Chapter Nineteen
Kirkburn Castle
“No promise of help, Dros.”
In the great hall of Kirkburn Castle, Drostan turned as Ternan entered the hall, newly returned from the Murray stronghold to the north. But what he’d heard was not what he’d expected to hear and the words were a blow.
“How do ye know this?” Drostan demanded. “Ternan, why would they refuse?”
Ternan was exhausted from travel, little sleep, and little hope. Drostan had put him at the head of the negotiation for Murray support, putting the burden on him.
It had been unfair.
He wasn’t the one who had given the order to destroy Netherton.
Therefore, Ternan had little patience as he pulled off his leather gloves and tossed them onto the tabletop, the same table that had been so brutalized over the years by Drostan’s men. He sat heavily.
“It is simple enough, Dros,” he said wearily. “Angus Murray has heard things against ye. The Murray has ties tae Clan Keith and they tell him it was ye who burned Netherton. Men say that they saw Lindsay men making it look as if the Keith had committed the attack. The evidence is damning.”
Drostan ran his hands over his greasy head in disbelief. Months of discussion, of plying Clan Murray with gifts and precious heads of cattle, all of it designed to show Chieftain Angus Murray that the Lindsay needed help in running the Keith off their lands, had evidently failed.
Clan Murray evidently saw past the gifts and promises.
“I dunna understand,” Drostan said, sounding despondent. “We did everything possible tae convince Angus that we were the victims in all of this. The feasts, the gifts… Are ye telling me they were all in vain?”
“I am telling ye that they’ll not side with ye in this.”
“They dunna believe it was the Keith who destroyed Netherton?”
“There is doubt, and if there is doubt, they willna act.”
“And the decision is final?”
Ternan wasn’t sure how to respond to him. He’d told him all he knew. He’d just come from old Angus Murray’s hall, listening to the chieftain speak on his doubts over Drostan’s claim.
Drostan’s disbelief wasn’t entirely unwarranted. Clan Lindsay had historically been close allies of Clan Murray and there had never been a time when either clan would not come to the other’s aid if asked.
But Angus had been suspicious of the ambitious, unscrupulous Drostan from the beginning and he’d told Ternan as much. When reports from Clan Keith had started to trickle back to him, everything Drostan had told him had been in doubt.
Men were calling Drostan a liar.
“Dros, ye canna have their warriors tae destroy the Keith,” Ternan said flatly. “Angus willna give them tae ye. But we have one hundred and sixty men of our own. I know ye wanted tae destroy the Keith by sheer numbers, but why not move against them ourselves and be done with this?”
That was their only choice and Drostan knew it. Their one hundred and sixty men would have been much stronger with the Murray’s four hundred, but that was not to be.
All of that effort and time… wasted.
A village burned in vain.
Drostan stood up from his chair, struggling to reconcile himself with the fact that his hatred against Clan Keith was not shared.
His allies wanted no part of it. He wandered over to the hearth where the big, gray dogs were lounging about, having just fed on the scraps from a morning meal, and pondered what this situation had finally come to.
Even if Clan Murray would not support him, his crusade against the Keith was not over. As he stood there, trying to think of a way to salvage the situation, Ternan stood up from the old bench and the piece of furniture immediately buckled.
The noise startled the dozing dogs as Drostan looked over at it, at Ternan, who simply shook his head at the faulty furniture. It caused Drostan to recall the last time he saw someone sit on that particular corner of the bench. It had been months ago, but still, the moment came to mind.
“Cam of Netherton sat on that bench before we sent him off tae the Ludus Caledonia,” he said. “Do ye recall?”
Ternan nodded. “I do.”
Drostan’s gaze lingered on the cracked bench as a thought occurred to him. “The Cal,” he muttered thoughtfully. “We sent Cam off tae The Cal tae learn tae fight.”
“He’s probably already dead.”
“True. But The Cal has other… purposes.”
Ternan could hear something in Drostan’s tone that made him look over at the man. “What are ye thinking?”
Drostan lifted an eyebrow as if a great idea had struck him. “If we canna have the support of our allies, then mayhap all we need is a great warrior of our own,” he said. “We sent Cam away tae The Cal because he wanted tae learn tae fight.”
Ternan wasn’t quite following him. “But we also wanted him away where he could not spoil yer plans for destroying the Keith.”
“That is true.”
“Then what are ye thinking?”
Drostan looked at him. “That we find a man tae lead our men against the Keith at The Cal,” he said. “We can buy the fealty of the greatest warrior they have, someone so powerful and terrifying that he’ll crush the Keith. With a man like that, we dunna need the Murray. Do ye understand?”
Ternan was surprised by the suggestion of buying a highly trained warrior. “Some of the men are animals, Dros. We could buy a man who could destroy the entire clan by himself.”
Drostan was feeling some hope in a situation where moments before, there had been absolutely none.
Turning on his heel, he headed for the small solar at the front of the keep, the one that had belonged to his father and his father before him. It was an untidy, smelly room, but buried beneath the stone near the hearth was a copper urn containing the wealth of the Lindsay, and it was substantial.
Once in the chamber, Drostan went straight for the hearth, pulling up the stone and producing the urn.
It was heavy with coins and bits of jewelry and other valuables, decades of accumulation.
Drostan set it on the nearest table and scooped out some of the coinage.
Ternan was right beside him, watching every move.
“Ye’ll go tae The Cal,” Drostan said to Ternan. “Ye’ll take this money and see Sir Clegg. Tell him we want the fiercest warrior he has and offer him everything I give ye. If he wants more, I’ll send him more, but it must be the best warrior money can buy.”
Ternan nodded, watching as Drostan produced a leather pouch, cracked with age, and began to put the coins into it.
“He’ll need tae be a great leader if he is tae lead our men tae victory,” Ternan said. “We’ll need a man who can think for himself.”
Drostan continued counting coins. “I dunna want a man who will think us straight intae defeat,” he said.
“I want an animal. I want a man so fearsome that the Keith will run at the sight of him. I will give the orders. I need a beast of a man tae follow them without thought. Find me that man, Ternan. And quickly.”
“I will.”
“If Angus Murray willna help me, then I’ll do this my way.”
Ternan knew that tone in Drostan’s voice—he’d heard it before, many times. It was the voice of a man who knew what he wanted and would stop at nothing to get it.
Drostan put the coin purse in Ternan’s hand, and the man was on his way to Edinburgh before the day was out.