O
ne by one
, the chiefs from clans McKenzie, Farquar, McGregor, MacElroy and MacKinnon, began to pour into the McPherson keep. Whilst William and Seamus greeted each man at the gates, Collin met them at the door and led them into the gathering room.
Fiona decided to wait until the last man arrived before making an appearance. She saw no reason to repeat her intentions again and again. ’Twas best to address them all at once.
She was not looking forward to meeting with these men. With her hands clasped behind her back, she paced to and fro, betwixt her hearth and her desk and thought on the events of the past weeks. If she ever got her hands on the man responsible for turning her life into its current unrecognizable state, she’d filet him like a salmon and leave his innards for the scavengers.
The room grew uncomfortably small and hot as she paced back and forth. Her trews, which usually made her feel quite confident and comfortable, itched and scratched against her skin. Her mail which normally felt as light as a feather began to weigh her down, feeling as if ’twere made of stone. Even her boots felt awkward.
“Calm yerself, Fiona McPherson,” she muttered under her breath. “Ye’ve nothin’ to fear this day. Ye be the chief of yer clan no’ some innocent wee bairn.”
Suddenly, she wished her mother and father were here if only to offer sage advice. There was not a day that went by that she didn’t think of them, though in truth, she was much closer to her father than her mother.
’Twasn’t as if she liked one more than the other. Nay, she loved both her parents. They were good, decent people. She simply had more in common with her father. He understood her passion for the blade, for needing to feel capable and strong. Her mum, however, would quietly shake her head in dismay and encourage Fiona to take on more lady-like endeavors.
Fiona was so lost in her own thoughts that she hadn’t heard Mairi enter the study. “Fi,” Mairi said as she balanced her seven-month-old son Symon on her hip. “William sends word that the MacKinnon has just entered McPherson lands. He should be here within the hour.”
“Thank ye, Mairi,” Fiona said, smiling when she saw wee Symon. He was chewing ferociously on a long strip of untanned leather while drool ran down his chin. He looked quite happy at the moment, so cherubic and sweet.
“He looks in fine spirits this day,” Fiona remarked as she stepped forward and caressed his cheek.
Mairi nodded as she kissed the top of Symon’s bald head. “Aye, he is,” Mairi said. Looking back at Fiona she said, “Fi, I never thanked ye fer helpin’ us that day, fer lettin’ me and Collin get some sleep after all those nights of Symon no’ sleepin’.”
“Think nothin’ of it, Mairi. ’Twas me pleasure to spend time with me nephew.”
“Ye were right, that he was cuttin’ teeth and no’ spoiled like me mum had convinced me,” Mairi said, looking embarrassed at admitting such a thing.
Fiona decided to be diplomatic by remaining mute on the subject of Mairi’s mum. Instead, she kissed the top of Symon’s head before stepping away.
Mairi remained near the door, looking as though she had something more on her mind but was afraid to speak it.
“Be there somethin’ else, Mairi?”
Mairi started to speak but stopped. Fiona gathered ’twas a difficult subject she needed to discuss.
“Go ahead, Mairi,” Fiona said as she sat in her chair behind her desk. “We’ve known each other a verra long time. Ye can talk to me about anythin’.”
Fiona doubted that the subject Mairi wanted to discuss was as serious as the young woman’s expression indicated. Until Mairi finally spoke.
“Why do ye no’ remarry, Fi? Is it because ye canna have bairns of yer own and ye fear no man would want ye because of it?”
The slightest breeze could have knocked Fiona out of her chair, so stunned was she. While she considered Mairi a good friend, a dear sister-in-law, she’d not been quite as close to the woman as she had been with Bridgett. Still, she had never discussed her barrenness with anyone, not even her long dead husband, James. It was far too difficult to think about, let alone discuss aloud.
“Fi, I did no’ mean to embarrass ye or hurt yer feelin’s,” Mairi began as she took a step toward Fiona. “Ye are such a bonny woman, Fi and ye have so much to offer. I worry over ye, Fi, and ye seem so sad these past few days.”
Fiona cleared the knot from her throat and pretended to not be upset with Mairi’s question. ’Twasn’t anger that she felt, but a deep sense of sadness. For the life of her, she could not figure out why Mairi had asked such a thoroughly personal question.
“Nay, Mairi, I do no’ worry over it. And it be Bridgett’s death that has me so melancholy.” Her answer was half truth, half lie, and incomplete.
Aye, there had been a time when she worried some men would not be interested in marrying her, but not simply because she was barren. There were too many reasons to mention and now, ’twas all moot for there was a man who wanted to marry her. It was also true that Bridgett’s death had a profound effect on her heart.
Mairi looked as though she did not believe Fiona’s answer, but thankfully, let the matter drop.
“I shall have more refreshments taken to the gatherin’ room. I’ll send word when the MacKinnon has reached the gates.”
Fiona managed a nod and murmur of thanks before turning her attention to unimportant scrolls splayed atop her desk. After the door closed, she let loose the breath she’d been holding.
Why had Mairi asked that particular question? And today of all days? Mayhap she was simply reaching out, trying to be a friend and sister now that Bridgett was gone.
Fiona had always held her sisters-in-law at arm’s length. In truth, she did that with all women, save for Bridgett. She was by no means rude or unkind with other women, she simply felt uncomfortable around them, as if she didn’t truly belong amongst them. ’Twould most likely take a lifetime of soul-searching to reason the
why
of it out. The answer, she believed, probably wasn’t worth the bother.
F
iona had asked
Collin to take the clan chiefs into the war room - the very same room that each of the men had proposed to her at one time or another over the past year. Once she had received word that all the men were assembled, Fiona entered.
The five chiefs sat around the table, along with Collin, Seamus, and Andrew. William and Richard stood as sentries just outside the door. Each of the chiefs had been allowed to bring no more than two men inside for the meeting, to act either as guard or advisor.
As soon as she entered, she wished she had told Collin to throw each man into the loch, along with a jar of soap, before allowing them entry. Apparently, not all of the men were as keen on cleanliness as others. The room smelled of sweat, ale, and smoke as well as an overpowering aroma of sandalwood.
Fiona paused momentarily to assess the demeanor of each man. The McGregor and Farquar looked bored, the McKenzie was half asleep, and the MacElroy looked his usual arrogant self. Only the MacKinnon seemed interested in the proceedings.
She headed toward her place at the head of the table. As she strolled past the men, she discovered the McGregor was the owner of the foul odor that lingered in the air. And MacElroy the Arrogant as she’d come to call him, had apparently bathed in sandalwood and roses, the pungent aroma making her head hurt as she walked past him. Later, she would have to thank Collin for placing those two men furthest away from her seat.
She stood at the head of the table, rested one hand on the hilt of her sword and looked out at the men before her. One, if not more, was an enemy. The person behind the raids. The person responsible for Bridgett’s death.
After giving each man a nod of recognition, Fiona began. “I thank ye all fer bein’ here this day.”
“Before ye continue, I shall have ye know that I’m no’ here to lend me support in your call to war against the McDunnah.” ’Twas the McGregor who spoke. Moments ago, he looked bored. Now, he looked derisive.
The Farquar nodded in agreement. “Aye, to go against the McDunnah is suicide.”
“I have to agree,” MacElroy the Arrogant chimed in. “Everyone kens that Caelen McDunnah is more than just a wee tetched.”
“Gentlemen,” Fiona said calmly, trying to break through the growing opinions as they pertained to Caelen.
The McGregor chuckled his consensus, and added, “
More
than just a wee tetched! The man be insane.”
“Gentlemen,” Fiona repeated, a little more loudly this time.
“If I’ve a desire to end me own life,” the Farquar said, “I’ll do it at the end of me own rope, not be slaughtered by those animals.”
By animals, Fiona could only assume he meant the McDunnahs. Weeks ago, she might have agreed with that description. But she had come to know Caelen and some of his people. While they might be a wee rough around the edges, blunt, and lacking in finer social graces, they were good people. Not animals.
Fiona glanced down the table at Collin, Seamus, and Andrew. Andrew shrugged his shoulders as if to say
how can ye stop them?
Seamus shook his head in disgust at the rude way the men were behaving. Collin raised a brow and started to stand, but Fiona held him off with a raised palm. She needed to be the one to bring this meeting under control.
“One,” she said rather loudly. “Two,” she paused briefly as she caught the MacElroy’s attention. “Three.”
The color drained from the MacElroy’s face. “Are ye countin’?” he asked with an unsteady voice.
“Aye, I am,” she said as she pulled two
sgian dubhs
from her belt. “Four,” she said as she tested the weight of the small blades in her hands.
“Quiet, ye bloody fools!” the MacElroy barked at the other men. “Can ye no’ hear that she’s countin’?”
There wasn’t a man among them — save, mayhap for the man standing behind the McGregor that she did not recognize — that didn’t possess firsthand experience with just how good Fiona McPherson was with a knife. Or sword or bow and arrow.
In truth Fiona would much prefer to settle any disputes like a level-headed adult. But there were times, far too many times, that words would not work, and some form or display of violence or physical strength was necessary. As long as the men before her knew she was not above using physical force, she could get them to at least listen.
Scanning the curious if not dread-filled eyes of the men, she waited until she had their full attention.
“While it be true that I had originally called ye all here to wage war against the McDunnah, I now have evidence that he was no’ behind the raids.” She paused briefly for her words to sink in, carefully resting the
sgian dubhs
on the table before her. “I’ll no’ be warrin’ with them.”
Their astonishment was quite apparent.
“What evidence?” the McGregor barked. “Ye call us here for war then change yer mind?”
“Just like a woman,” MacElroy the Arrogant whispered.
Fiona heard him. Tempted as she was to hurl her
sgian dubhs
into his pompous heart, she resisted. “I’ve only just been made aware of the evidence,” Fiona said, directing her statement toward MacElroy.
“Then why are we here?” the Farquar asked bewildered and confused. “I thought we were goin’ to war?”
“Well, she’s apparently changed her mind,” the McGregor explained. “I’m just as confused as the rest of ye.”
“If ye’d close yer mouths and open yer ears,” Fiona said, raising her voice above the din, “ye might just learn somethin’.” That had been one of her mother’s favorite sayings when Fiona and her brothers were younger. It seemed befitting to use it now, since these men were behaving like children.
They turned their focus back to her and ’twas all she could do not to roll her eyes. “As I said, I’ve only recently been made aware of evidence that exonerates the McDunnah. He is no’ the one responsible fer the raids or fer Bridgett McPherson’s death.” Fiona had to clear her throat to clear the knot that formed at the mention of her dearest friend. “Caelen McDunnah is innocent.”
“What proof do ye have of his innocence?” the MacElroy asked. “Did ye no’ declare that ye’d seen the man with yer own eyes? Were McDunnah daggers no’ left behind?” he said with a disapproving shake of his head.
Fiona was prepared to give just enough information, hopefully enough that one of them might trip on his own lying tongue. “Me brother, Brodie, was with the McDunnah the night Bridgett was killed.”
“That still does no’ make the man innocent,” the MacElroy replied. “He could be directin’ his men to do his dirty work for him.”
“At one point, MacElroy, I was led to believe the same,” Fiona told him. “I have met with the McDunnah several times over the past weeks. He’s no’ the one responsible. Instead, I claim to ye that someone else be responsible, someone who wishes us all to believe it be the McDunnah. For some reason, they want us at war with him and his.”
She took in a breath and waited for the men to consider her words. “I do no’ ken the why of it just yet, but I will find out who is behind it all, on that, ye have me word.”
Each of these men had known Fiona long enough and hopefully well enough to know that she did not make idle threats. Nor was she one who easily jumped to conclusions or judgment.
“I tell each of ye now, that I’ll no’ be warrin’ with the McDunnah. He and I have come to a truce and I now consider him me ally.”
Her last statement was meant to serve as warning. The McDunnahs were now her allies. She could only hope that the news would stop the raids.
“Though we will no’ be warrin’ with the McDunnah, I still need yer aid.”
More confused than before, the men sat with raised brows or mouths agape.
“Aid?” The McGregor asked. “Need I remind ye that ye turned down me previous offer of aid and protection? Ye turned all of us down.”
With an inward sigh, Fiona answered. “I do no’ seek yer protection, McGregor, just yer aid.”
The man shook his head in dismay. “Yer no’ makin’ much sense, McPherson.”
I’d make more sense if ye’d just be quiet and let me finish.
“I do no’ need anyone’s protection. But I would ask fer yer help in findin’ out who is truly behind the raids and Bridgett’s death.”