Page 1 of The Lion

Chapter One

Dún Láidir, Keep Ross

Summer 1601

The loud argument between the men that stood before him did not deter others in the great hall from trying to be heard above their shouts. Another group of people stood in a circle to the side yelling insults. Behind the group, a pair of men were tied at the wrists with guards standing watch, as the binds did not keep them from kicking at each other.

A fire had been lit in the hearth that morning, while it was still cold in the room and now the combination of the heat and stench of unwashed bodies crammed into the space made it overwhelmingly difficult to concentrate.

Darach Ross, pushed back a lock of blond hair that fell over his brow and leaned forward in an attempt to hear what the supplicants before him were arguing about, but he was barely able to decipher their issues since both yelled at each other more than trying to explain their complaints to him.

When he could not get the men to settle, he looked to his brother Stuart who was leaning forward staring at the men as if attempting to read their lips. His brother’s hazel gaze moved from one man to the other, while he fiddled with an arrow in his hands.

“I cannot hear what is being said. Is it possible to remove some of the people to another space?” Darach asked Cairn McKinney, a member of his council, who sat to his right.

The older man looked from one side of the room to the other, and Darach did the same, taking in the desperate expressions of those present. Every person in the room was looking to him to somehow fix their situation. Most were dirty and much too thin, with the pale hollow eyes of someone with no hope.

Hunger he could help with; disillusionment and distrust were another story.

Upon realizing Darach was distracted, the men in front of him became furious and began screaming at him directly.

“Do ye even hear me, Laird?” one yelled.

“Ye do not care, do ye?” the other screamed.

“Enough!” Darach roared and stood to his full height, towering over the men from the high board. “I am yer laird and will not tolerate insolence.”

At Darach’s exclamation, the room quieted. The silence was short-lived because just then on the far side of the crowded room a fight broke out. The pair who’d been bound had somehow gotten loose and were now brawling. When they fell onto a table, the people there just cheered and shoved them away.

The guardsmen in the room pushed their way through the crowd to the fighters, pulled the men apart, and dragged them out to the courtyard. People jeered loudly at the end of their entertainment.

Darach motioned for one of his personal guards to come closer.

“I want twenty warriors to come at once. Enough of this unruliness. Take those in the back half of the room outside. Except for the women and children. They can remain.”

In short order, the warriors entered the room. Groups of people were herded out, some peacefully, while others had to be beaten over the head with flat swords or prodded forward with shields.

Taking advantage of the distraction, a group of women rushed up and tugged at Darach’s tunic to get his attention. One woman spoke for the group, tears streaming down her face. She trembled when he looked at her. “My laird, we’ve come to beg for food. Our bairns are hungry, our elderly are dying, and yer reply is to have the guardsmen beat and drag us away.”

Darach groaned but kept from raising his voice. Already the women shrunk back each time he looked from one to the other. He had given specific instructions that no women be taken out, and no child pushed away. But of course, that would not be the story they told once they returned to their villages.

Even bundled up with cloaks and with blankets around their bodies, it was evident the women were too thin, their faces gaunt, their eyes dull. One held a child against her chest that clung to its mother while crying softly.

“I will not send ye away hungry. Gather all the bairns, women, and any elderly who are here, and go to the dining hall. Food will be brought,” Darach said and motioned for his youngest brother Gideon, part of the warrior force, to come forward. “Ensure that Mother and Ella are aware that these people need to be fed.”

At eight and twenty, Gideon had turned from a lanky lad into a well-toned, muscled man. With dark wavy hair and the same hazel-colored eyes as him, no one would question his lineage. His brother nodded and raced to find their mother and sister.

“There may be too many to feed on such short notice,” Cairn, the councilman, neared and declared. At Darach’s glare, he held both hands up. “I only say what I see.”

“Go and eat,” Darach urged the women who remained in place, looking between him and Cairn. They hurried toward the dining hall, telling others as they walked by to follow them to get a meal.

Most of the women and elderly in the great hall shuffled out, urged by the prospect of a good meal. The few that remained were either quarreling or standing behind their husbands or fathers, who were busy complaining—loudly—about the injustices done against them by Darach’s late father.

The argumentative men, who had waited impatiently for him to return, were each given a stipend and sent to see the stablemaster to get a sack of oats each for their livestock.

Another group comprised of four farmers approached and demanded answers on how they were to defend their land. Unfulfilled promises by Darach’s late father were repeated.

One man’s ragged face contorted with rage. “Laird, we come to ye to ask for help, which has been sorely lacking. For months now, we’ve struggled to feed our wives and children. Ye must understand, Laird, our land is no longer fertile. Yer late father kept us from rotating the fields, demanding that we plant on all of them at once.