Chapter 3
Spring and her father’s entourage arrived back at camp the next day. She was tired from the raiding and the hunt and wanted naught more than to lie down atop her pallet and sleep for a sennight.
“My laird, we have news,” said her father’s lackey, Fergus. The man wasn’t much use to them with his bad leg. That’s why he was always sent out on errands that didn’t involve physical contact.
“What is it, Fergus?” Cromwell dismounted and stretched.
“I was out scoutin’ the area this mornin’ and came across a messenger from the Gordon clan.”
“The Gordons?” That took her father’s interest. He hated the Gordons more than any of the clans. Their chieftain, Shaw, had his defenses so secure at the castle that it was one clan they’d not been able to raid. “What’s this all about?”
“I stopped him, pretendin’ to be hurt,” Fergus continued.
“When he dismounted, I robbed him. I found this amongst his things.” The man handed a parchment to Cromwell.
However, Cromwell, as well as most of the clan, didn’t know how to read.
Fergus had learned to read a little, since he usually stayed at camp and didn’t have much else to do.
“What does it say?” asked Cromwell.
Spring secured her bow over her shoulder, curious to know as well.
“It’s a missive,” he said, opening it, and looking at the writing on it. “I’m no’ exactly sure about the entire message, but from what I gather, Laird Shaw Gordon is lookin’ for a wife. He’s sendin’ out this missive to neighborin’ clans.”
“So, Gordon wants a wife, does he?” Cromwell stroked his beard in thought and chuckled.
“What are ye thinkin’?” asked Gawl, overhearing the conversation and stepping forward to join them.
“I’m thinkin’ this missive isna goin’ any further than here.” Cromwell turned toward Fergus. “Where’s the messenger? Did ye do away with him?”
“I didna,” said the man, shaking his head. “I left him in pretty bad condition at the side of the road.”
“If he’s still alive, we’ll need to act quickly.”
“What are ye thinkin’, my laird?” asked Gawl.
“I see this as the perfect opportunity to get inside the castle walls.” Spring saw the devious look in her father’s eyes and knew she wouldn’t like whatever plan he was drumming up.
“How can we do that?” asked Spring. “I dinna think Shaw Gordon will welcome us inside his castle walls with open arms.”
“He will if he’s gettin’ somethin’ he wants in return.” Her father smiled, showing his broken, stained teeth.
“What do we have that he could possibly want?” she asked.
“Ye,” said her father, pointing his finger at her. “As his wife.”
“Me? Nay!” Her eyes opened wide. “I dinna want to marry our enemy. I dinna want to marry anyone. Think of a different plan.”
“It’s a good plan,” said Fergus. “Then we’ll be allies.”
“She can open the gate when they least suspect it and we’ll attack,” added Gawl.
“Exactly.” Cromwell chuckled. “They willna even see it comin’. Edinvale Castle is as good as ours.”
“Nay. I willna do it,” said Spring, feeling the beat of her heart pick up pace. “I dinna even ken the man.”
“Ye’ll do it and no’ say another word about it.” Cromwell grabbed her arm and dragged her into camp. “Ye’re one of our best warriors, Magna.”
“I might be a good warrior, but why do I have to offer myself up as a pawn?”
“Ye’re right.” He let go of her arm and she felt relieved until she saw the nasty smile as he glanced over to Gawl. “If ye dinna want to marry Laird Gordon, then ye can stay right here and marry Gawl instead.”
“Really?” Gawl’s eyes almost popped from his head. His tongue was hanging out like a dog and she felt like yanking it right out of his mouth. “I’ll take her. I want her for my wife.” Gawl reached out his filthy hand for her, but her father’s fingers clamped around his wrist to stop him.
“Nay, no’ yet. First, I need Magna’s answer. So which will it be, Daughter? Will ye marry Laird Gordon and help us take the castle? Or will ye stay here and be Gawl’s wife instead?”
Spring’s stomach twisted into a knot and she almost retched at the thought of Gawl laying his hands on her.
A shiver coursed through her. She would rather die than couple with him.
He was the brother of the man who’d tried to rape her years ago.
If she killed him as well, she wasn’t sure her father would like it.
“I’ll marry Laird Gordon,” she agreed, not liking it one bit. Her words were stiff and forced. While the thought of this bothered her immensely, she would take her chances with a man she didn’t know rather than to spend one night with the disgusting Gawl.
“That’s my girl,” said her father, taking his fist and gently punching her on the shoulder. “I kent ye’d make the right decision. Ye’ve pleased me verra much.”
“Aye, Faither.” She’d always felt proud when he’d called her his girl and said she pleased him. But now, she felt like a condemned prisoner going to her death. For some reason, making her father happy didn’t seem so important anymore.
Shaw practiced the sword fight against his good friend, Baen, not having been able to concentrate ever since he’d sent his messenger to the neighboring clans with his missive.
Taking a wife was something that needed to be done, so why was it so hard to accept the idea he’d soon be married again?
Perhaps it was because his children had not been happy about the notion.
Then again, what did it matter what they thought?
He was laird and chieftain and needed to do what was best for his family as well as the clan.
“Och!” Shaw exclaimed as Baen hit his sword and it went flying from his hand, landing at his feet.
Never before had anyone been able to do this to him.
Baen was a good ten years younger than Shaw and much smaller of a man.
This was downright humiliating. He shook his head and bent over to pick up his weapon.
“My laird, if ye dinna mind me sayin’ – ye seem out of sorts today. Is somethin’ troublin’ ye?” Baen squinted one eye from the sun, rubbing his sleeve over his sword to shine it.
“I am out of sorts,” Shaw admitted, staring down at the sword in his hand. “My daughter is uncontrollable lately. And now, all three of my children are scowlin’ at me every time I pass them in the corridor. None of them want a new mathair, but it needs to be done.”
“Of course,” said Baen. “I’m sure ye’ll choose only the best to replace yer late wife. Do ye have an idea of what kind of lassie ye want? Tall, short, curvy?”
“None of that matters,” he said, sitting down on a nearby bench in the practice yard and dragging a weary hand through his hair. “Just as long as she’s a good influence on the children, can cook, take care of the household, and is a proper lady in every sense of the word, she’ll be fine.”
“Ye forgot somethin’.”
“I did? What?” Shaw looked up in question.
“Doesna yer wife need to . . . please ye in bed as well?”
“That’s always a plus,” he said with a slight nod of the head. “Lord kens I’ve been a little lackin’ in that matter ever since I lost Alpina.”
“I’m sure ye’ll have lots of options as ye have so much to offer to a marriage.”
“I’m no’ so sure about that,” he mumbled under his breath.
His skills at fighting and commanding the rest of the clan were fine.
But as a father, he knew he needed a good woman at his side to make him stronger.
“I just hope I have more than a few lassies to choose from,” he said, wondering who would arrive in answer to his missive.
“Mayhap, Laird Mackintosh will bring his three daughters over for ye to choose from. After all, they’re all good lookin’.”
“Nay.” He shook his head. “They’re bonnie, but no’ right to be the mathair of my children. My son, Donel, doesna get along with the eldest daughter’s son. And the laird’s youngest daughter isna much older than him.”
“Then what about Robena from Clan Grant?”
“She’s been married too many times to count. Some say she’s bad luck since all her husbands end up dead a month after she marries. I wouldna be surprised if she kills them off with her awful cookin’.”
“How about Erskina Sutherland?” asked Baen.
“Too old.”
“That cute little blond – Firtha from Clan Munro?”
“Too young. Besides, Donel’s been infatuated with her and her cleavage ever since their visit last year. It wouldna work.”
“Then how about Bertha from Clan Campbell?”
“Nay.” He shook his head, lazily brushing dirt from his sword. “I dinna want a wife who could probably pick me up with one hand and throw me across the room with the other.”
Baen let out a frustrated sigh and settled himself on the bench next to Shaw. “Face it, my laird. Ye just dinna want a wife at all.”
“That’s no’ true.” Shaw stood up and straightened his plaid. “What would ever give ye that idea? I am open to any option.”
Baen shook his head but did not answer. Shaw’s brother, Leod, ran up, out of breath.
Leod was a few years younger than Shaw. He was also Shaw’s only sibling.
While Shaw had dark hair and hazel eyes, Leod was blond and had eyes of blue.
The two of them had always been close growing up and that is why Leod volunteered to take the job of the castle steward.
Shaw didn’t have servants. His clan worked together as a whole.
Everyone volunteered for jobs to make the castle run.
Sometimes, they even traded jobs and Shaw didn’t mind at all.
They all respected him, just like they had Shaw’s father, Norval, when he was alive and ran the castle.
Everyone pretty much called Shaw Laird or Chieftain, except for his children and, at times, also his brother.
“Shaw,” Leod called out, coming to a quick stop, raising a puff of dust in the process.
“What is it, Leod? Ye are actin’ as if yer plaid is on fire.”
“It’s the Gunn Clan.”