Prologue
Tavin Stuart peeked around the tent, watching as the other children chased each other around with wooden swords. He too had a wooden sword attached to his waist and while he had his brothers to play with, Tavin wanted to join the other children.
His da, Laird Stuart, had been adamant that his son not join the other children, but when Tavin asked as to why, his da just told him that they were too good for the likes of the other clans.
Tavin wondered why they were here then.
Tearing his gaze from the children, Tavin looked at his surroundings, taking in the other tents.
Each clan had its colors flying proudly above their tent, some larger than others depending on the size of the clan.
Clan Stuart was positioned in the corner of the large field chosen for this year’s annual clan gathering, though their tent was not as large or filled with the good-smelling food that he had seen come out of the others.
Maybe tonight his da would bring back some of the succulent meat roastings on the big fire in the center of the field. Tavin’s stomach rumbled at the very thought of having something other than dried jerky for supper.
Tavin turned his attention back to the children playing, his hand on the hilt of his sword. What was going to be the harm to playing with the other children? They looked like they were having a fine time and he wasn’t going to get injured.
And with his brothers off attempting to tup some ale from the drunk chieftains, he didn’t have anyone to play with.
Straightening his tunic, Tavin walked out behind the tent and headed toward the other children, making sure to keep his chest poked out as his da did. It was the walk of a man, he had told Tavin, a man who was sure of what he could do and who he could kill.
Tavin didn’t want to kill anyone. He just wanted to play like he could.
The first boy noticed him and stopped sparring with the other, pointing his sword at Tavin. “We dinnae want yer kind here, traitor.”
Tavin stopped. “I dinnae know wot yer talkin’ about.” Traitor? He was no traitor.
He advanced toward Tavin. “Yer a traitor, Tavin Stuart. Yer entire family are traitors. I’m surprised they even allowed ye tae come tae the gathering.”
Tavin shook his head as he started to back up. “I just want tae play.”
Another boy joined in the jeering. “We don’t play with traitors, but maybe we should take ye anyway. Mah dagger needs a target.”
Tavin swallowed hard, holding up his hands. “I dinnae want any trouble.”
The other boy with the dagger sneered. “Ye found it, traitor.”
Tavin turned and ran back the way he came, hearing the other children behind him, laughing, and calling out his name.
Traitor.
He didn’t understand. His da was a fierce laird as was his clan, though not as plenty as some of the others. They raided their fair share and, in another year, Tavin was going to be old enough to go on the raids too.
Right now, though, he was about to be ganged up on by children he thought he wanted to play with.
Tavin’s boots slipped in the mud and he flailed about as he fell to the ground, his heart pounding in his ears. His body screamed for him to get up, but his legs would not work.
“Found him!”
Tavin cringed as the group surrounded him, the boy with the dagger coming close to Tavin’s face. “Ye and yer entire family isn’t fit ta lick the dirt off mah boots, Tavin Stuart! Now I am gonna give ye a reminder of what bein’ a traitor means.”
Tavin tried to fight him off but the boy was stronger, and he felt the sting of the dagger on his arm, slicing him from elbow to wrist. Tavin cried out in pain but the boy just laughed, throwing him back in the mud.
“Right where a filthy traitor should be,” he laughed, kicking mud into Tavin’s face. “In the mud.”
Tavin gripped his bleeding arm, tears streaming down his face as the boys walked off, the cold mud seeping into his tunic. His arm was throbbing, and he gingerly got himself to his feet, walking back in the direction of his da’s tent. What did those boys mean?
He finally found his da’s tent and stumbled in, startling the laird and the woman that was present. “Tavin!” his da shouted, hurrying to his side. “What happened?”
Tavin winced as his da pulled his arm out roughly, examining the long cut. “I only wanted tae play with them.”
His da dropped the arm and turned to the woman, who was busy lacing up her dress, his expression murderous. “Get oot!”
The woman squeaked and held her bodice as she ran out of the room and his da walked over to the table, dipping a cloth into the bowl of water. “What did I tell ye about the others?”
“Not tae bother,” Tavin muttered as his da pressed the cloth to his wound to staunch the blood.
“And did ye listen tae me?”
“N-no,” Tavin replied, holding back the tears that threatened his eyes. “They called me a traitor.”
His da’s movements halted. “We aren’t traitors. We do what we got tae mah son.”
“But why would they call us that?” Tavin found himself asking.
His da knelt before him, his hands on his shoulders. “It was a long time ago, Tavin, and those bastards are going tae hold it over our heads until yer children are dead in their graves.”
Tavin didn’t try to understand, seeing the fierce anger in his da’s eyes. “We will change our fates,” he continued, squeezing Tavin’s shoulders. “We will get what is due tae us, everything they have taken away, and one day all of Scotland will bow down tae Clan Stuart.”
Tavin nodded because that was what his da expected him to do, and his da released his shoulders, grabbing the tankard of ale instead. “Get on tae bed. Ye’ve caused enough trouble tonight.”
Long after he climbed into his bedroll, Tavin watched the shadows dance along the tent wall, his arm numb from the pain. He would never forget what had happened to him this night and do whatever he could to uphold his da’s plan for their clan.