Chapter Two
Northern Edge of Scotland, Just South of Farr Bay
Hamish reached the top of the hill and gave a slight tug on the reins for the horse to stop. Swinging his leg over the animal’s back end, he kept one hand on the saddle and used the other to prevent the furs around his shoulders from falling as he dropped to his feet. The wind had increased and the temperatures would drop below freezing upon nightfall at this altitude.
Letting go of the saddle, he lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the afternoon sun. A twinge went up his back, a telling sign that he had been riding for several hours and that his gait had been too slow. But he had finally arrived at the northern stretch of Scotland. To his left were the Kyle of Tongue and the four rocky peaks of the granite mountain Ben Loyal. To his right lay rocky, rolling terrain interspersed with occasional snow-capped peaks and crags. Before him were the bays of Torrisdale and Farr. It was along their shores he had once called home.
Hamish inhaled deeply. At least the sea had not changed. The blue water still pounded the jutted cliffs that stretched out into the bay. He was not close enough to hear the crashing sounds of the waves, but he was near enough to smell the seawater. He had not realized just how much he missed the ocean. Its loss was just one of many small prices he had paid when he had decided to leave. And now he was going to have to pay it again, for he fully intended to return to the McTiernays as soon as possible. There was nothing here that could entice him to stay, and much to keep him away from the place he now called home.
Hamish unhooked the water bag on his saddle and took a swallow. It was still early in the afternoon, but it would not be long before the night sky was over him. This time of year, daylight hours were few. The sun only appeared for about seven hours, rising and setting long after a typical workday started and finished. And when the sun was in the sky, it was often hidden behind gray clouds during the winter months. With the ocean lapping its shores, northern Scotland was not just dark and cold; it came with an overabundance of rain, sleet, and blustery wind. One was lucky to experience sunshine three days in a row.
The mud in the valleys and snow in the mountains required travel to be done in the daylight. Hamish had another hour, maybe two, before the sun disappeared behind the horizon, but he was in no hurry to his destination. The herald had to have arrived by now with word of his return for Hamish had ordered him and his traveling companion to go back as soon as he had made his decision. And though Hamish had left soon after he had dismissed the heralds, he had not been in a hurry and had decided to take a small detour and check on some of the more northern farmsteads on McTiernay lands. He had even considered visiting Conor’s brother Cole on his way north, as the stop would give him more time to think. But thinking would change nothing. It would only postpone the inevitable. Until he confronted his brother, Robert would not let him live in peace.
Hamish reattached the water bag to his saddle and let go of the horse’s reins so the animal could seek out one of the many large water puddles and take its own fill. As the horse moved aside, Hamish looked out and stared at the one place he had hoped never to see again—Foinaven Castle.
Two years younger than Hamish, Robert was not just a beloved brother, but the unquestionable genius of the MacBrieve family. Hamish and his father had often jested that of the three of them, it was Robert who was the true MacBrieve. Like his grandfather and great-grandfather, he had inherited the MacBrieve gift for fixing anything from castle fortifications to enhancing everyday devices. Hamish and his father, on the other hand, were natural leaders and fighters and never able to understand how Robert could spend countless hours staring at an object, trying to see how it worked and how it could be improved. And yet, Hamish had felt both pride and envy of his brother’s ability to quickly resolve riddles and build contraptions that worked from what seemed to be nothing but rocks and string. Unfortunately, Robert’s brilliance was limited to inanimate objects. When it came to understanding individuals and discerning their true motivations, his younger brother remained perpetually naïve. He refused to see the world as it was and instead interpreted situations and people as he wished them to be—inherently good, honest, and accommodating.
Less than a week ago, Robert’s herald arrived and his missive had made it clear that his brother had not changed. But as a leader of a Highland clan, such ideals were not just reckless but dangerous.
During the last twelve years, Robert had tried four times to get Hamish to return home, each time making the situation sound a little more pressing and serious. Repeatedly Hamish had made it clear that he held no lingering animosity, but Robert wanted more. He wanted reconciliation. Hamish, however, had no desire to be inflicted with seeing the first woman to whom he had given his heart fawning over his brother.
None of that mattered for the nature behind Robert’s latest request had made it impossible for Hamish to outright refuse. His brother had foolishly decided to send the majority of the clan’s guard—including his commander—to Jedburgh Abbey to serve as an escort to the castle’s newly appointed priest. Robert was hoping Hamish would come for a visit and help ensure the safety of the clan in the interim.
Hamish had little choice but to agree.
Despite the number of years he had been away, Hamish had never forgotten the men and women Robert was now responsible for were his people. Clansmen that he had been raised from birth to rule and protect. His decision to forego that privilege did not change his desire to know his clansmen prospered and were safe. Robert had gambled on that desire, creating a situation that would compel Hamish’s agreement to come home. But if his brother believed that offering him the position of commander, a place of honor and responsibility, would entice him to stay, he would soon learn otherwise.
There was not a single thing Robert could say or offer that would result in Hamish’s remaining at Foinaven.
* * *
Hamish stretched and studied the skies. The wind was picking up and by the smell of the air, the coming rain would be heavy. Sleeping outside tonight would be a bitter and uncomfortable experience, but it could not be helped. It was too late to reach Foinaven before dark and unwise to travel in these hills with no light and in the pouring rain. All that was left to decide was which was more important—finding food or finding shelter.
To the west were a few rock formations that would provide shelter from the wind and a little from the rain. To the northeast was Lochlan Duinte, an ancient monument that overlooked River Naver. It would provide little protection from foul weather, but the surrounding vegetation offered a better chance of catching some food. Hamish looked out at the horizon and debated his choices.
Just east of the river, Foinaven Castle lay on an elevated stretch of land just south of Farr Bay. Parts of the bay were treacherous, with a seacoast comprised of very high cliffs and deep fjords with ragged inlets of sandy beaches. Hamish could not help but stare and take in all the changes that had been made to the stronghold in the past twelve years.
When he had left, the castle had been but a single stone tower and the beginnings of a stone keep surrounded by an oblong wooden wall that conformed to the contours of the landscape. Now the timber had been replaced and stone made up the curtain wall as well as many of the buildings that lined the northernmost wall. The only thing that had remained unchanged from his memory was the main tower. It still stood alone in the middle of the lower portion of the walled courtyard, unconnected to any of the outer walls.
The village that lay just outside the castle had grown considerably since he had left. Houses, barns, sheds, and animal pens clustered around the center forcing the farmers that lived in the village to walk a good distance to reach their fields and pastures. Foinaven had become a castle any laird would be proud of and it could have been his.
Originally part of the Morrison clan on the Isle of Lewis, the MacBrieves functioned as judges, issuing brieves on the island. As a result, they held much power and influence, despite their few numbers. However, Hamish’s great-grandfather was the second son to the clan chief and had wanted a different life. With an innate ability to build and engineer various devices, he saw little chance of using his skills as a judge. He also knew he was not alone in feeling confined on the island. The clan was never allowed to grow in size due to the constant aggressive nature of their neighbors. As a result, his great-grandfather had left, leading a small group of MacBrieve clansmen to the mainland to make a new life.
By the time his father had assumed lairdship over their clan, their numbers had grown significantly and they had formed a permanent village just south of Armadale Bay. Their blockhouse served as an isolated, defensive strong point and under his father’s leadership, their clan became known for its strong warriors, who possessed the lethal ability to defend their home, families, and lands. But his father had aspired to more and merging with the MacMhathains had provided the opportunity to not just grow in numbers, but also the chance to become a powerful and influential clan.
Hamish was to have helped his father realize that dream. Instead, he had given that honor to his brother.
Hamish closed his eyes and searched his heart. It spoke the same message as it always had. No resentment, no bitterness—only sadness and loss. If life presented the same situation again, Hamish knew he would make the same choices he had made so long ago.
With a shake of his head to clear his mind, Hamish called for his horse and reminded himself that he lacked for nothing. He had a home and a prized position with one of the most powerful clans in the Highlands. He was able to be himself and felt at ease living with the McTiernays. And maybe someday it could be more. Love was not a necessary ingredient to get married and have a family. It was preferred, but after what he had gone through this last year, he had decided being compatible was far more important. It was something to consider. He could be alone for the rest of his life or maybe he could follow the same advice he was soon going to give his brother—move on.
* * *
Hamish guided his horse down the outcropping and heard a loud whistle to his right. Halting his progress, he looked to see who it was and the reason behind the piercing sound. A second later, a large, muscular man with a distinct profile and dark brown hair, slightly graying around the temples, came into view. He was signaling to a boy much farther away to help keep the free-range kyloe from wandering too far in their search for food.
Unlike most livestock, long-horned, long-haired Highland cattle could survive northern Scotland’s harsh nature, rainfall, and very strong winds with minimal care. But they did have to be corralled often, especially in the winter when the search for food urged them to go beyond their preferred pastures.
Hamish stared at the father for several seconds before realizing he recognized him. The man was Amon and had been a respected warrior and part of his father’s elite guard. He had been the one assigned to teach Hamish how to handle a sword and it was Amon’s training enabled Hamish to be victorious in battle. Seeing Amon dressed as a farmer was surprising, as his former mentor had at one time lived and breathed the life of a soldier.
Hamish hollered down and waved when Amon turned in his direction. Similarly, after several seconds, Amon’s deep blue eyes widened with recognition and he motioned for Hamish to come near.
Getting off his horse, Hamish greeted the older man with a smile. Amon grinned back and pulled him into a fierce, brief embrace. “It is you! So the herald was not spreading false rumors of your return. I thought he was mad with cold, but it seems I was wrong. Hamish MacBrieve has finally returned—something I had not thought I would live to see.” Then he pointed into the distance at Foinaven Castle. “Your father and brother finished it a few years after you left.”
Hamish nodded. “I saw.”
Amon inhaled. “I imagine Menzies MacMhathain and your father are letting go a sigh of relief now that you have come home.”
“I doubt it. I intend to be merely a visitor. And a brief one at that,” Hamish said through gritted teeth.
“I see,” Amon said quietly.
The man said nothing more, but Hamish understood all too well what his old mentor was conveying. Menzies MacMhathain had been a strong leader and done much for his people. What he wanted most was to ensure his clan’s prosperity and the well-being of his family. With only two girls and no sons, Laird MacMhathain’s dying request was for Hamish to wed his eldest daughter, uniting the MacBrieve and MacMhathain clan through marriage. Hamish had agreed, never expecting that upon meeting Selah he would become completely captivated by her.
Hamish had believed the feeling mutual and for a short while, his life had been idyllic. He and Selah had talked and laughed and even kissed on occasion. Never did Hamish suspect that her affections would shift to another when he left for a monthlong trip with his father to visit the neighboring clans. But upon his return, Selah had told him that she had fallen deeply in love with someone else—his brother, Robert.
Immediately Hamish had confronted Robert, who quickly denied any physical involvement and vowed nothing would come of his and Selah’s unexpected friendship. Hamish had thought to put the matter aside, court Selah, and regain her love. But when he overheard her impassioned response to his brother’s tear-filled good-bye, Hamish had known that Selah and he would never be happy together. So he had made the only honorable choice available to him. He released her from her promise. But in giving up Selah, Hamish had also relinquished his claim to Foinaven Castle and the possibility of becoming laird. Those privileges came not to the eldest MacBrieve but to whoever married MacMhathain’s eldest daughter.
The decision also resulted in his giving up his home and the only life he ever knew.
While Hamish loved his brother, he had no taste for daily suffering. Hamish also knew that his father would never accept Robert and Selah’s budding relationship if he remained at Foinaven. The pressure his father would apply on the two of them to comply with the original desires of Selah’s father would increase until one of them capitulated. In the end, it would have left everyone miserable with no path to happiness. So he had left, hoping his father would understand, having been deeply in love with his mother. Through hardships, both had been known to say that as long as they had each other and their boys, nothing couldn’t be overcome. Hopefully, his father saw that being laird was not enough to overcome the knowledge of being second in your wife’s heart.
After joining the McTiernays, Hamish had sent word to Robert and his father that he was content and had found a clan to which he felt akin. He wished his brother well and encouraged his father to prepare Robert for the role as he had spent years grooming him.
“Are they still together?” Hamish asked, still keeping his gaze on Foinaven.
Amon nodded. “They are and very happy from all accounts, despite the years it took for your father to finally agree to their union. I’m not sure he ever was truly convinced that you were not returning.”
“That was one of many reasons why I stayed away. He needed to be focused on guiding Robert in the ways to lead our clansmen.”
Amon stayed quiet, refusing to say aloud that his father had not been able to alter Robert’s unrealistic ideas of leadership. His brother had never been the fighter Hamish was. Oh, Robert could use a sword, but his nature was that of a pacifist. And so it was not until their father’s dying breath did he relinquish leadership of the two clans to Robert.
Amon waved for his son to join them. “I hope you had not planned to reach Foinaven by nightfall,” Amon stated.
Hamish shook his head. “Not in this weather or without light.”
“Wise. This area has maimed many mounts from fools riding after sunset.” When the young boy reached them, Amon smiled proudly and wrapped his arm around the child’s shoulders. The boy’s hair had more red, but he had the same prominent nose and deep-set blue eyes of his father. “This is my son Jothree, who I suspect is enormously eager to hear stories of the famed McTiernays and some of the battles you have seen. Come home with us. I don’t have an extra bed, but the barn is warmer than it looks and if you still possess even a little bit of that charm and flattery you threw about in your youth, my wife, Lynnea, will make you a large, hot meal that would satisfy a king.”
“Shelter and food? Such a temptation is hard to resist,” Hamish replied, and then looked down at his muddy feet and legs. “But after three days’ travel, I’m unfit company.”
“There’s a small stream that runs by the house. Bitterly cold but not for the fierce McTiernay warrior all the tall tales have you be,” Amon said with undisguised mirth and a wink.
Hamish rolled his eyes and followed. Being reasonably clean again sounded heavenly—especially if the cold bath was followed by a warm fire and food. “Then my company you shall have,” Hamish replied with a smile as he squatted down to look the young boy in the eye. “And how old are you, lad?”
“I’ll be eight the day after Candlemas,” came the exuberant reply. “My sister won’t turn seven until a week later so I always get to be the oldest.”
Hamish fought the pang in his heart. If he and Selah had married, they might have had a son Jothree’s age. “’Tis very true, young Jothree. I remember how important it was when I was your age that my younger brother could never claim to be the same age as me,” Hamish replied as he stood back up. He looked at Amon and said, “Lynnea, you say? I must meet this daring woman who convinced you to give up being a warrior to live a life on the land.”
“And so you shall for she would skin me alive if I did not bring you to meet her. We live not far from here,” Amon said, pointing to a large cottage nestled near some trees and a running brook.
* * *
Unable to eat another delicious bite, Hamish leaned back from the table and winked at the woman sitting across from him. “I can see why you married her, Amon. She is not only beautiful but an excellent cook,” he said, patting his stomach.
Lynnea tucked a loose lock of her red-brown hair behind her ear and flashed him a wicked smile before glancing at her husband. “He is so charming, Amon, it is a wonder that not every woman Hamish runs into doesn’t fall into his arms. I mean it,” she added in a teasing tone, “if it wasn’t for that beard, I’d almost be tempted to fall into them myself hearing such flattery.” She stood and gave her husband a lingering peck on the cheek. “Almost tempted.”
Hamish chuckled, delighted his old friend had found such an enjoyable wife. “Alas, a loss that I am sadly familiar with, and yet Lynnea, you let yourself be captured by this rough and weathered man. The reasons of which escape me.”
Lynnea flashed her husband a knowing smile. Tall and possessing a full figure, she knew she was not a classic beauty like that of Lady MacBrieve, but she was pretty in her own way and Amon had eyes for no one else since he had met her. “I fear I cannot take credit for my fortune. For that, I blame my father. Amon followed me home one day, claiming something nonsensical about seeing to my safety. I thought my father would chase him away like he did all my other suitors—”
Amon sat up suddenly. “Other suitors?”
Lynnea waved her hand. “Aye, other suitors. Anyway, my father took one look at Amon and decided his strength and bullying ways would be excellent help around harvest.” With a glint in her eye that would show even the most casual observer her love, she said, “And my father was right. You should hear Amon yell at the cattle. They obey no one better than he.”
Amon chortled and grabbed her wrist as she tried to sashay by him, pulling her onto his lap. “Aye, it is true. But lucky for you, I just so happened was willing to do anything to make you mine.”
Lynnea rolled her eyes, gave him a quick peck on the lips, and scooted off his lap. “Just as sappy as the day we wed.”
Amon grinned at Hamish, who sat relaxed, enjoying their banter, and studied his onetime protégé. Hamish had grown in size and he carried himself with ease and confidence. And while he was kind and amiable, he no longer seemed to possess his boyhood aptitude for harmless flirtation. It was a shame for it had endeared all around him. What was left seemed to be a friendly, but very unemotional, calculating man. Only a fool would assume Hamish was merely a large soldier who could wield the sword. The man always had a keen mind and Amon wagered that it had only grown sharper in the company of the famed McTiernays.
Lynnea moved to gather the plates from the table. “I know that you want to muse over the past with Amon, but do not think I have forgotten that you have yet to tell me the real reason behind your leaving Foinaven and just why after twelve years you have decided to return.”
Hamish looked at Amon and then back at Lynnea. “I doubt I could tell you anything you don’t already know. On those two particular topics, I’m sure the gossips have it right.”
Amon slapped his knee and stood up. “Why don’t we get out of the way, while they clean up,” he said, and pointed to two worn chairs in a sitting area at the far end of the room upon which were Hamish’s drying clothes. He had done his best to wash them, glad he had brought his new tartan and leine as a spare to wear until traveling garb had dried.
They moved the garments aside, sat down, and within seconds Jothree and his younger sister, Fulanna, joined them. Amon looked at them both and then pointed to their mother, hinting they should be helping. Lynnea quickly said, “It is fine, Amon. It is not often the children get to meet a great Highland warrior.”
Amon compressed his lips and said with a huff, “I was a great Highland warrior once myself, mo chroì.”
“Fine, then it’s not often the children get the chance to speak with a legendary Highland warrior.”
Hamish puffed out his chest with feigned pride. Amon rolled his eyes and grumbled, “If you knew him better, you wouldn’t think him such a prize, Lynnea.”
Jothree gave his father a look of disbelief then turned his puzzled expression toward Hamish. “Is it true what Da said? That when Laird MacMhathain died, he made you his heir.”
Hamish glanced at Amon. “Your da says that, does he? Well, that is not exactly accurate. Being neighbors, Laird MacMhathain and my father knew and respected each other. He was good to his people and a strong warrior, but it was not until we fought alongside each other in support of William Wallace did our mutual admiration truly grow.”
Jothree came close and sat down beside his little sister. “Da said he died fighting England.”
Hamish nodded. The Battle of Roslin had been one of many in the fight to keep English rule and authority out of Scotland, but it was the one battle that had been most pivotal in Hamish’s life. “It was a cold day and we had been fighting for two long days, but we were winning and that knowledge gave us strength to continue for a third and final day. Unfortunately, in the final hours, right before the English were defeated, Laird MacMhathain was struck with an arrow, right here,” he said softly, pointing to a place near his heart. “MacMhathain had no male heir, so his dying request was for a MacBrieve to marry his eldest daughter. This would bind the MacMhathain and MacBrieve clans via matrimony and ensure his people would be protected. The merger would give both clans more power and security.”
“But then why didn’t you marry Lady MacBrieve?” Fulanna pressed.
Hamish took in a breath and then let go, deciding the truth was the best answer. “Because she loved my brother.”
Unfortunately, the simplicity of the statement did not satisfy little Fulanna. Her thin arms were crossed and her dark brows were furrowed. It was clear to all in the room that she was about to unleash a slew of questions. Hamish sat ready for the oncoming barrage, fully prepared for what was about to happen after many encounters with Conor and Laurel’s youngest and very inquisitive daughter.
Amon, however, decided to avoid the penetrating questions his six-year-old tended to ask and quickly picked Fulanna up to put her on his knee, thereby deflecting her line of thought. Changing the topic to one he was more interested in, he asked, “What do you know of Robert’s commander, Ulrick?”
Hamish inhaled and leaned back in the chair, intertwining his fingers across his chest. “He’s . . . why I’m here.”
Amon’s brows shot up. “So you know of him. By reputation or personally?”
Hamish frowned, deciding not to hide his ill feelings about the man. “Personally.”
Ulrick had been a mercenary during the war and they had fought together a handful of times. The man was more than moderately talented with the sword and though not nearly as gifted in strategy as the McTiernays, he was capable. He also enjoyed intimidating those around him, not an unusual trait, and when appropriately applied, a useful one. But Ulrick was also the foulest form of man. Hamish had no proof, but he suspected that Ulrick was behind some of the horrors widows endured after the fighting was over. Given true power, however, Hamish believed the man could be very cruel and possibly dangerous.
Even before his life as a mercenary, Ulrick was loyal only to himself. Many a time, Hamish had witnessed him refusing to help another when it was not to his advantage. On the other hand, Ulrick seized upon anything that inflated his unhealthy dose of pride, including claiming victories that were earned by others. The combination of Ulrick’s narcissism, cruel nature, and a constant longing for more power made the man unpredictable. One never knew what would set him off or how he would retaliate. And Hamish suspected his brother had come to understand this too late and was seeking a peaceful way to replace him as commander. If that was the expectation, Robert would soon be disappointed.
Hamish had no intentions of ever allowing anyone to use him in such a way. Plus, there was nothing that could entice him to submit to his brother. And he suspected Ulrick had little desire to keep the title of commander. Based on the little he remembered of the man, he suspected that Ulrick’s real goal was to overthrow his brother and take his place as laird.
Amon gently pushed Fulanna off his knee and said, “Go help your mother. You too, Jothree.” Both their faces and shoulders drooped, but when they saw their father was serious, neither argued and instead shuffled to the other side of the room where their mother was humming and working.
Once out of easy earshot, Amon sat back and said, “If you know Ulrick, then you know his motives are questionable. Why else would he take so many men with him if not to prevent someone like yourself from gaining their allegiance?”
“It also gives him the advantage of returning with an army.”
Amon snorted. “One he’s no doubt growing.”
“The herald said he left to escort the new priest.”
Amon snorted again, before he realized that Hamish was grinning underneath his bushy beard. “’Tis no priest Ulrick’s seeking. The man’s probably making promises to every mercenary in Scotland to get them to join him. He has no coin now, but he will if Robert does not have an army waiting that can stop him.”
Hamish heard the hint but said nothing.
Disliking the silent response, Amon continued. “I’m not sure how a visit from you alone will end Ulrick’s aspirations. So I am assuming Laird McTiernay is willing to help.”
Hamish shrugged. “He offered.”
Amon’s brows drew downward in a frown when Hamish said no more. “And how long will it take McTiernay to rally his men and provide aid?” Amon pressed. “Or are they here already, taking shelter in the mountains?”
For several seconds, Hamish did not answer. For most clans, it would take some time to mobilize and equip men for battle with arms and food. Conor, however, always had a couple hundred soldiers ready to fight and they could live off the land regardless of the time of year. But Hamish had no right to request Conor to lend him his men. McTiernays fought for McTiernays or their allies . . . not another guardsman who was born a MacBrieve. But even if bringing a few dozen McTiernay soldiers was the solution, the result would only be temporary. Ulrick would only return when they left. And Hamish would have thought Amon to have known that.
Hamish took in a deep breath and shook his head. “None rode with me nor do I have intentions to ask for Conor for his help.”
Amon studied Hamish and then grinned. “Fine by me as this situation requires not a McTiernay army, but McTiernay ingenuity.” Scooting to the edge of his chair, he rested his elbows on his knees and leaned closer. “You are too much like your father. You would not be here if you did not have a plan.”
Hamish twitched his lips. Amon was right. He was like his father, plus he had lived with McTiernays too long to have come without at least one idea. “More likely two or three plans.”
Amon shook his head, but his smile only grew. “Are you willing to share them?”
Hamish snorted. “With you. Only you, though. But be careful, you might just be playing a role in one or two of them.”
Amon threw up his arms and then with a nod toward his wife, said, “I’m willing but doubt I can be of any help now that I’m just a farmer.”
“I cannot see you giving up the sword for a woman. Even one as lovely and kind as Lynnea.”
Amon’s jaw tensed. “What Lynnea said earlier was true. I fell in love with her and her father did desire my help with the land as she was his only child. By marrying her, I inherited all that he had when he passed. But that had nothing to do with why I was forced to give up the life of being a warrior and Robert’s second-in-command.”
Amon had Hamish’s full attention. “Forced? I would not think that was possible.”
“I am not alone,” Amon said defensively. “Soon after Ulrick was named commander, none of your father’s trusted guard remained for very long. Ulrick intentionally alienated Robert’s loyalty, stating that men like me who desired to train and remain vigilant sought only war, not peace,” he scoffed, and Hamish knew why.
Almost every man who had experienced the horrors of battle treasured peace above all things. They knew what sacrifices it took for their families to have that coveted peace in their lives. “Most of your father’s men litter the hills, away from Foinaven, trying to make a living off the land and keep their family fed.”
Hamish was somewhat shocked by what Amon was saying. “If my brother still possesses the soft heart he had in his youth, there is no way he would have allowed Ulrick to force you or anyone else from their position, even if it was as part of the army.”
“Situation forced us to leave. Robert gave no order, but he did not try to stop us either.”
Hamish blinked, letting what Amon told him sink in. “Maybe Robert has changed more than I thought.”
Amon shook his head and stood up to get some mead. Grabbing two mugs, he poured the honey wine into the cups and handed one to Hamish. “Robert has not changed. Your brother’s heart is the kind, conciliatory one as you remember, maybe even more so. Just look around tomorrow. You will see the numbers around Foinaven have grown enormously because of it. He accepts every clan and any Highlander who wishes to leech off the castle’s protection. How else do you think we ended up with Ulrick?”
“I must admit I was wondering. I would have thought Robert to put you or someone like yourself as commander, not an outsider.”
“Your brother cannot turn away a soul. They might not have anything to give in return and yet he stretches out a welcoming hand,” Amon stated, waving his arm about to emphasize his point. “It was not too bad, until a couple years ago. The last group was fairly unruly and refused to subscribe to clan rules. But instead of asking me to take my men and kick them off our lands, Robert decided to follow Ulrick’s advice and make him a co-commander, thinking that would elicit their loyalty.”
Fool, Hamish thought, wishing he did not have his beard as he rubbed his jaw trying to relieve an itch. It was warm and served its purpose, but sometimes, it could be annoying and uncomfortable.
Amon took a deep breath for control, then let it escape slowly. “It’s not that I don’t like Robert. Mo chreach, everyone likes both him and Lady MacBrieve. But that does not make him a capable leader.”
“He must have some support from the people. Without it, a laird has no power. So if Robert’s still in charge, I have to assume he is leading in a way that most people desire, even if it is not to your or my preference.”
“Mayhap. But I would argue people support what is easy and enables them to be lazy. Robert believes his position gives him loyalty, when in reality it gives him none. People will turn on him the moment they realize that his promises of security are empty. Right now they are under the illusion that Ulrick is strong, and therefore they are secure. But they don’t know Ulrick. Those like myself who were in your father’s guard, however, quickly understood Ulrick’s aspirations for power would not be satisfied. Our combined clan is large, but the army is far from powerful and it would never be strong under Robert’s leadership. It was not long before Ulrick realized that there were several of us who would not stand by and let him take advantage of Robert’s nature. So he carefully made it impossible for us to remain. One by one he maneuvered good men into leaving until I had no choice but to leave myself. And while I have no proof, I have no doubt that when Ulrick returns, your brother’s days of being in charge of this clan will be limited. Unless, that is, you know of a way to prevent him from doing so.”
Hamish studied his old comrade for several seconds, thinking it very opportune they had met up before his arrival. He believed Amon, but what his old mentor had revealed meant the men who he knew to be loyal to his father were no longer near Foinaven, let alone part of the army. Such information changed what he was going to do, but not necessarily for the worse.
“I have no intentions of letting Ulrick return to Foinaven in any permanent capacity. I know the man and what he is capable of,” Hamish confirmed out loud. Seeing the hopeful demeanor surge back into Amon, Hamish quickly added, “I’m here this time to make sure Robert understands how this situation came about and to give my birth clan a chance to rectify its mistakes in supporting such a man. But whatever remedy I choose to use against Ulrick will not keep another man like him from having the same aspirations. If Robert continues to lead in a way that jeopardizes his position with this clan, then he and this clan will find itself in jeopardy once again. And if that happens, I will not come nor will I feel guilty about staying away.”
“I guess any hopes that your plan includes bolstering Robert’s leadership style are unlikely.”
Hamish’s jaw tightened. “More than unlikely. Unrealistic.”
Amon nodded in understanding. “Well, then, by the time a similar situation arises, I’ll have to pray that the clan can come together, understand that a benevolent leader is not necessarily a good one, and do what it must.” Amon sat back and blew out a long sigh. “Meanwhile, tell me of your plan and I hope it takes in consideration Robert’s leadership style. Your brother won’t be eager to support any plan that includes arms.”
“I assume from your meaning Robert still believes talking with one’s enemy is the best method to elicit cooperation.”
Amon nodded. “Aye. Personally, I like the idea of applying peaceable means to solve disputes. Costs less and involves no bloodshed. But only a fool talks without the willingness and the ability to fight. We have been fortunate since your father’s death and many clansmen have come to actually believe Robert’s benign approach works. When Ulrick returns, it is going to become clear that is not the case. Such weakness is going to be exploited. Even from those Robert considers friends and allies,” Amon finished, unable to suppress the sneer in his voice.
“No allies, then?”
Amon shook his head. “Not ones that can be relied on. The relationships haven’t been cultivated since the time of your father.”
Hamish assumed as much and would have been surprised if any alliance still existed for what could Robert offer that would entice a powerful laird into an alliance?
“The only nearby ally worth having would be the Mackays,” Amon continued, “and they are more apt to becoming an enemy.”
Hamish grimaced. He had never met Laird Mackay, but the man was reported to be ruthless, powerful, and slow to trust anyone. An easily understood position based on their clan’s history. Mackay was not someone anyone wanted as a potential threat. Hamish needed to address Ulrick quickly before word spread of irresolute leadership at Foinaven.
“Well, what you have imparted does change things a bit, but I believe for the better. The only thing I am concerned about is time.”
Amon tapped his steepled fingers and stared at the ceiling as he listened to Hamish go over his plan. “Could work. Definitely not without your involvement, but with your name and reputation . . . it might. It does need time to put it together though and Ulrick’s return is hard to predict. He could be back next week or next month.”
Hamish caught his friend’s eye and gave him an assured shake of the head. “Not as hard to predict as you would think.”
“How so?”
Hamish propped his right leg on his left knee and said, “The mercenaries Ulrick is seeking live where the money and action is. That’s along Scotland’s southern border. It’ll take time to find and then convince them to ride so far north on only the promise of getting paid.”
Amon finished his drink. “The one way your brother was identical to your father was money. Both held incredibly tight to their purse. So the money Ulrick is promising exists. Convincing mercenaries to leave their life temporarily for easy coin and a better bed during the winter months may not be difficult.”
“True, but also consider what time of year it is and what you would do if you were Ulrick.”
Amon’s blue eyes narrowed for a moment and then widened. “I’m an idiot. You are right. We do know when the bastard intends to be back.” The ride to the Lowlands to gather mercenary support that live near the border and return would take a little less than a month in the winter. More if the weather was bad, less if the weather was good.
“Candlemas.”
Amon nodded. The holiday took place two days into February and celebrated the presentation of Jesus. It also marked the beginning of the next planting season. “’Tis not a lot of time for what you plan to do. But it’s enough.”
Hamish smiled and downed the contents of his mug, lifting it so that Amon could pour more mead into it. “Who knows? It might even be a little fun.”
Amon nodded. “The most fun I will have had in some time.”