Chapter Thirty
Clyde Stewart observedhis most trusted men. The leaders of four loyal clans stood with him. He settled into a chair that resembled a throne, as the air grew thick with anticipation for his counsel.
A knock at the door interrupted the gathering’s focus. A messenger from Clan Gordon entered and reported, “Me laird, a Sinclair soldier has information ye’ll want to hear.”
Clyde gave a nod, allowing the young soldier, Connor Sinclair, to enter and deliver his dire news. He spoke of secret alliances and ominous preparations. “The McAfee clan gathers strength, me laird. Many clans join them. They prepare for war.”
Silence filled the chamber as they weighed Connor’s words against the consequences. Each man sensed a tightening bond of kinship and loyalty. Eyes met, acknowledging the challenges ahead. Clyde considered the path honor demanded—war loomed on the horizon, and they must meet it with cunning and force.
In the tense atmosphere, Clyde prompted further discussion with a deliberate gesture. The lairds leaned forward expectantly while Connor remained steadfast under scrutiny.
“Ye’ve seen the clans gather,” Clyde asked, “but what of their numbers? Their armaments?” His question lingered like mist over the moors.
Connor spoke, “They train with sword and shield, knives, and the bow and arrow, me laird. Their numbers swell like rivers in spring. It seems more soldiers arrive every day.”
“How many does McAfee command?” pressed Laird Cameron.
“More than two score clans, each with scores of able men,” Connor replied.
Clyde addressed Connor, “Choose a new banner to follow for yer loyalty has been proven.”
“I wish to join the Stewarts,” Connor replied, cognizant of where the power in the group was coming from.
“Then it shall be so,” Clyde decreed, dismissing Connor. “Wait here for me, and I’ll introduce ye to the leader of me army.
Connor frowned. “Ye dinnae lead yer own men?”
Clyde shook his head. “Nay, I plan the battles, and I make the alliances. I leave the fighting to the soldiers.” Clyde wasn’t sure why anyone would think he would be involved with the dirty job of leading and training men.
As the door closed, Clyde began pacing. “This changes our plans,” he stated. “We must move up the timeline of our attack, and it must now be focused on the McAfees.”
“We must unite all our allies,” agreed Laird MacKenzie.
“Train we must, for battle comes upon swift wings,” added Laird Cameron.
Laird Sutherland smiled. “We will beat them. Our numbers are vast, and our men are loyal.”
Clyde paced, his face betraying the fact he wasn’t listening to the other lairds. “Yet how did the secret get out? How did the McAfee women come to know our intentions?” Clyde mused aloud.
“It was me son, Lucas,” confessed Laird Gordon. “He spoke out of turn to Ailis McAfee when he was well into his cups. The three boys tried to get the sisters drunk and managed to becomedrunk themselves.” He shook his head. “The boy understands that he hurt our cause, but it’s too late to change things now.”
Clyde halted his pacing. “Such breaches cannot be tolerated. We stand upon the precipice, and loose tongues may cast us into the abyss. He must be punished for his disloyalty.”
“Forgive the boy,” pleaded Laird Gordon. “He is young and doesn’t yet understand the game of kings and lairds.”
“Let this be the last of such follies,” Clyde warned. “For the next may cost more than words can repay. What if they’d been told the day and location of our attack?”
The Stewart’s gaze was cold and angry as he stared at the heavy wooden door. “Bring me Lucas,” he commanded. The chamber fell silent, lairds standing like ancient oaks.
The door swung open, revealing a young man with a confident stride: Lucas Gordon. He hesitated under the weight of his father’s legacy as he approached the table.
“Ye ken the gravity of yer actions?” Clyde’s voice came in a steely whisper. His eyes didn’t stray from Lucas.
Lucas trembled beneath Clyde’s piercing gaze. The gathered lairds encircled him, their faces etched with grim determination and unwavering judgment. The meeting room seemed to close in around Lucas, the once grand tapestries and flickering torches now looming as silent witnesses to his disgrace.
“I-I beg yer forgiveness, Laird Stewart,” Lucas stammered. He dared not meet Clyde’s eyes, instead fixing his gaze upon the cold stone floor. “I acted rashly, without thought fer the consequences. I see now the folly of me actions.”
Clyde remained unmoved, his broad shoulders squared and his jaw set firm. “Ye betrayed the trust of yer clan, Lucas. Ye were disloyal to yer own kin, giving our enemies information that was not theirs to have. Such treachery cannot go unpunished.”
