As far as James was concerned, that was the end of his relations with his parents. His father stood tall, just as tall as Laird Mikal had. He bore the same traits, light hair, lanky body-build, and blue eyes—all from their Viking ancestors. He’d aged and it showed in his drawn face and the gray that streaked his hair. James looked nothing akin to his father, with his dark hair and eyes. He stood taller than his father as well, which gave James a wee bit of mettle.
“James is not pleased by your request, Joseph.” Grey motioned for him to be seated, but his father remained standing.
“Are ye not, James? You knew I would come for you, knew your destiny was to take over the farmstead and toil the land. My brother became laird and I became a farmer. So goes the fate of a second son. I bid your return as my first-born son so you may take over. It is our custom.”
The way his father spoke, commanded his acceptance, but James was not in a mood to placate him. First-born son, indeed, James thought. He was his only son, as far as he knew. Mayhap his parent had other children … but he wouldn’t know such as he hadn’t stepped foot on his father’s land in many a year.
“Customs be damned. You gave up your rights as my father the day you left me here. I am a Gunn guardsman and will remain so until the day I die. I took an oath to my laird and I will not break it. Not for you, not for anyone.” James kept his voice insistent so his father would know outright his regard.
“What speak ye? You were brought here to toughen ye up and to make you strong. Ye had no right to take such an oath. The time has long since passed and your return is needed.” His father ran his hands through his thick mane of graying hair. “You will disobey your father?”
“The only persons I need obey are my laird and my king. You speak falsely. Aye, you know why I was sent here, to what purpose you were bid to bring me. I was given as barter to save your arse from the noose.”
His father approached and stood within a foot of him, his face reddened. He wasn’t sure if it was because of embarrassment or ire. James readied for his strike, as angry as Joseph appeared. His father’s nose flared and his eyebrows furrowed. James kept his hands at his side, knowing he would never retaliate should his father attack him.
If there was one thing James held above all else, it was honor. To raise a hand against one’s parent was a grievous sin. Regardless of the man’s actions, he was still his father. No matter how much he wanted to take retribution against his misdeeds, he resisted.
“I am needed more by my laird. Our clan has been called to war by our king, and I will not let my clansmen face the fracas without me. You’ve survived what twenty-some years without me? I will not return to your farmstead.” James turned and was about to dismiss his father, but then Grey cleared his throat, halting him.
“Joseph, give James time to consider this. In time, he may be willing to give it a try. When we return from our mission, he can come for a stay and ye both can see how it goes.” Grey played devil’s advocate, and James raised a brow. For hell would meet heaven before he’d be willing to return to his father’s land and rule.
His father kicked the chair closest to him. “Your father, Grey, my own brother and laird, promised me my son would be returned when I was ready. I’ve long since sent missives directing his return. Now ye say nay?”
“My father never told me he gave permission for James to return home at any time. If you speak the truth—” Grey frowned fiercely when Joseph cut him off.
“I do. Why would I risk my own life if it ‘twas a falsehood? I know all the Gunns hate me. I probably had many an arrow pointed at my back on the way in here. Aye, I’ve accepted that my kin abandoned me. But I will have the return of my son.” Joseph’s voice rose as his fury intensified.
Grey was about to retort when James held up his hand.
“I can speak for myself, Grey,” James said, taking a step toward his father. He stood practically nose to nose with him. “You dare speak of abandonment? You come here after years of negating me, sending me off when I was a lad to people I didn’t know … I did not deem ye cared. And now you demand my return? I’ve made a life here, Joseph, and one that I am pleased with. I will not do as you bid. I’m certain you can find others who would come and work your land.”
“You are a stubborn man, James Gunn, aye and have the obstinate Gunn blood running through ye, as I have. I will give you six months to return. If you don’t by then, you will never step foot on my land. You will forfeit your inheritance, for my lands are vast and my income great. There are others that would happily reap the benefit.”
“That land is cursed with your foul deeds. They are welcome to it. Farewell, Joseph.” James trod out of the hall and went directly to the barracks. He grabbed his bow and decided a work-out would rid him of the hostility of his father’s visit. He’d take to the quintains and use his arrows to calm. Focusing on the target would allow him to put his father’s audacious request from his mind.
He was about to exit the barracks when Grey and Duff entered. His laird blocked the doorway, as well as Duff’s large body. Their scowls lent to their rigid stance. Duff was the most intimidating of Grey’s guardsmen, and one of James’ closest friends since they were lads. Though he respected them both, he wouldn’t have any qualms about taking his fist to them should they intervene in his quest to get to the fields. They gave no account for their demeanor, which bore as hostile as his own.
“There’s nothing to discuss,” he said, hoping they’d move aside. But neither did so.
“Aye, there is. I understand you don’t wish to be a farmer, James, but you should at least go and see your father, on his own land. Allow him to make reparations.”
“I disagree,” Duff said. “He left James to his own, and committed a heinous act against his clan. Why should James allow him to make amends and aid him now? After all these years.”
James nodded at Duff. “That is exactly my thought, Duff. And can you honestly see me as a farmer? I wouldn’t last a day.”
Grey and Duff chuckled at his jest.
“Don’t let your duty to me ruin this opportunity, James. I vow you are the most devoted of all my guardsmen, but I wouldn’t want that to stop you from going after your own pursuits.”
“My pursuits have nothing to do with this, Laird. I cannot forgive my father for what he did. There is no honor in him.” James leaned against the wall, hoping this conversation would end. His hand tightened on his sword, knowing hacking at a few opponents would relieve him of his aggression.
His laird grew solemn then. “James, what your father did … My father and I spoke at great length about it. They were both angry and encouraged by their own father to best each other. Neither were at fault for what happened. My grandfather was a harsh man and pitted them against each other. He did it on purpose. Those were troubling times. My father died before he could remedy the row with his brother.”
Duff folded his arms over his chest. “Every man has a say in his own actions, Laird. Your father was more than generous by gifting him those lands, lands the Gunns never reaped the benefit of. Joseph chose his path. Why should James be punished for it?”
James took a deep breath, for bringing up the past greatly affected him. “Your father, Grey, spoke of it with me before he passed, too. I know what happened. Laird Mikal saved me from the stigma of being born from a traitor, and I am grateful. It doesn’t matter now. My father did what he did, and my involvement ended with him the day he dropped me off on your father’s doorstep. Now let us forget this nonsense. It bothers me not.”
“Nay? Seems to me it does bother you. Och if you wish, I won’t bring it up again.”
“We’ve a war to ready for. How long before we leave?” James wasn’t thrilled by the news they’d received from their king, directing them to aid the Iorwerth clan. He didn’t trust the Welshmen, for they were just as passionate about battle as the Scots. They were just as battle weary as well.
Warring with the English was a beguiling task, for they were o
ften wily in their war practices, and the Scots liked nothing better than going against their enemy. That was at least something they had in common with Wales.
“We’ll leave in a few days for Sean’s land. I’ll meet with the king and find out exactly what his message entails.” Grey moved aside, and Duff led the way out of the barracks.
James had recently returned from his comrade’s keep near the border of England and Scotland. He’d gone with Sean to the Hume clan, where they were both astounded by the inheritance of lairdship given to his friend by Lord Hume, Sean’s uncle. James stayed on after troubles arose and Sean needed his protection of his family.
Now that all had been settled, he returned to his normal life. Only that normalcy was intruded upon by his father’s visit. Family matters were inconsequential to what they were about to face. James wanted to put it as far out of his mind as he could.
If only that was possible.
Chapter Two
Garth Celyn, the royal House of Gwynedd
North Wales
With all the force she mustered, Emlyn hacked and advanced on her adversary. He was the best of all her father’s soldiers, and he’d boasted he wouldn’t hold back during their fray. Though they were only testing their skills, they both gave it their all effort, and appeared to want to kill each other. Emlyn would not be defeated.
Rhun advanced and caused her to take a step back. Cheers arose around her when she deflected his strikes and advanced upon him in return. Her breath rasped and her arm waned a bit from the force of his sword, but she wouldn’t concede to the tall, angry soldier. Her eyes took in the form of her father watching the fight nearby. Emlyn had something to prove and she wouldn’t give up until she accomplished her goal. This day was long in coming and she wouldn’t disappoint her father.
She tired and needed to put an end to this round. It had gone on long enough for they’d been at it for nearly a half an hour. He continued to strike her sword with his, lending to her exertion and exhaustion for he was much stronger than she. But Emlyn was quicker on her feet. She pulled a mace from her belt and threw it at Rhun’s feet, causing him to sidestep and become unbalanced. Then she ran at him, forcing him backward with the heels of her hands until he fell. The point of her sword pricked his neck.
“Do you give?”
“Aye,” he mumbled. “Aye.”
With his acceptance of defeat, she removed her sword and turned to face her father. The crowd cheered and then quieted when he stepped forward.
Her father, the mighty chieftain of their land, stood taller than any around them. He wore a simple bronzed crown on his head, which made him appear regal even though it wasn’t ornate. Emlyn was pleased with the look of pride in his eyes. She was wont to have his approval, and unfortunately for her, she’d been born female.
That was the only reason she’d taken to arms at such an early age. Her father’s prideful words were oft given to her brothers for their ability with the sword and bows, but he’d had no such words for her. Why would a great warrior chieftain such as he be proud of a lass’ ability to sew a tunic?
“Do not berate yourself, Rhun, for the lass has been under my guidance since she could walk. You’ve been beaten by my heart, and aye, should be as proud of her as I. All of you shall be proud of the lass’ accomplishment this day.” Her father set a hand down to help Rhun from the ground.
Rhun glared at her and then grinned. “How can I be angry by being beaten by such a lovely opponent? Next time, be sure to tie up that red fire, lass, for I could’ve easily gripped your hair and had you succumb.”
Emlyn chortled, for he was a bear of a man, and almost as hairy. She scrunched her blue eyes at him and twitched her nose as she was wont when she teased. “You would have paid dearly if ye tried to grip my hair. But well done, Rhun, for you’ve given me quite a challenge this day. Shall we meet again on the morrow? Say around noon?”
Those around them laughed and Rhun sheathed his sword. “If that is your wish, fair Emlyn, I shall concede to it.”
She was ready to call her training day an end and had worked up an appetite. Hopefully the kitchens still served supper for she’d missed the bell. As she began to walk away, her father called to her.
“Emlyn, come, for I must speak with ye, lass. Walk with me.”
She found it peculiar that her father wanted to talk to her. He was usually too busy to spend time with her these days. War with the English had him tending to maps and strategizing against his latest enemy, William Marshall.
She walked beside him until they reached the wall. He continued to lead her along, and she tucked her sword away while waiting for him to speak.
“I received word that Bevan has died. I’m sorry, lass, for your betrothed is dead.”
Emlyn’s heart tensed and she looked into her father’s eyes. “I am … sorry to hear that. I assume he died at the battle?”
“Aye, my soldiers were tricked and led into the fray unarmed. Only a few men returned with the news. The rest perished. I must go, lass, and prepare for we must be ready to face Marshall’s army if he comes. You understand?”
“Of course, Father.” Emlyn pulled off her helmet and tucked it beneath her arm. Her wavy hair hung in damp ringlets. She’d gotten overheated from the workout as well as from the news her father imparted.
He stopped and set a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I deem ye weren’t pleased with the betrothal. Are you upset at all by this news?”
Emlyn frowned, not realizing how unaffected she appeared. “A warrior does not show emotion.” That was the expected answer, and she wouldn’t disappoint him. She’d given him one of the cardinal rules of being a warrior. There were five in all and she’d remembered them by heart at the age of four summers.
Her father shook his head. “Aye, she does when the man she was supposed to love was killed. Warriors do hold emotion, lass, deep within them. There are times when such display is warranted.”
“I’m sorry, Father. I am saddened by your news, even if I wasn’t as pleased with the betrothal as Bevan was. He was a good man and if I had to marry, he would have suited. I am sorry he died.”
“He was honorable and worthy of your hand, which is the only reason I gave my consent. I thought he’d be capable of handling your … ways. Alas it was not meant to be.” Her father touched her hair before turning and making off for the keep.
Emlyn stood by the wall for a few minutes, watching the late day activity. Several soldiers walked by on their way to the garrison. A few maids held baskets, filled to overflowing with launder. None of them looked her way.
She wished with all her heart she could be despaired by the news, but she wasn’t. Relief overwhelmed her, for she was a warrior and warriors did not love. Nor did they care about such matters as a betrothed, having bairns, and tending to a man’s needs. There was far more excitement to life, especially when one had a talent with a sword.
There was no love in her heart for Bevan, even though he’d professed such to her. She considered she might come to love him in time. He was handsome and kind. A sorrow built in her stomach.
“There you are.”
She turned and saw her dearest friend approaching. Branwyn looked upset, and she realized her friend must have heard the news about her brother’s death.
“Good day, Bran. I was just speaking with my father and—”
“I’ve been looking for you all day. You were supposed to come and help me with my wedding entails. You promised and because you didn’t come, I had to contend with my mother and her ardent remarks. I vow I’ve a headache to rival all headaches. You know how excited she gets.”
Emlyn approached and wrapped her arms around her friend’s shoulders. “Forgive me. I’m sorry.”
“And well you should be. I realize you enjoy training, but you shouldn’t promise you’ll come if you won’t. This is the last time I’ll believe you.” Branwyn pulled away.
Emlyn watched her face for a sign of her grieving, but her friend gave non
e. She looked beautiful with her sable brown hair tied up in braids, and her deep brown eyes lent with a sparkle.
She doesn’t know.
“You’re angry.”
Branwyn set the back of her hand on her forehead and glared. “Aye, I am. You always make promises, but never keep them. I vow I don’t know why I am your friend. You would do well to befriend any of the soldiers, for you spend more time with them.”
“I was distracted and forgot. This day I got to fight Rhun and you know how much I’ve wanted to test my skill against him.”
Branwyn grinned. “And did you at least win?”
She nodded. Emlyn tensed for she did not want to be the one to speak of Bevan’s death. For it would wound her friend, and that was something she definitely didn’t want to do. Especially given she’d already broken a promise to her this day.
“I shall go home with ye and sup, and spend the night. You can tell me all about your wedding feast plans and we shall have a wonderful time.” But that wasn’t to be, because as soon as her friend reached home, the news would be given and their night would not be spent in merry leisure.
“That sounds like a fair idea. I hardly see you since you’ve been on the field more than in the keep. I suppose that makes your father pleased.”
“I believe he is. He praised me and I thought never to hear him do so.” She tried to hide the smile that came upon her, knowing the dismay her friend was about to encounter.
“And I suspect your mother full of wrath?”
“She’s always full of ire no matter what I do to please her.” But she didn’t want to speak of her parents. Emlyn’s mouth turned down at the thought of Bevan being gone.
When she’d been betrothed to him, Branwyn was delighted. It wasn’t every day that your best friend would wed your brother. And they’d made great plans to be near each other which was the reason her friend had agreed to be betrothed to Cranog. He lived near Bevan’s cottage and they were comrades. Much to Emlyn’s dismay, Branwyn had their entire lives planned out, down to what they’d name their children.
In Love With A Warrior (Gunn Guardsman (Book 4)) Page 2