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Maybe I didnae bear a part in his death, Arran thought then, but I will bear a part in avenging my brother's death. I shall find a way tae honor Bruce, even if it’s the last thing I do.
His mother’s lips were soft against his cheeks as she kissed him. "Rest," she said. Tears pooled again in her eyes as she shook her head and backed away.
Arran watched his mother – a beautiful, proud woman – as she went; sobbing down the hallway.
CHAPTERONE
The trick was to take a deep breath before releasing his grip. Bruce had taught him as much, all those years ago: "Shut your eyes. Deep breath. Open. Then, release." Arran did exactly that and his arrow swirled through the air, past drooping tree branches and falling brown leaves before landing on its target. His arrow etched itself deeply and perfectly into the bark of the tree.
Arran had spent the entire morning practicing archery. He dismissed thoughts of Bruce as he pulled out another arrow from his bag, set it across his bow, and aimed true.
Today was his birthday. He was twenty-four while Bruce would have been twenty-eight. A dark feeling of grief spread over Arran's chest like a hot, foul liquid as he released his grip on his bow.
Every year on the morning of his birthday before Bruce’s death, his brother woke him up by creeping into his chamber while he was still asleep; scaring him witless. Then, with his green eyes singing victorious glee and his blond curls waving down his forehead – he would clamber over Arran, lower his mouth to his ear and wish him well as loudly and savagely as possible: "La Breithe shona dhuit! A happy birthday tae ye!"
Bruce always had a way of making even the most mundane things seem like magic. Of course, now he couldn’t make magic anymore. He couldn’t do anything. He was dead. He had been dead for twelve years.
Arran tried again to shake the memory of his brother. He channeled his buried memories and emotions into his arm, and leveled another more vicious shot.
"Good one," Adam said beside him before releasing an arrow of his own. Adam was the son of one of his father’s counselors and he had been friends with him and his younger brother, Douglas, since they had been pups.
Neither of them were men of many words and he suspected that was why they enjoyed each other's company. They rode their horses in silence; they practiced their archery and hunted game in silence, save for the occasional talk about the weather, or lauding of an exceptionally fine shot.
"Thank ye," said Arran. "Fine shot yersel." The tip of Adam's arrow lodged itself perfectly between two pieces of large bark on the tree.
Adam grinned and clapped Arran on the back. "Big day today, aye?" he jested, to which Arran shrugged.
Arran did not much care for his birthday but he tried to summon some level of excitement to appease those around him. He cared for his family and his clan, and he knew the castle and its people needed a reason to smile and celebrate, if only for a day.
As was expected, he worked up a smile before gently shrugging Adam's hand off his shoulder. "Aye, I suppose," he answered.
"An’ I can smell the kitchens all the way from here, I tell ya," Adam said. He sauntered off deeper into the woods; patting his stomach playfully as his figure faded in between the trees.
Arran forced a smile as long as Adam was in view. When the trees and their many branches had finally swallowed his friend, he finally relaxed into a scowl. He drew more arrows from his quiver and loosed more than he cared to count.
High above him, the sun was setting red and sinking low into the horizon. He could hear bells ringing from yards away in the castle. If he stepped a plot or two forward, he knew he would smell Cook’s special soup, roast chicken and cream cake. Arran patted his growling stomach at the thought of all the food they were busy preparing for his birthday banquet.
He kicked off the caking of wet dirt that clung to the heel of his boots, then sheathed his bow and collected his arrows. He pulled his coat tightly over his trunk and waded through brambles and short, thorny shrubs as he made for the stables first.
They felt wet and cold, and smelled of dirt, fresh leaves and horse mess. With a sigh, he took off his hunting bag as the horses neighed and ate in silence.
Arran went to find Black Sebastian, Bruce's favorite horse, and patted him gently. He was a sturdy horse, dark as midnight, and proud and brave like his owner had been. Arran tended to the horse despite the stable boy's mild protests; claiming that the future laird need “not concern himself with such lowly tasks”, especially on his birthday.
"It's alright, Jonah. I can handle this," he said to the boy.
He gave Sebastian one last gentle smack on the mane before picking up his bag and bow and making his way to the castle. As he got closer to home, Arran trudged through melting snow. He felt heavier with each step, as if some invisible hand had draped a blanket over him, urging him to stay in the forest, where it was safer, where people didn't expect so much of him. He felt even more dispirited than before he had set off for the stables. Perhaps he shouldn't have paid Sebastian a visit after all.
The great dining hall would be bustling with festive preparations for their futurelaird. Despite his reservations, Arran would not be late for a gathering heldin his honor. When he arrived in the courtyard, there was a frenzy like no other: Cook was yelling at a servant, two guards were huddled in a corner, exchanging passionate words, and Douglas, his younger brother, was standing with his arms crossed over his big chest, his hairy brows set in hard determination.
"Who's stolen yer biscuits now?" said Arran, in jest. Douglas could be so grave sometimes — most of the time, in fact.
As Arran had expected, Douglas’s scowl did not budge. Instead, and perhaps absentmindedly, he rested his hand limply atop his broad, sword belt. It had been clasped tightly around his waist which was thicker and more muscled than any of the boys his age. He barked at a scurrying servant who'd nearly tripped over before him, then fell in line beside Arran.
"We need tae talk."
"Oh, aye! Ambush me right before me birthday banquet, why don’t you" said Arran. "What more could a brither ask for?"
Shoulder to shoulder, they made their way through the castle, which hummed with the chattering servants preparing for the feast. A group of guards parted for them as they strutted past and climbed the stairs.
