Two
Dristan heard the heavy footsteps of tired men, clanking down the stairs in their cumbersome armor. The one he had summoned was at last approaching. He turned from the blazing hearth to watch the lad stride into the Great Hall flanked by several battle weary soldiers. ’Twas clear they stood afore him most reluctantly.
Silence filled the air, and Dristan took his time assessing the well-seasoned warriors. The only exception to the group was the young boy, who stood with a look that would have alone felled the most ferocious of enemies. Dristan was used to seeing such a glare of loathing. Only time would tell if the boy could learn to get past the hatred he was feeling.
The remains of the hall door slammed closed with a loud crash, and the sound of someone’s fast stride had all heads turning to see who approached.
“You insolent whelp! Who gives you the right to glare at your new lord in such an ill manner?” Hugh yelled as he came abreast of the group. Afore anyone could stop his act, Hugh raised his hand and struck the boy in the face, bringing him to his knees from the force of the blow. His gauntlet left blood, trickling down from the knight’s right cheek.
The distinctive sound of swords, coming free of their scabbards, echoed in the hall as the boy’s guardsmen advanced to protect their charge.
Hugh raised his fist in threat. “Get thee back and let me finish my work so he never again questions who is lord here!”
“Cease your madness!” Dristan roared. His angry voice shook the rafters.
The Devil’s Dragon of Blackmore buried his fist in Hugh’s face yet again and sent him to the floor. Dristan reached down and grabbed the man, bringing him face to face that he might see the rage in his lord’s eyes.
“You have erred again by presuming to act on my behalf,” he hissed, “but I’ll be damned if you shall continue to do so further today or any other day henceforth!”
Two of Dristan’s garrison knights stepped forward at his command and bowed. He flung a stumbling, humiliated Hugh towards them.
“Find the dungeon and take this worthless fool there ’til I decide his fate. Mayhap, I’ll let him rot there for a spell, ’til my temper cools!”
Dristan turned back towards his personal guard and each man knew, by the look on their lord’s face, he struggled not to finish Hugh off immediately. He motioned with his hand again to the Scotsmen guarding the young knight.
Although hesitant, one by one, they put their blades back into their sheaths and returned to stand behind their charge, who remained kneeling on the floor, slightly swaying.
Dristan moved to assist the young knight and the boy’s guardsmen raised their hands ’til they hovered over the hilts of their swords. Dristan dismissed them, more concerned with helping the youth stand and regain some dignity.
“What is your name, boy?” he demanded.
The knight stubbornly remained quiet, glaring at his new lord with all the hatred a body could muster. Young MacLaren wiped the blood from his swollen cheek.
“Your name boy,” he repeated. “I assume you have one.”
“Aye,” the youth muttered with defiance.
“And yet you cease to tell me.”
“His name is Aiden. Aiden of clan MacLaren, my liege,” said the guard standing at the boy’s side.
Dristan judged the man with a single glance. “And who are you that you speak on his behalf?”
“He is Ian, captain of my garrison.”
“The boy speaks,” Dristan stated. “And I assume these are your remaining knights?”
“They are the rest of my personal guardsmen, who yet live.”
Dristan scowled whilst allowing himself a moment to consider the young man afore him. Mon dieu but the lad could not be more than ten and six if that. His face was not truly determinable since ’twas covered with the dirt and grime of battle, but it looked as if ’twould not grow even a small bit of fuzz to cover his cheeks any time soon. A lock of fiery red hair escaped his chainmail helm, which did not surprise Dristan in the least, given the lad’s Scottish heritage. His eyes could be blue, but that, too, was hard to tell in the dim light of the hall. ’Twas also difficult to conclude the lad’s form as he was still wearing his armor. Somehow Dristan felt he would not have much meat on his bones given his small stature. ’Twas then he noticed a strange oddity with the young knight.
“You have not won your spurs, I see,” Dristan commented dryly. “Did not your sire squire you out?”
“He saw to my training himself.”
“’Tis most unusual.”
Aiden only shrugged as if no further answer was necessary.
Dristan saw the look of satisfaction on the boy’s face when his two men returned after finding new lodgings for Hugh. He could only imagine what was going through the lad’s head. Surely he felt a sense of vindication that a wrong had been righted.
A slight smile began to alight on Aiden’s face.
The smile did not go unnoticed by the Devil’s Dragon.
“I understand you have a twin sister. Is she above in the solar with the rest of your family?” he questioned sharply.
The boy’s grin quickly vanished with his start of surprise.
“My sis-sister?”
“Aye. Your twin, or so I have been told,” Dristan replied, trying to find some patience with the youth.
“Your k-king knows of us?” Aiden stammered in shock.
“’Tis King Henry’s business to know those he plans to conquer and lands he will claim as his own,” Dristan stated simply. “You have not answered my question . . . is she above?”
The boy’s mouth opened, but afore any words could be spewed forth, his captain again spoke out.
“She was asked to travel with her Aunt to Edinburgh prior to the siege, my lord,” Ian provided as an explanation.
Dristan’s brow furrowed in irritation and saw how Aiden’s chin raised up a notch. Perchance there was yet hope for the youth.
“We shall deal with her when the time comes. But tell me now, will you pledge fealty to me as your new liege lord, young Aiden?”
“Do I have a choice?” the youth asked obstinately.
“We all make choices, boy. ’Tis a heavy burden we must bear. You are now the clan leader, and as such, ’tis your responsibility to think of the well-being of your family and clansmen afore yourself.”
“You would allow me to remain head of my clan . . . to care for my family?” the youth’s look was filled with skepticism. He had not expected these words from the terror of England.
“This castle is but one of many I have claimed in the name of King Henry.” Dristan put his hand upon the boy’s shoulder, amazed he even had the strength to lift the heavy sword for the past several days. “Perchance one day I may leave it unto your keeping ’til such time as I return. Give me your oath of fealty, Aiden, and your men, as well. ’Til I know you have been trained properly and can hold up against the fiercest of enemies, I give you and yours my protection under my name.” He took a step back from the boy and looked down upon his startled features. “I cannot offer you more than that as yet, but perchance for now ’tis enough,” he declared. “Still . . . the choice must be yours.”
Dristan watched Aiden chew on his lower lip in indecision as the boy was likely wondering what choice he really had. ’Tis the only home the boy has ever known, he thought to himself. Where else on this earth could the lad in truth wander, when all he knew and loved was surely held within these walls and the lands he had roamed all his life.
Aiden gave a brief nod to those loyal men who waited for a decision and heard a few grunts of annoyance on what the clan now faced. Turning to face the Devil’s Dragon, Aiden gave a soft sigh of resignation to their fate and stared up at Berwyck’s new liege lord.
Finally, Aiden knelt on one knee and took a deep breath with hands held out in complete submission. Dristan reached out and clasped them, awaiting the pledge of loyalty that would bind the MacLaren clan as his vassals.
“I, A−Aiden of Berwyck and of Clan MacLaren, do so swear on my faith in God the Almighty to serve thee as my liege lord, Dristan of Blackmore. I promise in the future to be faithful to my lord, never causing you harm, and will observe my homage to you completely against all persons in good faith and without deceit.”
“I accept thee as my vassal,” Dristan proclaimed, nodding in satisfaction then motioned for Aiden to stand next to Riorden, whilst each of the lad’s guardsmen in turn made their vows. The deed did not take long, since there were only seven of the boy’s guard left alive.
Dristan folded his arms against his massive chest and stared down the length of his nose at Aiden once more.
“I will see to your training myself to ensure ’tis done properly. Some may think I do you no favor as training with me is most brutal, but ’twill possibly keep your head attached to your shoulders someday,” he said sternly then watched as the boy’s eyes darted back and forth in further concern. “But now is not the time to fret about such matters. ’Tis more important we see to the burying of our dead than worry about your training.”
“Aye, my lord.”
“See you to your family, Aiden, so they know you yet live, and whilst you search the dead for your lord,” Dristan said as he turned to his guard, “my captain, Riorden de Deveraux, will see that a detail assists you in laying your clansmen to rest and also ensure your safety. Although I can vouch for my personal guardsmen, others under my command are mercenaries. There is naught I can do about their lack of knightly virtues and the hatred they feel towards the Scots.”
Dristan watched Aiden give a slight bow afore taking his leave. It appeared the boy left with a heavy heart, as the young knight put one foot in front of the other whilst slowly ascending the stairs to the upper floors to seek out his remaining family. Dristan could sympathize with the lad’s plight. For years in service to his king, he had seen for himself those who had lost their homes to his conquering army. Most had chosen to swear fealty to King Henry. He did not like to think on the alternative outcome for those who did not. Change was in the air, and only the whim of fate would tell which way the winds would blow to determine the life course Aiden MacLaren would soon follow.