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Prologue
Village of Drumnadrochit, Scotland
August, 1303
In one fell swoop, Brodin Grant released the tartan around his waist. Once disrobed, he dove into the pristine waters of the loch. He swam out a good distance and dunked his head. Beneath the tranquil water, he floated, allowing himself to revel in the quiet and serenity of the abyss. The water soothed his aching muscles and gave a respite to his restless soul.
At the behest of his uncle, Brodin took command of their clan’s soldiers. Though he was younger than most he trained, he gained the respect of his men-at-arms, older brothers and uncles. They were still trying to gain the freedom of their chieftain, Randall, his father, who was taken prisoner in the lord’s year 1296, along with many other clans’ leaders after the battle at Dunbar.
With the ongoing turmoil between Scotland and England, Brodin suspected fighting would become intense and prolonged. Not only was he talented with the use of his sword, he also had the benefit of being the son of the laird. Their followers deemed him more valuable than his two elder brothers who were more political in nature than their skill at taking to arms.
Brodin came up and drew a breath before sinking again in refreshing waters. Thoughts of Alexia came and he grinned, sputtering the water as he surfaced. Being the third son, his father was least concerned with the woman he took to wife. His eye no longer wandered and he reasoned Alexia would make him a good wife. She was as fair to behold and as dark as he. For her hair was strewn with black strands, as black as the devil’s. He wondered if his children would have his light blue eyes or their mother’s dark brown. Regardless, their children would be strikingly handsome and resilient.
It was time to settle down and bear heirs, especially if he were to go to war. If his life ended, his legacy would live on in his children. With his new position within the clan, he needed to put the reveries of youth behind him and focus on his future.
Brodin dove again, exercising his arms and legs as he progressed through the water. He stood and walked farther out, the water reaching his chest. The murky bottom soft beneath his feet, and he scooped handfuls of water to wet his chest and hair. The day grew hot with summer at its warmest. He’d called an early end to the day’s sparring and decided to cool off before he sought out his love.
An arrow flew past him, whizzing with speed until it hit the water. Brodin hastily sunk to his shoulders, providing his head as the only target. Another arrow came and another. He realized there was only one shooter as the arrows came too slow to be more than one person taking aim. At least his foe had terrible aim for he missed him three times. The next arrow came, but he couldn’t move fast enough to avert it and the sleek tip pierced the flesh of his shoulder. Brodin sunk deeper in the water and pulled it free. His blood seeped and tainted the water.
It hurt like a son-of-a … Someone was trying to kill him.
He had to get to the safety of the bank and trees. With a deep breath, he filled himself with air and swam along the shoreline until he was enough distance away from his foe. He hoped his attacker deemed he’d been struck true and no more arrows would come.
When he came up, he reached the low-lying branches of a tree, the only one near the bank to give him cover. He jumped out of the water and skulked toward where the arrows had come from. He’d assessed the area and knew where the knave sat. Brodin made good ground and neared the spot where he’d suspected his adversary took aim from. Standing inland, he surveyed the trees and land around him. His eyes adjusted to the dimness of the woods and he roved his view through the mass of tree branches above until he glimpsed a light colored tunic.
Nearer to his enemy, Brodin picked up a good-sized rock wishing it were his sword. But he’d left his garments and weapons upon the bank. He held the heavy stone firmly in hand, advancing closer to his foe.
The man held an arrow positioned in his bow, aimed at the water, waiting for him to resurface. He stood upon a branch, high in a tree a short distance from the bank. With his gaze fixed, he didn’t hear Brodin approach.
Brodin took aim and used enough force to knock the man off the branch. His foe fell and landed on his back with his eyes closed.
He hastened to where he’d left his garments and quickly donned them. Once he’d collected his possessions, he sheathed his sword and pulled a six-inch blade from its holder. His dagger gripped tight, Brodin returned to the man and moved him with his foot. The man groaned.
“Come now, I didn’t cause ye a grave injury. Awake and defend yourself.” Brodin moved him again with his foot, but the man moaned and raised his hands to his head. He opened his eyes and drew a startled breath.
“Who are you? And why were you trying to kill me?” Brodin kept his dagger at the ready, but before he’d do in his foe, he wanted answers.
“I didn’t … wasn’t trying to kill you.”
“The hell ye weren’t.” Brodin grabbed the man’s tunic and yanked him to his feet. He held his blade true, aimed at the man’s heart. “I’ll only be asking ye one more time … Why were you trying to kill me?”
The man stuttered in answer, “I, I, w-was waged to do so.”
“Who wants me dead?” Brodin gripped him, causing him to sway on his feet. “Who paid you to kill me? I want a name. Speak it now or I’ll end you.”
The man’s eyes widened when he shoved him back and the man sprawled on the ground. Brodin quickly stashed his dagger in the loop of his belt and yanked his sword free. He aimed the blade at the coxcomb’s heart, pushing it against his tunic. With his sword doing the asking, he was certain to get answers.
“I will find out regardless of your cooperation. Best bespeak your patron’s name.” He pressed the sword further, pinching the fabric at his chest.
The man’s panic came in gasps. “Ye promise not to kill me?”
In times like these, it was best to speak falsely. “Aye, you’ll live.” … for a breath or two after I learn my enemy’s name.
“Your mistress, Mistress Sweeten, Alexia Sweeten. She offered me six coins. I’m to collect them when I return to her, once I’ve dispatched … Please … I—”
Before the man could draw another breath, Brodin thrust his sword. He pushed it until he could no longer. His enemy would not be able to go forth and tell what happened this day nor could he complete his task and gain the coin he sought.
Brodin wiped the blood from his sword on the man’s garments and sheathed it in its scabbard. His life was worth a wee bit more than six coins. Alexia. She would pay a man to kill him? He could think of no reason why she would want him dead. They’d been lovers for many months and she’d never given indication she was displeased with their arrangement.
The walk to the village took little time. He’d find her and she would answer for her betrayal. Outside her cottage, he heard the sound of her laughter. The vixen thought he was dead. Was she jovial at that or was there another reason she was filled with mirth? Why not surprise her?
Brodin kicked the door open and stood in the center of the threshold. There was the woman he’d thought to love – in the arms of another. Words weren’t needed, for he wouldn’t bring himself to humility or ask why she abhorred him enough to have him killed. This was not the time to reason his displeasure or dejection. He removed his sword and held it, knowing his heart had turned to stone. Any love that he’d had for her died like the wilting heather when cold swathed the land.
His lover gasped at his sudden appearance. “Brodin, what …”
He ran at her and she and her lover vacated the bed. The man ran screaming from the cottage, retreating to safety. Alexia fled across the chamber. Brodin’s ire rose and he’d never been as angry before, so much so his nose drew in harsh breath.
He advanced, walking with slow deliberate steps toward her.
“Will ye not give me a moment to explain?” her voice a breathy whisper.
“There is no need for explanations, love. Is there not? You wanted me dead, och I’m more resilient than ye deemed.”
Across the chamber, as far from him as she could be, she cowered as he drew closer.
“You wanted to be rid of me? Now I shall rid myself of you.” He wacked the wooden bedframe, splintering pieces of the wood.
She cried out. “Please, I shouldn’t have sent—”
“I don’t want to hear your excuse or apology, lass. I just want you to breathe your last.”
“Can you not forgive me? Let me explain?” She wrapped the bed cover around her and ran father into the cottage. “I had to … send Thomas, for my father found out about us and he swore to have ye arrested. He was to question you and threatened to send me away … to a cloister. ”
“It matters not. I could’ve handled your father, lass. There was no cause to send an assassin after me. You wanted me dead and for that—” Brodin kept his advance slow. He reasoned all the ways he should kill her. The closer he got though, the more the reasons thwarted him. He’d lived his life with honor and would never kill a woman regardless of her transgression. As he contemplated whether he should go through with it, she slunk next to the wall and wept.
Voices came and Brodin wouldn’t move. He’d been wronged. His heart and head taunted him to take retribution. But he stilled his hand and held back.
Someone grabbed him from behind and held his arms. His sword dropped and clanked the stone of the floor. Ten men entered the cottage, taking up the space of the floor betwixt him and his former love.
Alexia’s father stood behind him. “What say ye, Brodin, what goes here?”
“Thank God ye came. He tried to kill me, Father. I know not why. He’s maddened.” Alexia ran to her father and wept. Her false tears would fill a bucket. “He is ireful that I wouldn’t do unspeakable acts with him. I’m gladdened you came when you did, Da.”
Her father comforted her and glared at him. “You would harm my daughter?”
Brodin never knew Alexia to be sensational, but she’d enabled tears to flow. Her sobs reaped looks of despair amongst the men inside the cottage. He wanted to applaud her performance, for the woman was talented at her deceit.
“I tried to kill her?” He was astounded and aghast at her accusation.
Sheriff Norval Sweeten glared his affront at his daughter. “I should’ve sent ye to the cloister, aye the nunnery is the only place I can keep you from your sinful deeds. You shall leave at the soonest.” He handed Alexia off to his comrade. “See to my lass. I will deal with the Grant.”
“You will pay for this Brodin. I swear, I will find a way to repay you. Aye, you’ll look over your shoulder for the rest of your days. Please, Da, listen … I don’t wish to go to the nunnery. I won’t cause further strife—”
“We will discuss the matter later. I cannot look upon you.” The sheriff turned his back to her and scowled at him.
Alexia was taken away, and Brodin gave her a look of disdain as she left. The woman was intent to kill him. It wasn’t his fault her father thought her sinful. The lass had consorted with him and who knows who else. Brodin scoffed at his foolishness. He stood before the sheriff unable to voice the words to protest his innocence.
The stout man fingered his graying beard. “As the sheriff of this village, I must make sentence for your crime, lad.”
“I committed no crime. She sent someone to kill me. You heard her threaten me. I returned to question her and we were discussing the whys.” He pulled free from the man that held him.
“Be that as ye say, you cannot go around intimidating young lassies with your sword. I shall send ye off to attend the Bruce. Aye, you shall go and not return for at least five years. During that time ye shall forget Alexia and the happenings of this day.”
Brodin scowled, for it would take longer than five years for him to forget or forgive the treachery of her doings.
“I shall let your clan ken of your sentence. It is because of your father’s good standing that I don’t give ye a harsher punishment. My men will escort ye to the Bruce’s holding this day.” Sheriff Sweeten nodded to his men. “Aye, for we cannot have ye making threats on young lasses, especially when you compromised them in the first place. I ken about your liaison with my daughter, with others’. You shall not soil our daughters again.”
He was taken into custody and dragged from the cottage. Brodin swore upon all that was holy, Alexia Sweeten would regret this day and her decision to end his life.