The Clan MacDougall Series (78 page)

Robert was growing frustrated with him. They were on a mission, a mission to rescue Ian. If they let a little rain dampen their spirits then what kind of warriors would they make? “I dunnae, Andrew,” he told him. “But w-warriors never c-complain of the rain or c-cold or hunger.”

Andrew pulled his cloak a bit tighter around his body. He had always looked up to Robert. Robert was always the brave one, the serious one and took his duty as eldest brother very seriously.

Andrew suddenly wondered how Robert knew so much about great clans and warriors? They’d lost their families more than three years ago. Robert was only nine or ten at the time. They’d lived in relative seclusion ever since. Maybe all of Robert’s stories were just that; stories he had made up in order to keep his younger brothers in check.

Someday we’ll have a clan of our own. One filled with many fighters, warriors. We’ll be the biggest and most honorable clan in all of Scotland. We’ll live in a grand keep, with plenty of land to grow food to feed our people. We’ll have the best and fastest horses, the best weapons, and the best men. We’ll fight for those who are less fortunate as well as our freedom. How many times had he heard Robert say those things?

Andrew knew it wasn’t greed that pushed Robert. Nay, ’twas honor. It was some deep-seated sense of wanting to provide and protect his mum and brothers that drove him.

Once Andrew thought it through, he realized it didn’t matter if Robert’s stories were true or not. What mattered was that Robert would do everything and anything he could to make their dream of someday having a great clan, and enough to eat, a reality.

That realization did little, however, to warm his cold fingers or toes.

“How mad do ye think mum will be?” Andrew asked quietly.

Robert looked over at his brother and shuddered before a small smile slowly appeared on his face. “I think we need to fear her more than the Buchannans.”

Andrew couldn’t help but laugh. “Aye,” he said. “But think how proud she’ll be of us when we rescue Ian.”

Robert nodded his head in agreement. Aye, their mum would be angry as well as proud. And very relieved to have their Ian back. They’d prove to her once and for all that they were men, not just wee boys. They’d prove that they could take care of their own.

“We might want to take whatever armor we can from the Buchannans we’ll slay,” Andrew chuckled. “We’ll need it.”

Robert’s eyebrows knitted together. “I’ll no’ wear any Buchannan cast offs,” he said. The thought of wearing anything that had touched a Buchannan was revolting. “Someday we’ll be rich enough to purchase our own armor.”

“Nay, not fer future battles,” Andrew said with a serious and thoughtful tone. “We’ll need it now to protect us from the skelpin’ mum’s goin’ to give us!”

The ever-serious Robert couldn’t help but laugh! Aye, the battle they’d face with their mum was going to be far worse than any battle with the Buchannans. Somehow, fighting against the whoresons that took his brother seemed far less perilous than when they’d be forced to face their mum.

Robert estimated the rain had kept them in the trees for at least three hours. Once it had finally let up, he and Andrew climbed their horses and trudged on.

They could not go as fast as they would have liked, the ground was too sodden and muddy. He cursed the rain, the mud, and the cold. He cursed Malcolm Buchannan and the whoresons that followed him. Why men chose to follow someone evil instead of doing what was right, he could not fathom. Mayhap it was fear that forced them to follow or mayhap there were far more evil men in this world than he cared to admit.

When he was older, he’d inspire his men by always being valiant, honest, and strong. He’d have very strict rules in his clan; there would be no beating of wives or children for starters. There’d be no lying, no cheating, or stealing.

They were covered with mud from head to toe. Their clothes were soaked and clung to their bodies. Robert couldn’t remember a time he’d been this wet or this cold. He could remember however, being this hungry. He had taken enough bread and cheese to last them at least a week. Guilt from having stolen it chewed at his conscience.

When he had taken it from the kitchen of the inn, he had reasoned that he was taking it for a good reason. He would need his strength to for the journey to Aberdeen. Leaving a note for the innkeeper, with his vow to return someday very soon to repay him, made taking the bread and cheese feel a lot less like stealing and more like borrowing.

It amazed him what the fear of starvation would get a person to do. Robert knew that when all was said and done, he was an honest person. Someday, he told himself, he would never have to steal again in order to survive.

They rode for another hour or two before darkness began to descend upon them. He had learned that past summer not to travel after dark in unfamiliar territory. That had been a huge mistake and that was how they had ended up so many days from their home and on MacDougall lands.

Not wanting to risk ending up on lands belonging to people far less kind than Findley and his men, Robert searched for a place to make camp. They settled into a small dense forest, tied their horses to low hanging branches and removed the saddles and tack.

Weary, exhausted and soaked to the bone, they each ate a slice of bread and a hunk of cheese before lying down and succumbing to sleep. As he drifted off, Robert prayed for God’s speed and mercy to help in getting Ian back. He knew he couldn’t do it alone.

They had been pulled from their cold slumber by hands grabbing their clothes and pulling them to their feet. Fear enveloped each boy and they felt it clear to their toes.

“Ye little shites!” Wee William’s voice boomed through the early morning air. He was holding Robert up by the scruff of his tunic, anger ablaze in his eyes.

Richard held onto Andrew, who shook and trembled with fear. Findley stood in front of them, his hands balled into fists, his anger quite evident in his scowl and piercing eyes.

“Do ye realize how badly ye scared yer mum?” Wee William boomed at Robert before turning to the still trembling Andrew.

The boys remained mute. While Andrew was visibly frightened, Robert kept his cool demeanor. He’d not show fear, no matter what the consequences.

Findley remained where he was. He knew if he took one step closer to them he would be sorely tempted to skin their idiotic hides.

“Mum was goin’ to send us hidin’ like cowards!” Robert said through gritted teeth. “We’re no’ cowards!”

“Nay! Yer worse than cowards!” Findley finally spoke. “Yer fools.”

Robert turned to look at him. “Nay!” he shot back. “We’re men and we take care of our own!”

In three strides Findley was standing in front of him, his face just inches from the lad’s. “Nay, yer not men, yer boys. Boys who aren’t smart enough to realize they canna fight a hundred plus men with only a sgian dubh and a handful of rocks! And yer fools if ye think differently!” He was doing his best to not knock the boy’s head off his shoulders.

Robert’s eyes darted from one man to the other, before realizing his mum and Patrick weren’t there. Had she sent the men to deal with them? To give them a good skelping before handing them over to Duncan and forcing them to go hide like frightened children?

It was Richard who spoke next. “Lads, we ken ye wanted to help, but ye were foolish to run off like that,” his voice was calm and belied the anger he truly felt.

“What are ye goin’ to do to us?” Andrew squeaked, still trembling.

Findley eyed both boys for a moment before shaking his head. “Ye’ll be punished, that much I ken. But we’ve no time fer it now,” he said calmly. He’d let them worry over it for a time, let them stew in their own juices. Once he got them back to Gregor, they’d be cleaning privies for the next six months.

“Mount up,” Findley told them as he walked toward his own steed.

Richard and Wee William let loose the boys and walked toward their own horses. Robert and Andrew looked warily at each other. Robert was sure it must be some kind of trick to get them to let down their defenses. He shook the rain from his cloak. Andrew followed him as they walked toward their horses.

“Where is mum?” Andrew whispered as they saddled their horses.

Robert’s expression remained calm and resolute. “I dunnae,” he whispered back. “But she must not be far.”

A very panicked look came over Andrew’s face as he tossed the saddle to the back of his horse. “We didn’t get to rescue Ian, Robert!” His hands shook from the cold and the fear that washed over him.

“Now she won’t be proud. She’ll just be angry!” He didn’t like the thought of a very angry mother. The plan had been to rescue Ian. With Ian safe and sound, their mum would be far less likely to skin them alive. Without Ian, the chances of surviving their mother’s wrath were nil. Suddenly, he didn’t feel well. Not well at all.

Robert and Andrew listened somberly to the events that had unfolded after they’d run away. A tremendous amount of guilt fell on their shoulders.

“Do ye ken the name, lads? Do ye ken who this Traig might be?” Richard asked the boys as they rode north to Aberdeen.

Robert’s brow furrowed in contemplation. “Nay,” he said after thinking on it for a few moments. “The only Traig I remember was Ian’s da. But he died when Ian was a wean, so could no’ be him.”

“How did he die?” Findley asked. Maggy wasn’t the only one in history to play dead for a time.

“I’m no’ sure, but I think I heard Maggy speak on it once. English soldiers attacked Traig and Liam’s da when they were travelin’ to Dundee. But I canna be sure of it. ’Twas a long time ago.”

Robert didn’t care who the man was that took his mum and had killed Patrick. It changed nothing. Patrick was still dead and his mum missing.

“’Tis all me fault,” he said, his voice barely audible over the sounds of the horses trudging through muck and mud.

For a moment Findley thought of letting Robert believe just that. But he knew what guilt could do to a boy. It would eat him alive.

“Nay,” Findley told him as he cast a glance toward Robert. His shoulders were slumped and his face had gone horribly pale. “Either way, he’d have found a way of takin’ yer mum.”

Robert’s eyes were glued to his horse’s mane. He was certain Findley was only trying to make him feel better. “Nay, had I been there, I could have stopped him,” he mumbled.

Findley reached over and pulled Robert’s horse to a stop along side his own. “Aye, had ye been there and done somethin’ foolish, it could be you layin’ dead instead of Patrick.”

Robert finally looked up. The grief and guilt in Robert’s eyes was enough to tell Findley the boy was truly remorseful. He had to remind himself that Robert was just that. A boy. Aye, he had turned three and ten more than a month ago, but he was still a boy.

“And how do ye think yer mum would respond to losin’ ye?” Findley asked him.

It mattered not. Mayhap had he not talked Andrew into running off with him, Patrick might still be alive and their mum would be safe.

“Robert,” Findley began. “Yer a fine young lad. I see great potential in ye and a good future fer ye.”

Robert cast him a disbelieving look and turned his face away.

“I’m not just blowin’ air up yer kilt, lad. I mean what I say and I say what I mean. None of us is perfect and we all make mistakes. The trick is to learn from them.”

Robert nodded his head, only half listening. His mind was elsewhere, worrying about his mother and brother.

Findley let out a heavy sigh, shook his head, and thumped the boy upside his head. “Listen to me, ye fool!”

Robert rubbed the side of his head, his face twisted into frustration and a bit of anger as he finally looked at Findley.

“Ye made a mistake and used poor judgment. ’Tis no because yer stupid, ’tis because yer young and inexperienced,” Findley told him.

If Findley was trying to make him feel better, he was doing a poor job of it.

“If ye really want to be a fine warrior someday, then ye must first learn to listen to yer leader, listen to those with more experience and wisdom.”

Robert stared at Findley. “How am I to be a fine warrior if I keep gettin’ left behind any time there’s trouble?” he asked him sullenly.

Findley sighed again. The boy was a stubborn fool. “Ye’ll keep getting left behind with that attitude, lad. Ye can’t just go into a fight with swords drawn and vengeance on yer mind. Ye must have a plan of action!”

“I did have a plan of action and it didn’t involve drawn swords or fightin’.”

A look of surprise and confusion came to Findley’s face. “What do ye mean?”

Robert let out a short breath. “We’d planned on just going up to the gates and askin’ to be let in.”

Findley looked at him as if he lost his mind. Robert explained further. “Who would be suspicious of two lost boys? Surely they’d give us shelter for at least a night or two, until our equally lost fathers found us,” he smiled up at Findley.

‘Twas as if a light suddenly came to a dark room. Findley quickly followed Robert’s train of thought. “And ye’d be able to find Ian and keep him safe until we got there.” ’Twas more of a statement than a question.

“Aye,” Robert nodded, looking quite proud of his plan. “And then we’d draw swords and fight!”

Findley rolled his eyes and ran his hand across the top of Robert’s head. It was indeed a good plan. He wasn’t sure, but it might just work. “Ye’ve a devious side to ye lad,” he smiled. “A very devious side.”

“I’d no’ call it devious. I’d call it intelligent.” He looked wounded. He never wanted anyone to think him devious.

“Do no’ take it so personally, lad. ’Tis a good trait to own, Robert.”

It was just like adults to have both a positive as well as negative meaning to the same word. He shook his head slightly and touched the flanks of his horse, moving it forward. They were wasting precious time talking. They had a woman and child to rescue.

“I’ll ask ye again, Maggy. Where is my son?”

He was squeezing her arms so tightly she thought they’d snap in two! She was still reeling from the shock of seeing Traig alive and well. Well, perhaps well wasn’t the right word for he was far from well in the mental sense. He had lost his mind.