Once a Warrior (10 page)

“Or perhaps you will recall the afternoon you were riding in the woods and found four men ravishing a helpless young girl,” continued Rob. “You killed all four. When you later learned the girl’s father beat her for shaming the family, you struck the father with your fist and took the girl back to your castle to live as a MacFane, under your protection. Do you remember?”

Malcolm stared wearily into the boy’s gray eyes, which were burning with a haunting mixture of admiration and disgust. It was as if he had learned these tales too well and could not bear his disappointment in the man about whom they had been spun.

“No,” he confessed, disgusted by his inability to recall his supposedly heroic past. “I don’t.”

Rob shook his head, whether in frustration or anger, Malcolm could not tell.

“Then there was the day you killed the boar as it charged those lads—”

“How do you know about that?” he demanded suddenly, startled. “I didn’t reveal myself. Those boys never knew how close they were to death.”

“Alpin told me. He saw it.”

Malcolm snorted in disbelief.

“He saw it,” Rob repeated adamantly. “Just as he saw you coming here.”

“If he saw me coming here, then why are the MacKendricks so appalled by my condition?” Malcolm demanded dryly.

“He didn’t see you coming like—this,” Rob admitted. “Sometimes Alpin’s visions are rather hazy.”

“Convenient to have you think so when things don’t turn out as he anticipates,” observed Malcolm.

“It doesn’t matter whether you believe in Alpin’s abilities or not,” the boy retorted impatiently. “All that matters is your ability to train my clan to fight.”

“After what I saw today, I don’t believe anyone could train your clan to fight,” Malcolm scoffed. “Not even the Black Wolf when he was at the height of his abilities.”

“The MacKendricks do not have a penchant for fighting,” Rob acknowledged. “But surely when you led your army, you did not always have the strongest and fittest men to train, did you?”

“They were not always strong and fit when they began, but at least none of the MacFanes was afraid of giving or receiving a few scratches.”

Rob frowned as he considered this. “Then that is something you must overcome. How do you train men who are afraid of getting hurt, or of hurting each other?”

“You don’t,” snapped Malcolm. “You put them to work making weapons, or improving fortifications. Unless—”

He stopped. Perhaps there was a way around the MacKendricks’ faintheartedness. He fought to clear the mists clouding his brain as he rose from the bed. At the desk he found a quill and paper, and he quickly began to make a sketch. When it was finished, he added a few instructions detailing its measurements and the materials to be used.

“Take this to Duncan and Andrew,” he commanded. “Tell them to organize the construction of two of these tonight, in time for training tomorrow morning. Given the skill of your carpenters, I don’t think it will take them more than a few hours. Maybe with these I will be able to incite some aggression in the MacKendricks tomorrow.”

Rob reached out to take the sheet. Suddenly he paused, his expression unreadable.

“What’s wrong?” demanded Malcolm impatiently.

“Nothing.” The boy took the sketch and opened the door. “I was just looking at your hands.” The door closed.

Mystified, Malcolm raised his hands.

Faint, pearly scars stretched across them, where flames had forever seared the skin.

C
HAPTER
5

Ariella sighed and buried her head deeper into her pillow, trying to escape the gray shadows seeping across her bed.

The steady crack of hammering pierced her slumber, forcing her eyes open. She rose from the bed and padded across the cool stone floor to the window, where she cautiously peeked at the courtyard below. Gavin, Duncan, and Andrew were directing a dozen men in the construction of two wooden structures, which she recognized from the sketch MacFane had drawn the night before. Curious to find out how he intended to use these scaffolds, she pulled her chemise over her head and tossed it onto the bed. Then she quickly dressed in Rob’s grimy shirt, plaid, and well-worn boots, swallowing her revulsion as she rubbed her hair, face, hands, and calves with ashes from the hearth.

The door swung open. Ariella instantly cocked her head to one side and slumped her shoulders slightly, affecting the indifferent stance of a thirteen-year-old boy who needed to be told to stand up straight.

“Duncan won’t let me play with the big dolls,” complained Catherine petulantly. “I don’t think he’s being nice.”

“What big dolls?” asked Ariella, abandoning her boyish demeanor.

“The big dolls he ordered Agnes, Elizabeth, and Meagan to sew last night,” Catherine explained. “This morning I found them lying on tables in the hall. Elizabeth said they were finished. But they had forgotten to put faces on them, and they looked
so
sad. So I got some paint and drew nice faces on them, with big smiles. Then I realized they had no hair. Can you imagine?” she demanded, her little face incredulous. “So I painted that on them as well. I thought Isabel should have dark hair, like you, and Flora should have lovely blond hair, like Elizabeth. It came out very nice, but now that they had faces and hair, you could tell they were both
naked
. Downstairs in the hall, where just anybody could see them! They were too big for my clothes, so I fetched some of Agnes’s things, knowing she wouldn’t mind. And just as I was dressing Isabel in the prettiest purple chemise, Duncan came in and yelled what on earth did I think I was doing. Those were his very words. I told him it was mean to leave naked dolls lying in the hall, and he shouted that they weren’t dolls, and I was not to touch them. Now, then,” she finished, flouncing onto the bed, “what do you think of that?”

“I’ll speak to him about it,” Ariella promised, trying her best not to laugh. She had an awful suspicion regarding the purpose of those “dolls.” “But really, Catherine, you should know better than to touch things that do not belong to you.”

“They were so sad, lying there with those plain white heads,” protested Catherine. “They couldn’t see.”

“Even so,” said Ariella, “they were not yours. How would you like it if someone came along and decided that Matilda needed to have her hair cut, or that it should be a different color?”

She hugged her little doll tight. “I wouldn’t,” she admitted.

“Well, it is the same with Duncan. He wanted those dolls made a certain way, and it was not up to you to decide they should be different. Do you understand?”

Her sister nodded glumly, obviously upset that Ariella had not taken her side.

“Good.” Ariella sat down beside her and gave her a hug.

“How much longer do you have to dress like that?” demanded Catherine, wrinkling her nose.

“As long as MacFane is here,” replied Ariella. “Until I find the next laird, no outsider can know I’m still alive, or word would spread and Roderic might return.”

“I thought MacFane was to be our new laird.”

“I thought so too. But he is not suitable.” She ruffled her fingers through her sister’s hair. “Now, I’m going to take you to the kitchen to help Agnes. And tonight we will finish the story about the kelpie who took the little girl to live in the sea.”

“He’s not mean, you know,” Catherine said, placing her clean little hand in hers.

“The kelpie?”

“The Black Wolf.”

“How do you know?” asked Ariella.

“I could tell by the way he looked when he first came here,” Catherine explained as they descended the stairs.

“He seemed so sad. That’s why I gave him my embroidery right away.”

“That was very thoughtful of you.”

She nodded in agreement. “He said my stitching was beautiful.” Suddenly she smiled. “I wonder what MacFane will think when he sees how nicely I painted Duncan’s dolls?”

Malcolm stared in furious disbelief at the ridiculously grinning sack figures being hanged from the gallows.

“Is this supposed to be a joke?” he demanded.

“I’m afraid little Catherine decided they needed faces,” explained Duncan, apologetic. “I was barely able to stop her before she had them both outfitted in ladies’ gowns.”

“I think it’s rather nice,” said Gavin. “Makes them look cheerful.”

“Let’s hope the MacKendricks don’t find them too bloody cheerful to attack,” muttered Malcolm, directing his attention to the clan.

“Today we will begin by learning to charge an opponent,” he announced. “But instead of charging each other, you will attack the figures you see hanging before you. They will be swinging as you run, so you must anticipate their movement. Hit them as hard as you can, then get out of the way to make room for the next man. For the moment you will use only your bodies. The figures have been tightly stuffed with cloth and sand, so they are heavier than you think.”

The MacKendricks looked at each other uncertainly. It was obvious they didn’t think much of his instructions.

“Duncan and Andrew, you will swing the figures hard as the men approach. The rest of you divide into two lines and begin.”

“Forgive me, lad, but I can’t see how this is going to teach them anything,” remarked Angus doubtfully.

“Attacking a sack man is not at all like attacking a real man,” pointed out Dugald. “A sack man can’t hit back.”

“I know.”

Alpin chuckled. “I believe that’s what MacFane intended.”

“What good does it do to teach them to hit overstuffed dolls?” asked Angus, bewildered.

“Your clan is consumed with the fear both of getting hurt and of hurting each other,” Malcolm explained. “That makes it impossible for them to engage in combat, with or without weapons. Since these stuffed figures cannot harm them, and since they won’t feel any pain, I believe the men will gradually lose their fear and become more aggressive in their attack. I want them to learn what it is to have aggression pounding through their veins. Then we can move on in the training. As for the women, I believe Gavin has placed the targets away from the castle, so we need not worry about arrows showering down on us.”

“Some of the women actually have a very good eye,” remarked Gavin, urging his horse toward the gate. “I believe they are going to make fine archers.”

“Then let’s hope we get some slits cut into the towers, so there is a place from which they can shoot,” drawled Malcolm.

Having slowly formed their lines, the MacKendricks were ready to begin. Bryce went first. As he ran, Duncan heaved the sack figure at him. Startled, Bryce yelped and dodged to the side, missing the grinning mannequin entirely.

Malcolm controlled his impulse to bark out an insult. “Not too fast,” he instructed. “Wait for him to come to you.”

“She looks more like a girl to me,” observed Ramsay.

“And an ugly one, at that,” snorted Hugh.

The other laughed.

“Think of it as your greatest enemy,” suggested Malcolm, ignoring their unruliness. “He is unarmed, just like you. He is big, but even a big man has weaknesses. One solid blow to his knee will shatter the bone, instantly bringing him down. A hard strike to the groin will reduce the deadliest opponent to tears. If you ram him just below his ribs with both your fists, you will knock the air from him. If you grab his arm and twist it hard around his back, you will wrench his shoulder from its socket. Plan your attack as you run, but don’t give it away with your eyes. Then hit him where it will count.”

The MacKendricks stared at him blankly. Malcolm realized he had made an error by telling them so much. Clearly his suggestions had shocked them.

“Let me at him!” roared Graham suddenly, racing toward the grinning figure. He plowed into the swinging mannequin full force, sending it flying.

“Very good, Graham,” said Malcolm, surprised. “Next time try to hit him a little lower. That will force the air out of him.”

“My turn,” said Ramsay. He crouched low, then ran at the figure and rammed both his fists into its abdomen. “Take that, you cowardly dog,” he huffed.

“Your aim was excellent, Ramsay,” praised Malcolm. “A blow like that would have doubled him over. Next time lock your hands together into one fist to make them even more powerful.”

During the next two hours Malcolm watched with increasing amazement as the MacKendricks gradually overcame their uncertainty and repeatedly attacked the grinning sack figures. He used Rob, Andrew, and Duncan to demonstrate some of the techniques he had taught them during their journey there. Because the stuffed dolls were impervious to pain, the men soon abandoned their inhibitions and attacked them with considerable fervor. When the session came to an end and the next group arrived, the first group boasted to them of their prowess and challenged them to do better. After only an hour his new pupils were ready for Malcolm to demonstrate more complex methods of attack.

Dismounting from his horse, he stood in the center of the courtyard and invited anyone forward who thought he could best Malcolm in an attack. No one volunteered. Malcolm knew it was not because they were uncertain of the outcome. The MacKendricks were convinced Malcolm was little better than a cripple. No one wanted to shame himself by fighting a man they believed was defenseless. Finally he ordered Duncan and Andrew to attack him. The MacKendricks watched in astonishment as Malcolm deftly overwhelmed them both. After that others tried charging him. Every one ended up flat on the ground, but Malcolm was careful to commend the efforts of each man. He had learned that the MacKendricks responded far better to praise than to insult or criticism, and it seemed with every encouraging word they wanted to try again. By the time he announced that training was finished for the day, his pupils were reluctant to quit.

As for him, his body was stiff and aching, and he was anxious to retreat to the privacy of his chamber.

“Did you see how hard I hit that thing today? I thought for sure its head was going to come flying off,” boasted Ramsay as he took a second helping of salmon.

“That’s nothing,” scoffed Hugh. “I smashed it with my fists together, and I know I heard the fabric give way. If it hadn’t been woven so tight, the sand would have spilled right from its belly.”

“You heard it give way because I went before you and had already weakened it,” Graham announced. “You were just finishing what I had started.”

“My shoulder is purple from knocking into it so hard,” said Bryce, drawing his shirt down so they could see. “Had that thing been a man, his ribs would have cracked.”

“Cracked? I drove my elbow into it so hard, a man’s rib would have snapped in half and pierced an organ. I’d like to see one of Roderic’s warriors get up after that,” Hugh declared ominously.

“If Roderic or anyone else attacks the castle again, they won’t have the chance to get to you,” Elizabeth assured them. “Three times today I hit the target right in the center. Meagan and Agnes hit it twice. By the end of the week our aim will be as straight and true as anyone’s, man or woman.”

“Young lassies today have such spirit,” declared Angus cheerily. Then he frowned. “Do you suppose that’s a good thing?”

“The lass takes after her father,” declared Gordon proudly.

Helen swatted her husband’s shoulder. “And I suppose I had nothing to do with raising her?”

“That’s a fine-looking scrape you’ve got there, Ramsay—”

Ariella listened in astonishment as her clan boasted of the day’s feats. The night before, they had done nothing but complain of their aches and grumble that they were not born to be warriors. Tonight they were brandishing their bruises like trophies and making threats about what would happen to anyone who dared attack them. Somehow MacFane had evoked a profound change in their attitude. Although the MacKendricks were nowhere near as dangerous as they seemed to think, it was an excellent beginning.