Chapter Two
Where did Alex learn to lead so well? Judge for yourself…
They’d been traveling for half a day and only stopped once.
Alex had paid close attention to everything his sire did and said, knowing he might one day be asked to lead these same men or their sons.
They were on the last leg of the journey.
With his sire’s permission, Alex was riding beside him—the better to observe the warriors—but his father made a sudden motion for him to move behind him again.
He had already ordered his men to surround and protect his first-born son if they were attacked, something that shamed Alex, although he intended to do as he’d promised and listen to his sire’s orders.
“Alex, you will draw your sword to protect yourself from marauders,” his sire ordered.
“Aye, Sir.”
He’d always been instructed never to let their enemies know they were related, lest they attempt to use him against his father. And he was also told not to call him chief or laird.
Sir seemed appropriate.
A hush settled over the group, his father leading the way with two men on either side of him, all ready to draw their weapons if necessary.
It was quiet—oddly quiet.
As they drew closer to the small village outside the castle, the smell of burned thatched roofs reached them.
Alex hadn’t thought anything could be worse than the eerie quiet, but he soon revised his opinion. A horrible moaning met their ears, many voices keening as one.
His father’s fists clenched and rage lit his eyes. He cursed and sent the majority of his men around the village to clear the area. The rest rode with him to the gates.
Once they reached the open gates, Alex’s sire called out to anyone on the curtain wall, but there was no answer. They led their horses through the courtyard.
There were as many dead bodies here as they’d seen on arrival.
The courtyard was littered with men who’d lost their life fighting. A few still lived, and it was their agonized moans that had carried on the wind. Although Alex had seen bodies before, he’d never seen anything so gruesome. The gore and the flies made him want to retch, but he would not.
Not in front of his father.
His father barked orders to their men, who rushed to do his bidding without question.
He told some men to take a crew to dig a large grave behind the curtain wall, instructed others to pile the dead onto carts.
Others were tasked with gathering the wounded so they might be brought back to Grant land for treatment.
Every once in a while, his father would turn sideways and give his son an explanation for his instructions. “As every Highlander would do for his brethren,” was his explanation for burying the dead.
“Alex,” his sire said, jumping down from his horse, “we will check inside for the laird’s family. He had two daughters and I fear what could have happened to them.”
He dismounted and hurried to catch up to his father, doing his best to match his strides as they headed toward the keep.
As they walked, three men accompanying them, his sire tipped his head toward him with an approving look.
“I see you’ve finally surpassed your sire’s height, son. Will you never stop growing?”
Alex didn’t know how to reply to that remark, but there was no need. His father began giving orders to the three men entering the keep with him.
“Always allow your second to lead you, Alex. We know not if the marauders are still inside. Draw your weapon before you enter. Never forget that.”
He nodded to his men, instructing them to go ahead of him, then he followed. Alex came last, although he was determined to protect his sire if they were attacked. Blood roared through his vessels with each step, his senses heightened.
They stepped inside, weapons drawn, then fanned out inside the great hall. Dead bodies were everywhere, and everything inside had been destroyed.
“Bastards. Watch your back, men. The English committed this heinous crime.”
The English? How could he know that?
Four men came barreling out of a chamber close to the tower room, their weapons drawn. They attacked silently, unlike most Highlanders in battle.
Alex let out his Grant war cry and went after the man headed toward his sire, cutting the fool down with one swing. Although he’d never been in battle before, he didn’t hesitate. Protecting his sire came as naturally as breathing.
“Back!” his sire bellowed in a tone he’d not heard before.
Alex stepped back, allowing his father the opportunity to take the next man down, but another came at them from the side. Alex turned and cut him down with one swing. The four men were dead.
His father said, “Jeffrey, check the tower chambers and the kitchens.”
Panting from exertion, Alex stared down at the blood on his sword and the man splayed beneath him. The man’s eyes were still open, staring at naught. And Alex couldn’t stop staring at the blood spilling from his body. His dead body.
His father moved closer and set his hand on Alex’s wrists. “Lower your weapon, son. You killed because you had to. You saved yourself and your sire. The Lord will forgive you. Clean your blade on the enemy, then sheathe your weapon.”
He did his best to do as his father told him, but his hands shook too much. He hadn’t killed one man but two. His father steadied his hands and helped him to clean his blade. “I’ll forgive your defiance this once because ’twas your first experience in battle.”
Defiance? He stared in confusion. He hadn’t defied his sire, had he?
“You stepped in front of me. I gave you a clear instruction to stand behind me at all times. Howbeit, since you killed a man who was about to cut me down, I’ll say naught this time.
But you must listen to your chief’s orders.
Had I not guessed you might step in front of me, I may have driven my blade into your back. ”
Alex didn’t know what to say. He finished cleaning his blade and held it at his side, the tip striking the floor. “Forgive me, Da.”
His father clasped his shoulder and said, “Go upstairs and check the bedchambers. Keep your weapon at the ready.”
Alex crept up the staircase, gripping his weapon so tightly his fingers were going numb. Sweat dotted his brow, enough that he wished to swipe at it but he didn’t dare lose focus. He checked the first two chambers and they were empty.
The last chamber was not.
Two people were sprawled across the bed, both dead. Blood soaked their clothing and the linens. It appeared the husband had been reaching for his weapon when he’d been stabbed in the belly. The wife had her throat cut.
The stench in the chamber was unbearable. He did his best not to heave in the corner, leaving quickly. He yelled over the balustrade to his sire. “I believe the castle’s chieftain and his wife are in their bedchamber, both dead.”
His father took the stairs two at a time and bolted into the chamber, only to curse vehemently.
“Bastards!” He stormed back out and stood next to Alex.
“Da, how do you know the English did this?” Alex said softly. “You knew before we saw them.”
“Because they have no code of honor. They rape and kill women and bairns. You may not have seen it, but I saw the mountain of bairns dead at the edge of the clearing outside the castle walls. They must have been trying to escape.” He ran a hand through his dark hair peppered with gray strands, tugging on the ends, a movement Alex knew was often used to express his frustration.
“Where are the women?” Alex asked.
“I heard some female cries upon our arrival, yet we found none inside other than the chief’s wife. Clan Gordon is no more. But where are the women?”
“Would they have taken them captive?”
“Lord help them if they did. The English are brutal. Come, we’ll check outside the walls. We’ll speak with the men whom I sent to search the village.”
Alex followed his sire down the stairs and through the hall, keeping his gaze averted from the death and blood everywhere. Once in the courtyard, the buzz of the flies overtook all other sounds.
Blood and gore were everywhere.
Several of their warriors were busy burying the dead, while others were loading injured Gordon warriors into a cart to be taken to a healer. Alex’s sire headed out the castle wall, consulting with men along the way.
“Women? Have you seen any women, young lasses?”
“Aye,” one guard said. “There are many dead inside a few cottages. Most are in their night rails. This must have happened at night.”
“Did you see any lasses you would suspect to be the laird’s daughters?”
“One, aye. She was protected by five others. She wore a noblewoman’s slippers, Chief.”
“Bury the others, but I’ll check the noblewoman,” he said, heading toward the indicated cottage. “Alex, wait here.”
He did as he was told, although he couldn’t stand to be in this courtyard full of death.
Thankfully, his father returned quickly.
“’Tis one of his daughters, I’m sure of it.
Now we must locate the other so we can bury them together.
There is one more daughter somewhere.” His gaze scanned the area.
“You search that area behind the keep while I check with the others.”
Alex headed across the sea of bodies and around the keep, looking for any sign of a lass, but they were all men. His father called to him a few minutes later.
“Inside the keep, Alex.”