Page 76 of The Beast

Stuart had not held back. Flank after flank of horsemen rode in from the shore and through the forest. Stuart, with his huge bow strapped to his back, rode forward, flanked by Gideon and Ewan, all of whom wore the Ross clan tartan of green and black.

Eager to join their brothers, both he and Caelan had already mounted and rode to the front to see what happened.

The men on the ground stood in a large circle. They were outmanned but did what they could to defend themselves. Horsemen blocked their access to the bìrlinns they’d come in on. They were surrounded.

“We seek an audience with Laird Ross to ask for asylum,” a large muscled, heavily bearded man spoke out. “We fled for our lives.”

Stuart looked over to Duncan. As the eldest one present, he had the last word. However, the men before them did not have to know that. He gave his brother a slight nod, letting him know to make the decision.

“What clan do ye claim?”

The muscled man looked to his men. “Maclean, but no longer.” He then continued, “I am called Lennox.”

“Build a larger fire to keep warm. Ye and yer men will be escorted to another place in the morning. My men will remain,” Stuart said. He then ordered the guardsmen to remain and keep the newcomers from leaving.

Instead of returning to the keep, all four brothers rode to the house with a large contingency of guardsmen.

Half of the men would sleep inside the house on the floor of the great room and parlor. Another twenty or so would crowd into the stables. A few would sleep in the guardroom and storehouse.

Somehow a place was found for everyone.

The four brothers went upstairs to the sitting room as every other room downstairs was taken. Gara and Firtha, along with the new chambermaid rushed to and fro, immediately heating fermented cider to warm the cold men.

Knowing it was fruitless to try to stop the eager women, neither Duncan nor Caelan tried to talk them out of it.

Within moments of sitting, the young lad, Ivan, entered with cups of the hot cider for them as well.

“I am glad to see ye have returned,” Stuart said, and then kept silent. He was the type of man, who waited to be informed of things—unless it was urgent. His hazel gaze roamed over the faces of the others and he raked a hand through his dark shoulder length hair. “I am not sure what to think about them. They could be here as spies for the Maclean.”

“Aye, that was my first thought,” Caelan said.

Gideon nodded. “One of us should return to the keep. To ensure none of them snuck through.” He frowned at Duncan. “When did ye get back?”

Ewan, who was almost identical in looks to Stuart stood. “Perhaps Gideon is right. I will ride back to the keep and ensure all is well.” He put his cup down. “I will ensure the keep is well secured until ye arrive in the morning.” After a long look at Duncan, he lifted an eyebrow. “Ye look as if ye’ve been dragged behind yer horse.”

Chapter Twenty

Stuart lay on a pallet in front of the fireplace in Duncan’s bedchamber. Gideon was in the bedchamber across the corridor, usually used by their mother. No one wanted to sleep in Beatrice’s.

“Why did ye not wish to reply today when the man asked to speak to our laird?” Stuart asked looking up at the ceiling.

If anyone would make an exceptional laird, it was Stuart. He had an even temperament and was a fair man; he thought decisions through. Feeling better suited for battle than leading, Duncan preferred that his brother cede lairdship duties to Stuart or Caelan over him.

“I have never aspired to be laird, nor leader other than perhaps with warriors. Even then, sometimes my judgment is clouded by my past. I do not trust it.”

The silence that stretched indicated Stuart was measuring his words. “Each of us has their own strengths. It is good for a man to recognize his strengths and limitations.”

Despite the hole in his chest left from Beatrice’s absence, Duncan chuckled at his carefully phrased reply.

The next morning went without anything of alarm to note. As planned, they escorted the Maclean’s to where they could keep an eye on them. They were to be housed in the abandoned building that Duncan and Beatrice had sought shelter in. With the bitter cold and being disarmed, the men posed little threat.

“It would have been better if we could leave guards behind, but I am trusting that the weather will prevent them from doing too much harm,” Stuart said as they overlooked the settling of the asylum seekers.

Men arrived from the nearby village with blankets and basic food that would hold the men for several weeks.

Lennox, the muscular man who’d been appointed spokesperson came to where Duncan and Stuart stood. “My men and I have pooled our coins and would like to pay for the items ye brought.”

“Keep it,” Stuart replied. “Ye will need it to purchase more provisions. My brother, Darach, Laird Ross, will be returning and when he does, we will send word for ye to come and speak to him.”