“Aye, Father.”
The week dragged on for Sawny. His brother and cousins and kin did a fair job of keeping him occupied while they traversed the hills and moors and valleys in search of rogue MacIntoshes who might trespass. And the opportunity to take out those aggressions on said MacIntoshes helped alleviate some of Sawny’s irritations.
Some irritations, though not all of them.
For decades, the MacIntoshes contested much of the Keppoch MacDonald lands, and though the MacDonalds had won the land back outright, so many MacIntoshes believed the land still belonged to them.
As if the Highlanders did not have enough to worry about with the Campbells and the Oath hanging over their heads, the Keppochs also had to deal with MacIntosh leeches.
In fact, Sawny was so focused on his nuptials, which was only days away, and the preparations he had been coerced into making with his mother, that he did not notice the MacIntosh lads until he was right upon them.
They had been fishing in a loch on his lands – one that Sawny oft used for bathing when the weather was fine. He reined his horse back hard, and Barclay’s front hooves leapt off the ground. Gripping the saddle with his thighs, Sawny spun the horse around and drew his sword. The noise of his steed and the ringing of his sword from his sheath on his back caught the attention of the lads who splashed as they jumped back from the reedy water’s edge.
They were younger than he was, perchance the age of Adaira’s youngest brothers, yet they were old enough to know better. Why they decided to risk their necks and venture onto his land was a mystery, but Sawny would correct their error. Yet, their dark green and red plaids were stained and disheveled. From the smirks on their faces, they seemed to know exactly where they were and what they were doing.
Sawny would have to disabuse them of their pride.
They each drew their swords as they leapt onto their horses, ready to meet him head-on.
Fools. How did they not know any warrior worth his salt never took on a more skilled force without strategy? And not straight on. Especially young men not fully grown into manhood. They waved their swords like lads play-fighting.
“A bit lost, are ye?” he called out as he shifted in his saddle until his steed was at more of an angle to the lads.
Their arms clenched, and one of the lads, more muscled and closer to full manhood than the other by Sawny’s guess, thrust his chin forward.
“Nay. Ye are lost. These are MacIntosh lands by right.”
Sawny snorted. “By right? By thievery is more like it. Ye canna have our lands. We bested ye in no’ one but two battles on that issue.”
“Keppochs are the only thieves I know,” the older lad spat out before shifting in his saddle. His sword was loose in his grip.
Sawny tensed, ready for their move, and angled his sword tight against his side, his grip strong and ready for them. They rushed him, riding side by side directly towards his horse. Sawny figured if he attacked the older lad first, the younger would be more agreeable to leaving with his injured kin.
Kicking his heels into Barclay’s haunches, the beast leaped forward and around the older lad’s side. With a light sweep of his sword – enough to cut the lad’s tunic and graze his skin – Sawny caught the MacIntosh lad across his sword arm.
The lad cried out and lowered his sword to favor his injured arm. The blade had sliced precisely through his tunic sleeve to his arm, and a thin trickle of blood stained the heather-colored fabric in a deep red umber. ‘Twas only a flesh wound — Sawny made sure of that. Enough to scare the lads away, but the MacIntosh lad was pale and looked as though Sawny had cut him to the bone.
Och, the damage Sawny could do if he desired. The lad should consider himself lucky.
Sawny circled behind them, his dripping sword upraised.
“’Twas a warning, lads, one ye can take home to your chieftain, reminding him of what happens when MacIntoshes encroach on Keppoch lands.”
The younger lad had nudged his horse closer to his kin, his face a fretful mask of concern and embarrassed pain.
Sawny narrowed his eyes at the younger man. “Get ye gone, and be sure to tell your kin that next time they dare venture onto our lands, my sword will cut deep.”
With a sullen look back over his shoulder, the older lad nickered at his horse, reining him back east toward the MacIntosh lands, the younger lad following.
Exactly as Sawny presumed he would.
Too easy.The MacIntoshes were no warriors. They whined and complained about land or when the Keppoch MacDonalds reived MacIntosh cattle, yet caved easily when it came time to put up a fight.
Mayhap a flesh wound was just the thing to remind the sore losers what awaited them when they overstepped the boundary line.
Sawny sheathed his sword on his back and swung his horse toward home. Time to finish preparations for his wedding.
Chapter Six
