“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.
“He’s…. The King wants the feud to end?” she hesitantly offered, thinking of the letter she’d read.
Pudge snorted. “The King doesnae mind a bit of feuding and reaving to keep his warriors in top fighting form! But the Murray has his ear, and the Murray wants the feud over. ‘Twas his idea to have Kester marry his daughter and end it. He claims he’ll gift the meadow to us once the contract’s signed. He doesnae need it, no’ the way we do, and it’ll keep us from bedeviling him.”
“Aye, the feud started with a marriage contract, so why no’ end it with one?” Auld Gommy mumbled bitterly. “‘Twas the Murray’s idea, and the King went along with it. Kester learned of the plan last autumn but wanted naught to do with it.”
“Remember what he said when he got the word from Murray?” Weesil smirked. “How all it meant was we’d have to double our efforts to relieve them of the takings of Kester’s Meadow?”
“Aye, we reaved well last autumn,” Pudge agreed. “But Murray must’ve complained to the King, because the letter he received at Oliphant Castle wasnae subtle.”
It is time to marry Lady Elspeth Murray and end this feud.
The bannocks sizzled as Auld Gommy pulled them from the pan and began passing them around. Robena munched hers quietly, considering what she’d learned, as the cook served the stew.
Darkness had settled when she asked the question she’d been half-afraid of. “So…Laird MacBain doesnae want to marry the Murray’s auldest daughter?”
Pudge snorted. “He wants naught less. But ‘twill help the clan, and the lad is honorable. He’ll do what’s necessary to secure the clan’s future, even if that means taking on a bitch of a wife. Any offspring of a bastard like Murray is likely as entitled and petty as he is.”
Spoiled, beautiful, desirable.
And here’s Robena, wearing a fake mustache. Her fingers brushed against it as she took another bite of Auld Gommy’s stew.
Weesil gestured with his spoon. “We thought there was a lass for him at Oliphant Castle—he was happier there than he’d been in a long while and kept coming up with excuses to stick around.”
Nay, he’d been waiting for the King’s reply on what to do with the missive Gordon’s death had orphaned…hadn’t he?
“Aye, the MacBain had definitely taken a fancy to her,” crowed Auld Gommy. “Remember how he’d smile when he talked about her? What was her name…?”
“Rohena,” offered Weesil.
“Nay, ‘twas Rebecca,” corrected Auld Gommy.
Robena whispered, “Robena.”
“Aye, Robena. He liked her. And we’re his men.” Auld Gommy shrugged as he shoveled a piece of carrot into his mouth. “We like the idea of him settling down with a pretty lass and making a lot of bairns for the future of the clan, eh?”
“Just no’ the Murray lass,” growled Pudge.