Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
“Be careful, Braither, it would be a shame to die like this,” Alexander teased as he swung his claymore over Michael’s head again.
His dutiful man-at-arms parried the strike with a solid defense of his own. He brought his blade within centimeters of Alexander’s calf as he sidestepped the attack.
The two brothers had been training since just before sunrise. The courtyard of MacAllister Castle had stayed relatively quiet until just a short while ago, when the servants started going about their daily business.
The servants gave them a wide berth, keeping wary eyes on them. Absolutely no one was eager to interrupt the Laird during his training session—anyone in Clan MacAllister knew better.
Alexander Gordon wasn’t known for his patience or his forgiveness. Rather, he was known for his cruel but capable leadership.
“Getting tired, Braither?” he goaded.
He tapped his younger brother on the shoulder with the side of his blade as he twisted past him again.
“Nae in the slightest. What about ye, old man? Ready to quit?” Michael parried and advanced in a countermove.
With a wide grin, Alexander took two ground-eating steps forward. Swinging his claymore sideways, blade perpendicular to the ground at the back of Michael’s knees, he caused him to fall to the ground ungracefully.
“Ugh. Walloper,” Michael muttered while rolling away from the next strike and jumping back on his feet.
He shook off the dirt and gravel that clung to his blue and green tartan. Rubbing a hand over his battered knees, he stood stiffly.
“What are ye plannin’ to do about the border issue, since old Fraser willnae meet with ye to discuss any sort of truce?” he asked, his voice taking on a serious edge.
The two men resumed circling one another, each looking for an opening, an opportunity to knock the other flat on their arse. The air shifted around them at the change in subject.
“I dinnae ken. Laird MacPherson seems to be even more stubborn now than he was a year ago. At least when Broderic was alive, we had a fightin’ chance for peace, even if we had to wait for the old man to die before we had it,” Alexander said, his heart sinking slightly at the mention of their dead friend.
Despite their best efforts, they had not yet been able to discover the truth of Broderic and Ian’s deaths.
The blame had solely fallen on Alexander’s shoulders thus far, as he had been the last one to see the two men alive.
It didn’t help that Laird MacPherson had branded Alexander a murderer and sabotaged any other alliances he could have made with other lairds.
The war the wretch had waged on Clan MacAllister also left their coffers bare.
“Ye ken, we may just have to take matters into our own hands,” Michael remarked as he raised his sword over his head to block Alexander’s swing.
“What do ye propose? Sneak into MacPherson Castle and poison his dinner?” Alexander quipped. “Our grandfaither tried that, and it didnae work out so well for him, did it?”
All it had done, in fact, was escalate the conflict. From that day forward, neither clan had invited the other beyond their gates, fearing another attempt. Any discussion about politics had taken place in neutral towns such as Glencoe, along their borderlands.
“Well, nay, obviously. I’m just sayin’ that with spring in the air, they will become even more problematic. Like a bear wakin’ up from hibernation when the snow melts. Famished and furious, eager to hunt,” Michael prodded as he aimed his sword at Alexander’s torso once more.
Alexander spun to avoid it, easily anticipating the move. “Ye need to learn some new tricks, Braither. Ye’ve become so predictable! And quit tryin’ to distract me.”
He rocked back on his heels and swiftly lifted his sword to his little brother’s neck, causing him to freeze in place.
“If I’m so predictable, how come ye continue to practice with me, eh?” Michael challenged, a mischievous grin on his handsome face.
“Neither yer predictability nor yer yammerin’ helps, ye ken. Perhaps we should practice with ye in a gag from now on?” Alexander snorted, smirking at him. He could never resist the urge to poke some fun at his brother.
His goading worked exactly as intended.
Michael charged, and Alexander sidestepped to the left, catching him by the arm. Twisting it behind his back, he forced him down to his knees. He pressed the cold, sharp edge of his blade to the side of his brother’s neck.
Michael gave a signal of surrender and a chortle.
Alexander dropped his blade from the man’s neck, resting its tip on the ground in front of him. Leaning on it with one hand, he used the other to wipe the sweat from his brow.
The spring day was sunny and considerably warm, the winter bitterness slowly fading away day by day. Michael was right, of course. They would have to deal with the uprisings on their borderlands sooner rather than later—something Alexander wasn’t particularly eager to deal with.
“I ken.” Alexander sighed. “I was hopin’ to avoid further confrontation with the MacPhersons, but the old man is too stubborn for his own good. Nay matter how many times or how many ways I ask for an audience, he refuses.”
“Aye, that may be so. Though ye would think he would want to secure strong alliances. After all, that daughter of his cannae assume the lairdship, and from what Broderic and Ian said, she is young, unwed, and of child bearing age. Ye would think he would marry her off and strengthen the clan.”
“Aye. Ye would think,” Alexander agreed, contemplating the thought. “I cannae imagine why he wouldnae.”
“Mayhap she is so hideous that he hides her away from the world, lest she embarrass him.” Michael let out a deep belly laugh. “Wouldnae ye?”
A servant girl caught Alexander’s eye before he could reply. She appeared in the large doorway that led to the main hall, a piece of parchment clasped in her hands.
She hiked up her blue and green tartan skirt to avoid tripping over the hem and crossed the courtyard to where the men stood, leaning against a hedge line. She bowed her head to Alexander as she approached and held out the hand with the letter in it.
“This has just arrived for ye, Me Laird. A younglin’ came from gatherin’ herbs in the woods with it. He says he came upon some MacPhersons near the loch’s edge this morning. They asked him to bring ye this letter,” she spoke softly, her eyes trained on the ground.
“How many are in the group? Where? Did the boy say?” Alexander inquired, snatching the letter from her and unfolding it hastily. “Is the lad unharmed?”
What could be so secret, so important that the MacPhersons would seek out a resident of the keep instead of sendin’ a messenger? Why be so stupid and bold?
He waited for the maid to answer him.
The girl shrank slightly under his scrutinizing gaze. “Two—perhaps three. He wasnae quite sure. But he said the one who asked him to bring the letter to ye was a lass,” she answered quickly.
Alexander balked slightly at that revelation. He continued to study the servant for a moment, looking for any signs that she was lying.
While he had no reason to believe that someone in his home would set him up, he could never be too careful. After a long moment, he nodded, excusing her.
He turned to Michael, who simply shrugged with an equally surprised look on his face. Finally, he returned his eyes to the letter and began reading it. Michael waited quietly beside him.
“Marie!” The girl hadn’t made it far across the courtyard.
She turned back to face him, her eyes lowered to the ground, awaiting his instructions.
“Pack two bags of supplies with at least two days’ worth of food.
We have a short trip to make. Let me sister ken that she will be in charge of the keep in our absence. ”
The girl nodded earnestly before retreating to the main hall to do his bidding.
Alexander waited until she was out of sight to hand the letter to his brother.
Michaels’s eyes widened as he read the words on the parchment.
“What if it’s a trap?” he asked, handing it back to Alexander.
“Then it’s a trap. Have Turken saddle our horses and bring them around with haste,” Alexander instructed, folding the letter and tucking it in his pocket. “If it’s a trap, then the lass will soon learn what it means to cross me.”