Page 2 of A Fearless Rebel

Keithen admired the planning of the field from which the cook could harvest different items for daily meals.

A dog and its two pups raced to his horse, the tiny beasts not seeming to care that his horse could easily trample them.

When Keithen dismounted, one of the pups bit his boot. The tiny beast growled and shook its head side-to-side.

The mother dog looked on, her eyes moving up to him as if apologizing for her unruly pup. If he’d not been in pain from the cuts, he would have taken time to greet the dogs, but upon straightening, he felt a bit lightheaded.

“What have ye gotten yerself into, Boy?” his aunt, Matilde, called from the doorway. “Ye’re a bloody mess again.”

A shrill whistle sounded, and the dogs turned and ran to his uncle, Hamish, who gave Keithen a once over and shook his head. “Ye’re going to end up dead one of these days.” The older man grabbed Gallant’s reins and led the huge beast away.

Knowing he’d be treated to fresh oats and perhaps some carrots, the horse went with him as meek as a mouse.

An animal lover, his uncle enjoyed any time spent with a steed like Gallant.

Inside the house, Keithen was greeted by the aroma of food and bread. He dared not ask to be fed, as his aunt was already cross with him for, once again, showing up beaten, bloody, and without an explanation.

“Take yer tunic off and come sit over here,” Matilde instructed while motioning for a maid to pour water into a bowl. “Just know if yer father or mother ask us about this, we will not lie for ye.”

Keithen nodded and winced when she took a wet cloth and began to clean out his wound. “That hurts.”

“It should,” she replied in a flat tone. “I’m going to have to sew it up.”

“The fields look good,” Keithen told her. “The garden is beautiful.”

“Yer uncle has taken over gardening. We’ve got a helper now, too. Young lad from the village. He’s building a small house for himself and his wife over on the creek’s side.”

Sometimes, Keithen envied the simple life of the villagers. They lived pretty much as they pleased. Unless, of course, they were attacked by warring lairds.

Matilde was his father’s sister, a simple woman who’d married the third born son. Although they were not well off, they lived a good life on land that had been granted to them by his grandfather.

Often as young children, Keithen and his sister, Esme, had spent long days there at the small keep. His aunt and uncle, who’d had a son the same age as Esme, had enjoyed having more children there.

“Where is Jamie?” Keithen asked, referring to his cousin.

“Gone to work for yer uncle across the river. Ye know he never wished to remain here. I am not sure exactly what he does, but he lives at the keep. He came here not too long ago with the guard force,” she said, referring to a few months earlier when Clan Mackenzie had attacked Keithen’s home. His uncle, John Fraser, laird to a larger clan than his, had sent several hundred warriors to defend them.

“Aye, I remember seeing Jamie then. We didn’t have time to speak.”

“Perhaps ye should consider going to visit yer uncle for a spell as well. Keep yerself out of trouble. It will kill yer mother if I tell her.”

Keithen knew his aunt wouldn’t tell her. At least he hoped so. “I am doing what I do to protect someone’s honor.”

“Does the person need that sort of protection?” his aunt asked. “Sometimes, what the person who is dishonored needs is time to heal and to forget. Seeing more hurt and sorrow will not help them.”

*

Last meal was being served when Keithen finally arrived at his home. He’d had to ride Gallant hard to make it back at a time that would not cause too many questions.

He did his best not to stumble to the nearest table, where he settled and instantly began to eat. His aunt had refused to give him more than a drink of ale as punishment for not telling her what he’d been up to. The woman loved him and always saw to his injuries, so he understood her frustration with him.

When someone poked him in the shoulder, Keithen turned to find Broden. Broden was a guard and his close friend. The large man gave him a bland look. “Yer father wishes to speak to ye.”

Keithen tore off a piece of bread and shoved it in his mouth and then stood to follow Broden from the room. “Did Father eat already?”

“Nay. He’s been in here with the council.”

That statement did not bode well. Something was amiss. Hunger and discomfort were immediately forgotten as he entered his father’s study.