A light breeze came with the morning. Sean prepared and left for Lochlen. Colin went to visit Calvin and his wife. He did so alone and returned midmorning. Drake waited for Colin’s order dispatching a soldier to go and return with more men, but the word was not given.
Drake asked the question on everyone’s mind, “Do we ride east?”
“Aye. I want to meet with Mahon by nightfall tomorrow.” Colin’s answer meant they would be riding hard and possibly into the night.
When they stopped, it had been dark for some time and they were well into Donovan territory. Colin had caught more than one sentry make note of their entrance and their direction. Making camp, Colin located almost a half dozen men lurking about the darkness. And those he could not see, he could hear. Mahon had relaxed his training since Edward I died and Robert the Bruce took the Scottish throne. Maybe too much.
Laughter erupted from his men around the campfire. Trying to ease their nerves from what they had seen and the potential fight to come, they concentrated on happier times, moments, and people. Mostly they talked about their wives or loved ones.
When he was younger, Colin often wondered why his older brother Conor kept himself apart, never joining in on the conversation on nights such as this. Now he understood. Men you lead cannot see you as a friend. Friends can be questioned, even overruled. As laird and leader, he could not risk blurring the lines even a little bit. Hesitation, doubt, uncertainty—these were dangerous things on a battlefield. And they were cultivated during times like these.
Colin stood and moved his plaid farther away from the others. The bushes were swaying with semi-concealed onlookers. There would be no walk tonight. Lying down on the soft woolen blanket, Colin put his arm underneath his head and stared up at the stars.
By tomorrow morning, Donovan would receive word of Colin’s impending arrival, but he wouldn’t know why. Colin gambled Mahon’s curiosity would be enough to receive him.
If they left at dawn, it would take nearly the whole day to reach Lonchlilar, the heart of the Donovan clan. Nestled in the northeastern hills adjacent to the cliffs of the North Sea, Lonchlilar Castle was well protected with typical walls, barbicans, and portcullises, but it had a secret weapon against those who were unwelcome. Behind the shadows of the simple valley surrounding it were hidden pockets of cleared land where dozens if not hundreds of men could lie hidden and attack without warning. Colin had never personally visited the stronghold, but he had heard much about it.
Colin switched arms, bracing his head, and tried to keep his thoughts on how tomorrow would enfold. But again they drifted to one person, just as they had every night since he left Lochlen. Makenna. He wondered how she was faring, if Brodie and Gorten were keeping her safe, if she was still angry, but most of all, he wondered if she missed him as much as he missed her.
He had not thought it possible to crave a woman the way he ached for her each night. They had been married for nearly three weeks, and for fourteen of those days, she had shared his bed. Each night before retiring, they would discuss both important and minor details of their day and talk about events of the morrow. During which one or both would get mad, argue, or just as often, go into fits of laughter over some odd comment or incident. He did not believe it possible to laugh so much with a woman, but his wife had a way of relating a story that made him feel as if he were right there witnessing or experiencing the humorous event himself. Regardless of how the nights started, they had always ended the same. In shared ecstasy.
Colin rolled over on his side and fingered the empty spot beside him. “I miss you, Makenna McTiernay. God help me, I do,” he whispered.
The next morning, the small group rode across the eastern countryside of the Scottish Border region. They could not see the North Sea, but they could feel its cool humid wind blow over the rocks and grass to greet them. Much less friendly were Donovan’s men. No longer lingering in the shadows, sentries followed the group as they made their way east.
Drake watched Colin carefully ready to respond to his command but detected no concern from his laird. By now it was clear an audience with their neighbor would be allowed. It was yet to be seen if leaving would also be on the agenda. Colin obviously had a plan, but what it was, Drake had not a clue.
Midafternoon, Colin halted by a small stream to rest their mounts and replenish their water pouches. He ordered the men to tie the horses and follow him. Colin cut across the stream and broke through the bushes on the other side. The scene was calm and peaceful and deadly.
“This, men, is the valley of Lonchlilar, home of Mahon Donovan. Beyond that hill in the distance is where we’re headed. Before you remount, you will secure your sword and axe so that they are visible and nonthreatening, for there will be men watching, whether you see them or not. I do not expect war with Mahon, but we are not allies, and our company was not planned. I know not how we will be received, but unless provoked, Mahon will see me.”
Mahon Donovan drummed his fingers on the thick-planked table in front of him. At his back was a roaring fire pumping welcomed heat into the room. His bones were no longer young, and they hated the cold. In his youth, men had called him the Lion because of his size, wild yellow hair, brown beard, and his deafening roar when charging the enemy on the battlefield. He was not tall, but wide and thick, and when people left his company they remembered him being much bigger than he actually was.
“Laird?” came a voice from behind.
“Aye, Ross, come in,” Donovan replied without turning around. Every hour he was given updates to the location of McTiernay and his expected time of arrival.
Mahon had ordered his men to allow Colin’s small band safe passage, but he had not forbidden intimidating them. He wished he could witness his men’s attempt to frighten the Highlander. No doubt his soldiers would learn a well-needed lesson. The Donovan army itched for battle and had grown overconfident in their abilities.
“The…the Dunstan laird, Colin McTiernay, has entered the valley. Word has it that he and his men are armed, but their weapons are secured behind them where they cannot be easily reached.”
Mahon nodded. Colin had never been to Lonchlilar before, but the man was obviously acquainted with the secrets of the valley. “Anything else?”
Ross swallowed. “Uh…just that…well, one of the men shot an arrow…”
Mahon turned around at the news. “My man or McTiernay’s?”
“Uh…ours. The arrow was not meant to hit, only to scare, but McTiernay supposedly went and got the soldier who shot it and tied his hands to the tree he was perched upon. One of the men who spied the incident used the back trail to ride back and warn you.”
“When is McTiernay to arrive?”
“Any moment, Laird.”
Mahon swiveled back in his chair to a more comfortable position. “Until I tell you otherwise, the soldier is to remain tied to that tree until Laird McTiernay has departed from this valley. We would not want another accident to start a war.”
“Uh…no,” came a hesitant reply.
Donovan picked up the pewter quaich and swallowed the remaining contents. “For if we did go to war, we would fight, and we would kill many, but just so there is no doubt, in the end, we would lose. McTiernay knows this, and I know this.”
Ross walked around the table and looked at his laird with a steady, but questioning gaze. “Lose? To McTiernay? His numbers are small, few, and I hear they are untrained.”
Mahon eyed the slight man. “Are they, now? I say no one knows. The tricks he uses to hide his numbers are not unknown to me. My valley is riddled with them. But even if you were right, and we vanquish Colin McTiernay and all his loyal men, we would then have to deal with his allies. And even if those allies decided that avenging a dead Highlander is not of value to them, there is his brother. You have not fought alongside a horde of Highlanders, but I have. It is an awesome sight when they are beside you, and I imagine a terrifying one if they’re in front of you. This is not what I want. This is not what I am about. Scots killing Scots is a waste. I will have no more. Leave me now and do not return until McTiernay has arrived.”