Page 37 of Highland Storm

“Aye,” Keane said, stepping in front of Lianae, and for the first time in her adult life, Lianae hid behind a man. Only belatedly did she realize that these men also wore the king’s livery.

“Dinna mind these laggards,” the youngest of the three said. He came closer to show his face. “We come as friends… with a bit o’ news.”

Chapter

Thirteen

King Henry of England was dead, felled, not by a broadsword, but by a lump of eels. Rumors were circulating that he’d been poisoned, and he’d left no clear heir.

At one point, Henry had supported his Empress daughter, but Matilda had since roused the rebels against him, and so the instant Henry was pronounced dead, the king’s nephew, Stephen of Blois, rushed to England to seize his throne whilst Matilda remained in Anjou, supporting rebels against her dead father. These were not the actions of a beloved daughter and the people of England bore the Empress little love. Unfortunately for King David’s niece, they gave Stephen a king’s welcome, embracing him as the new sovereign lord. Stephen was crowned on the twenty-second day of December; and the matter was settled. But perhaps not entirely…

The three messengers had been sent by David mac Mhaoil Chaluim. They settled themselves before the fire, partaking of the evening’s meal—a fact no one saw fit to complain about, because they’d brought along with bit o’ news a bit o’ bread and ale—gritty ale and stale bread, though on a cold night like this, even dirty ale was a far more welcome than tea. At hearing the news, even Keane had a taste for a wee dram tonight.

The youngest of the three messengers had broken the news. Keane recognized him from Keppenach, where he served Jaime. The other two served the king directly. Peering at Lianae—wondering how this should change his plans—he cut away at an arrow fletch, trimming it whilst he listened to the report. Lianae sat beside him, leaning against his shoulder—a fact that may have pleased him were it not for the simple fact that the discussion at hand brought with it an undeniable note of dread. A wolf howled in the distance, the sound mournful and prophetic.

“Matilda claims she’ll nae kneel to Stephen,” Luc said, while the elder messenger stuffed a chunk of meat into his gob and then followed it with half a loaf of stale bread.

“What d’ ye suppose it’ll mean for Scotland?” Murdoch asked.

“He’s her uncle, ye ken,” he elder messenger said, speaking of David. “So he rallies his liegemen, even now.”

By virtue of his marriage, David mac Mhaoil Chaluim would no doubt claim all of Northumbria, though Stephen of Blois was bound to oppose him. Keane brushed a thumb across the sharp blade of his knife, directing his question to Luc. “Where is he now?”

“Keppenach for the moment. He awaits the MacKinnon’s response to a call for arms.”

“MacKinnon?” Cameron interjected. He slid Keane a glance.

The messenger nodded. “They sent cartloads of grain and men enough to see Chreagach Mhor rebuilt—I saw them off myself. All he asks in return is for MacKinnon’s alliance once the time arrives.”

A few weeks ago Chreagach Mhor had burned to the ground—storehouses, silos, supplies, all lost. Keane knew this secondhand, because Aidan never bothered to send him word. At the moment, his brother was not his greatest fan.

Peering down at his feet, Cameron offered, “MacKinnon has rarely chosen sides.” But the fact that he did not reveal his kinship left Keane curious.

The quiet messenger spoke up now, struggling around mouthfuls of food. “Word is… he will now… his wife is heir to Aldergh, in the disputed lands… her father has died.”

The disputed lands were in essence the entirety of Northumbria—land that had been mostly enfeoffed to David, albeit with Henry as his lord. It was an arrangement that suited both kings, only because the two were thick as thieves. This was not the case with Stephen of Blois, and David would waste little time in fortifying his claims. So long as MacKinnon swore fealty to David, giving Aldergh to him should suit David well. However, should Ian choose to do so, he would clearly be taking Matilda’s side. It was a gamble to be sure, for there was none to say Stephen would remain seated upon England’s throne.

Cameron tilted the man a look. “An’ so ye say FitzSimon is dead?”

The same messenger nodded, his lips shining with grease. “According to Broc Ceannfhionn. I hear tell the man was slain by MacKinnon’s brat—that boy who was held by FitzSimon some years past.”

“Malcom?”

“Aye, that’s the one.” The messenger swiped at his mouth with a dirty sleeve. “Guess he’s no longer a wee one.”

The flames cast a feverish hue on the faces surrounding the fire. Outside the glow of the campfire, the night had long turned black.

“Imagine that,” the elder messenger said. “The boy put thirty inches of good steel into his granpappy’s belly and he gets tae keep the spoils. I’d say ’twas vengeance well done.”

For a moment, the camp went silent, each man considering this fact. Justice, it seemed, was as fickle as the Highland weather. After a moment, Cameron asked, “So, then… David plans to approve the claim to Aldergh?”

“Something like that.” It was Luc who now replied. The other two sat, staring across the fire at Keane, devouring their meals whilst they assessed Lianae.

“Willie here—” The elder man waved a hand at his silent companion— “overheard him say he planned to send troops to Carlisle within the week.”

“We’ll go to war,” Cameron said.

“Aye, well, war is what ’twill be.”