Page 33 of Highlander’s Sloth

Vice Sometimes Wins

“We are no’ entirely without men to defend us.”

Callum was sitting in his father’s bedchamber, which now looked more like a war room than a sickbed. There were maps spread out on Laird Lachlan’s covers, and the new captain of the guards was bending over an old moth-eaten chart that Callum had carelessly tossed over his father’s blanket-covered feet.

The guard, whom Kirsty had lured away from his previous posting by promising the man the opportunity to better himself with a promotion to captain and double pay, frowned and shook his head.

“I’m no’ sure o’ that, sir. The new recruits are still wet behind the ears, and even if we arm the footmen and grooms, it will nae be enough to hold off a well-trained troop.”

“Will he bring horses, d’ye think? And if he did, would it give him an advantage? If we place archers on the slope behind us, will it be of any use?”

Callum missed having Dunn by his side already. It had been two days since his friend’s departure, and Kirsty and her husband spent much of the day pacing along the narrow lodge wall parapets next to the gates, looking south for signs of Laird Duncombe’s troops and then whipping their heads north to check for signs of Laird MacGill. It was touch and go whether Gilbert or the conniving Laird Duncombe would arrive first. Kirsty even managed to crack a joke at supper the night before, telling her husband she missed Baron Lloyd’s drunken visitations because at least then they had news about what was happening beyond their own four walls.

This attempt at humor had been enough to bring a wan smile to Callum’s face, but not enough to make it last.

Every moment seemed to hold greater significance to the inhabitants of the lodge. No longer did the tolling of the noontime bell signal the end of dinner or give notice to servants who wanted to take a leisurely afternoon nap. Now, the only thing it meant was the possibility of Laird Duncombe’s troops getting that much closer. Finally, not able to stand the suspense any longer, Callum ordered two footmen to travel south with one of the rouncy ponies and set up a watch for the Duncombe troops.

“At least we’ll have a fair warning,” was his reasoning, but Laird Macanroy worried that the men would be of more use at the lodge.

His son disagreed. “Nay, Faither. Forgive me for overruling yer concern, but even as lazy as I once was, I believe I learned a better understanding of scouts and warnings than ye! Think about it. Would ye rather ken about Duncombe’s arrival when his soldiers crest the hill, or would ye rather ken the news of him coming when he’s still five miles thence?”

And Laird Macanroy had to then agree with his son.

“Losh, Cal, I never thought of it like that. But even so, I feel we need every man here to defend us.”

“One or two more or less will nae make a difference, I can assure ye,” Callum said.

Another reason for Callum’s need to have fair warning of Laird Duncombe’s arrival was that he wanted ample time to hide away his parents and his wife. As much of a spitfire as Kirsty showed herself to be since he had first met her, and for all her protestations that she had enjoyed watching the siege of Mac an Goill from the east wing battlements when she had been a child, he did not want her to witness this. The lodge was sure to fall if help from her brother did not arrive, and Callum did not want his wife to witness the sort of ensuing bloodshed triumphant soldiers could reek on their vanquished enemies.

The two footmen were torn when they received their master’s orders. On the one hand, they were happy to leave the beleaguered lodge and head out to the hills to post as sentries; on the other hand, they had the greatest misgivings about whether they would be safe out there. They were both elderly men, grown old in his lairdship’s service, fond of their creature comforts and the slow pace of life that used to exist on the Macanroy estate. Now they were being commanded to camp outdoors, living rough, for who knew how long. When the bread and cheese in their saddlebag was finished, what would they do for food?

Callum looked grim and replied, “Dinnae fash, men, for I can promise ye the laird’s troops will have crossed the horizon long before yer food runs out and one o’ ye will have had to ride the rouncy back here posthaste to give us the news. As for the fellow who’s left behind, I need ye to watch how events unfold and then take news of the outcome back to Mac an Goil...Laird Gilbert MacGill will want to ken what happened to his sister.”

The old men blanched and then realized that Callum was actually doing them a favor by sending them to be sentries, far away from the fighting, and somewhere they could be of service and safe at the same time. They thanked their young master and made preparations to leave.

Kirsty watched the two old footmen lead the pony away down the road. Where the path curved over the hill that would take them away from view, the men turned around and gave their home one last wave farewell. Kirsty saw this hopeful gesture. She was standing on the gate tower looking over the wall. It was a wooden structure, like most of the lodge edifices, and should have been built out of stone when the laird had the money to do it. But somehow, generation after generation of Macanroys had failed to do so. Thus it was that the lookout towers on either side of the gateway were made of wood—ancient, flammable wood. It was a preposterous situation, but the only thing Kirsty could do about it now was grind her teeth in frustration.

Honestly! The last four generations of Macanroys deserved to have their behinds kicked from here to next Sunday! All that whisky money and all this time, and they had left the lodge in pretty much the same state as what it had been during medieval times—in fact, worse! At least in medieval times, they would have had weaponry.

Kirsty knew there was nothing they could do now but wait and hope. Gilbert made sure to keep a standing army ready to launch into battle at a moment’s notice, but would he give the order for them to do it for her? To help her and her husband? Kirsty had a sense of dread that her brother would prefer to keep himself aloof from the whole business. It was a touchy business going to war with another laird, and she hoped and prayed Dunn had been able to translate the urgency of the situation to her brother without making it sound like an exaggeration. She had to remind herself that history was not fair and that sometimes vice won the day.

The banging and hammering of men trying to fortify the lodge continued through the night, and Callum did not come to bed. He was overseeing the reinforcement of the gate, making sure it could withstand the first onslaught of battle. The air inside the lodge was heavy with smoke as the blacksmith worked all the metal at his disposal into some form of a barricade. The murmur of men’s voices woke her at dawn, and Kirsty could hear they were counting all the old, rusty spears and swords gathered from derelict guard rooms and brought up from cellar corners.

She dressed herself, but this was not because there was no maid. The day before, Kirsty had commanded all the women servants to set about tearing sheets into strips to make bandages. The cook was busy boiling water to soak healing herbs and make cordials. The air was rife with tension.

Then, as the sun rose over the slanting rolling hills surrounding the lodge, a cry was heard coming from the gate, and the bell began to toll.

“Ware! The footman scout approaches!”