Isle of Mull 03 - To Love a Warrior (4 page)

Angus Og’s fist slammed down on the table, surprising Garik with his impassioned display. “Long has my clan suffered injury at the hand of the MacDougall,” Angus Og said. Then he turned to the king and vowed, “We will put an end to their treachery before the last battle in this war is fought.”

The Bruce grabbed up his cup and raised it high. “You will have your chance. To the Clan MacDonald,” the Bruce said.

“To the Clan MacDonald,” echoed the men, raising their cups in Angus Og’s honor.

Lowering his cup to the table, the king scanned the room, again looking every man in the eye. The Bruce’s steel gaze locked with Garik’s, and he felt the urgency of the moment like a jolt of power course through him. “When the MacDougalls fled, we were too broken to celebrate our own salvation. It was a turning point in our quest for independence. I had to decide. Had all been for naught? Had those men, my followers, my family suffered in vain? For a time, I saw no hope.”

Duncan jumped to his feet. “But there is always hope,” he cried. “I’ve been hungry for English blood since witnessing the massacre at Berwick. We must never surrender.”

James stood then, his gaze fixed on Duncan. “I was at Berwick,” he said. “My father, William Douglas, was the city’s governor. For two days, my little brothers and sister and I huddled together in a high tower, listening to the endless screams of the dying. As my father’s heir, he secreted me away from the keep on the third day. I was taken to France where I remained hidden in a monastery. I was not yet ten at the time.”

“Your father was a great man,” Duncan said. “If memory serves, he was one of the first of Scotland’s nobles to support William Wallace.”

“Aye, that he was,” James said.

“Your mention of William Wallace in a way brings us to why we are here,” the Bruce said. “Angus Og was good enough to hide me away while we recouped men and considered how best to proceed. Both he and James served as my council during that time. After months of deliberation, we were able to draw one indisputable conclusion—we cannot win this war.”

An uproar erupted as the men lunged to their feet, urging their king not to surrender his quest, but the Bruce silenced their protest with a raised hand. “I speak the truth. We cannot win by conventional means.” Then he nodded towards James who stood and took the Bruce’s place at the head of the table.

“We are smaller and have fewer resources. The odds are not in our favor. If we bring this fight to the battlefield, the open plain, we will lose,” James said flatly. But then he traded his grim expression for a smile as he continued. “Now that we’ve looked honestly at our weaknesses, let it be understood, we will win this war.”

James walked around the table as he spoke. “Wallace brought England to its knees because he instilled fear into the heart of our enemy. He refused to play by the rules, and neither shall we. The slaughtering of our men at Methven was two years ago. We’ve since met Valence in battle, but with a very different outcome.”

Garik leaned forward in his seat eager to hear the young lieutenant’s report.

“Valence marched with a massive army whose sole purpose was to find our location and destroy us once and for all. We took position on Loudoun Hill, knowing that bogs lined that particular section of road. Then we waited, hidden among the trees. When they passed, we ambushed their march. The narrow passage restricted how many men Valence could deploy. His mighty army was nothing more than a trickling stream.” A glint of triumph lit James’s eyes as he continued. “They panicked. Without a conventional battlefield, they dissolved into chaos. While we came together to form a Schiltron—a great circle. Marching in a tight cluster with long spears and our shields permanently presented, we resembled an armored animal with bristling spikes. Holding formation, we advanced and fought with such ferocity that they fled. Victory was ours.”

Roars of triumph thundered throughout the hall. After a time, James held out his hands to silence the men. “We can celebrate when we’ve truly won. ‘Tis only the beginning. For now, the Bruce is going to lead our ever growing army onward and cut away at Edward’s forces using what we’ve come to view as our greatest weapon, our superior knowledge of Scotland’s countryside. He will use the hills, the rivers, and the forests to our end. He will burn fields and kill livestock as our army advances to deny the English fresh supplies. As for me, I’m going to break off and focus on bringing down the Scottish strongholds still held under English authority.” James moved to stand before Angus Og. “I told the Lord of Islay that I needed a small band of men as fierce and cunning as Wallace. He told me I could live ten lifetimes and never again encounter finer warriors than those found on the Isle of Mull. I ask you all now, was Angus Og correct?”

In reply, the hall echoed with the battle cry of the MacKinnon.

“We will be outnumbered,” James said. “A small band of men versus a well garrisoned castle, but we shall use stealth and cunning to take each stronghold, one by one. What say you, Ronan?” James asked as he stopped before the chieftain.

Ronan stood and stretched out his arms to include every Mull MacKinnon in his reply. “We shall not be sated until Edward of England and all his affiliates have been beaten, bled, and burned from this land,” he roared. “We’ve been waiting for the true king to rise to power.” His hand then clamped down on James’s shoulder. “Ye arrived today on the shores of Mull looking for the best, and, by my trove, ye’ve found the best!”

Logan raised his cup. “Come,” he said. “Feast with us, for we’ve much to celebrate.”

“To new beginnings,” Garik shouted before tipping his own cup.

The hall soon filled with villagers drawn to the celebration that had ensued. Garik’s heart filled with merriment as he danced a reel, joining Logan and several beautiful lassies as they wove through the hall in circles while pipers played. After a time, the music changed, and a rich, braw voice drew his attention, uprooting all other thoughts.

Like a strong breeze it surrounded him and stole his breath. He opened his eyes to find what creature could croon with such feeling that it made his heart ache. He gasped with surprise. There by the fire, surrounded by a rapt audience, stood the child, Nellore. Her eyes squeezed shut, her hands clenched, and from her lips came forth a sound powerful and lush.

Her hair remained unkempt, falling in ragged curls about her waist, but her face shone clean and warm in the firelight. He joined many of the clan who sat enraptured while they listened to her croon each impassioned note. She surprised him when suddenly her eyes flew open and green fire met his. Her gaze bore into his soul as she continued to fill the night with her haunting song. He did not look away. Instead he smiled and was given such a smile in return. Her expression held pure joy. It reached across the crowd and the fire and filled him with the same happiness.

Nellore sang from her heart. When she stood before her clan singing tales of battles won and lost, she never felt more alive. She used to watch her audience when she sang, but then one night she realized the warriors listened with their eyes closed. As she sang their stories, they relived the glory and sadness. It was then that she too began to close her eyes. She would imagine herself among the men, fighting for justice, fighting for those who could not. Pain would grip her heart while she lived a dream through her song, and when the music ended and her voice trailed off, the pain grew for she knew that was all it would ever be—a dream.

She was not destined for battle. Her future resided in a cage of stone and peat. She would be like her mother, tied to the hearth and harvest. When she came of age, her sword would become a trinket to glimpse in the corner, and the part of her that in youth craved to fight would go unfulfilled until it was altogether forgotten.

When she sang that night and realized Garik, the Viking warrior, listened to her song, her heart filled with pride. Perhaps upon hearing her passion he would ask her to join his band of warriors. She closed her eyes as she finished, but when the song ended, he had already turned away. Sadness struck her heart. Nothing had changed.

The next day, the warriors left without Nellore in their number. Her da scooped her up into his arms, and she cried into his long, black hair.

“I ken ye cry because I’m leaving, but I also ken ye cry because ye’re not.”

She nodded her head. “God made me this way for a reason,” she said. “Why would he grant me the will and the talent to learn and to fight if not to be given the chance?”

“His purpose for ye will be revealed in time, but ye’re young. Even if ye were a lad, ye would still be too young to follow. Ye ken?”

She nodded, knowing he was right.

“Now look to your mum and how she suffers my absence. Think ye she could get by a day without ye?”

Her eyes burned with tears as she turned to look upon Brenna who stood by seemingly composed to all but those who knew her best. Her fists gripped her skirts, and her blue eyes fought against the fear that Nellore could tell threatened to consume her. Standing at her side was Nellore’s little sister Rose whose straight, strawberry hair hid woeful eyes.

Duncan put Nellore down, and she soon found herself staring up into Logan’s silver gaze. “Ye visit with Father Conall and keep up with your studies,” he said.

“He promised to teach me French next, but I am not to tell anyone. He said ‘tis a sin to teach a woman.”

Garik appeared at her side just then. “If God didn’t want you to learn, he would not have made you so bright. You are like a star in the darkness,” he said.

She beamed at his praise. “Then I shall shine all the brighter to guide ye both home. Will ye come for me when I’m old enough,” she said, shifting her pleading gaze between Logan and Garik. “At your side with my sword raised high is where I ought to be.”

“We shall see, dear sister,” Logan said before turning away.

Her brows came together, and her smile faded. Garik brushed a wayward lock of hair from her eyes. Then he smiled down at her. “You shall be a fierce woman when you’ve grown, a strong Scottish woman with talents you have yet to discover. And I shall be proud to call you friend,” he said.

She smiled as he walked away, all the while his words echoing in her mind.
I shall be proud to call you friend.
He had given her hope about the woman she would one day become.

Isle of Mull, Scotland

Summer 1311

The sun began its descent toward the vast ocean horizon. Golden tones shone against stark cliffs that towered above the rocky shoreline, lending their hard surfaces fleeting radiance while the day drew its last breath. Nellore peered into a tidal pool, studying her reflection before the approaching evening chased it away.

“What does she say to ye?”

She looked up and found Bridget standing before her. The water lapped at Bridget’s toes and dampened the hem of her tunic.

“Nothing,” she said, confused. “’Tis only I.”

Bridget smiled. The creases around her eyes and lips reflected her age, at which Nellore could only guess. When faced with the question, Bridget always laughed and would say she had forgotten her age long ago. “I am not as old as the sun or the moon,” she had often said. “And the mountains certainly precede me. But to the trees and heather I will always say that I believe I came first.” For many years, Nellore had believed Bridget’s claims and had stared at her in wonder, thinking she had seen the birth of the first tree.

Now, Nellore turned her eyes away from the lady of her clan and stared once more at herself in the still water.

“She will speak, dear one, if ye listen. She will reveal the truths hidden away in your heart, hidden even from yourself,” Bridget said.

Nellore concentrated on the green eyes staring back at her. Her thick, black brows came together as she narrowed her gaze. With all her will she strained to hear, but her soul revealed nothing other than that which she already knew—longing…but for what?

She released a sigh as she stood and wrapped her arms around Bridget’s frail shoulders.

“Were ye searching for me then?” she asked as she breathed in Bridget’s scent and felt peace enter her soul.

“Aye, but my search was not long. I knew just where to find ye,” Bridget said with a wink. “When I was a young woman, I too looked to the sea for answers. I hoped my heart’s desire would wash up on shore. I was hungry like ye are now.”

Nellore shook her head. “I’ve no appetite for food.”

“’Tis not food ye hunger for,” Bridget said with a mischievous glint in her silver eyes. “For some time now I’ve watched ye staring off into the distance with so much longing. Your soul is famished.”

Nellore shrugged. “I do not ken my own heart other than to know that I crave what I cannot have.”

Bridget took her hand and they started off together down the coast in the direction of the village.

“Ye fill me with such wonder,” Bridget said. “Ye possess boundless strength and talent and yet remain so humble. Ye’ve let go the stubbornness of youth, and ye’ve grown in grace. If only I had been so smart. Pride caused me to stumble as a young woman, but then Ronan suffered from the same ailment. Neither of us could get out of our own way, and fall we did. Fortunately, however, we landed on each other.”

Nellore laughed. “Ye mean fell in love with each other.”

“Aye, we did that too,” Bridget said with a chuckle. “But what is it that
ye
crave?”