Kahleena MacCarthy ~ To Meet a Highlander Page 4

  “Zarik, ‘tis done. The MacLean son has fled.” Drostan shook his head in disgust. “’Tis a sad day when a man will run. I’d happily meet my death before putting on a skirt and running from battle. May as well have cut his bullocks off. He needs to be inside sewing with the women of his clan, for he is no a warrior. Mayhap we have a pretty silk dress he could make use of.”

  “Mayhap we could get Da to send him a skirt.” Odhran spoke as he cleaned the blood from his sword with his kilt.

  Zarik shook his head. He knew Lachlann MacLean was a coward. The worst of it was his father actually had honor. He wondered if Gregor knew the coward his son was. Zarik could not place the faults of the son onto the father, though. Not this time, anyway. He doubted he'd been taught the way his current path took him. Gregor would not have allowed it.

  Though they were enemies, Gregor MacLean fought with honor and was no coward. The clan may very well fall on their own once Gregor allowed Lachlann to become chief. Perhaps if the MacLean heir would stop hiding, Zarik could end this and simply take over the MacLean clan. “Aye, it seems we’re done here then. Mayhap another day. Let those who remain from their clan be free to go back. We'll no be stabbing them in the back today.” He listened as Torradan made a call to gather everyone together. “What happened to your arm, Torradan?” Zarik asked as he approached.

  “’Tis but a scratch.” Shrugging, Torradan walked past Zarik to cuff Odhran on the back of the head. “It seems Zarik was able to keep your arse alive this time. Not even a scratch.” Though Tor had no use for battle, he still fought well, just not well enough for Zarik to hand over their warriors to him when he became Laird. Perhaps Odhran would be the one to fill his shoes.

  Odhran knew how his brother liked to taunt him and simply shook his head. In many ways, he was more mature than Torradan, despite his younger age. He knew that on this day, he'd done more than hold his own.

  “Ye'll need scars to empress the lassies, boy.” Drostan smiled to the younger MacKinnon. “If ye keep not getting sliced, ye'll never have them to show off or tell stories about.” Looking back to Zarik, he continued. “Let’s gather the injured and go home. I sure could use a drink.” He seemed to enjoy his cups more and more these days, never saying why.

  “A drink? Or some time with yer wife?” Zarik teased his friend.

  “Ye, bastard, yer just jealous. When ye find yer own, ye'll understand. Things are no so simple anymore. I cannae wait to see ye led around by yer wee bullocks.” Drostan was one that never sugar coated anything when it came to Zarik. It's likely why he'd been one of his best friends for years. They'd both felt the effects of his marriage.

  “Wee bullocks?” Zarik looked down at his kilt. “There's no a thing wee about mine. Perhaps yer speaking of yer own.”

  “Shut up. No one wants to see yer bullocks. Neither of yers.” Odhran rolled his eyes at the two of them. “Let's just go. I stink and have blood all over me.”

  On the way back to the keep the chatter continued. It was as if they were returning from a hunting trip rather than a battle in which many lives had been lost. Luckily, the losses were on the MacLean side. While injuries had happened, no MacKinnon lives had been lost this day.

  ****

  Once back at the keep, Zarik filled in his father. After hearing Niall's rants and raves about the cowardice of the MacLean eldest son, he finally asked about injuries to the MacKinnon warriors.

  “Da, we need to raid the MacLean's.” Zarik slammed his fist onto the table. “It makes no sense to allow them to stalk us as if we are prey, only to let their wounded live and those who wish to turn tail and run do so. There's no honor it in for them or us. We can take them. We can finish this. Then mayhap others will think harder on trying to battle us. We need to prove a point.”

  “Aye, Zarik, we have our honor intact. We do not brutally kill those who are running. I ken ye understand not to stab a man in the back while he isnae looking.” Niall looked frustrated. His son always longed for battle and death. Yet, Niall only wanted peace. Is a year without bloodshed too much to ask for?

  “They run like cowards. Where is their honor? If I were to tuck my bullocks between me legs and run, I'd full well deserve to die. Someone need shove a sword in my back and end my shame.”

  “Where would our honor be to kill cowards – in the back? Zarik leave it be. Ye killed many today. This I am certain of.”

  “What of our battle? We need to show them that we will not sit by as they attack us at every whim.”

  “Nay, let them come to us. We have advantage here. We've yet to lose to them or to have a life taken by them on our own lands. I fear we won't do as well on their land. If we go there, we beg trouble.”

  “Do ye not trust my skills in battle? I'm the one that leads the men to battle each time. Or have ye forgotten? Ye've not seen a training field in years. I'm the one at the head of the attack, no the one hiding behind my great walls.” Zarik was more than annoyed that his father thought him to only have an advantage when fighting on their own land. “I havnae lost a battle yet. No matter what land it fell upon.”

  “Aye, I understand well. However, why press our luck? Why look for war?” Niall ignored his oldest son's jab. He didn't hide, he was simply no longer needed in battle. It was no great secret that his son surpassed him by far with a sword.

  “To prove that we arnae week, Da. Has yer auld age messed with yer head?” Too late he realized the words were coming. There was no way to take them back once spoken and he'd not apologize for speaking the truth, not even to his father. “How soon before all clans think they can raid the MacKinnon's?”

  Leaving his father no time to answer, Zarik rose from his seat and went to the loch to wash. Thoughts of the need for battle overtook him as he washed. The MacKinnon's would fast become a joke if he didn't convince his dad of the need for war. A battle that needed to be started by them, not by the MacLean's or anyone else they may decide to team up with.

  They were showing weakness. Soon every clan within Scotland would be siding with others to battle them. Rumors of their honor in battle would spread. It wasn't honor. It was worthy of hiding face. If it continued as it was, there would be nothing for him to one day be Laird over.

  After swimming more laps than he could count in order to burn off some of his anger, he decided to dress and return to the keep to eat. He was famished.

  “Zarik. Nice to see all of your limbs attached, lad..” The old Druid, Argus, was a thorn in his side. He was a loyal man, but Zarik didn’t believe in his magical blabbering as his father did. “A shame ‘twould be if you were to decapitate yerself before your lass savior gets here to protect ye from yerself.”

  Zarik rolled his eyes as he shoved some bread and cheese in his mouth.

  “Yer lust for battle could well be yer downfall, lad. She'll be someone to make ye want to come home to. Ye need someone to keep ye grounded. Though it will take some time, she will be the one to do it. And, in the end, save you along with the MacKinnon clan. I think she may verra well be the only one to not fear yer wrath.” Argus spoke strongly for his old age and frail appearance.

  “Aye, a lass savior. I'm sure it will be so.” Zarik's voice was loaded with sarcasm as he crammed more food into his mouth and downed some ale. “Tell me, will her bullocks be larger than mine?”

  “I can still see ye think I’m a crazed auld man, but how much have I said that has come true over the years? Did I not predict both of your brothers? Did I not predict the issues with the MacLeans? Yer mother? Did I not…”

  Swallowing hastily, Zarik waved his hand. “Anyone, even I, could have predicted more children. It’s a fifty/fifty chance. The MacLean battles, you can do better auld man, for ‘tis true a lass could well enough have predicted those. And my mother...” Zarik let his thought trail off. He never spoke of her and didn't plan to now. “Ye need no magic for any of the like. Magic.” He slurred the word as though it were vile. As if it had a bad taste on his tongue. “It's tales for children and au
ld men.” Why his father humored Argus was beyond him. Perhaps his father needed something to believe in as well. The old man would always be welcome within the keep, but his position would change once Zarik became chief. There would be no more basing things on magic. He'd allow the Druids their beliefs, but he'd not have them in his keep. “Magic.” He sneered again.

  War was war. If Argus had magic, could he not wipe out their enemies? Argus always claimed the rules of magic couldn't allow battles to be won. So, perhaps he could at least spell them all into being friends. But, why have magic then, if not to use it for the well-being of the clan? Would it not be smarter to save lives? Heal wounded? Save clan members from doom and death? Keep starvation and bad winters at bay?

  “I know what you think, Zarik, and you know the answer. I cannot mess with free will. Or the season. Nature. Changing the outcome of battles, that is messing with history. I can only do so much. Even Druids can be punished. We all are accountable for our actions. Suggestions, I can do. Some warnings I can do. Other times, Druids have to seek permission from powers higher than ourselves to determine if we can share or not. Even then, we don't always get a full and complete picture of what's happening. What I can tell ye, she is coming for ye. Let her. Love her. Protect her. Ye've not given of yerself since yer mother passed. Lad, it's time to get over her loss. Yer no longer at the age to hide behind a skirt.”

  Zarik let out a growl. “Enough, old man. My father humors you. I cannot. There will be no woman dropping from the sky. Is it not messing with free will to tell me I must wed and love some woman that ye say will come for me. And ye'll never see me hiding behind a skirt. I’ve had enough. Enough!”

  “She’ll be difficult Zarik. But nay so difficult as ye. There will be many obstacles to overcome. Ye two are a true match. One that many only hope for. One that most Lairds never have a chance to have. Ye’ll never find a greater love. Neither of ye. Don’t close your mind and your heart. Ye'll need work for it, but nothing worth having is easy.” Argus pleaded as he watched his soon to be chieftain walk away.

  “Love? Heart? I have no room for either and ye well know it. My heart is strong for battle and beats to keep my clan safe, fed and provided for. It’s only use is to beat, to pump my body with the blood it needs to slice into my opponent to take his life. Love, well that simply makes ye weak. I’ve no time for it. Would ye have me hand my bullocks over to some lass to command me around at her will? Would ye have me become weak with emotions and love and feel guilt over killing? Then who would save yer old auld arse from death?”

  “It might help ye to make better choices. It’s all blood and violence with ye. Ye never talk and complain to yer father when he tries negotiation. In any event, I’ve always thought women smarter than we give them credit for. Now, love. That is something. Love. Love is…it’s so much more than anything.” Argus shook his head sadly. Would the boy never learn? Could he and Niall save him before he messed with fate? “So much more than everything. It’ll not make ye weak; ye’ll be all the stronger. Especially with this lass, the one coming for ye, mind what I say and make her happy. She’s strong too. Ye just need to show her the strength within her. She doesnae know it’s there. Ye need to show her it's all right for her to need someone. But be certain the one she learns to need is ye. As for death, lad, I do not wish to be kept from it. I do not fear it, I welcome it.”

  “For one who professes overmuch of love, I see ye with no woman.”

  “Oh, lad, there was one. It was many years ago. She passed before ye were old enough to remember her. Mary had a special place in her heart for ye though. My heart was – is – hers still to this verra moment and will be until I am gone. There will be no other as it wouldnae be fair to the new lass. That was true love. Yer woman that travels here will be that one true love should ye allow her to be. Don’t ruin the lives of the two of ye. For just as certain as there will be none other for ye, there will be none other for her. Ye will seal her fate. And yer own. Heed what I say and enjoy yer life. Days arenae promised to us, but love can make the ones ye are given so much better. Once I had met Mary and she was mine, I could have happily died the verra next day.” Argus slowly shuffled off before Zarik could argue any further.

  Zarik watched the frail little man walk away. It was difficult to believe he was once tall and built. Though a Druid, he’d also been the head of his father’s guard for quite a number of years. He rubbed his hands through his hair and prayed to anyone that would listen. “Please let Argus and my father stop with the crazy talk. Someone’s sure to try to burn them for their insanity.”

  ****

  The weeks continued to pass. The MacLean’s continued their raids. Zarik's rage grew with more fury at not being able to attack the MacLean's on their own land. Over not being able to chase them back and kill them at will. Over not being able to hunt Lachlann like the animal he was.

  The MacKinnon’s did raid back, but Niall never permitted attacks. Only raids of sheep and other stolen animals. Zarik’s father and Argus kept speaking of the woman of the future. Zarik continued sharpening his blades, practicing for battle and purchasing more items for winter stock. His thoughts of love making him further question possibilities. Could love make him happier? Was he just going through daily motions and not truly living? Would he be less of a man, weaker, if he did fall in love? Would it be better for his clan if their future Laird actually loved his wife? Was he capable of love?

  The last straw was on one of the town outings Argus accompanied him on. Argus insisted he should pick up a winter cloak for his soon to be bride.

  “The time is near, Zarik. Pick her up a good cloak. It’ll be a severe winter,” Argus had predicted this many times. Most of the clan took note and stocked extra of whatever they could afford to gather. “And she’ll not be used to our savage ways of life. Ye’ll need to see her warm so that she’ll not perish her first year with us. Plus, she'll have the status of being the future wife of the chieftain. Ye'd not want to see her in rags.”

  “Nay, I’ll no be buying a ladies’ cloak unless ye are going to be wearing it.”

  Argus ignored the glimmering smirk Zarik shot at him. “I’ll no be wearing a woman’s garment. Of that ye can be certain. Mayhap ye’ll want to purchase several extra blankets, put in an order for several more plaids. Perhaps a good number of yards of silk and velvet for dresses. She’ll need them as her dress won’t be like ours and I ken ye'd not see her talked about by other clan women. As the lad destined to be Laird, I'd think ye'd wish to have yer woman in the best. And ye ken how the women gossip.”

  “For the last time, I’ll no be making purchases for a woman that doesnae exist.”

  Argus shook his head and the two spent most of the rest of the day and trip back to the keep in silence. One day, before it was too late, Argus truly hoped that Zarik would learn to believe. It would be essential in leading clan MacKinnon once Niall was no longer Laird. Perhaps he should send someone from the keep to do some of the shopping Zarik was refusing to do. After all, they couldnae have naught there for the lass when she arrived.

  ****

  The battle started right before Samhain. What should have been a quick battle turned into more difficulty. Zarik cursed himself for allowing his mind to be distracted by the rants of two old men, his father and Argus, about a woman of the future. He had turned to training and perhaps had exhausted himself by over-training after several clan members came back with bundles of items saying Niall and Argus had ordered them on behalf of Zarik for the woman that was to join him soon.

  If only his father had allowed him to attack the MacLean's as he had wanted. This battle may never have happened. And they very well may have control over the entire MacLean holding by now, thus increasing their own land almost double.

  It covered a large area and, determined to completely wipe out their enemy; ignoring his father's rule of battle, they went in chase all the way to the Standing Stones. Cowards be damned. He'd turn them 'round himself if need be to keep from r
unning them through from behind.

  People were cut down right and left from the start of the battle through the entire area. Blood was on the ground around the stones. Splattered onto the stones. How long had it been since blood had been shed here? Wasn’t it bad? Hell if Zarik could remember. Even if it were, it was likely some silly tale of magic. A tale meant to evoke fear and keep others from meddling in places the Druids thought were theirs.

  He shook his head thinking he’d listened too much to the banter between his father and Argus. There was no magic. There were no bad omens or bad luck. Things simply happened. “Let’s tend to the wounded, rest some and eat before we head back to the keep.” He spoke as he dropped to the ground from Rage's back, thankful for the baskets of food brought by men that could no longer battle. “Ye were a good man again today, Rage. Ye ken these battles are made just for us. Ye had yer share of blood this day?” Rage, as though knowing his owner's mind, gave a loud neigh and stomped around slightly. “Aye, a good battle 'twas.”

  Zarik sat on the ground against one of the stones speaking about the battle they’d just won with Drostan and Torradan. This battle was the bloodiest they’d seen in a while. He was thankful he’d forced Odhran to stay home.

  Odhran had done everything short of stamping his feet and crying in order to convince Zarik to let him go. Finally, it was the Druid that had stepped in, convincing Niall that Zarik was correct in having Odhran stay home.

  There would, no doubt, be hell to pay when he returned home. Zarik almost laughed. Odhran had the same desire for battle and bloodshed that he did.

  “I dinnae ken about the two of ye, but I cannae wait to get back. I need to settle myself between a lass’ thighs.” Torradan wasn’t shy in his needing effects that came over him after a battle. Seemingly enough, he never searched out love, only the comforts any random woman could bring. For his softer personality, this always had shocked Zarik.

  Drostan and Zarik groaned. Drostan’s wife was heavy with child; there’d be no relief for him unless it was by his own hand or his leman which he’d sworn he’d stopped seeing after they married. “I’ll just be having some mead.” Drostan smiled at the thought of being able to lose himself in his cups for a while. His wife was driving him mad with her constant complaining. No more children. This one had better be a boy. “Zarik will be joining me as well, I'm sure.” He looked over to his friend and knew Zarik rarely sought physical relief after battle. Zarik felt he was more dangerous when pent up with need.