Chapter 2
The day was fresh for Logan Stirling. He rose with the dawn, as was his habit, and went outside to perform his exercises.
He was thirty years old, with a stocky physique where the angles of his muscles were defined and honed as though they had been expertly sculpted.
The keep he lived in was tall and drab grey, weathered over the years.
It overlooked the village of Stirling, a place that had thrived over the generations.
One day it would all be his as laird, although the future had become bleak the older he had grown.
After he had done his morning rituals, he went to the kitchens and fetched some breakfast for himself and his father.
He loaded up two plates with eggs, bacon, chunks of cheese, and thick slices of bread, taking them to his father’s chambers.
The laird, Hamish Stirling, was in bed, his face pale, glistening with the sweat from a fever.
He had blankets draped over his body, and Logan winced as he entered, hating to see his father in this state.
“How are ye feeling taeday, Da?” Logan asked.
“Fine,” his father wheezed.
Logan helped him into a sitting position and put the food on his lap. Hamish was weak, but he nibbled a few bites and then murmured in satisfaction.
“Keep up like this and it will only be a short time before ye are back on yer feet,” Logan said with a warm smile. “I’m sure all the people are waiting tae greet ye again.”
“I hope sae, but we must talk,” Hamish said, placing a hand on Logan’s arm. He squeezed, intending to grip it tightly, but his strength was not at its usual height. It was just a ghost of a touch, and Logan found himself fearing for the man’s life. “If the worst should happen…”
“It’s nae gaeing tae happen, Da. Ye are gaeing tae recover and resume yer duties as laird. Everything is gaeing tae be well,” Logan said, his voice a blend of denial and hope. Hamish’s watery eyes looked at his son with sympathy, and he sighed.
“But we must speak in case it does happen. I will nae be able tae gae on forever. The village needs a strong laird, a young laird. It needs ye, son,” he said.
“I will never be half the laird ye are.”
“Ye will be. I hae taught ye everything ye need tae know. But ye need tae think about the future. Ye need tae think about the legacy ye are gaeing tae leave behind. This place is special. I dinnae want ye tae be the last of us, Logan. Family is like a chain that runs through time. Each of us are a link, and we must forge a new link for the future. That is the way of things. I…I know things hae been hard for ye before, but ye must think of the future.”
Logan bowed his head. “I shall try, Da,” he said, but his words were heavy with regret and dismay, for he was unsure if he could be the man his father wanted him to be.
All the time there was pressure weighing on his shoulders, pushing him down.
By now he should have been able to cope with it, but it seemed as though it was always going to be there no matter what.
Hamish ate some more of his breakfast, although it was only half the amount that Logan ate, for he wiped the plate clean.
Hamish then grew tired and placed his head back on the pillow, sinking into the soft comfort of his bed.
Logan let his father rest and left the room with a heavy heart.
There were moments in life where it felt as though time was suffocating him and doom was looming ahead like a specter.
He decided to get out of the keep and go into town for a walk in the hopes of clearing his mind.
The market was on today, and the variety of goods and merchants offered always gave him a thrill.
It had been the same ever since he was a child.
The market was alive with the sounds of merchants selling their wares, conjuring a magic spell with their words, making it seem as though every deal was too good to believe, and every item was some piece of treasure that would never pass this way again.
There were colorful garments and trinkets, as well as vegetables from local farms. The stalls were surrounded by people looking to spend their hard-earned coin on something exciting, while the children running around reminded Logan of how he used to be when he was younger.
Life in Stirling could often be sleepy and slow, so the market was always an injection of excitement.
He smiled as he overheard one child pleading with his parents to buy her something while another child was racing through the market and wasn’t looking where he was going.
He collided with Logan, and the impact was enough to send him sprawling to the ground.
Logan chuckled and bent down, offering his hand to help the child up. The mother, a ruddy-faced woman, came rushing up and scolded the boy.
“I’m sae sorry. I keep telling him nae tae rush about everywhere. The world is nae in a rush tae get away from ye,” she said, grabbing the boy’s hand forcefully.
He offered a mumbled apology, but Logan just continued laughing.
“I was the same at his age,” he said, ruffling the boy’s hair before he continued on his way.
“Ah, Logan! I hae something special for ye taeday. Come here,” Iain proclaimed, the red-haired man beckoning Logan wildly over. His face was covered in freckles and a beaming smile.
Logan arched his eyebrows and wore a skeptical look.
“What hae ye got for me this time, Iain?” he said warily.
Iain held his hands up. “I know that ye hae nae been impressed with some of the things I hae offered ye before, but this time I hae something I think ye will like.”
He bent down and rummaged around his belongings for a few moments while Logan waited impatiently.
His expectations were not high given Iain’s history of exaggerating his goods, but he was intrigued nonetheless.
Iain emerged from the stall holding a sword.
It was long, the blade dull, and it didn’t look impressive at all.
It was certainly nothing like the ones that Logan had grown up wielding.
“What is this?” he asked.
“This is an old blade, an ancient blade. This is the lost blade of the McCall clan.”
“The lost blade of the McCall clan?” Logan asked wryly.
Iain spoke in a hushed, awed tone as he nodded.
“Hae ye nae heard the tale of the McCall clan? Fine warriors they were, warriors of old. They fought men and beasts and monsters, and their warriors were always the most feared in the land. The laird always wielded a blade that was said tae be enchanted by a witch.”
“And how was it enchanted?” Logan asked, happy to entertain the notion for the time being.
“It was said that anyone who wielded this weapon would never be defeated in battle, nay matter how strong his enemy was.”
“And sae how did it come tae be in yer possession if naybody ever lost with it?”
“Well, that’s the thing. It’s said that the last man who wielded it, Angus McCall, was lost at sea, frozen in a block of ice.
There was a fishing expedition that was searching for new waters tae feast on, and they came upon it.
At first they didnae know what they came across, but if ye know the story then ye know the blade, and I happen tae know both.
I thought ye may want it, being a man who is nae shy of combat. ”
Logan looked at the blade and pursed his lips. “I think ye may be selling me the story more than the blade,” he said cautiously.
Iain shook his head. “I swear that it’s true! Now, I cannae speak for the enchantment, of course. I dinnae know if it’s only able tae be wielded by a member of the McCall clan, but dinnae ye think it’s worth finding out?” he asked.
Logan sighed and shook his head.
“As much as I enjoy yer yarns, I dinnae think there’s any truth tae it. It’s just a sword, Iain, naything more and naything less, and I hae plenty in the keep that are in far finer condition,” he said.
Iain shook his head and sighed. “Well, dinnae say I didnae warn ye. I hope that ye dinnae get intae a fight and regret nae buying this when ye hae the chance,” he said.
Logan smiled wryly. “I think I should hae other things on my mind if I find myself in battle again. Why dae ye think I’ll be in combat? Hae ye heard anything?”
Iain glanced around and leaned toward Logan. It always helped to maintain good relations with the merchants as they heard things far and wide, and it always helped to be informed. Although Logan wasn’t going to buy the sword, he was going to buy something else.
“Bram MacGavin is on the move again. Folks say he’s planning something big.”
“Oh aye?” Logan scowled. “I hae been trying tae get him for years. He always manages tae scuttle away like a spider heading for the dark.”
“Aye, and he haes us all in terror. Naybody knows where he’s trying tae strike next, but I hae heard that people hae been boasting of earning a lot of coin for working for him. Some of them were good men, but I guess even the hearts of good men can be swayed with a wee bit of coin.”
“If they are truly good then they hae nay business with Bram. Keep yer ears open, Iain. If ye hear anything else, dinnae hesitate tae tell me,” Logan said, handing Iain a few coins for the information.
Logan’s heart clutched with tension as he thought about Bram MacGavin.
The man had been a scourge on the local area.
There were many times when Logan had gone out in search of him, but he had picked up nothing but a trail.
Bram had the uncanny ability of sneaking away as though he could disappear into thin air.
There was always a rumor of his appearance, but then he was gone again.
Logan wasn’t sure he would ever be able to settle if he didn’t get his hands on that man.
“Hae ye paid yer respects tae the duchess?” Iain asked, turning his attention to another matter.
Logan shrugged and shook his head.
“Hae ye nae heard?” Iain continued, looking shocked when Logan said that he hadn’t. “Ach, lad, dinnae ye know what’s happening in yer own village?”
“The matters of the English dinnae concern me,” Logan replied.
“Well, this one might. She’s a widow now. The duke died.”
Logan arched his eyebrows with surprise at the news.
He only knew the duchess in passing. She lived on the grand estate that had been passed down through a Scottish family that had ended up moving down to England but had kept the estate.
A few years back, she had arrived, but she had always kept to herself.
Logan had never made a serious effort to get to know her.
There always seemed to be something else to do.
He had no ill will toward her, although he did find it strange that she had not been joined by her husband.
He supposed he should try and send her a message of condolence, though, although he wasn’t sure if he should pity her.
He hadn’t met the duke many times, but from what he recalled, he was a crude man and never had much love for the Scottish.
Logan had always wondered why he had been so eager to keep ahold of his lands in the Highlands when he showed nothing but disdain for the local people.
Ah well, he thought, there is one less mean person in the world. God takes enough good people. It is about time he took someone who deserved tae leave.
He thanked Iain for the extra information and then continued on his way, working through the crowd when suddenly he bumped into a woman.
Her hair was as blonde as the radiant sun and her eyes as green as the lush valleys that ran through the Highlands.
He found himself smiling at her and offering his hand to steady her.
She looked at it as though there was something stopping her from accepting, and then pressed her lips together and smiled at him.
“I apologize for my haste. I did not pay proper attention to where I was going. I hope I did not do you any harm,” she said in a clipped accent that was most decidedly English, contrasting starkly with the rolling Scottish burr that most people possessed.
It made her stand out, though, and he realized who he was speaking to.
Haes she always been this beautiful? he wondered, and then thought that perhaps he hadn’t paid close enough attention to her.
He bowed his head and wore a solemn look on his face. “Duchess Fernsby, I am sorry for yer loss,” he said.