Chapter 27

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

D arren was in the middle of demolishing his third or fourth practice target when Ryan approached, Bard and Adrian trailing behind him. One look at his advisors’ faces revealed that Ryan had told them about the recent occurrences, and his mood soured further.

He was in no mood for commiseration or well-meant advice from either man at the moment. He wanted information, so he could do something about whoever was attacking him. Once that was taken care of, then he might have the time and, more importantly, the control of his temper, to deal with the more personal concerns.

He addressed Bard first, before his senior advisor could speak. “Did ye learn anything?”

Bard shook his head, regret clear in his expression. “I didnae. There’s nae unrest in the villages, at least, nae that I heard a whisper o’. Farmers and the like might have complaints about the weather, or the crops, or small disputes among neighbors, but naething that would result in attacking their sworn laird.”

Adrian nodded in agreement. “The scouts and border guards havenae seen or heard aught. As near as any man can tell, there’s nae one on the island or across the firth that wishes ill o’ ye.”

He’d been afraid of that. He took another tactic. “Have either o’ ye heard o’ a man who calls himself Cyprian?”

That earned him twin frowns of confusion, and a shake of the head from each man. Darren snarled under his breath. He’d known that it was unlikely, that if the man was wise, he’d not be using his real name for the scheme, but he’d hoped for some lead.

“Ryan said ye were told tae provide a ransom in coin, but he didnae tell us the amount, only that ye refuse ta pay it.”

“O’ course I dae. Me attackers asked fer 2000 gold coin. Even a large clan like the Stewarts or the Campbells wouldnae be willing tae part with such a sum. MacLean would be beggared, tae a point that me children’s children would be struggling tae prosper.”

Both men had paled considerably at the revelation of how much had been demanded. Finally, Adrian spoke. “Yer braithers…”

“I’ll nae ask them tae drain the resources o’ their clans tae protect me.” Darren shook his head, then eyed the two men. “Right now, ‘tis some sword-work and time tae think I need. If ye’re willing tae stand as me sparring partners, then get warmed up and armed. If nae, go rest, and we’ll call a council meeting tae deal with the situation.”

Bard and Adrian both nodded and moved off to the armory to seek out practice swords. Ryan stayed beside him. Darren gave him a dark look. “I thought I told ye tae watch Laird Ranald.”

“I left him in the care o’ his sister and a man-at-arms, with instructions tae bar him from the private rooms o’ the keep, and tae make sure he doesnae go beyond the walls o’ MacLean Keep.” Ryan hesitated. “If I may speak tae ye frankly, me laird?”

“Ye might as well.”

Ryan paused a moment, his voice low when he replied. “I’ve seen Donall Ranald across a sword blade, and in chains. I realize I dinnae ken everything about the man, but I have faith in me ability tae ken truth when I hear it in a man’s voice. And me gut tells me that Donall Ranald wasnae lying when he said he came fer peace, nae fighting.”

“Ye think he wasnae one o’ me kidnappers then?” A part of him wanted to believe it, if only because of his marriage to Alayne. A part of him remembered how Donall had stood by when his father had kidnapped Darren the first time, and then taken part in the kidnapping of his sister-by-marriage, only a few seasons ago.

Ryan, however, nodded. “I think he’s cooled his head while he was coolin’ his heels in the king’s gaol. And even if he hadnae, he has tae ken it would go ill fer his sister if he were tae act foolishly. By all accounts, nae matter how he feels about ye, or his faither’s memory, he cares fer her.”

That much was true. Darren bit his lip, then winced as the action made the wound there throb. “I’ll take yer words in consideration.”

Bard and Adrian returned then, and Bard claimed the first bout. The MacLean steward and advisor was a fair hand with a sword, but he was nowhere near Darren’s level of skill. Within a few minutes, Darren had disarmed him twice.

He switched to fighting with Adrian. His new war leader was far more skilled than Bard, one reason he’d chosen Adrian for the position he had. The two circled and fought for several minutes, unable to gain a clear advantage, until Darren finally got in a feint that tangled Adrian’s sword and managed to hook an ankle around his heel to send him off balance and to his back on the muddy earth.

“If ye’re nae done, might I have the next match with ye, Laird MacLean?” Startled, Darren looked up to see Donall Ranald standing to one side, Alayne not far behind him. The younger clan leader was holding a blunted practice blade and shield, his regular weapons in Bard’s hands.

For a moment, he wanted to refuse. Then he recalled the last two times he’d faced Ranald over a blade - both of which had involved hostages and allies. He’d never had a good clean fight with the man.

You could tell a lot about a man by the way he fought. No matter how a sparring match started, every man fell into his own patterns and preferences sooner or later, unless they were an experienced training master, or the match was so unequal that one could afford to think of how to avoid giving away such information. Fighting Donall might not tell him for certain if the man had played a part in his kidnapping and beating, but it would give him a better sense of his character.

He nodded. “Aye. I’ll spar ye. First disarmed or unable tae continue suit ye?”

“Aye.” Donall limbered up his arm. Then Ryan called the start of the bout, and the fight began.

Within the first few moves, Darren knew that Donall was skilled. Skilled, and he fought with his head, not his temper. Whether that was a trait he’d always had, or one he’d learned during his imprisonment, he was wise enough not to charge into the fight headlong.

The Ranald laird wasn’t as strong as Darren was - to be expected given what Darren knew of the king’s dungeons, but neither was he weak. Darren guessed that, if both were at their best, they’d be about evenly matched in terms of physical strength and agility. However, Donell was recovering from his imprisonment, and Darren was bruised and battered from the attack of only two or three days before.

He was also beginning to tire from several minutes of hard drills on the the targets, followed by two fairly intense practice bouts.

On the other hand, he was finding that he liked Donall’s style of fighting. Straightforward and strong without being overly reckless. He paid attention to his opponent, but he never moved to take advantage of any move that might be considered dishonorable, such as the point where a step sent Darren stumbling off balance and left his injured ribs open to attack for a second too long.

He didn’t fight like the type of man who would hit his opponent from behind. Nor did he fight like a man who’d strike a prisoner repeatedly. Again, Darren wondered if it was something he’d gained during his time in prison, or if perhaps what he was seeing was the real Donall, the man who’d been forced into the shadows by the previous laird’s cold, calculating, and often cruel behavior.

It was cathartic to fight the man, and he saw a recognition of that fact, and an appreciation of it, in Donall’s gaze as the match continued. He wasn’t the only one who was using this fight to release some old angers and resolve some troubled thoughts.

Then his foot slipped on a particularly muddy patch of the ground, and he slid off balance. Donall had just begun a strike to his shoulder, too far committed to the attack to pull back. Darren twisted, sacrificing his balance and his footing to avoid the blow. Unfortunately, the movement pulled a muscle that had been strained previously, causing him to flinch and lose his balance entirely. He hit the ground hard enough to make most of his bruises scream in protest.

Donall’s blade came torest lightly on his chest a moment later. Darren considered a response, then sighed and let his own blade go. He was sore, tired and in any other situation save a real battle, this was the point where it was better to concede. “Yer bout.”

Donall handed off his blade to Ryan and offered Darren his hand. Darren took it, wincing as he was pulled back to his feet with a grunt of effort. “Yer fair handy with a blade.”

“Ye’re as skilled. And I had the advantage o’ ye, bein’ unhurt and less wearied.” The response was honest, carrying neither false modesty or overbearing pride. It was a simple acknowledgment, one warrior to another, and Darren found himself nodding reluctantly.

“Ye’ve changed.”

“Had some time tae think about what I wanted. And mayhap more importantly, about who I wanted tae be when I left the dungeon. Fer me sister. Fer me clan. Lookin’ back, I’d become a wee bit too much like me faither afore me. I decided I’d nae follow his footsteps any more unless I found ye were making me sister miserable. But troubles this morn aside, I’m given tae understand ye’re good tae her, and good fer her. I’d nae like tae see me unintentional intrusion and her reluctance tae speak ruin that fer either o’ ye.” Donall raised an eyebrow.

Darren understood the message clear enough. “I”ll speak tae her, but ye must understand… there’s things I have trouble lookin’ past.”

“And ‘tis fair enough, fer we’ve all some such ghosts in the tower, and I ken that as well as any man. But I dinnae think ye can fault me fer standin’ at me sister’s side this time.”

He couldn’t. And if he was being honest, Darren had to admit that he would likely have respected and trusted the other laird less if he’d been willing to ignore or dismiss his sister’s happiness. That was, after all, one reason he’d refused to ally with the previous laird.

A peal sounded over the lawn and Darren looked up. “’Tis time fer the midday meal.” He looked to Donall. “I trust ye’ll dine with us?”

“Aye. I was hopin’ tae visit with me sister fer some time afore I return tae me lands. Then too, I need tae speak with ye, since ye’ve had stewardship over the Ranald Clan in me absence.”

“Aye. We can discuss that as well, though I’m thinkin’ it might dae us both better tae have some rest afore that discussion.”

“I’ve nae argument. I await yer pleasure.” Donall nodded. “And if ye’ll excuse me, I’d like tae go and freshen up.”

“Aye. Bard, go with him and have the maidservants arrange quarters fer Laird Ranald.”

His advisor nodded and led Donall away, Alayne at her brother’s side. Darren watched them go.

Donall was right. He didn’t want Alayne to be miserable. However, the fact that she hadn’t told him Donall was going to be released still bothered him. After all, how could she have known her brother would arrive wanting peace instead of with warriors at his back?

Even if he’d been outwardly peaceful, Donall could still have been hostile and bitter. Sometimes a peace enforced by royal decree was as bitter and ugly as any feud, even if no more blood was spilled. Darren was relieved that now would not be one of those times, but the fact that it might have been haunted him. Especially as he would have been caught off guard.

It was something to consider, but his bruises were aching, and his stomach was growling. Darren heaved out a deep breath and went to put up his practice weapon.

First, he’d see Evina about a salve or potion for his bruises. Then he’d get a meal. After that he could start considering how to best address the rift between himself and his wife.