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Pa rose to his feet, despondent as he parleyed with Laird MacKenzie.
Arran lost sight of the men as they stepped away, for he was too short to see. He edged away from the window and reached for his sturdy toy trunk. He pushed it to the window, then climbed atop it, steadying himself with arms. One poor maneuver, and he suddenly lost his footing.
The boy yelled as he toppled backward and landed with a cruel thud on the floor of his chambers, the chest of his belongings spilling open with wooden and ivory toys. To his dismay, hidden among the junk, was the purse of stones he had searched for.
Arran swept the stones up and let out a devastated whimper. It wasn’t long before another wail came to join his own, as an ear-splitting cry rang through the castle walls.
He ran to the window to find that the MacKenzie soldiers had departed. All that was left in their wake was a wretched battleground dotted with patches of ripped armor, surrendered swords and helmets, and Bruce's body. The servants heaved him off the ground and arranged him onto a cart, their movements heavy and solemn.
The screams had come from his mother. She was clutching at her chest, calling for her son as they wheeled his lifeless body away. Pa stood before her, his head lowered in sorrow, trying to take his wife in his embrace. Their words were clear against the quiet of the courtyard.
"Nae, ye could nae have!" Ma was wailing. She pushed against Pa. "How could ye?"
"Ava, I beg of ye, please," said Pa; urging her to lower her voice.
"I cannae have it. Nae!" She shook her head hard and cried more desperately.
"He's vowed it, Ava. He's vowed it," said Pa.
"An' ye are tae take their word for it, are ye now? We are tae believe it? My own lad! The first o' my loins. An’ now they want another!" She staggered backward; holding herself in her own embrace. Pa's arms reached out to steady her but she shrugged him off.
"He's vowed it on his sword, he did."
"I will hear nae more ’o this. Nae, I refuse this," she declared.
"We dinnae have a choice, Ava. Ye ken what happens," he said more quietly. "We have lost, an' Laird MacLean has vowed tae take care o' our clan."
"Yer a man, Lamont. Yer a soldier," she spat. "Ye above all others know that words hold no weight without a pact."
His father took pause. His shoulders sank as he let out a heavy gust of breath. "I know, Ava. Tis why I asked fo’ something tangible to secure the peace between us."
Arran watched Ma's head jerk up, her eyes shooting daggers at her husband. "What did ye ask for? What did ye ask for, Lamont?"
"I asked for his lass's hand in marriage... to our Arran."
Arran jolted backward. Impossible, he thought. Nae, he must have misheard. He dashed out of his chamber and followed the sound of his mother's voice until he was standing across the yard from his parents; panting and struggling for breath.
"What are ye saying, Lamont?" Ma asked, before catching sight of Arran.
"I'm saying as o' today, our Arran is betrothed to Laird MacKenzie's eldest lass."
"Nae!" Arran cried.
Arran’s mother came to settle before him. She drew her arms around him and he cried into her embrace; her linen gown wet with both of their tears, her shoulders shaking as Arran felt her trying to suppress her mountain of grief. “Ma boy,” she hummed.
He untangled from his mother's hold. "Maybe," he started but stopped short as another wicked tremor swept through his body. "Maybe he'll change his mind, Ma? Maybe it was a mistake and tomorrow he'll change his mind."
His mother nodded, her eyes filled with empty encouragement. Without another word, she looped lightly over his shoulder and led him to his chambers like a specter, stopping only once they reached his door.
Arran watched his mother sway on her feet as she pushed the door open and wept. "It's my fault, Ma," he began.
She wiped her cheeks, snapping out of her daze. "What do ye mean?"
"I...I wanted tae help him,” he whimpered. “Tae help Bruce. The soldiers surrounded him, and he was all alone and I searched everywhere for my stones I wanted tae distract so he could escape." He buried his face in his hands. "But too slow, I was. Too late."
"Oh, my dear Arran." His mother reached for him but Arran shrugged her off. He refused to be comforted any longer.
"It's not yer fault, Arran," she said fiercely. "Ye bear no blame in this, no part! Do ye hear me?"
