Chapter 35
Chapter
Thirty-Five
" M arcaichean!"
The call went out from the top of the wall, shattering the morning peacefulness.
The weather had been fierce, snow piled high against the wall that surrounded Lechlede, making it impossible for any to ride out.
Now, during a brief lull in the storm, riders approached.
The chieftain's sons were at a nearby table, the chess board spread before them. Now, both bolted from their places and would have charged out the entrance of the great hall if their mother hadn't warned them back with a quick word.
For days after DeBrus and Fraser men had ridden out toward Cu Lodain they'd waited. Only a day's ride if the weather held. Instead a new storm had set in with a fierceness that kept those at Lechlede inside the hall, and those outside at the mercy of the cold, wind, and snow.
James Fraser rose from the bench at the great hall where he'd gathered with his clansmen, their words kept among themselves, but all those within the hall knew what they spoke of, their expressions somber with a comment given, then nodded agreement as plans were made, both for the defense of the keep and the protection of their kinsmen if the English came against them. All were in agreement, for they knew none were safe if King Henry sent soldiers against Lechlede.
Now, every man drew his sword, with the recent attack in all their thoughts, and the identities of those who approached unknown. To a man, ready to defend and lay down his life if it was necessary.
James exchanged a look with Brynna. No words were spoken, none were necessary, both knew what must be done if the riders were any but their own people.
Brynna Fraser immediately sent her daughter to the kitchen with Morna and the wee bairn, then picked up the slender blade that lay at the table. Young Connor turned to his brother as their father left the hall with his men.
"Stay with the women," he told Alexander. Then he turned and followed his father and the other Fraser warriors.
Brynna scolded her oldest, then grabbed for Alexander when he would have followed.
"But I want to go," he protested.
"I know ye do," Brynna replied. "But someone must stay here to protect us, aye? And take us through the passage if we need to go. Tis what yer father would ask of ye."
"Like we went through the passage before?" he asked, not quite persuaded.
"Aye, just so. The wee babe and Eleanor will need ye to protect them."
"Eleanor too?" he asked with obvious disgust.
"Aye, for she is of yer blood, and men must always protect the women."
At the word 'men', his expression changed.
"Aye, for the clan."
"Just so," Brynna replied. "Now ye must go with Morna as well and make ready if we need to leave again."
That matter settled, she turned as Alix headed for the doors to the keep.
"Stay back until tis safe!"
But Alix was already out the door, a slender blade clutched in her hand as she followed the chieftain's oldest son and the other Fraser men.
Fraser kinsmen along with Grant and Munro who had been delayed leaving by the weather, filled the yard, armed with swords and axe, as James Fraser descended the steps of the keep, crossed the yard, then climbed the steps to the top of the wall. To a man, there was only silence and the wind and the cold, as they waited.
She came up behind young Connor and wrapped an arm about his slender shoulders, his expression fierce like that of his father, a short blade clutched in his hand. Her own hand tightened around the handle of the blade she held as a signal was given and the gates at the wall were slowly opened.
James Fraser came down from the high wall as a column of riders slowly rode through the entrance into the yard at Lechlede.
They were barely recognizable, wrapped in thick fleece mantles, their faces hidden behind thick woolen scarves, others with frozen beards, snow caked across the rumps of the horses.
Malcolm MacKenzie rode beside Robert DeBrus as they reined in their weary horses before James Fraser. Words were exchanged, but it was impossible to tell what was said. Alix pushed past Connor and ran down the steps into the yard in spite of the mud and snow.
She went from man to man, peering into each face, greeted by a stoic expression or a simple nod. Her feet were near frozen in the thin slippers, the hem of her gown soon soaked as she pushed past a DeBrus warrior, another Fraser warrior, searching, then one of the Grant clan, searching one weary face after another.
Then, she reached the last rider as he wearily dismounted his horse, a Fraser kinsman by the name of Dunham.
She grabbed his arm. "Are there no others?" she asked, looking past him to the empty expanse of snow covered countryside past the gates.
"Nay, miss." Then he slowly walked passed her, leading his horse.
Alix stared out across the snow covered expanse beyond the wall, the white of the sky blending with the white of the snow, frozen, colorless... empty.
"There were several bodies in the forest," Robert DeBrus spoke quietly as he and Malcolm MacKenzie met with James and told him what they had found.
They were all bone tired, only now feeling the warmth from the hearth these many hours later, food the women brought from the kitchen warming their bellies.
"They were English," and then knowing the next question, he grimly added "Ruari was not among them."
James nodded. "The fortress at Cu Lodain?"
Malcolm MacKenzie exchanged a look with DeBrus, their expressions grim.
"The fire lit up the night sky," MacKenzie said, taking another long drink of wine.
"I'm surprised ye didna see it."
James shook his head."Not with this weather. What of others at the fortress?" he asked, a cold dread like a hand tight at his gut.
"Blackwood?"
"Dead in the fire, according to one of his men we found wandering about," DeBrus replied.
"Poor man," MacKenzie added, exchanging a long look with DeBrus, his expression emotionless.
"Died of his injuries afterward."
Nothing more was said of it. It wasn't necessary.
James would not condemn his own kinsman for what was done, nor DeBrus.
"Ye found no others?"
MacKenzie shook his head. "We searched until the weather forced us to return."
"Aye," the chieftain of Clan Fraser replied, his heart heavy at the words. "Best see to yer men, and rest."
Brynna watched as James stood over the pallet where his infant son slept beneath warm fleece while his two oldest slept in the alcove of the smaller, crowded chamber they'd all been forced to take for some measure of privacy until repairs could be made to their own chamber.
But his daughter wasn't with them. She'd spent the evening worrying over a young pup, the smallest of the litter that had been born to the female hound that had survived the attack. She had taken the wee thing with her to the kitchens below, determined to save the poor thing.
Ah, lasses, he thought, tender of heart but with a fierce determination that rivaled his sons. He stroked the babe's cheek, fear a constant presence at the responsibilities that he wouldn't trade for all the gold in the young Scottish king's coffers, let alone King Henry's.
Scotland had need of her sons and daughters, if she was to survive. But at what cost?
Old Maisel's prophecy haunted him-- a thousand years of blood and death . Had he sired these bairns only to lose them in bloody conflict?
What had his father's thoughts been for the sons and daughter he had sired? Had Maisel spoken those same words to him? Did he have the same doubts? The same fears and had then taken an English wife to guard against what might come?
If so, Simon Fraser had never spoken of it. Nor would he have spoken of it with a bastard born son. With Hugh Fraser then? The son who had succeeded him as chieftain and then died a fool's death at the hands of a traitor? That might have been the destruction of the clan; that had set him on the path he must follow.
Had their father perhaps glimpsed it in one of the last conversations they shared?
"You are strong and true, and wise... in ways that others are not. Ye'll not sacrifice others for your own sake. I trust ye in that for ye are blood of my blood perhaps more that some... "
The conversation had ended there and Simon would say no more. In a matter of days he was gone to the fevers and wasting sickness that had taken him, and Hugh Fraser, his half brother, was made chieftain and a wife taken for an alliance to strengthen the clan. He looked up at Brynna, the wife made too soon a widow.
Now fate--or perhaps Maisel's prophecy--had brought them to this moment.
"What will you do?" Brynna asked, holding back the words she wanted to say, to beg him not to risk himself in this, that she could not bear to lose him--words she could not speak, dare not speak. For it was not in him to hide and cower as another would have done, or bargain his clan for the sake of himself.
Honor was everything to James Fraser, when he had been born with none and had fought his entire life to claim it. He would not sacrifice it now, and God help her, it was what she loved most in him--his honor and everything it stood for. Now, the expression at his face told her the decision that had already been made.
"We will ride out when the storm breaks," James said in a quiet voice so not to wake the bairns, but with a resolve that left no doubt.
"I will find him." Alive or no, he thought. "And bring him home."