a time, he pulled away.
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Ailean kissed her forehead as conflicting thoughts and emotions surged and ebbed through his mind and body. He wanted to soothe away Mùirne’s fears, wanted to stay at her side and make her happy. But each time he speculated about what the chief’s summons might mean, excitement tautened his muscles and made his breaths shallow and rapid.
After all the years of training to be a warrior, he might have the opportunity to test his mettle, to prove to himself and others he could meet the challenge. He could show himself to be brave and strong, could show he had the ability to make an honorable fight. He wanted, more than anything else at this moment, to prove that he could live up to the heritage bequeathed to him by his forebears.
“Good-bye, my love.” He stepped through the doorway before she could say anything more.
A few paces from the door, he stopped by the small rowan trees he and Mùirne had planted on either side of the path. Ailean closed his eyes and said a silent prayer before he broke off a twig and pinned it to his bonnet. As well as being a protection against evil spirits, the rowan tree was Clan MacLachlainn’s plant badge, and members of the clan wore sprigs of it or of periwinkle, their other plant badge, pinned to their bonnets.
Ailean took a deep breath, bounced slightly on the balls of his feet, finding it hard to restrain his enthusiasm. He was prepared for the adventure ahead and wanted to run all the way to Castle Lachlainn.
SEVENTEEN
A deepening gloom crept from the shadows and spread over the glen. Only a glowing sliver of sun showed from behind the mountains on the opposite shore of Loch Fyne by the time the men started for the castle. They jogged along silently in the dusk, trying to get as far along the path as possible while it was still fairly easy to see.
After the sun set, darkness slowed their progress for a short time until the moon rose over the eastern ridges. They could barely see as they made their way in single-file along the narrow path. Each of them walked quietly, staying alert and watching for possible ambush.
A faint glow showed intermittently through the branches of the trees ahead. The light grew stronger as they neared the castle, and when they arrived, they saw its source: flaming torches positioned around the gate. The torches served as a beacon and made it easier for them to see their way.
Clansmen who’d already arrived had gathered in groups. Ailean guessed there must be at least a hundred men milling about, talking.
Ruairidh greeted the new arrivals. “Pick a place and lie down, try to get some sleep. You’ll need to be rested for tomorrow.”
“What’s going to happen tomorrow?” Aodh asked.
“You’ll see. The chief will explain then,” was the only reply Ruairidh made. He turned to greet another group of clansmen.
“Why can’t he tell us now?” muttered Coinneach.
“Hold your tongue,” admonished Aodh. “I don’t like this uncertainty any better than you do, but keep your displeasure to yourself. You don’t want it known that you grumbled against the chief.”
After they spoke with some of their kinsmen and enjoyed a short visit with them, Aodh led the way to a spot away from the others, away from the murmuring and gossip. He and his sons settled on the ground to get what rest they could, wrapped in their féileadh-mòr against the chill of the autumn night.
Ailean had a hard time falling asleep. The reason the men had been summoned remained unknown, and he chafed against the uncertainty. He had expected that he’d be involved in some great feat when he arrived at the castle, and the forced inactivity made him fidgety, unable to rest.
The image of Mùirne’s worried face kept coming to mind, and each time he thought of her, he remembered her tentative good news. He longed to share it with others, but he remained silent. He was afraid speaking of it this early might bring some misfortune and prevent the happy birth of a second child.
He rolled from one side to the other and finally drifted off. It seemed as if he had just fallen asleep when he was awakened by Aodh in the gray light before dawn. The men all around were stirring and rising as the chief’s servants moved among them, urging them to be up and ready to move.
Ailean dressed, strapped on his weapons and put on his bonnet. He allowed himself the luxury of eating a small piece of bread from the packet of food Mùirne had wrapped in a piece of linen cloth and tucked into his sporan. It took the edge off his early morning hunger, but it did nothing to diminish the apprehension which fluttered in his stomach.
; The clansmen gathered around the castle gate to await their chief’s appearance. A clatter of hooves on the stone paving of the castle courtyard alerted them to the chief’s arrival, and they parted, forming a passageway through the crowd.
Three horses trotted from the castle gate, one of which was ridden by the chief, Lachlainn MacLachlainn. The clansmen hurried after him, anxious to hear the reason for the chief’s summons.
The chief stopped his horse, turned it to face the men and waited until they were all within earshot. He held up his hand until everyone fell silent. His gaze swept over the crowd.
“Men of Clan MacLachlainn,” he began, “Prionnsa Teàrlach Stiùbhart has arrived in Scotland to reclaim his father’s rightful throne!”
He paused while a ripple of comments passed through group.
“I met with him, and I pledged that Clan MacLachlainn will help him defeat the Sasunnach and the German king. Let that German go back where he came from and let a Scot sit on the throne once again!” The chief signaled his piper to play, and after the first shrill notes wailed into the morning air, the clansmen began to cheer.
Ailean didn’t understand what the chief’s words meant, but he was caught up in the emotional outburst. He joined in the outcry, raised his fist and shouted the clan motto, “Faithful and strong! Faithful and strong!” He glimpsed the piper, the clan standard fluttering from the pipes over his shoulder, and a billowing of pride in his clan filled Ailean’s chest.
He glanced around and saw that Da, Coinneach and Niall were shouting and waving their arms, too. The chief’s words and skirling notes of the pipes stirred emotions in him he’d never felt before, emotions that made him eager to draw his sword and do battle for his chief.
When the song ended, the chief again raised his hand for silence as the last notes echoed into the distance.
“We will leave now to join Prionnsa Teàrlach’s army at Edinburgh. We will fight the Sasunnach and show them what kind of warriors they face when they go into battle against Clan MacLachlainn!”
Accompanied by two mounted attendants, Lachlainn MacLachlainn turned his horse toward the Cambeul lands they would have to cross on their way to Edinburgh. He set off at a trot. The men of the clan ran along on foot behind him, following their chief to make war on the Sasunnach on behalf of their own Scottish prince, Teàrlach Stiùbhart.
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Ailean and the other men of the croft, like most Highland men, had been trained for battle since they were big enough to hold a broadsword. Each winter, during times there were fewer chores, the boys practiced handling their swords and received instruction on technique from the older men.
Not only did Aodh train his sons to be brave and adept warriors, he taught them to be men of character, by example as well as by instruction. When they were boys, gathered around the fire on winter evenings, as well as at the ceilidh, he told and retold the history and the heroic sagas of their clan. He instilled in them a sense of pride and a determination to do the right thing, to be men of honor.
He instructed them to always be loyal, brave and kind-hearted, and he taught them to despise cowardice and meanness. Aodh passed the code of honor he had received from his father and his grandfather on to his sons, and it was as deeply ingrained in them as it was in himself.
Although they were trained to be warriors, Aodh’s sons had never been involved in battle, not even in the occasional minor disputes the MacLachlainns had with other clans. But Aodh had fought in battle while he was still in his teens. He had a long scar that reached from his knee to his ankle on his left leg from a wound he received at Sheriffmuir during the Jacobite rising of 1715.
He had mixed feelings as he ran along with the other clansmen behind their chief. He looked at his sons and thought of the days ahead and of his sons’ involvement in the coming conflict. They would be changed forever by the things they would experience, things they would see and things they would do. A swelling of pride filled him…pride in their strength, manliness and willingness to fight for the honor of the clan.
Accompanying that pride, though, was a sobering sadness at the innocence that would be forever lost. He would not allow himself to think beyond that, to think one of them might be wounded or killed. It was as though, if he didn’t think it, it wouldn’t happen.
EIGHTEEN
For several days, the men of Clan MacLachlainn made their way through a trackless countryside. They passed through green glens, climbed over hills, around lochs and across streams, avoiding known paths. The chief didn’t want them to be seen by men from opposing clans, like the Cambeuls. He wanted no warning of their approach to Edinburgh to be made known.
At night they slept on the ground wrapped in their féileadh-mòr, and each of them ate what little food he had brought with him. They were all tired, hungry and unkempt when at last they neared Edinburgh.
“Will there be food, do you think, Da?” Ailean asked.
“Maybe.”
“I’m so hungry. What will we do if there’s not? I have no money to buy any.”
“Don’t worry about it. Just wait and see. The chief knows we haven’t eaten since yesterday. He knows men can’t make a good fight when their bellies are empty.”
When they arrived at the city wall, they learned Prionnsa Teàrlach’s army was no longer in Edinburgh. It had moved southeast to Duddingston. Their trek was not over yet. By the time they reached Duddingston, the Highland army was moving again. The chief and his tacksmen decided the men should go no farther until they rested and ate.
Ruairidh told the men under his command to sit on the ground. He and the other tacksmen went to get food. When he returned, he handed out two rations of meal to each man.
“Eat one now and save the other for later,” Ruairidh said as he passed through his group.
Ailean devoured part of his food gratefully and wrapped the rest in the piece of linen Mùirne had used to bundle the bread and cheese she prepared for him. He put it in his sporan and lay down to rest. The food and a short nap strengthened Ailean. He felt refreshed and ready when they resumed their march.
Late in the day, they reached the Highland army. Ailean had never been so far from home, not even on cattle drives. And he had never seen so many men gathered in one place.
The exhilaration of being part of the large armed force made Ailean forget his weariness. He stifled a smile, tried to maintain the serious demeanor he thought the occasion demanded. He would be a part of the noble effort to help Prionnsa Teàrlach regain his father’s rightful throne.
But more important to him was the fact that he would have an opportunity to prove himself as a warrior. His body tightened, his muscles became rigid. Thoughts of the conflict which lay ahead gave birth to doubt. Apprehensiveness seethed in his stomach, brought a faint nausea, and he took a breath to calm himself. He would give his utmost to make a good and honorable fight and make Da proud. that was all he could do.
It grew dark as they waited for Ruairidh to find out where they were to bed down for the night. After an interminable wait, he returned and led them to the place they were to sleep.
“Eat the rest of your food and get some sleep,” Ruairidh told them in a low voice as he passed among his men. “The Sasunnach are just over there.” He motioned with his head. “We’ll fight them tomorrow. Be rested and be ready.”
Ailean’s stomach grew queasy again, and he didn’t want anything to eat.
But Aodh insisted. “You’ll need your strength, son. Eat.”
He forced himself to eat a few bites and lay down to rest. In spite of his nervousness, Ailean fell asleep immediately. He was awakened while it was still dark.
Ruairidh readied his men to move, positioning them in a row and giving whispered instructions to each of them as he moved to the head of the line.
“Aodh, you follow me, Coinneach, follow your da. Each of you, follow the man in front of you. Understand? And make no noise at all.”
They entered a bog in the darkness, and Ailean coul
dn’t see where he was going. He kept his hand on Coinneach’s shoulder, and Niall’s hand rested on Ailean’s arm. He slogged along through knee-deep muck and water, trying to maintain total silence. When they emerged from the bog, Ruairidh led them to the position they were to occupy on the flat terrain.
Before the sun rose, the Highland army was arranged in two lines. The men of Clan MacLachlainn were in the second line, as reserves. A mist enveloped them, and Ailean could see nothing to the west. He had no idea what would happen next.
Aodh told his sons, in a whisper, to take off their féileadh-mòr so they would not be encumbered during the fighting. Ailean’s stomach roiled, and his breathing became rapid and shallow.
He glanced at his father in the gray, pre-dawn light. Aodh was staring straight ahead. He wore a strange, wild look on his face Ailean had never seen before. A glance at Coinneach and Niall revealed they must be feeling the same apprehension as Ailean himself.
They silently removed their outer clothing and stood clad only in their mid-thigh-length tunics. Ailean took a deep, shuddering breath and unsheathed his sword, held it in his right hand and his targe in his left, leaving his dirk sheathed. Some of the men had firearms as well as swords, but Aodh and his sons were armed only with dirks and broadswords.
Shortly after sunrise, the swirling mist dissipated, but Ailean still couldn’t see much up ahead. The men of Clan MacGriogair in front of him blocked his view of the Sasunnach troops.
The front line started forward. Ailean bowed his head and said a short prayer asking for divine help. Ruairidh and the other MacLachlainn tacksmen gave the order for their men to advance.
Suddenly, there was a loud thunder from a Sasunnach cannon in front of them, accompanied by a cloud of smoke and the sound of musketry. The cannon ball found its target, and a man in the front ranks of the MacGriogairs screamed. It was like a signal energizing the Highlanders. Almost as one they yelled, a fierce, piercing shriek, and they raced toward the enemy lines. Those who had firearms discharged them and threw them aside, drawing their broadswords as they rushed across the moor.