Once a Warrior (27 page)

Malcolm wearily closed the door to his chamber. Now that he was finally alone, he permitted himself to limp openly across the room, unconcerned that anyone would see him. Gavin had left a pitcher of wine and a goblet on the desk, but no food. Malcolm sighed. He was far too tired to dine in the great hall tonight and had hoped there would be a meal and a hot bath awaiting him. Finding neither, he eased himself into a chair and poured himself a cup of wine, deciding to rest a moment before he called someone to arrange for them. He leaned back, winced at the pain that streaked up his spine, then took a hearty swallow from his cup, contemplating his return.

Gavin had managed things well in his absence, as he had known he would. The parapet was almost finished, the gate was completed, and the MacKendricks had replenished the storage of weapons and stones to hurl from the battlements. The next stage was to build out from the base of the curtain wall, to make it more difficult for sappers and miners to chisel at the masonry or burrow beneath it. After that a ditch should be dug and flooded with water, which would further impede attackers who tried to breach the wall. Tomorrow he would organize work parties to begin construction on the wall base, and also to build a timber gallery that would project from the wall head, with openings in the flooring from which missiles could be dropped. Eventually the MacKendrick castle could be virtually impenetrable, he reflected. As long as they had ample water and food and continued to train, it might be possible for them to hold off an attacking army until help arrived from one of their neighboring clans—unless the people who lived in the cottages on the hillside were attacked first, forcing the men to leave the castle and fight in the open. For an attack like that, they would require the leadership of a seasoned warrior, and the power of a highly trained army.

As he had once commanded.

He took a deep swallow of wine. How good it had felt to return today to the excited questions and reports of the MacKendricks, who seemed to have genuinely missed him. He remembered the first day he came here, how elated everyone had been at the arrival of the Black Wolf, with their banners, pipers, poems, and speeches. Then they had watched him limp clumsily onto that platform and learned he had not brought an army with him. Their shocked disappointment as they stared at him had stripped away what little had remained of his mangled pride. Yet today they excitedly crowded around, anxious to hear of his journey and tell him of their accomplishments during his absence. They welcomed him back with the fondness and reverence due a returning laird, even though they were fully acquainted with his physical liabilities and still had not seen any indication of his supposed army.

Was it possible the MacKendricks no longer cared about these things?

The answer was irrelevant, he reminded himself harshly. They did not know the truth and, therefore, did not see him as he really was. Only he knew how monumentally he had failed his clan. If the MacKendricks learned of the innocent blood staining his hands, they would send him away in horror. Not even Ariella would permit him to remain, despite the help he had given her clan.

He shifted uneasily in his chair, reflecting on her incomprehensible assertion that it was time for him to leave. It was hardly the welcome he had imagined she would give him. But then, what had he expected? That she would run into his arms and press desperate, hungry kisses against his mouth? That she would fill his ear with sweet words of adoration, telling him how she had longed for his return, the same way he had longed for her?

He was a fool, he realized bitterly. What happened between them that night on the wall head had been a temporary madness, nothing more. Ariella’s responsibility was to wed the next laird of her people, and he was not that man. He had no right to dally with her. He was here to help make the MacKendricks as secure as possible, and to repel any further attacks by Roderic. Once the new MacKendrick was settled here, and he felt certain Ariella was safe, he and Gavin would leave. He would have to, or risk going completely mad from watching Ariella endure the touch of another man.

The thought filled him with helpless rage.

A soft rap on the door released him from his thoughts.

“Enter.”

“Your pardon, MacFane,” said Elizabeth, entering the room. “Ariella asked me to give you this note.”

Malcolm was careful to minimize his stiffness as he rose from his chair. “Thank you.”

Elizabeth gave him the message, then hesitated.

“Is there something else?”

“No,” she quickly assured him. “That’s all.”

He waited, but she did not leave. “Are you sure there isn’t something else?” he prodded.

“There is something I wanted to say,” she reluctantly confessed. “I wanted you to know that you and Gavin have done a wonderful job of training us and—we’re all grateful.”

“Thank you, Elizabeth,” he said, moved by her unexpected declaration. “That means a great deal to me.”

Her eyes were sparkling with tears, and her lower lip began to tremble. Malcolm wondered if she was always this emotional.

“Good-bye, MacFane,” she whispered.

“Good night, Elizabeth.” He found himself almost smiling as the door closed. He wondered if Gavin had any notion that this girl who was so clearly attracted to him had such tender feelings. He would mention it to him, he decided as he unfolded Ariella’s note, just to be certain Gavin was careful in his treatment of her.

MacFane,

It is urgent I see you. Please come to my chamber.

Ariella

Malcolm frowned. Why would Ariella send him a note rather than simply come to his room? Was she ill?

He jerked the door open and started down the hall, moving as quickly as his injured leg would permit.

Ariella carefully measured the sleeping powder into the cup, contemplated Malcolm’s unusual size, then added another full dose.

It was vital he remain in a deep sleep for many hours, so he would not waken as they moved him. When he finally did emerge from the thick haze of the drug, he would be far from her lands. She set his cup on the table, where a meal of roasted deer, fresh salmon, cheese, and oatcakes had been laid for two, and glanced nervously around the room. The fire was burning brightly, and candles flickered everywhere, bathing her chamber in honeyed light. Although she anticipated that Malcolm would drink his wine as soon as he arrived, the possibility that he might not forced her to create a reason for him to linger awhile. She had instructed Elizabeth to slip into his room and remove the tray of food Gavin had set there for him. When MacFane came to Ariella’s room, he would be enticed by the aroma of the food, which would make him want to stay and dine with her. She was not certain how quickly the powder would act on a man of his considerable stature, but she was confident he would be asleep long before the meal was finished. She prayed Elizabeth had equal success in administering the powder to Gavin.

She was startled by a heavy pounding on the door. Before she had a chance to speak, the door was thrown open and Malcolm entered.

“Are you ill?” he demanded brusquely.

Ariella looked at him in confusion. “No. Why?”

His gaze raked over her, assessing, not convinced of her reply. Finally deciding she appeared fit enough, the lines in his brow eased.

“I thought you might be ill,” he confessed, suddenly feeling foolish.

“I am well, MacFane,” she assured him. “I asked you here because I regretted the way our meeting ended today. I hope we can put the incident behind us.”

Malcolm regarded her skeptically, unable to decide if she was sincere or if this was some kind of game.

Sensing his wariness, Ariella busied herself by pouring wine into his goblet, watching as the powder swirled in the crimson liquid. Then she slowly filled her own cup, giving his mixture time to dissolve.

“Will you have wine?” she asked, offering it to him.

“Thank you.”

She raised her own cup. “To the success of your negotiations.”

She smiled as he took a sip.

“I thought you might join me in a meal and tell me of your meetings with the other clans,” she continued, gesturing to the table.

The spicy-sweet fragrance of the roasted meat wafted toward him, making him acutely aware of his hunger.

“Thank you,” he said, wondering at her unexpected graciousness.

He waited for her to be seated, then placed his cup before his setting and sat down opposite her.

“So, MacFane,” began Ariella as she served him from the platter of salmon, “tell me of these alliances you have arranged for us.”

“The first clan we visited were the Campbells, who inhabit extensive lands to the southwest. Although they knew of your clan, they were not interested in coming to your assistance once they realized how small you are. The fact that you lack an army makes you unable to offer them a similar commitment.”

“I thought that would be a problem,” she mused.

“That is why I had an alternate proposal for them to consider.”

“To purchase their services?”

“Not exactly,” he replied. “Before we left, I instructed Duncan and Ramsay to collect examples of the MacKendricks’ finest efforts in weaving, tapestry, wood carving, and silver work, and sketches of some of the masonry that has been done here. When I presented these to Campbell, he was considerably impressed. He had never seen such intricate work and could quickly appreciate its rarity and value.”

His compliment made her smile. “My people take great pride in their crafts.”

“The MacKendricks take great pride in whatever they do,” Malcolm observed. “Once they decided they would learn to defend themselves, and I found the right methods to teach them, they pursued their training without reservation.”

“It comes from years of disciplined study. When the children are very young, they begin their lessons in crafts, music, tumbling, and writing. After a few years their favorite activities become apparent, and these are the ones they are encouraged to pursue. What begins as a game becomes a study, then a passion, and ultimately a lifelong source of pleasure.”

Malcolm took a swallow of wine, reflecting on the lessons of his own boyhood. His father had encouraged his only son to drag a wooden sword behind him from the time he could walk. Later, wrestling was encouraged, and Laird MacFane had been unsympathetic to his complaints of cuts and bruises. Riding was introduced when he was four, and he was quickly playing games wherein he had to spear a stuffed sack swinging from a rope as he galloped past it. Archery had followed, then wielding an ax and learning to throw a dirk with deadly accuracy. As he grew older, the games became more complicated, with several men hiding and trying to attack him at once. His body had grown strong and fit, and he soon began to enjoy the challenge of instigating or repelling an assault. When he was nineteen, his father had bestowed upon Gavin the honor of watching over the future laird. That had been shortly after Gavin’s wife drowned herself, following the death of their infant son. Gavin accepted his new position with solemn devotion and taught him everything he knew of military strategy. Over the years Malcolm had been grateful for his relentless training. It had enabled him to become a great warrior, and to lead an army that had been the envy of many a leader. A source of pride, certainly.

But a source of pleasure?

“Are we to pay the Campbells for their protection with our crafts?” asked Ariella.

“In part,” he replied. “But paying for protection does not necessarily guarantee it. I wanted to make sure there was a commitment there, an obligation that went beyond merely buying their aid when we needed it.”

She looked at him, startled. Once again he was including himself when referring to her clan.

“To foster that commitment and develop closer ties, I suggested that some Campbells might like to stay here for a few months and receive training in the subject of their choice. That way they could enhance their own skills, then go back and teach those lessons to others.”

“But it takes years to master the art of weaving, or playing the bagpipes,” protested Ariella. “These things cannot be taught in a month or two.”

“Exactly. Which means this exchange would be ongoing. People would come, stay for a while, and then go home so others could take their place. We could even establish a special summer program for children, wherein they could learn tumbling and juggling.”

Understanding crept over her. “With Campbells visiting and building friendships, the clan will have more reason to come to our aid if we are attacked, because they have a duty to defend their people who are staying here.”

Malcolm nodded. “Groups of MacKendricks would also be invited to spend time at the Campbell lands if they chose. The men could train with their army, while their women could make new acquaintances and share ideas about maintaining households.”

“Why can’t the women train with the army as well?” she demanded.

He resisted the urge to smile. “I think perhaps the Campbells are not quite ready for such an unconventional proposal, but you are welcome to put it to them if you wish.”

Excitement grew within her as she considered the benefits of MacFane’s idea. By nurturing ties with other clans, they could all discover more about each other. And the friendships that would result would be rooted in peace and learning, not in the ugliness of aggression. It was a splendid plan. “Did Laird Campbell agree to this arrangement?”

“Yes,” he replied. “As did the Grants, the Frasers, and the MacGregors. I wanted to gain the approval of both you and the council, however, before inviting them to send the first visitors.”

“What did the council say?”

“Angus and Dugald were somewhat reluctant at first,” he admitted, “which I anticipated. Your clan has lived in isolation for many years, and it is difficult for them to imagine strangers coming to stay here. But Gordon is not so resistant to change, and he quickly saw the benefits of such an arrangement.”

“As do I,” said Ariella. “It will be good for my people to make new friends, and share ideas and skills with them.”