by Amy Jarecki
Bouncing stay warm, Andrew’s gaze shifted to the flames. “I dunna like it when ye touch her.”
Well, there was something new. An open window, perhaps? “That I can understand far better than your hatred for a woman who wants only for your happiness and freedom.” When the lad didn’t respond, Lachlan continued with his questioning, “Do you think your mother deserves to be loved?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I dunna ken.”
Wrong answer.
“It seems there’s a lot you do not know, lad. But that’s okay. The wisest of men realize there will always be things they do not understand.” Lachlan pressed his fingers to his lips. “Over the next three days, I want you to think about family and who you are projecting your anger upon. Think about who that person or those people are in their hearts. See them as God’s children. What does God want from them?”
Andrew gave a shaking nod. “Verra well. Can I fetch my blanket now?”
“Not yet.” Lachlan sliced his hand through the air. “Tell me, who is important to you?”
“This is daft—I’m important to me, for God’s sake.”
“There’s nothing wrong with putting yourself at the top, but you must care about others.”
The boy raised his chin.
He must be growing indignant or testing the water.
“Lord de Vere,” Andrew said.
“Honestly?” Lachlan challenged. “A man who locked you in a chamber alone for how many years?”
“Six…b-b-but once I proved I could become a squire, he sent me to live in the stables—even sent a cleric to teach me to read.”
“And he promised you would one day be a knight.” Lachlan purposely filled his voice with scorn.
Andrew stamped his foot. “Yes, dammit. Why can you not see how important being a true knight is to me?”
“A true knight?”
“Aye, a man dubbed a knight of the order by the King of England.”
“And a Scottish knight is lesser? Is his training inferior?”
“Scottish knights are pillagers and thieves. They have no honor.”
Lachlan crossed his arms and spoke softly, “Do you believe me to be a pillager and a thief? Am I lacking in honor?”
“Ye are different.”
“No. I am but a loyal Scottish subject.” Lachlan took in a deep breath. “Tell me, where do you see yourself in two years?”
“I will reach my majority and I will earn my knighthood riding with Lord de Vere.”
“All right, so you ride with de Vere for five years, killing Scots and French and supporting King Edward. In five years’ time, you will be one and twenty. Where will you be then?”
“I’ll be on a crusade with de Vere, fighting the Ottomans and sailing the seas.”
Bloody hell, the boy’s mind is full of rubbish.
“What if you’re injured?”
“Not me.”
“And when you’re thirty, what then?”
“I’ll ride with the Knights Hospitallers and fight for right.”
Lachlan cringed. Fighting for a monastic order during the Crusades would lead the lad to a life of misery. “So you want to be a warrior monk? No children?”
“Of course I’ll have children. I want to leave a legacy.”
“Doesn’t a monk take a vow of chastity, poverty and obedience?”
Andrew rubbed his arms again. “I’m bloody cold.”
“What would you do if you lost a leg in battle?”
He stamped his foot. “I’d die.”
“What if you survived?”
“I’d have a mate slit my throat, dammit.”
Lachlan took a deep breath to calm his own internal turmoil. “Tell me five things a one-legged man could do.”
“Turn beggar.”
“Let me rephrase. What are five things a one-legged man could do to make a contribution to society?”
Biting his bottom lip, Andrew held his hands to the fire and rubbed them. “He could write. And if he used a crutch, he could move around…mayhap be a cleric or a tutor or do some work sitting down.”
“What kind of work?”
“Whittling wood. Blowing glass.” Andrew looked up, the anger gone from his face for the first time since they’d started out. “I turned the spit in de Vere’s kitchen—sat on a stool, too. A one-legged man could do that.”
“Excellent.” Lachlan stepped in. “So, do you still think you’d want to die if you lost your leg?”
“Aye…but what if I was married? Do ye think my wife would still like me?”
“I have some experience with love. When a person truly loves another, he or she will be willing to work through many obstacles to stay together. If your wife really loved you, she would help you through the difficult times and stand by your side no matter what.” Lachlan pointed his thumb toward the cave. “Go on, fetch your blanket and put on your clothes. I’ll set out the food.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
When Andrew awoke, the sound of dripping water near the back of the cave lulled him. He wanted to sleep, but Lachlan would probably force him awake soon. His hearing growing more acute, he listened for sounds, but heard nothing but the drip, drip, drip.
Sitting up, he stretched. “Sir Lachlan?”
With his next blink, he shifted his gaze to Lachlan’s pallet. The damned blanket was gone. Their satchels of food, gone. Abandoned? Andrew’s heart nearly beat out of his chest. Ignoring the roll of parchment beside him, he sprang to his feet and ran out of the cave. “Sir Lachlan!”
He raced to where the horses had been tied. Gone. His destrier gone.
God’s teeth, he should have known Lachlan would stab him in the back. The bastard was woven from the same cloth as his mother. And he’d frozen him within an inch of his life.
Kicking a rock, he bellowed at the top of his lungs. “Laaaaaaachlaaaaan!”
Damnation, he was angry. When that backstabber returned, Andrew would challenge him to a duel of swords and demand no quarter. He stomped back into the cave to retrieve this boots. That’s when he noticed the bit of vellum beside his bedroll. Groaning, he plopped to his arse and opened the damned thing. God’s bones, the prose scrawled across the page in the oddest hand he’d ever seen:
Dear Andrew,
First of all, you have not been abandoned. I say it again and give you my promise that I have not left you. Though you will not see me, I will be watching out for your safety. But make no bones about it, you are on your own and must survive for the next three days. You have no weapons but your dirk and your wits. Do not waste your time trying to look for me. This is your pilgrimage. During your time alone, I want you to search deep inside your soul to find the true answers to these five questions:
Who are you?
Who are your kin?
Who do you love?
Who truly loves you? When pondering this, ask yourself who would die for you.
What kind of man do you want to become? Do you see yourself as a brutal tyrant whose heart is filled with anger or a man who understands his heart and fights for right with every fiber of his being?
You said you love yourself most of all. Now is the time to enjoy your own company and cast aside your anger. Be brutally honest with yourself, for no one else but you can answer these questions.
I shall see you in three days.
Respectfully,
Sir Lachlan.
Andrew tossed the parchment aside and huffed, looking out through the cave’s mouth. He’d been abandoned again, no question about it. He didn’t care what Lachlan’s note said, leaving a lad in the midst of the wild with nothing but a dirk was abandonment. He was alone. His chest ached. Who loved him? No one, that’s who. This must have been his mother’s plan—do something dire to make him see right. Andrew’s stomach turned over.
Be brutally honest.
While he sat staring out at the loch, those three words played over and over in his mind no matter how much he tried to
think of something else. He picked up a rock and threw it as hard as he could.
Dammit, in truth, his mother would be irate if she knew Lachlan had left him in a cave to fend for himself. And for three bloody, miserable days.
***
Lachlan set up camp on a crag across the loch from Andrew, far enough away to give the boy space, but close enough to reach him swiftly if he met with danger. He knew his tactics were a bit radical, but his work with kids in his time had given him enough experience to know something drastic had to happen in order for Andrew to see the light.
Deep down, the boy knew the truth. But he needed some soul searching to realize it. Of course, it didn’t matter who told him his mother loved him or his clan supported him or that King Robert was the right king for Scotland at this point in history. Andrew had to recognize and accept the truth himself.
His years living with de Vere had messed with his mind big time. He’d been ignored and treated as a prisoner as a young child. And when he’d finally been given the opportunity to join with society, to learn and to achieve some status, he was so overjoyed, he had to have been blinded…and brainwashed. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, Andrew had pushed aside the horrible years and cast the blame on his mother so that the man who offered him a life did not appear to be a tyrant, but a liberator.
Lachlan wasn’t a praying man, but while he watched Andrew, he fell to his knees and prayed the boy would dig deep enough to discover the truth.
For three days, he watched while Andrew set snares and skipped rocks in the loch. He tried to fish with his dirk. He cupped his hands and drank water. Often he hiked around the cave, never venturing far, just as Lachlan had instructed.
Andrew set fourteen snares in all, none catching a thing.
On the third afternoon, Lachlan watched while Andrew dug for grubs. He didn’t slide them down his gullet, but he put them in a bit of cloth, took them to the loch and washed them. Leaving the parcel by the fire pit, he collected wood and built up the fire before he made a bowl of rocks and set the worms inside to roast.
Lachlan timed it perfectly, arriving with the horses and the mule just as Andrew opened his mouth to drop in his first bite. “I reckon a feast of bully beef and oatcakes would go down a mite easier than a handful of grubs.” He tossed down the satchel of food along with a flask of watered wine.
“Too right.” Laughing, Andrew dove for the food, his hands shaking while he opened the buckles.
Dismounting, Lachlan hobbled the horses and took a seat while he watched Andrew gorge himself. “Go easy, or you’ll bring it all back up.”
“I’m starving.”
“I can see that.”
“Did ye sabotage my traps?”
“Nope.”
The boy drank greedily. “How did ye ken I’d be driven to eat grubs?”
“Because I had to eat them during my test of manhood.”
“Ye did?”
Lachlan nodded. “But my test lasted an entire week.” He didn’t say that he had a tent and a sleeping bag. That didn’t matter. Everything he’d tried from fishing to setting snares, to hunting with his knife was unsuccessful and he’d ended up frying grubs in his cook set rather than with hot boulders. “I have to say you were pretty smart making a bowl out of rocks.”
Andrew shoved an entire oatcake in his mouth. “I wasna going to eat them raw,” he mumbled through the partially chewed food.
When the boy finished and drank his fill, Lachlan sat, crossed his legs and faced him. “You know I have questions to ask of you?”
Andrew nodded.
“Have you thought about how you’ll answer?”
“Aye…but…can I fail?”
“Only you will know if you fail or not, because only you know the truth in your heart.”
Andrew set the flagon beside him and mirrored Lachlan’s position.
“First, I want you to close your eyes and focus on your breathing. Think of the rush of the ocean and the warmth of the sun. Think how it warms your skin on a summer’s day. Imagine that warmth radiating through your chest. Breathe in. Breathe out.” He encouraged deep breathing for a good five minutes, taking the boy into a meditative state. Lachlan also sought his own inner peace before he was ready to begin.
Completely relaxed, he opened his eyes. “Who are you?”
“I am Andrew de Moray. I am a squire. I am a son. I am a master horseman and a student of martial arts.”
“Martial arts? I like that something I’ve taught you has stuck.” Lachlan cleared his throat. He didn’t want this to be about him at all. It had to be about Andrew, his mother and his clan. “Who is your kin?”
“My father was Andrew de Moray, rebel who fought with William Wallace and I am named for him. My mother is Christina Strathbogie, daughter of the Earl of Atholl, and she is my father’s widow. The de Moray Clan is my kin.”
“Did your mother tell you this?”
Andrew nodded. “But it is what I’ve always known in my heart. And your missive told me to seek what is in my heart.” At least the boy understood his roots, but what about the harder questions?
Lachlan kept his expression deadpan. “Who do you love?”
The lad blushed red, shifting his gaze to the fire. “Honestly, I think Aileen is bonny.”
“The lass is cute for certain.” Lachlan pursed his lips and waited. This wasn’t a time for joking around.
Andrew traced his finger through the dirt. “Do not tell anyone.”
“What?”
“I-I do love my mother even though she abandoned me.”
He held up his palm. “Let’s stop here for a moment.” Lachlan’s stomach clamped. No matter how much he wanted to put words in the lad’s mouth he mustn’t do it. He could only ask questions. “Who kept you locked in a tower room for six years?”
Andrew’s shoulders slumped while a tear slipped from the corner of his eye. “de Vere,” he whispered.
Thank God he got that right. “Who truly loves you?”
“My clan…”
Lachlan clenched his fists and waited. After a long and uncomfortable pause, he continued, “My guess is you thought about this question the most. What does your heart tell you? Who would die for you?”
Andrew slapped at the tears shimmering on his cheeks. “Mother.” The word came out like an eerie whisper as if Andrew were in the midst of an inner struggle between good and evil.
Closing his eyes, Lachlan forced himself not to show the relief now making his every nerve tingle. “Last question… What kind of man do you want to be?”
Andrew pushed himself to his feet. “I want to be a good man, a man of honor. I want people to respect me.”
Following Andrew’s lead, Lachlan stepped to the side of the fire and held out his arms. “Well, son, with responses as solid as those you’ve just given me, you are on your way to being a knight for right.” He pulled the sobbing boy into his arms and held him to his breast. By God, this whole thing could have blown up in his face. But he’d gone with his gut. He knew the lad had it in him, he just feared pushing him like this may be premature.
“I-I-I thought you might have left me forever,” Andrew blurted as he caught his breath.
“I promise I will never do that.” The medallion heated against Lachlan’s chest, almost too hot to bear. “Not until you no longer need me.” With his second phrase the medallion cooled. What did it mean? Would he be returning home sometime soon? Moreover, did he want to?
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sitting at the high table wearing the yellow veil Andrew had given her at the Yule feast, Christina watched while the servant poured her wine when the ram’s horn sounded. Her heart took flight as she sprang to her feet. “’Tis them!”
Not waiting for a reply, she hastened down the dais steps, running all the way to the courtyard. Lachlan and Andrew strode through the archway, looking like a pair of grizzly Highlanders who hadn’t seen a bath for a month.
Lachlan’s teeth looked white as bed linen
when he smiled beneath his dark whiskers. “I hope you’ve saved us some food, ’cause between the pair of us, we could eat an entire side of beef.”
“Speak for yourself.” Andrew nudged him in the ribs. “After starving me for three days, I’ll hoard the entire steer for myself.”
Christina’s mouth when dry as she regarded her son. Did she actually see him smile—not a strained smile, but a relaxed and friendly grin? How should she respond? If she made note of her observation, would he reject her?
I canna risk it.
She clasped her hands together and painted on the aristocratic smile her mother had taught. “Ye are in luck. Ye’ve arrived in time for the evening meal.”
“Excellent,” said Lachlan. He reached out almost like he intended to embrace her in public, but caught himself in time and grasped her hand. Bowing over it, he plied her with a brief kiss, then straightened. “And how are you, m’lady?”
“Happier now I ken ye are safe.” She chanced a timid glance at Andrew. “And ye, young sir? I hope ye enjoyed your scouting journey.”
His brow pinched, Andrew stared at her for an awkward moment. Before he answered, he looked to Lachlan. “Uh…” He reached for her hand, bowed and gave it a light peck. “’Tis good to see ye, Mother.”
She could have died and gone to heaven right there. In a blink, her eyes stung and her nose itched and dribbled. “Come, let us retire to the hall. I canna wait to hear about your adventure.”
Lachlan cleared his throat. “I believe Andrew has something to say in private.” He motioned to the onlookers. “Go on, everyone, back inside. We’ll follow directly.”
The lad twisted his mouth and looked like he’d been asked to make a speech in front of the king or something equally as terrifying.
Lachlan stood behind him and held up his palm—a gesture telling her to be patient.
Patience?
It was all she could do not to throw her arms around her son and tell him how much she’d worried about him, about how much she wanted him to be successful, about how much she loved him.