Chapter 2

2

R ory's bicep glistened with sweat, illuminated by the light of the forge. He often worked shirtless, for he sweated so much that his clothes clung to his skin. The heat licked his flesh, and the power of the hammer flowed through him as he brought it crashing down onto the forge. The clang echoed around his ears, a sound that had long become routine to him.

The past two years had been an industrious time for young Rory, who had grown into a man and a blacksmith of some repute. After inheriting the forge from Ian, Rory had focused on his craft. After having been involved in so many schemes in his youth with his sister Anne, and in his adolescence with Ian himself, Rory was glad to put that life behind him. He had flirted with trouble often enough, but he had vowed never to do that again. He was going to be a dutiful man, blinding himself to any kind of illicit scheme or trouble. He wanted to earn honest coin and do what he was good at, and so far, he had succeeded.

He was interrupted from his work by Torrin, who knocked on the door and called Rory's name. Torrin was a kind, comfortable man, settled into his life and manner. He was almost ten years older than Rory. His hair was blond and curly, his face full and soft. He always claimed that he enjoyed not having to work with his hands, and it showed.

Rory turned and grabbed a cloth, patting himself down before he pulled on a shirt.

"With you working like that, it's no wonder that the maidens giggle when they walk past," Torrin said teasingly.

Rory arched an eyebrow, but didn't say anything in reply. Ginger meowed as the feline came to greet Torrin. Torrin made a sound with his teeth and scratched Ginger around the neck. Ginger lifted her head and closed her eyes, purring softly.

"Ye should pay more attention tae this one, else she's liable tae wander off," Torrin warned.

"This is as much her home as it is mine, and I pay her plenty of attention. She just likes enough of it," Rory said.

Torrin chuckled. "I've known a few women like that in my time. Perhaps ye should get acquainted with some," he cast a sharp look towards Rory.

"I'm just fine with the way things are, thank ye. Life is uncomplicated, and that is the way I like it," Rory said.

Torrin nodded, but he had an uncertain look on his face, as though he was just waiting for the day when Rory was going to change his mind. Today was not going to be that day, though. "Well, I hae something here for ye," he produced a letter and handed it to Rory. Rory's eyes flashed when he saw it, taking it and unfolding it open immediately. "Thank ye, Torrin."

"Nae problem, lad. It was delivered by a passing seller. Brought terrible news, he did," Torrin continued. Rory had already turned his back and bent his head, eager to read news from Ian and Lucy, who were now residing in France. Torrin hadn't yet taken the hint to leave, however.

"Mmhmm," Rory murmured.

"Oh aye, it seems that things are getting worse over in the McKovac clan. Apparently, raids are a common occurrence, and patrols are venturing farther out, even threatening tae encroach on our territory. It's enough tae make a man worry about the future, given the history between the clans, and the rumors that their Laird hae lost his mind."

Rory was only half-listening and was actually getting quite annoyed that Torrin hadn't stopped speaking yet.

Torrin, himself, was annoyed that Rory wasn't listening, and grabbed his arm.

"Lad, the letter can wait. This is real life I am talking about. Are ye nae worried? A war could be upon us!"

Rory sighed. He had heard all this before. "Why would there be a war, Torrin? This is all just hearsay and rumor. Besides, it is nae our place tae consider these matters. The only people who should be talking about this are the ones in the keep. All I care about is my hammer and my forge, and the only thing ye should care about is yer tavern and yer wife."

"Aye, well, some of us care about a wee bit more than that," Torrin said, narrowing his eyes at Rory. "For the clan."

Rory took a deep breath. He had always tried to look at things logically, and it irked him when other people let their emotions rule them. "I'm sure Laird Boyd will dae everything he can tae protect the clan. He hae enough men-at-arms tae defend us, and if there ever is a fight, it will probably take place on a field a long way from here. I dinnae see that there's any point in worrying when all we hae tae gae on is the word of some passing merchants."

"Oh, it's nae just some merchants, lad. And wars can start like that," Torrin snapped his fingers. "Besides, hae ye nae been paying attention? The Laird dinnae want tae fight. He'd be more likely tae ransom off his land than gae tae war. We hae tae protect our own. Now, a few of us are gathering and?—"

Rory held up his hand. "I dinnae want tae hear anything about this."

"But how can ye stand here when we might be under threat? Ye know that the Laird and his advisor dinnae care about us wee people. If we can deal with this threat early enough, then we never hae tae worry about Laird McKovac coming for us. The way he treats his own people… it makes ye wonder what he'll dae tae the enemy. Ye may think ye are safe here in yer forge, but when the world is burning around ye, ye will feel differently."

"And when the world is burning, I will come and help. I just think that it's best for us to follow the Laird's orders."

"It will be too late then!" Torrin put his hands on his hips and shook his head. "Ach, I expected better of ye, Rory. I know that Ian would never hae backed away from a fight."

"And he almost got himself thrown in jail because of it," Rory said.

"I expected better of ye, lad," Torrin said, again, his head hanging in disappointment.

Even Ginger was casting a judgmental look in his direction, or so Rory felt.

Rory had to make a conscious effort to quell the guilt in his heart. Torrin was right in that Ian would have joined this fight without so much as a second thought. Anne and Finlay might have too, but that's because they liked injecting themselves into situations that didn't concern them. Rory thought the point of life was to learn from those around him, and the best thing for him was to stay in his forge and stick to his skills. Still… he couldn't fully dismiss Torrin's words. After all, he knew of Glenrock, the Laird's advisor, as he was Lucy's father… The man had been willing to disown his own daughter because he had been ashamed of her. If he didn't care about his daughter, then why would he care about the people of the village?

"I thought ye would at least dae us the courtesy of hearing us out," Torrin said. "We could use a strong man like ye."

"I am nae a fighter," Rory said bluntly.

"Aye, aye," Torrin said, stretching out his palms and moving them up and down through the air. "Look, how about ye hold a meeting here, and ye can try and reason with us, tae convince us why it's nae a good idea. If ye think ye are the voice of reason, then let others hear yer voice. We can hold it in the basement," Torrin said.

Rory glanced towards the entrance to the basement. He sighed. It had been used for an illicit scheme before. "Ye want tae bring me trouble…"

"There's nae danger, lad! We're just a group of friends gathering for a wee bit of time away from the families, that's all. Naebody will think anything of it," Torrin said.

Rory pressed his lips together and sighed. Perhaps Torrin had a point. If they didn't have anyone to dissuade them from this notion, then they were liable to get themselves into trouble. Perhaps Rory could be the voice of reason.

"Very well," Rory relented.

Torrin's face brightened. He clasped Rory's shoulders and smiled broadly. "There's a good lad! I knew ye would come around. I shall spread the word," he said, and then added, "it's funny how times change. Used tae be that the biggest fear was the distillery down there being discovered, and now it's war. Why does it feel like things never get simpler in life?"

"I cannae imagine," Rory said thinly, although in his opinion it was because people didn't know when to leave trouble well enough alone. Torrin departed, and then Ginger mewed again.

"Ye can keep quiet as well," Rory muttered, before running his hand along the cat's soft fur, all the way to the base of its spine. Her tail rose and swayed happily through the air. Rory fetched a drink and then took a seat. Ginger curled on his lap and Rory finally opened the letter. He received regular missives over the course of the year, and it was always a joy when he learned about what was happening in Ian's life. He and Lucy had gone from strength to strength, settling abroad in a strange country, but far away from their troubles. They sounded very happy. The only thing that gave him pause for thought was when Ian asked him why all his letters sounded the same.

The truth was that Rory didn't have much to report back. He kept his life at a steady pace, never rocking the boat. It may have made for some boring letters, but at least he wasn't putting himself in danger. He supposed he might well have more to report in his next letterif Torrin was right. However, he didn't want to mention it, just in case Ian got it into his head to rush back to Scotland to defend the keep. He was so reckless he might take it upon himself to do such a foolish thing, so Rory would keep quiet. He did hope that Ian and Lucy would find an opportunity to return again soon, however. The forge was quieter without them, and lonely. If it wasn't for Ginger, Rory didn't know what he would do.

He snorted with laughter as he reached the end of the letter. "Can ye believe the cheek of them, Ginger? Look at this, ‘keep out of trouble'. Oh aye, like I'm the one who needs tae learn that lesson," Rory shook his head and folded the letter, placing it on the table.

His fingers idly stroked Ginger, and he closed his eyes, hoping in the depths of his soul that there was not going to be a war. Laird McKovac might be mad, but surely, he would not send his armies into battle? The Highlands were at peace, and it was a thing that should always be protected. Rory didn't know why anyone would want to destroy that. As for these raids, well, that was an internal matter. It shouldn't have concerned him or anyone else.

All he wanted was to be left alone, but life kept trying to tempt him. Well, he would soon talk some sense into Torrin and the others. And if his letters to Ian and Lucy were boring, well, so be it. He would rather do that than have to write of clashing swords and a land stained with blood.