“Enough,” stated Cole in his most firm voice, trying to imitate Conor on the training field.
Conor moved to sit down away from the commotion and leaned back against one of the elm trees surrounding the small clearing. He was relieved when Cole took their younger brothers in hand before they tore up the camp they had just built. Cole was already a big lad at twenty-one, but he would have to work on his carriage to make his commands convincing. Conor stood up, dusted himself off, and walked over to have a word with his guardsmen about the night’s watch.
Though on allied land, they were still uncomfortably close to the Douglass border. Conor’s allies were Douglass’s enemies. While Conor would love a good reason to meet the cruel and dishonest laird on the battlefield, he had no desire to do so while his young brothers were vulnerable and days away from the McTiernay border.
Conor met with each of his four guardsmen securing the campsite. A couple more days’ ride north and the full night watches could ease. He gave his orders and returned to the campsite just in time to hear Craig relate his latest bit of ridiculous wench gossip.
“You won’t believe what Hilda told me,” Craig threw out, trying to bait the others. As the most boisterous in the group, Craig was an outgoing young man and always full of energy.
“Who’s Hilda?” asked the youngest, Clyde.
“Ahh, she’s some lass he met up with for the night,” answered Conan, trying to sound knowledgeable about such things.
“Anyway,” stressed Craig, trying to regain everyone’s attention, “Hilda told me that MacInnes’s granddaughter was coming to live with him.” He looked at the group with a mischievous twinkle.
“And why should that b-be interesting?” Crevan was the opposite of his twin brother. While Craig was frequently showing off and a gregarious comedian, Crevan was introspective, even-tempered, and agreeable. However, it would be an enemy’s last error in judgment to mistake Crevan’s composed nature and slight stammer as weakness. He had been training for a couple of years and exhibited the McTiernay trait for strategy, cunning and ruthlessness in battle.
“Because she isn’t Scottish—she’s English,” grinned Craig.
“Oh, ho now. I thought you s-s-said that she was MacInnes’s g-granddaughter. MacInnes is as Scottish as they come.”
“That’s because MacInnes is a highlander and was Grandfather’s best friend. Conor says that MacInnes still practices many of the highlander traditions.”
“S-So she isn’t English, then, and your b-bit of gossip remains boring.”
“Ahh, but Hilda said that she’s been living in England for many years and that her bonnie mama—MacInnes’s daughter—died when she was a child. Without her mother to guide her, it’s doubtful that any of the Scot in her remains. Everyone is wondering how long she will last before she goes running home to England crying. It’s well known how severe MacInnes is to live with.”
“The English should remain in England,” said a cold voice. Cole despised the bordering country and all those who came from there.
“Cole, can the English actually ruin the land by walking on it?” asked Clyde, who had often overheard McTiernay warriors say that the English spoil anything they touch.
Before Cole could ridicule the question, Conan, the fourteen-year-old, chimed in. “Why would an English lady come to live in Scotland with her grandfather?”
“Dunno, maybe she hated England,” answered Craig with a mouth full of cold mutton.
“English are too stupid to know they should hate their homeland,” scoffed Cole as he turned to rest on his plaid. “She probably just wants to benefit from being a powerful laird’s only relative.”
“But you said that she was supposed to be pretty,” Conan directed the semi-question to Craig. Conan was gifted with a keen intelligence and was constantly in search of new manuscripts to read and understand. But when it came to relationships—especially those with the opposite sex—he was completely lost.
“First of all, a pretty girl can still be dull-witted and extremely irritating, Conan. You just remember that,” Craig replied, using a patronizing voice he knew would irritate his younger brother.
“I know that,” Conan retorted heatedly. “That’s the reason I’m going to be like Conor and never marry. We don’t want a stupid, annoying woman, even if she is pretty.” Conan looked over at Conor for affirmation, but was disappointed. Conor’s eyes were closed and his expression was inscrutable.
“Second of all, I didn’t say she was pretty,” stated Craig. “I just said that her mother, MacInnes’s daughter, was noted to be a bonnie lady and was wanted by many men.”
“So why is MacInnes’s granddaughter English if her mother could have married a Scot?” Clyde asked innocently.
“Because,” remarked Cole as if the answer was obvious. “She ran off and married an English baron. Proves you can be pretty and stupid just like I said. But more than likely MacInnes’s granddaughter takes after her English father and hurts the eyes.”
“That must have made Laird MacInnes sad,” murmured Clyde.
As usual, Conor did not participate when his brothers conversed amongst themselves. He intentionally separated himself from them, and they knew better than to try to pull him in. It was hard straddling the roles of laird and eldest brother. He loved his family, but it was difficult to know how and when to just be their brother and not their laird. Consequently, soon after he became laird, Conor had encouraged Colin to act as the older brother, allowing him to focus on the clan and its needs.
Today, Colin had married Deirdre, Laird Dunstan’s eldest daughter. Upon their return, Cole would leave to join the guard of Laird Schellden, an ally holding lands adjacent to McTiernay’s western boundary. Colin and Cole were the first to leave, but eventually all of his brothers would set out and make their way.
This realization bothered him, but he could not understand why. He wanted his brothers to forge lives for themselves, either with him or wherever their destinies took them. But for some reason, it made him feel isolated knowing his future did not include them. The only way he knew to cushion the pain of their leaving was to distance himself now. His life was the clan, and the clan would always need him.
Conor was musing on all that needed to be done upon his return when Finn, the commander of his elite guard, approached from his watch in the woods.
Finn came towards Conor unsmiling and prepared for battle. “Hamish heard movement in the trees and is investigating now.”
Just then, they heard Seamus release a muted bellow from the woods. They drew their weapons as they advanced to confront the attackers. As they neared the edge of the woods, Loman and Hamish dragged an incredibly disheveled woman into the clearing.
Loman advanced towards Conor with a strong grip on the woman’s arm. She was no longer struggling, but Loman had seen firsthand how cunning she could be. Conor saw Loman’s grip and wondered at the cause for it. She was a scrawny lass, so it was hard to imagine that she could defend herself against any man. Conor found himself surprisingly intrigued.
“She knocked Seamus pretty good in the head. We captured her trying to run away from her crime,” Loman said.
When Laurel heard the word “crime,” she was surprised and then outraged. The giant they called Seamus had tried to seize her. She had every right to defend herself against such a colossal man. She turned her gaze to their leader, who seemed to be the biggest