Chapter 3 #2
Shaw’s head snapped up. His fist clenched over the hilt of his sword and his jaw tightened just from hearing the name of their enemy.
He jumped to his feet and looked around.
“Where are the bastards? We need to close the drawbridge before they try to push their way inside the castle walls.” He started for the courtyard at a quick pace with Baen and Leod at his side.
“It’s too late. They’re already inside,” explained Leod.
“Nay! How did this happen?” Shaw took off at a sprint with the others following right behind him. “Get yer weapons and alert the others we’re under attack.”
“I let them in,” said Leod, causing Shaw to stop in his tracks. He spun around, not able to believe his ears.
“Why would ye do a fool thing like that, Brathair? What were ye thinkin’?”
“They’re here about the betrothal,” explained Leod.
“Betrothal? What betrothal?”
“I think he means, ye, my laird,” said Baen. “Mayhap, they brought ye a lassie to marry.”
“They did,” said Leod with a nod of his head.
“What?” spat Shaw. “How did that happen? I didna tell the messenger to deliver a missive to Clan Gunn. How do they even ken about it?” Shaw didn’t like his enemies inside his castle walls. This could be a trick. It was much too dangerous. Clan Gunn was not to be trusted.
“I’m no’ sure,” said Leod with a shrug of his shoulders. “Ye can ask their laird yerself, because here he comes now.”
Shaw spun back around and, with instinctive reactions, drew his sword. Sure enough, there was his worst enemy, Cromwell Gunn. Not at all who he wanted to see standing in his courtyard.
“What do ye want, Gunn?” growled Shaw. He kept his eyes on the man, ready to ram his blade through old Cromwell’s heart should he attempt to reach for his weapon.
Cromwell stopped in his tracks and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. A half-dozen of his clan rushed up with swords drawn. That only triggered the reactions of Shaw’s clan doing the same. This could turn into a very nasty situation.
“I come in peace, Gordon,” announced Cromwell. “Now, tell yer men to lower their weapons.”
“Since when do ye do anythin’ in peace?” asked Shaw. “Ye were a thorn in my faither’s side and I feel the same way. I dinna believe ye and neither are ye welcome here. Now, turn around and leave before I’m forced to make ye do it.”
“I’m here because of yer missive askin’ for a bride.”
“I didna send a missive to ye. How did ye ken about it?” Shaw’s eyes scanned the area looking for his messenger who was not present.
“That doesna matter. What matters is that I’m here to make an alliance with ye by offerin’ ye my daughter Magna’s hand in marriage.”
“I’m no’ interested. Now leave.” Shaw held tight to his sword, waiting for trouble.
“No’ before ye even meet her. Magna, come here, lass,” Cromwell called over his shoulder, not once letting his eyes leave Shaw.
Shaw saw a beautiful, tall woman with long, blond hair step out from behind the warriors and make her way toward him. It seemed Cromwell wasn’t lying.
“Lower yer weapons, men,” said Shaw. Once his men had obeyed, Shaw nodded to Cromwell. “Now yer men, too.”
“Ye heard him. Put the weapons away,” Cromwell commanded his men. “We come in peace.”
Shaw heard the man’s words, but his gut told him not to believe him. This had to be a trick of some kind. The Gunns lowered their weapons and so did Shaw. Reluctantly.
“This is Magna,” Cromwell said again, pulling the girl forward and pushing her toward Shaw. She grimaced at her father and then turned her head and raised her chin defiantly toward Shaw. There was no mistaking she didn’t want this marriage any more than he did.
“This is yer daughter?” asked Shaw in surprise. Since Cromwell was so hideous, he was sure his offspring would be ugly as well. However, this couldn’t be further from the truth.
“Aye. And these are my two sons.” Cromwell nodded to two young men standing behind him. None of the man’s children looked like him, nor did they even look like each other. “Say hello, boys,” said Cromwell.
“Hello, I’m Bodil,” said the taller boy with the dark hair.
“I’m Egil,” said the redhead. He was much shorter than the first. Both of them were in good physical shape and not bad looking.
Then the girl spoke up next. “And I’m –”
“Magna. I ken that,” Shaw interrupted.
“Do ye?” She glared at him. “Because my name is Spring.”
“Spring?” Shaw glanced over to Cromwell. Had the man lied about his own daughter’s name?
“Magna Spring is her name,” said Cromwell.
“I see.” Shaw nodded slightly. “What can ye do?” he asked the girl.
“Do?” She looked at him and raised a brow. “I’m a warrior. I ken how to fight and hunt.”
He looked her up and down. Her bright green eyes narrowed at his perusal.
Her full lips were pursed together so tight that she looked like she was about to explode.
She didn’t wear a plaid or even a long skirt.
Instead, she was dressed in tight leather trimmed with animal fur.
Oddly enough, she wore a short skirt over a tight pair of breeches.
It was the strangest thing he’d ever seen.
She had boots on her feet and leather arm guards on her wrists.
Around her small waist was a thick, leather belt.
Atop her shoulders, she wore what looked like pieces of leather, layered and held together by metal rivets.
It reminded him of the armor of a knight.
Her golden hair was pulled back and partially braided on each side of her oval-shaped face.
She had high cheekbones and a strong nose and jawline.
“A warrior,” he repeated, almost laughing aloud. Why would he ever consider a woman warrior to be the mother of his children? “I suppose that is why ye’re dressed like that.”
Her eyebrows slowly rose. “What is wrong with the way I clothe myself?” She was a feisty one, and he didn’t like that. Being too headstrong was not an admirable trait for a lassie. Then again, this woman seemed to dress and act more like a man. This wouldn’t do at all.
“Do ye cook?” he asked.
“Nay,” she answered sharply. “I told ye, I am the hunter of the clan, not the cook.”
“Well, I’m the hunter of my clan, so I’m no’ lookin’ for another one. Can ye sew?”
She scrunched up her face and shook her head. “What for?”
“How about children? Are ye experienced with takin’ care of children?”
“Children?” Her arms crossed over her chest and she glared at her father. “I wasna told I’d have to take care of any children.”
“My children are no’ babies,” he said. “Still, I’d like someone to tend to them. Donel! Leith,” he called out. “Come here and bring yer sister.”
“Three?” Her eyes opened wide.
“Aye. I have two lads and a lassie.”
His boys walked up next to him, glaring at Magna.
“We dinna need a mathair,” spat Donel. He stood straighter, trying to make himself look taller, although he was already tall for his age of five and ten years.
“We dinna want one!” added Leith, mimicking his brother with his stance. Leith admired his older brother and always wanted to be just like him.
“Boys, mind yer manners,” Shaw warned. “Where is yer sister?”
“I’m here,” said Colina, coming to join them. He was waiting for rejection from her, as well, but, instead, she looked at Magna and smiled.
“This is my daughter, Colina,” said Shaw.
He noticed a surprised expression from Magna, but then her face returned to its stoic, stone-like form. She didn’t say a word, just nodded slightly toward Colina.
“I’m willin’ to offer all the goods in the cart as a dowry,” Cromwell interrupted.
“Really?” Shaw looked over to the small cart sitting in the courtyard. “What’s in there?”
“Mainly grain and cloth and some spices from the Far East. There is a little coin as well. We’re a poor clan and dinna have much to offer.
” If that wasn’t a bold-faced lie, Shaw didn’t know what was.
With the rate the Gunn Clan was raiding lately, Cromwell probably had more wealth than all the clans put together.
“No weapons?” asked Shaw, curiously.
“Nay. No weapons.” Cromwell looked to the ground. Of course, the man wouldn’t give him weapons. After all, if he were still planning on attacking after they made the alliance, he would need all he could get. This deal smelled rotten to the core, even if the man’s daughter was comely.
“How old are ye, lass?” he asked the girl.
She raised her chin again and answered. “One and twenty summers. How old are ye?”
He chuckled. “It doesna matter, because I’ve decided no’ to accept the offer.”
“Nay?” asked Cromwell in surprise. “Ye dinna want Magna? She is skilled, no’ to mention bonnie.”
“What she is skilled in isna what I’m lookin’ for in a wife. Now, I kindly ask ye to leave. Take yer men and yer dowry with ye.”
“Ye dinna even want to see the dowry?” asked Cromwell.
“I dinna have to. It doesna matter because ye have nothin’ I want.”
“Come, Magna. This fool could have had an alliance but, instead, he decides to stay enemies. That’s fine by me.” Cromwell turned and hurried toward the cart. The girl gave Shaw one last glance that seemed to be able to see into his very soul, then turned and ran after her father.
“Da,” said Colina, tugging at his plaid as soon as they walked away. “Dinna let them leave. Ye have to marry her!”
“Marry her?” asked Shaw. “I thought ye all didna like her.”
“We dinna,” said Donel. Leith nodded in agreement.
“I like her,” said Colina. “She’s the girl with the bow and arrows that I met in the forest. She’s the one who told me to run.”
“Colina, please. No more stories,” he warned, not having time for the girl’s foolishness right now.
“If ye dinna believe me, then look.” Colina pointed. He looked across the courtyard to see Magna taking a bow and quiver of arrows from inside the cart. Curiosity got the best of him and he raised his hand in the air.
“Wait,” he said, heading over to them with his daughter and the others right behind him.
“What is it?” snapped Cromwell.
“Can I see that bow?” He held out his hand to the girl. She gripped the bow tightly.
“Why?” she asked.
“It – intrigues me,” he said.