Chapter 20 #2
“I have it summed up in but a single word belonging to the most sophisticated term of tactics,” Aonghus said, leaning against a hitching rail to finish with a lone syllable of truth: “Luck.”
Alec laughed while he chuckled. Hell, it felt good; he had almost forgotten how to.
Both grins dropped from their faces when a third family member came up behind them to state, “Could not have placed a better turn of phrase myself.” Callum scowled at the middle son.
“Good morrow to you as well, brother,” Aonghus greeted the eldest MacCade, who took a spot leaning his bare arms upon the rough timber along the long hitching rail to gander a look at the pair working in the distance.
“Sir Brayden is gifted with the bow; however, if you were seekin’ instruction for your lady…” Callum gave pause to finish, “you know I am more worthy upon the task.” True.
Alec jumped in, appearing to smooth the sibling tensions gathering. “Aye, Callum, but there was a wee bit of a trade involved by way of the lady aiding Sir Brayden with a few of his demons.”
“Ahh.” Callum stared at Aonghus before his palm slapped his younger brother’s face lightly. “When did you start lookin’ the wee brother instead of Alec? Such a pretty lad under all that gristle.” Callum batted his eyes. “Truly a wee shite now.”
“Callum, I am only one year younger than you, brother,” Aonghus countered.
“I think he looks most noble,” Alec corrected, appearing cross. “Callum, you could take a lesson, or am I mistaken at the pig shite you call a beard on your face?”
“For what purpose?” Callum groused back.
“Pride – or greater yet, if you ever shed that ever-present scowl as if you just stepped in pig shite, a lady may remain longer at your side,” Alec retorted. “A chief should have a wife.”
Callum narrowed his gaze. “A wee brother who is a chieftain should have respect for his clan’s chief and not question his choices.”
Aonghus took a hard look at his older brother. Callum looked so worn from the last time he saw him. There was a hollow daze in his eyes. Why? What unleashed such bitterness all these years?
“Callum,” he began, trying to extend a truce, “you wish to speak upon what troubles you?”
“Nae, wee brother.” Callum spat upon the rough stones on the ground, then glared at the pair across the bailey.
The chief appeared to be in denial of his suffering of some sort, instead focusing on the archery lesson taking place.
“You are wrong, Sir Brayden! The lady needs more turn with her upper frame. She is very delicate and needs to release with a correct vantage at the target,” Callum hollered at the pair, who looked his way. “Here, allow me to demonstrate.”
Aonghus held steady when the Clan MacCade chief circled the rail’s end to approach the two facing them.
“What are your thoughts, Aonghus?” Alec asked, sounding worried.
“He may have been hard before casting me out,” he answered, “but you are not mistaken. He has grown worse and yet still never speaks about what seems to have turned him into stone. If you throw a stone hard enough to the ground it does not bend but will crack, wee brother.”
“Aye, I am fearful for him as well,” Alec agreed. “He also never speaks of any lassies – shite, they all follow him about seeking his favor like a flock of hens. It has to all be connected in a way he is not tellin’ us but is ripping out his insides.”
“Aye, wee brother.”
Perhaps Keirah could soften the stern stone; she had already done wonders with Sir Brayden in mere moments.
Keirah greeted Callum in a reserved manner before a brisk discussion began.
An inward smile returned when his prickly wee thistle began waving her arm about in a dramatic manner at Callum, who was listening intently.
Aye, she would conquer in finding out what ailed the eldest MacCade.
Her arm kept whipping about for a few minutes before she took her stance then once more pulled the hemp string back on the bow.
Shite, he had been remiss – he needed to see about getting her a new bow immediately.
She must have a bow fit only for her from the bowyer as he had promised.
He’d see to it directly. His lips curved upward about the other gift he had already ordered from the blacksmith and would soon be retrieving for her.
The arrow released and sailed the air, hitting the straw bale set up as a target.
The arrow was set on the furthest edge from the center and sadly sagged – but it landed!
A joyful squeal erupted from her lips; she leaned up to kiss both instructors’ shocked cheeks before racing his direction with yew bow in hand.
“Did you garner a glimpse at that, MacCade?!” she cried, bounding toward him, appearing more a delighted filly leaping through the fields than lady. The veils on her wimple billowed back in the breeze at the eagerness in which she bolted for him. Completely captivating!
Her excitement was contagious; all four Scotsmen present wore fresh smiles before Aonghus caught her, scooping her up in his arms to sail her about twice in a circle.
He declared. “Cluaran, you are talent into your root!” He swung her a third time, refusing to let her go. He would never let her go.