Chapter 9
Ailsa was so proud of the centerpiece she had created.
Four servants were needed to carry the large roast meat on the platter, and the smell when it passed the hungry guests made most of them beam with hunger and glee.
Some of the younger guests clapped their hands at the sight of the decorations of sugar fruits and herbs, but all children under a marriageable age had been banished to the nursery so that the elders might enjoy themselves at their leisure.
Ailsa knew that all the heat and sweat the kitchen staff had suffered to roast such a huge haunch over the fire had been worth it.
She rotated her wrists to wave in an encouraging gesture; she wanted to wring more cheers out of the guests so Freida could hear them down in the kitchen.
Then she made her way to the dais to display the main dish to the laird and lady.
Page boys were darting betwixt boards and benches, throwing loaves of bread down for guests to use as plates from the large wicker baskets they carried.
All the pastie coffins had been used to house the contents of pies.
The round loaves were torn in half and placed in front of everyone.
Some of the more hungry guests began to eat the soft bread inside the crust.
They’ll regret doing that when they fill up on bread and cannae fit in the sugarplums an’ viands.
Ailsa watched as Lady MacNair put a hand on her husband’s shoulder to indicate he must not yet stand. Lady MacNair got to her feet, a sweet smile of excitement on her face.
“As ye all ken, Callum an’ I traveled over hell an’ high water to get to where we are today.
Like the true conqueror he is, Callum never allowed all the many obstacles thrown at us to get in his way.
He is the best heir any faither could ever wish for.
Chieftain Cal MacNair would be so proud of his son if he could see how well established we are today.
And I have the best husband a woman could wish for, an’ me son has the best faither. ”
She turned to look at Callum with love shining in her eyes.
“Husband, I have taken the most extreme care to find ye a gift worthy enough to show the great love I hold for ye in me heart.”
Meria stepped around the dais and walked between the long boards crammed with expectant guests on either side.
Master Creel stood up when he saw her approaching, and Lady Meria beckoned him forward, saying, “Laird Callum MacNair, three of the finest blacksmiths in the Highlands competed to make ye a sword. This man crafted the perfect one for ye.”
She instructed Master Creel to follow her back to the dais, where the blacksmith knelt to present the sword to the laird.
Callum said nothing but lifted the silk cloth off the sword and looked at it with no expression on his face.
Lady Meria beamed and asked him, “Is it no’ a splendid weapon, Cal?”
Ailsa watched as the laird’s mouth stayed firmly closed in an expressionless line. Laird Gray, seated on the other side of Callum as one of the more honored guests, jogged Callum in the side with his elbow and cleared his throat.
Laird MacNair snapped out of his silence. “It’s a lovely gift, Meria. I thank ye… Is it possible for me to see the other swords? After all, a man can never have too many ceremonial swords hangin’ over his hearth, can he?”
Those who knew Laird MacNair well were able to see he was less than impressed with the sword, but Meria was too caught up in the excitement of the moment to notice Callum’s unenthusiastic reception of the delicate, pretty sword.
“Aye, masters, bring yer swords up to the dais an’ let us inspect them more closely. All three are fine examples of yer craftsmanship.”
Lady Meria was pleased to recognize how hard the three blacksmiths had worked, although Ailsa heard Meria whisper to her husband, “All three men were more than generously compensated for comin’ here and well paid too.”
Laird Callum gave his wife’s hand a loving pat and smiled up at her. “I ken ye would, me love. I only wish to see the others by way of acknowledgment.”
Ailsa could not help but breathe a sigh of relief.
It seemed as though Laird Callum was going to hide his scorn for the toylike weapon from his wife so as to not ruin the occasion.
She looked over at the small board at the back where Logan and Will were seated and saw Will shaking his head when Logan pointed to the dais.
There was a whispered conversation or argument going on between the two men, with Logan standing up and walking to the dais, holding both his own sword and Will’s in his hands.
Ailsa frowned. Why was Will being so coy about presenting his work to the laird?
It was not like him to be backward in accepting praise; he must know his work was exceptional.
Logan bowed, first to the lady and then to Laird Callum. “I was honored to create a sword for this special day, Laird. Here is my work.” Logan laid his sword down on the table, and Callum leaned forward to inspect it closely.
“Thank ye for travelin’ so far to craft a weapon for me, lad,” he said. “Any clan would be lucky to keep this sword as an heirloom.”
Laird Gray interrupted. “Well, Cal, if ye are no’ going to have this one, I would like to buy it. Me daughter’s gettin’ married next spring, an’ I’ve been looking for an heirloom to present the couple with for their new home.”
Loud applause greeted this statement, and Callum told two of the page boys that they should circle around the hall with the swords so everyone could inspect the weapons more carefully.
When Lady Meria asked for Will’s sword, Logan presented it and said, “This was made by Master Fearguson.”
Ailsa saw the polite boredom disappear from Laird Callum’s eyes immediately.
He stood up from his chair and leaned over the dais table to inspect the sword.
It was the first time Ailsa had paid close attention to the differences between the weapons.
Master Creel’s one was elaborate and light, a fine example of a ceremonial sword; Logan’s was a proper weapon, but no one could imagine it being used in battle because of the gemstones decorating the pommel and hilt; Will’s weapon looked terrifyingly lethal as it glinted in the light streaming in through the window.
The sword was very long and heavy; only a giant of a man would have been able to lift it, never mind wield it.
The blade was weighty enough to deliver a killer stroke if used with force and sharp enough to slice someone’s limb off with the greatest of ease.
There was no decoration: the hilt was bound with black leather, and the pommel was a functional knob designed to rotate in the palm of the hand as the swordsman angled it for a blow.
“Who did ye say crafted this?” Callum said in a gruff voice. “Because whoever did is worth his weight in gold.” He picked up the sword and hefted it into the air. “It feels as if it’s a part of me body. The balance, the touch…it is superb.”
Lady Meria was delighted. “Really? But I thought it so ugly! That is to say, it’s lacking a certain…glamor. But it makes me laugh to hear ye say the man is worth his weight in gold because there’s not enough gold in this part of the world to equal him in stature!”
Ailsa watched Lady Meria stand up, trying to catch Will’s eye, then eventually saying to Logan, “Run and fetch Master Fearguson to the dais, please, Master Galbraith.”
Logan shook his head and blushed. “I beg yer pardon, lady, but he says he will nae come… I think he is sore he did no’ win.”
Laird Callum agreed. “I’m sore he didnae win as well, lad!
” He caught sight of his wife’s face but was finished lying about the swords; the one he held in his hand was so superior that Callum was too elated to hide it.
“If the master will nae come to the dais, then I will go down to him! I must have this man come and work for me. I don’ care what he charges. ”
Laird Callum jumped down off the dais and ran down the aisle.
He was so happy to finally possess the perfect weapon, he pushed all ceremony aside.
Ailsa laughed to see her master acting with such spontaneity.
He usually behaved as if he had the cares of the world on his shoulders.
Each guest swiveled around on their bench to watch Callum greet Master Blacksmith.
Those on the dais craned their necks to watch over the sea of heads. The air was full of excitement.
Ailsa felt a strange exhilaration mount inside her. When the blacksmith accepted the laird’s offer of a post there, it meant that Will would come to live at MacNair Castle. The time they spent together at the stream popped into her mind; Ailsa realized she was eager to repeat the experience.
Suddenly, Will stood up. Callum was next to him, reaching out to shake the blacksmith’s hand. Then, just like that, Will withdrew the sword that was hanging behind his back and shouted, “Ye craven dog! If ye like that sword so much, ye must fight me for it!”
It was so unexpected and frightening, silence filled the hall for a beat while all the guests looked around to see if mummers or troupe players were about to jump out from behind the curtains.
When no one moved, the dawning realization on some of the guests that what was happening was real made everyone react.
Lady Meria screamed. Some of the male guests seated at the dais table stood up, a few drawing their weapons.
But these were all futile gestures; no one was close enough to stop the two men from engaging with one another.
The two weapons clashed together in the shape of a cross.
Will’s and Callum’s faces were only inches apart, their back and arm muscles straining with the effort it took to hold back the other man’s force.
The problem for Callum was he was not prepared for such a mighty onslaught.
One moment he was holding his hand out to grasp the other man’s arm, and the next moment he was astonished by the fierce strength of the angry blacksmith.
No one said anything or approached the two men.
They knew better than to cause a distraction or come near the swords.
Callum and Will swayed and panted, each one trying to push the other back to make him yield.
Weighed down by the ceremonial great plaid he had draped over his shoulders, Callum was feeling the pain.
Ailsa realized she was biting her fingernails and saw that Lady Meria was doing it too.
Gradually, Callum was able to rotate the pommel around in the palm of his hand and swipe Will’s weapon down to point at the ground, but it was not over yet.
I did nae ken that Will was so sore about losing. How long is he going to keep this up? The longer he tries to kill Laird MacNair, the longer they will hang him for!
After creeping to the gallery to fetch a small besom used to keep the threshed floor rushes in check, Ailsa began to shift around the hall with her back pressed against the wall.
Neither man noticed. They were circling one another now, one man waiting for the other to strike and the other man looking for his chance to land a killer blow.
A flurry of great sword strokes rang out.
Will would raise his sword to strike at Callum from above, only to have it blocked.
Then the angle would shift, with Will trying a lower stroke and Callum having to step back to avoid the slicing action of the blade.
Once, when Will aimed for his legs, Callum had to jump to steer clear of the swing.
It was too much to bear; the grunts of the men and the sweat pouring down their faces was excruciating.
The joyful atmosphere from ten minutes before was gone.
Ailsa had managed to circumvent the two men.
They were so intent on their fight that they would not have noticed if a dragon had flown in through one of the windows.
She did not know this man who seemed determined to slay Callum MacNair at his birthday feast, but she knew the man with whom she had spent the most wonderful day of her life when they had swum together in the stream.
That was the Will Fearguson she knew…and cared for.
Creeping up behind him, Ailsa approached Will as he stood straddling the aisle with his back to her. His tall, muscular body completely blocked her outline from Callum’s view.
Lady Meria finally found her voice and shouted out, “Stand down, ye fools, stand down, I say!”
Callum’s sword swayed with hesitation, and Will saw his chance, lunging forward with his sword.
Ailsa had the opportunity and opening she needed.
Raising the besom, she brought the broomstick down on Will’s sword arm.
Only, he did not drop the weapon! Throwing his sword into his left hand and catching the hilt deftly without even bothering to look at it, Will withdrew a dirk out of his belt and raised it at the attacker he believed to be lurking behind him.
Ailsa cried out, “Will! It’s me! Ailsa!” She held up her hands to ward off the blow…but it never came. All at once, Callum’s sword dropped to the ground. “Will? Will! Wee William! It’s me, yer brither Cal!”