Page 3 of A Knight To Call My Own
Thomas scanned the room, but only went back to his ale. Putting down his full tankard, he turned his attention back to Ian. “I suppose one of us should remain sober and alert to the dangers that surround us,” he muttered.
Taegan only laughed and reached out to thump Thomas on his back. He got a meaningful glare for his effort. “Danger? What danger? We are but enjoying a bit of sport, are we not lads?”
Thomas snorted in disgust. “Standing on Scottish soil dressed as English knights is nothing to jest about. I am surprised we have not been knifed in our sleep already for coming this far north.”
Turquine downed his ale and slammed his tankard upon the table. Standing, he made a striking figure as he all but preened, showing off his impressive form. “What say you, Ian? Think you any of these Scots would be up to the effort to have a go at it with one lately of Dristan of Berwyck’s guards?”
Ian laughed, watching his comrade strut in front of the fire, much like a fancy peacock with his tail feathers fanned out to catch the attention of its mate. “None would dare, Turquine,” Ian responded loudly. “Have another cup, and let us enjoy our sport this night. I do not relish testing the patience of any who may be foolish enough to take up your challenge.”
Ian took no further notice of his traveling companions, since he had two women to better occupy his efforts. He took turns giving each his undivided attention and whispering the words most women wanted to hear afore they were bedded.
’Twas the harsh sound of a sword being released from its scabbard that caused Ian to unceremoniously dump both wenches to the floor. He stood quickly with his sword ready in his hand. ’Twas an automatic reaction from living many a year on the road, keeping danger at bay. It tended to ensure one’s safety and ability to survive yet another day.
Thomas held two men off at the point of his sword, whilst Ian eyed them both warily ’til he noticed the tartans wrapped around their bodies. He may not recognize the men, but the plaid they wore with obvious pride was one he had not thought to see any time soon.What the hell are they doing this far south?Replacing his sword, he placed his hand upon Thomas’s shoulder. “Hold, my friend,” he said firmly, waiting ’til he felt Thomas relax his stance.
Retaking his seat, Ian hardly gave a second notice of the two women, who were still in the process of picking themselves up off the floor. He waved his now empty tankard at them. “Be good lassies, and bring food and refill our cups,” he ordered them. Ian inwardly continued his assessment of the two Scots, who still waited to gain his attention, as he subconsciously drummed his fingers on the hilt of his sword.
“Well?” Ian asked the strangers, hearing for himself the sarcastic tone in his voice. “What do you want from us?”
One was clearly braver than the other, since he stepped forward, although he eyed Turquine and Taegan cautiously when they moved closer to Ian’s side. “We could not help but over hear yer conversation. Be ye, Ian MacGillivray, lately o’ Berwyck?” he inquired.
Ian flinched. The achingly familiar brogue brought unwanted memories of his childhood rushing into his head. Ian was momentarily lost whilst unwelcome visions assaulted his mind of when his older brother had all but thrown him out of the only home he had ever known. He could still see his mother standing in the doorframe, pleading with him to beg his brother’s forgiveness. As leader of the clan, his brother’s word was law, and as younger brother, ’twas not Ian’s place to question the running of the lands, no matter how poorly a job his sibling had been doing. Even as the younger son, he would have been blind to not have taken note how his brother was already governing the estate into the ground.
Hatred burned in his veins for a past life he could not change. He felt once more the bitter sense of betrayal, as though ’twere but the eve afore when his life had been torn asunder. He blinked his eyes when they began to blur with memories that should remain in the past. The last thing he needed was to look a fool and shed a tear for the pain of his youth caused by his bastard of a brother!
Ian shook his head, trying to dismiss his thoughts, but ’twas not as easily done as he would have liked. “Aye, I am he, but what concern is it to you, may I ask?” he questioned harshly.
“I told ye ’twas him, Angus, although he looks more like a bloody Englishman than a member o’ our clan!” the other Scot sneered, pounding the man in front of him on the back. “Sounds like one, too…”
“Shut yer trap, ye fool!” the first Scotsman said. “Me apologies, me laird, fer this buffoon o’ a companion. Connor and I have been searching many a month tae find yer whereabouts.”
A gruff laugh escaped Ian afore he could hold it back. “Laird? Eh gads man, you have the wrong MacGillivray, if you address me as laird!”
“No disrespect intended, fer I would not gainsay yer words, but if ye are in truth Ian, lately of Berwyck castle, then we have the right man,” Angus replied. He began reaching inside his shirt but the sound of swords being drawn once more halted his movements. Angus held up his hands in surrender afore carefully pulling out a well-worn piece of parchment. He handed the missive to Ian. “Mayhap, this can put the matters aright. ’Tis from yer mother, me laird.”
Ian held out his hand for the document. “My mother?”
“Aye, me laird. The Lady Fiona gave explicit instructions tae give this tae none other than yerself.”
“I see.” Ian unfolded the parchment and began scanning the words afore his eyes. His brow furrowed in anger as he read. He had little sympathy knowing his brother was dead, leaving the clan without a leader. They had never been close, and, as a ruler, he had been a tyrant. He was not sure how the people had been fending, if his mother’s dire words were not a falsehood. Fields had been left fallow with little coin to purchase seedlings. Livestock had been stolen by neighboring clans with no one to take control of ensuring they remained on MacGillivray land. “How did he die?”
“Ambushed, me laird, whilst returning from Inverness,” Angus answered.
“And my Uncle?”
Angus hesitated and took a sideways glimpse at Connor afore answering. “He is attempting tae take o’er as head of the clan. ’Tis why yer mother sent us posthaste tae find ye.”
Ian handed the parchment to Thomas who began perusing what had been hastily written by his mother’s hand.
Thomas guffawed. “’Tis nice of them to pick out a bride for you, Ian, especially not knowing you would ever return.”
Turquine leaned over Thomas’s shoulder so he, too, could see how fate was changing the course of Ian’s life. “Just where did you say your home is, Ian?”
“I do not believe I ever mentioned it, men.” Ian took a sip of his ale remaining silent in his thoughts ’til he felt a nudge from Taegan. Setting down his tankard, he at last answered him, although he did so hesitantly knowing just how far home truly was. “’Tis far north, on Loch Ness, and ’tis called Urquhart Castle.”
Taegan began to squirm where he stood. “Not sure if, us being English and all, we will fit in with all those Scots, Ian. No offense…”
Ian gave a snort, knowing how he felt. “None taken, my friend. Besides…I have not said I will be returning, now, have I?”
