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CHAPTER SIX

The huge gates of Houndslow Castle, seat of the McKenna Clan and sometimes known as McKenna Keep, yawned open for the approaching rider. The sloppily dressed soldiers watched curiously as the weary man and his horse came pounding into the unkempt compound, not a one of them even offering to take the horse as they came to a halt.

No matter, though. The rider nearly fell from the horse, stumbling to the stairs of the run-down castle and taking them like a drunken man before being swallowed up by the open door.

If the outside of the keep was appalling, the inside was worse. A foul, heavy stench hung in the air and clung to every occupant like a cloak of death. It was a dank, dirty structure that could have just as well been a barn for animals.

The McKenna were a slovenly people and saw no horror to their existence; it had always been so. Dunbar McKenna sat in a shabby room off of the grand hall, contemplating the fly in his wine as the exhausted rider entered the room.

He glanced up at the young man, his only acknowledgement, before looking back to his drink.

“Ah,” he said. “I heard tale you were riding from Langton. What is it you have come to tell me?”

The man sat heavily on the nearest dilapidated chair, wondering if it were going to collapse under his weight.

“He’s gone and done it,” the man said. “By God’s Blood, if the man has not gone and done it.”

Dunbar drank the wine, fly and all. The cup clattered to the floor where it lay with several others as he rose and faced the window, hands clasped behind his back thoughtfully. “Then I pity him,” he said finally.

“I always knew Thomas Scott to be somewhat of an idiot, but I never knew the man to be weak,” he said. “Who did he pledge?”

“Who else? Jordan,” the rider replied, needing drink but not really wanting it from McKenna stores.

Dunbar mulled over that information. “So he pledged his beauteous Jordan, his only child, to the English warlord,” he chuckled bitterly. “For peace.”

“Aye, he did,” the young rider said. “He could have pledged Caladora or my sister, but he dinna. He pledged the only Scott woman worth anything.”

“Pity,” Dunbar repeated. “I was hoping to obtain the girl for me own boy, Abner. As ye know, I have pressed Thomas Scott for years to broker a contract, but he wouldna. It seems me boy wasna good enough for his baby Jordan. But by pledging her to the English lord he is insulting the entire McKenna clan. He is saying that the English are better than we.”

Malcolm Scott shifted uneasily in his chair. He knew Dunbar McKenna to be a volatile man and capable of much violence. He hoped that the man would not take this obvious insult out on him.

Malcolm was the second son of Matthew Scott, Thomas’ youngest brother. He had never quite fit in to the family with his mean streak and shabby character, and by befriending Abner McKenna, he had come to know Dunbar and think of him as more of a father than his own.

Which was why Dunbar was the first laird outside of Clan Scott to know that the English king had sent a missive proposing peace. It had then become Malcolm’s job to inform Dunbar of the decision so appropriate action could be taken against the Scotts.

The McKenna were an aggressive clan and they would rather take a dirk in the heart than live peaceably with the English. For them, there was only war. It was the common hate and the common love that they all shared. Even though they were not truly allied with the Scott clan, they were more than happy to come to their aid in a border skirmish. Anything that meant killing the English.

The McKenna were a smaller clan, numbering only about one hundred fifty men, in comparison to the six hundred that the Scotts claimed. But the McKenna were widely considered the rabble of the border and were simply tolerated because no one truly wanted to oppose them for fear that they would turn their aggressions on them instead of the English.

But, clearly, something had to be done about Thomas Scott’s treasonous act, especially in lieu of the fact that it cut into Dunbar’s greater plan. He was hoping to rely heavily on the Scotts when he united the border clans and proceed to raid and destroy every English fortress along the border, breaking down the English powerhold so that, eventually, the Scots would retain all control of their stretch of the border. This included tariffs, goods and services; anything that would fill coffers.

The McKenna of the McKenna Clan sighed darkly; if he did not regain control of Thomas Scott, then his plans could be ruined. He had been suspicious of the English messenger when Malcolm had first told him of the arrival, but he truly had no idea what the missive contained. Yet, in faith, he had suspected something. Thomas Scott had been waging a fierce war against one of the largest English fortresses for some time and Dunbar believed the message might possibly be a peace proposal.

He could not complete his plan without the Scott Clan. He needed their support, as daft as his scheme was. Yet Dunbar could be convincing, and he knew once he gained support from one clan, ’twould be a small matter of snowballing the effect until the entire border was united, once and for all. No one knew of his strategy as of yet, not even Malcolm. When the time was right, all concerned would be enlightened.

With Dunbar, it was always a grand scheme. The grander the better, and if it did not work out, then he always found someone else to blame and moved on. But this plan was by far his greatest, except that Thomas Scott had thrown a ferret into the hen-house with his damnable peace overture.

He had to do something about the Scotts. Mayhap if he could convince the English that somehow Thomas had gone back on his word, then he would not have to go to Thomas directly. Aye; a little underhanded work was just the cure for an errant laird.

Dunbar signed. “Then we shall take action,” he said. “Malcolm, how many bolts of Scott tartan can ye muster?”

Malcolm looked thoughtful. “Mayhap five or so. Why?”

Dunbar turned to him with a wry smile. “Think, lad; undoubtedly the English lord Jordan is pledged to will send a mighty escort to return her to England. They will be passing into enemy land, lad, their only safety guaranteed by the word of Laird Scott.” Dunbar sat in his heavy oak chair with a look of thoughtful glee. “Say, upon return, the English army is attacked from over the border by hundreds of Scotts. ’Twill look as if Thomas has gone back on his word, changed his mind and is attempting to rescue his daughter. We shall leave enough of the English alive to return to their laird and report what has happened. This will bring the whole bloody question of a treaty to an end.”

Malcolm was a little stunned. “Ye mean…ye mean to dress yer men in Scott colors to make it look as if the Scott’s are attacking?”

“Exactly, laddie,” Dunbar said smugly.