by Pam Binder
Angus leaned against the table. “Nay, it is the Council of Seven he vows to destroy for what they did to him. You but saw that the decree was carried out. He knew the price for his actions.”
His sworn enemy haunted his thoughts like a specter in the dark corners of a deserted castle. “He raped my sister and left her naked and battered on the streets of Naples.”
“Subedei was castrated, according to our laws.”
“ ‘Tis not enough. Were it not for my mother’s wishes I would have preferred to cut out his black heart.”
“You may yet have the chance. It is said he seeks vengeance for all who had a hand in his punishment.
Zarie, the man who carried out the order, was found hacked to pieces. Subedei’s attempts to take Urquhart foiled when all his ships and crew sank- into the depths of Loch Ness.“
Lachlan gripped the hilt of the blade strapped in his belt. He had been in Egypt, fighting as a mercenary, when Subedei stormed Urquhart. Too late he had learned of the fate of his brothers and sisters. Upon his return, his mother had stared at him with the vacant expression of one who had seen her children slaughtered and her husband die in her arms. She had not put the blame on his head, but he could not wash away the guilt. Grief had not taken him. His only emotion had been his vow of revenge. Subedei’s message was clear. The Mongol warrior would return to level Urquhart and murder all responsible for what was done to him. This time Lachlan would be here, waiting. Vengeance was sweeter if taken slowly.
Angus’ voice echoed through the chamber and brought Lachlan back from his dark thoughts.
“With you as leader, Subedei’s forces will be no match for your Highland clans. A fierce lot. Their ancestors drove the Roman legions from their shores. A madman, such as Subedei, will be an easy victory.”
Lachlan folded his arms across his chest. Angus had lived five hundred and fifty years longer than he, and fought in battles where the feats of valor had been exaggerated until legends had replaced the harsh truths. It had dulled his friend’s ability to judge another’s strength. Lachlan’s own thirst for battle had pulled him from his responsibilities. His people had paid for his carelessness with their lives. He leaned over the map and studied the terrain until the images blurred before his eyes. His thinking must be clear, if he was to anticipate Subedei’s battle plan.
He looked at Angus. “The villages under our protection will be Subedei’s first objective. Once he believes our forces are divided, he will attack. Failing, he will use the ploy of retreat to draw us from the castle. Our clans will be slaughtered.”
Angus scratched his beard. “You give the man much credit. Maybe too much.”
“Subedei trained under Genghis Khan.”
The older man shrugged. “We drove the Mongols from our borders when they sought to conquer all of Europe. This time will be no different.”
Lachlan stepped closer to the table. “What minstrel’s tale have you been listening to that you have the facts so twisted? Europe did not defeat die Mongols. They left because Genghis died, and their princes returned to vie for control of the empire their leader had created. That is what saved Europe.”
Angus’ brows drew together. “Had I realized, when I sent you to study their culture, that you would return idolizing them, I would have reconsidered.”
“I do not honor or praise a man beyond his ability.”
“There is such a thing as too much caution, it will alarm your people needlessly. We must seek out our enemy and destroy him before he lays to waste everything that crosses his path.”
Lachlan looked at Angus, the men who had led him into his first battle when he was barely strong enough to wield a claymore. Angus was a warrior of unlimited courage. Lachlan shared his friend’s recklessness in the heat of war, but if they were to defeat the great Mongol warrior, they must use cunning.
“You have fought with armies whose rules were governed by lines, maneuvers, and chivalry; generals who believed in wearing down an enemy by battering them head-on. I have fought with the Mongols. They swept through China with the ease your horse tramples the meadow grass under its hooves.“ He clenched his fists at his sides. ”If it is an unwillingness to change that holds you back, say now, and another can take your place. We must be on guard that the battle be not more important than the reason for it.“
Angus’ voice was defensive. “Our methods have served us well in past wars. I see no reason to change.”
The confrontation ahead might easily wipe out a third of their numbers and more still if Subedei’s skill as a warrior were underestimated. Lachlan needed to know what each man would risk to preserve his people. Lachlan felt his temper boil to the surface and knew it was fueled by the need to have his friend realize the strength of their enemy. But Angus would have to choose. Their race’s continuance depended upon it. He took a knife out of his belt and drove it into the table. The blade quivered between them and marked the invisible line Angus must cross. The metal seemed to glow white hot in the candlelight.
“Take care, friend, that your confidence does not override your wisdom. It will be as I have said.”
Angus stared back at him, a look of resolve on his face. His jaw slackened as he bowed his head. “You inherited the role of leader of the Council when your father was killed, but you earned our loyalty by placing our wishes before your own. It will be as you command.”
There was no animosity in Angus’ voice, no condescending tone, only obedience. They had started in life as mentor and child, but Lachlan was born into the ruling family. When his father died, their roles had changed forever. Lachlan pried the blade from the table. The council looked to him as the leader who would take them into the next century. His first loyalty was to the good of all. At times he wished he and Angus were ordinary solders who fought side by side for a king or queen, or equal terms and for equal goals. But it was not to be. “Come, ‘tis time for us to join our men.”
In the Great Hall, Lachlan leaned against the whitewashed stone wall near the window drinking his ale. Soon his men would gather for the evening meal, but for now he could enjoy the quiet. Amber’s presence in Urquhart was already known and her position as his betrothed made clear. All that remained was to tell her. He swirled the ale in his tankard and took a drink. It was warm and bitter. He knew not how she would react to the proposal of handfasting. The words of the legend echoed through his mind like the haunting notes of a bagpipe. She could be the woman in the legend. He drained the ale from his tankard.
The light of the torches glowed on the walls and kept the evening shadows away. Large oak panel squares, with the crests of the Highland clans painted in each, covered the ceiling. The idea belonged to his sister, Elaenor. He had encouraged her interest in the task, hoping the research would distract her from her solitary thoughts. However, the project had failed. While the ceiling was magnificent, Elaenor still suffered. What Subedei had done to her older sister, Beatrice, had shaken young Elaenor to the core.
A half dozen men, clad in the MacAlpin plaid, saluted him as they entered the Great Hall. He nodded and watched as they sat down at one of the long trestle tables by the fire. These were good men, loyal and able warriors. Their laughter filled the corners of the room. Angus entered. His friend was trailed by barking wolfhounds.
Servants filed into the room carrying foaming pitchers of ale, trays of steaming salmon, wedges of cheese, and brown bread. The sound of voices and the clatter of earthenware blurred together until none could be distinguished from the other. Lachlan had the sudden impulse to retreat to the solitude of his chamber. The vision of the woman who occupied those quarters halted his thoughts. Amber. She was well named. Her hair shone like the blaze of a fire, and her eyes… their warmth stirred his blood. He reached for his tankard. It was empty.
A shout rose above the din. He looked in the direction of the sound. Angus was likely winning another wager. He saw his red-bearded friend take ale from a serving maid before approaching him. Angus’ smile spread wide over his f
ace as he filled both their tankards and set the pitcher on the table. He slapped Lachlan on the shoulder.
“If given a chance, your men would wager their pay on the number of eggs to be found in an eagle’s nest.”
“Aye, and glad for the diversion.”
One of the wolfhounds growled and fought another for a meaty bone. The men in the room turned their attention toward the dogs, laughing and making wagers as to the outcome. Lachlan watched the struggle. The warmth of the room closed in. He and Angus were not unlike these beasts. They were tied to this world, living within the rules that governed it, yet they were separate. The two worlds could coexist, but never join in a permanent union. It was one of the laws of his race. He accepted his fate, but lately had begun to question the reasoning behind it. The price of long life left a measure of his kind insane, and alone.
The larger of the wolfhounds let out a howl that vibrated through the Great Hall. It sank its teeth into the neck of the other animal. Blood gathered on the dark fur. The cheers of the men increased in volume until the room was filled with the sound. Abruptly the large dog released its hold and allowed the other to slip away.
A hush fell over the room. Lachlan understood why the beast had not killed its opponent. Death would have been pointless, the animal had won. But he admired the wolfhound, nonetheless. In the heat of battle reason was often overlooked. He wondered if he would always have the strength of will this animal possessed. Of late, he had begun to doubt.
Muffled conversations resumed and the sound of metal coins clinking together, as wagers were settled, filled the room.
Angus wiped his hand on his plaid and took another drink. “What think you of our new guest?”
Lachlan tightened his hold on the tankard, feeling the smooth, cold metal. He had thought of little else. “She is well enough.”
“Well enough?” Angus laughed and slapped Lachlan on the back. “Those words are as stuffed with meaning as one of Una’s meat pies. “ Twould be my wager that the lass is bonnie, indeed. Mayhaps I should introduce myself to the lady.”
Lachlan was surprised at the jealous tone of his voice, but could not stop the words. “The lady is not for you.”
“Ease down, lad. ‘Twas only a jest. But perhaps this lady will succeed where others have failed.”
Lachlan smiled. Angus knew him too well.
His friend shrugged. “Marcail tells me the two of you are betrothed. What thinks the lass of the arrangement?” Angus winked. “A year and a day; much mischief can be made.”
Lachlan managed to keep his voice even. “She is not yet aware of our betrothal.”
“Perhaps someone has told her and that is why she flees.” Angus nodded in the direction of the corridor outside the hall.
Lachlan followed Angus’ gaze and saw Amber hurry down the stairs. The gown she wore was a somber brown and ill-fitting. It hid the curves he knew she possessed. Amber paused. She seemed startled and looked around before heading for the door mat led to the courtyard, and the loch.
Lachlan knocked over his tankard in his haste to follow her as the words of the legend echoed through his thoughts… and the waters will reclaim her once again. He must stop her. Lachlan wished he was able to ignore the legend. But he was forced to take it seriously. Minstrels sang of an immortal race. His race. If one legend were true, how many others? He must detain her. She should be grateful he wanted to keep her safe until the mystery of why she was here was solved.
The air was still and cold in the waning light of the afternoon sun as Lachlan hurried out into the courtyard. Amber was only a short distance from him and stood between his brother, Gavin, and the tutor, Bartholomew. Perhaps his brother had emptied Una’s pantry to feed the wolfhounds again. Whatever the reason, he was grateful she had been detained.
“Where is it that you go?” He bellowed out the words and Amber, Gavin and Bartholomew turned toward him.
Amber put her hands on her hips. “Are you in charge here?”
“Aye. But you have not answered my question.”
“You people have taken this reenactment business a little too far. I saw this man beating this boy.”
Bartholomew, wielding a sapling branch like a sword, walked around Amber. “Your brother refuses to concentrate on his lessons. He will learn along with the rest of the boys of the parish, or feel the sting of laziness.”
“Will reading help me fight the Campbells when they raid our cattle?” Gavin turned to Lachlan. “I hate to read.”
Amber’s nod was emphatic. “Of course you do. I would too if I was beaten into submission.”
It was quieter in the castle’s henhouse. Lachlan held up his hand to stop their flow of words. “Enough.”
Her voice was clear and strong. “I saw this man from the upstairs window. He was hitting your brother with a stick.”
“Laird MacAlpin, who is this woman that she questions my authority over Gavin? I was taught by the Benedictine Monks and recommended to you by Queen Mary.”
Lachlan was losing patience. “This is the Lady Amber. And I shall see to the confusion.” He turned toward her. “You should not concern yourself in this matter.”
“Excuse me?”
Bartholomew tapped the switch against the palm of his hand and cleared his throat. “Women are meddlesome creatures. It would be best to leave Gavin’s education to those who can understand its importance.”
Amber’s face flushed with anger. “That does it, you pompous sack of wind. Where did you get your teaching credentials? Through the mail?” She put her arm around Gavin’s shoulder.
The boy sucked in a breath of air and his lips whitened as he reached up to push away Amber’s hand.
She leaned down. “I’m sorry. I forgot you were hurt. My name’s Amber. May I call you Gavin?” When the boy did not respond she continued. “Education is important, but there are many different ways to learn.”
The tutor laughed. “Nonsense and fairy smoke. My methods are never questioned in Edinburgh. There is only one way to teach a child and that is with a steady hand.” The switch whistled through the still air.
Gavin flinched.
“Does your teacher hit you often?” Amber asked.
Gavin shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose I deserve it.”
She straightened and gazed squarely at Lachlan. “You can’t agree with Bartholomew. He doesn’t care about your brother. If he did, he’d be patient.”
“Gavin lacks not for the tending he needs. It is his mind that has been neglected, not his heart.”
“What does his mother say about these teaching methods?”
Lachlan looked at Gavin and then back at Amber.
“Our mother is no longer able to shoulder the responsibility.”
The look in her eyes became more determined. “Then you condone Bartholomew’s treatment?”
His frustration built on the earlier impatience until he felt smothered. He had searched for a proper schoolmaster for Gavin and still felt he had not erred in his selection. “I am satisfied with the boy’s progress.”
“When it comes to a student, I usually have a lot to say.” Amber’s hands trembled as she lifted Gavin’s shirt Dried blood crisscrossed the boy’s back. She lowered the shirt and faced Lachlan again. “You are patient with that dog you call MacDougal, doesn’t your brother deserve the same treatment?”
Lachlan felt a knot form in the pit of his stomach. Only a coward would strike a child. He saw her reach down and hold Gavin’s hand. His brother looked back at her. The fear had fled the boy’s eyes. She barely reached Lachlan’s chest, yet she was openly defying both him and Bartholomew.
He had failed Gavin. His own tutors had been strict and he had experienced the sting of their disapproval, but he had never run from them in fear, nor had they drawn blood. Bartholomew must be more cruel. He took a deep breath. He felt ill-trained to act as parent to his brother in such matters. His anger grew.
Amber’s emotions were easy to read. She looked as if she would
stand in the courtyard until the waters in Loch Ness froze, before she would give ground. “Bartholomew’s methods might be more severe than I had been aware of, but in the end they will prove correct.”
She raised an eyebrow. “How can you be so sure your brother will be all right? “ Amber paused and glanced toward the growing shadows in the courtyard. ”You can turn a gentle dog mean and vicious by mistreating him. Are children less fragile? To protect himself, a child could harden his heart to all emotion.“
Her words cut through his reserve. His father had turned one of their prize wolfhounds so unmanageable with mistreatment it had attacked and killed one of the children in the town. Truth ran clear in her words. He looked down at Gavin. “Why didn’t you speak to me of the beatings?”
“The English attack us from the sea and the Loch Ness beastie frightens the villagers.”
“All you say is true, but it is not the question I asked.”
Amber touched his arm. “It sounds as if Gavin thought you had enough problems. He didn’t want to add his own.”
Lachlan had been wrong. Anger burned within him like the heat of a banked fire. If Gavin had come to him with tales of Bartholomew’s cruelty, he knew his reaction. He would have done nothing. Lachlan had been consumed with defending his castle against an attack from Subedei.
He paced in front of the tutor. “Mistreatment breeds cruelty. Bartholomew, the troublesome mare I allow you to stable has never felt the bite of your whip, yet you beat a child.”
Bartholomew flexed the twig between his hands. “I shall not teach a lad who cannot abide to sit still. He is forever losing his place while he reads.”
“Your patience with your horse is boundless.”
Bartholomew adjusted the sleeves of his tunic. “The mare needs a gentle hand to coax the right mix of loyalty and duty.”
“But Gavin is to be beaten?”
“A boy is not a horse.”
“Aye, a boy needs more care.” Lachlan doubled up his fist and hit Bartholomew in the jaw.