Page 27 of Don't Give A Damn About My Plaid Reputation
The handsome man waved airily. “Quick! Someone write it down!”
Thank the saints the conversation devolved into an argument about what to wear at night, and whether it mattered if one was alone in the bed.
Robena did her best to ignore said conversation and strummed lightly on her lute’s strings.
The high spirits lasted through that evening when they stopped to make camp in a clearing not far from the road. As Auld Gommy began to cook, a few of the men disappeared into the trees.
“There’s a small loch a ways in that direction,” the ancient Scot explained, throwing his beard over his shoulder as he stirred. “And bathing sounds nice after so many days in the saddle.”
She hummed in agreement, wondering if she could sneak away after dark to make use of the water herself. “‘Tis likely freezing.”
“No’ as bad as smelling like a horse for the rest of the journey,” growled Pudge, who settled beside her, his back to the same fallen log. “Take some friendly advice, Robbie lad, and go wash yer bits, eh?”
Robena didnotsniff her own armpits, but ‘twas a struggle.
“Can I ask a question?” She exhaled as she rested her head against the log, the tension of sitting in the saddle all day draining away. “Whyare ye MacBains such a battlesome lot? Who are ye fighting all the time, in these stories?”
Weesil was sitting cross-legged on the other side of the fire, dragging a whetstone along his blades, and looked up in surprise. “Och, the Murrays, of course.”
“ThehatedMurrays,” Pudge corrected, and Weesil nodded in agreement.
It is time to marry Lady Elspeth Murray and end this feud.
“Ye’re feuding with the Murrays, aye?”
Auld Gommy snorted as he settled himself in front of a stump, where he began to mix oats and water to make bannocks. “‘Tis nae our choice. I’m auld enough to remember when we considered them friends. We fought the Sutherlands then, and the Clynes, but that was just because ‘twas traditional.”
“What happened?” Robena asked quietly. “If ye used to be friends with the Murrays?”
“Laird Ian Murray happened, lad,” barked Pudge. “And Kester’s Meadow.”
Her head snapped up. “Kester’s Meadow?”
Weesil took up the story, his hands never stopping. “Our laird’s mother was Abigail Kester, a bonny lass with bonnier blue eyes. She was a cousin to Ian Murray, who had been newly made laird of his clan. ‘Twas a sort of alliance, to marry Lady Abigail to Kester’s da, the auld laird. As part of the bargain, Murray included a fertile meadow which stands between our lands.”
“Lady Abigail lasted long enough to birth Kester,” Auld Gommy continued somberly, “and name the lad after her people.”
“She died?” Robena whispered.
“Aye,” grunted Pudge. “And our laird mourned her fiercely, but with a wee bairn, the clan had a focus. ‘Twas a year later that Murray announced he was taking back the meadow he’d given us as part of the marriage contract.”
Auld Gommy nodded as he mixed. “The auld laird, Kester’s da, started calling it Kester’s Meadow, since ‘twas a symbol of that betrayal. He declared the peace with the Murray over, and demanded the Murray return the land.”
“‘Tis verra good land,” Weesil explained. “Worth going to war over. And the MacBain is always worrying about our future, aye?”
“Aye, but the MacBains—nae matter how fierce and brave we are—cannae truly mount a war against a clan the size of the Murrays.” Pudge shook his head bitterly. “For over two decades now, we’ve contented ourselves with reaving parties, hit-and-run attacks against the Murray crofts and outposts now spread throughout Kester’s Meadow.”
Her eyes were wide as she listened. “But those people….”
“Och, we dinnae kill them,” Pudge scoffed, “just sort of…acquire some of their more portable wealth. And cause some mischief to them, I cannae lie. I figure ‘tis their own fault, for living on our land.”
“Kester’s Meadow should belong to the MacBains,” agreed Weesil without looking up. “If only Ian Murray werenae so stubborn.”
If the land really were as fertile as they claimed, Robena could understand why Murray didn’t want to give it up. But now….
The sun had sunk behind the trees, and Mook and Giric made plenty of noise as they tromped back into camp, their hair dripping wet as they laughed about something.
The quiet of night began to wrap around them all, but Robena was considering the tale she’d heard.
