Page 5 of Fearless Heart
“What do you make of that?” Brodin asked.
“I don’t ken. Strange. No one knows we’re here.” He opened the parchment and read the short line.
Come to my tent. Laird Fraser, Da.
“What does it say?” Graeme reached out to grasp the missive from him, but he crumbled it in his hand before he could do so.
“It’s from my father. He wants to see me.”
“Aye, go. We’ll keep searching for Gilroy and if I find him before you, you owe me the coin. We’ll meet at the corral,” Brodin said.
Heath nodded, but then stopped him. “If you find Gilroy, get him out of here and to safety. I’ll meet you back at the caves.”
Graeme, Brodin, and Liam headed off in different directions. He didn’t want his comrades to get caught should they have to wait for each other. It was best they separate in their search of the lad and leave straight off if they found him.
On his way to his father’s tent, he pulled his hood lower, because many of the people gathered near the ale barrels. He passed as quickly as he could and kept going until he reached the outskirts of the festival. There, many a tent erected for visitor’s rest. His clan’s tent wasn’t hard to spot for he’d set a banner above which waved in the early afternoon breeze.
How he missed beholding the image of the buck on the banner he’d held dear his entire life. Their war cry ‘I am ready’ came to mind, and he laughed, for he wasn’t ready to see his father. It had been at least three years, not since the battle at Methven, since they’d spoken. When he’d last seen him, their rejoin was verily agreeable. And yet, Heath approached with caution.
It wasn’t that he distrusted his father–it was more that he trusted no one in these uncertain times. Two sentries stood guard outside the tent. He stopped before them and recognized two of his clan’s favored soldiers. John and Lagan were most trustworthy and seasoned guardsmen of their clan. At least his father took precaution.
“Heath, ‘tis good you came. Ye look well. Your father bids you enter.” John bowed his head and waved his hand toward the opening.
But he hesitated. He wasn’t sure who else was within and he didn’t want to be recognized by any of the Bruce’s followers. Earlier in the year, the king put a price on their heads when Liam was found and tortured. Fortunately, Liam’s wife Makenna rescued him from Stirling’s dungeons and the king’s decree of execution. Heath and his comrades were listed as treasonous against Robert. Even though the king decided to negate the price and soon after he retracted the order. Regardless, they couldn’t take the chance that someone wouldn’t want to apprehend them.
Lagan stepped aside and motioned for him to go in with a flap of his hand. “It’s safe. None are inside but Laird Fraser. He’s alone. We’re to ensure none enter whilst ye are here.”
He gave a firm nod and entered. Inside the darkened tent, only one candle flamed to lighten the abode. He found his father leaning over a parchment near the candle. His light hair appeared grayer now and his bright eyes more faded. The wisps of his hair and beard unruly as if he’d stood on a windy mountainous peak. In his younger years, Laird Fraser was a fit warrior. Proud and strong. And now, not so with the way he bent over the table, peering at the missive.
“Why do you keep it so dark?”
His father turned at the sound of his voice. “Heath, my son. It does these old eyes good to see you. Come, come.”
He laughed. “You might see me and the parchment better if you lit a few more candles.”
His father scoffed. “The brightness hurts my eyes.”
“Have you received unfavorable news?” He pointed to the parchment.
Laird Fraser shrugged his shoulder. “All news is ill-boding these days. Come and sit with me. I am gladdened you came. It has been too long, my son, since I’ve seen ye.”
He did as bidden and sat in the chair across from his. “How did you ken I was here?”
“Even if my eyesight is poor, I still have eyes about. Lagan saw ye by the corral. He knew it was you for you much resemble me in my younger years. I wanted to find out how you’ve been faring.”
He took the cup offered and drank a sip of warm wine. It tasted sweet, much more so than the strong ale his father usually preferred. “Ah, you’re drinking wine these days?”
“I fear my stomach cannot handle ale any longer. Are ye well? You look strong.”
“I am well enough, Da. We continue to hide from the king, but have heard he might consider pardoning us. We await word, but won’t test his mood.”
“That is good news. Mayhap you will be able to return home then. I fear I will depart and will be called by His Grace, the Good Lord, before you come back to me. If that happens …”
“Da, you’re not that old. Cease such talk. You have many a year to live before that happens.” Heath raised his cup, but didn’t drink when his father adamantly shook his head.
“Nay, listen to me, son. I regret sending you off with the Bruce. My brother insisted and as always, I followed his lead. I should have done what I wanted … and brushed the matter aside as I was wont. I ken you didn’t intend to leave our men unaided in France. Roderick was responsible for his men, not you. He was your elder. I never should’ve listened to the talk of those who were against ye. I regret my compliance with King Edward’s call to arms. We never should’ve assisted him in the wars in France.”
Heath took hold of his father’s arm. “Da, it matters not now. All that is past. I am glad you believed me and that you side with the Scots and not the English. I only wish Roderick wasn’t captured. You’ve heard no word?”