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“I shall have ye and no other….”

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“G reat Bleeding Jesus! ’Tis that big red beast in the flesh!”

Standing in the gatehouse of Four Crosses and facing the road that led up to the castle, Jamison heard the familiar exclamation from a distance and he knew, even at length, who the three riders were.

If he’d been blindfolded and knew nothing about their physical characteristics, he still would have known that voice anywhere.

A man he’d lived with, and fought with, and faced death with.

He knew him like a brother. Nay; more than a brother. The man was part of his soul.

The White Dragon was in his midst.

“Beaux MacKay!” he bellowed. “Is it possible ye’ve dragged yer ugly arse all the way tae Wales?”

He could hear laughter, laughter he recognized, and he grinned from ear to ear, shaking his head as if in extreme disapproval. “By all the saints,” he muttered in disbelief. Then, he lifted his voice. “Dunna tell me ye brought yer sisters wit’ ye. Is it truly Kendrick and Caspian I hear?”

The three riders spurred their shaggy horses forward, galloping the rest of the way up the road and closing the gap to the gatehouse in short order.

Rocks flicked up from the excited horses, pelting Jamison in the bare legs as he made his way to the three riders.

He pushed aside big, frothing horse heads, coming to the first man who had dismounted and throwing his arms around him.

It was an embrace of gratitude and of joy.

It was an embrace that satisfied him to his very bones.

Jamison finally released the man, grasping the familiar face in his hands.

“My God,” he breathed, drinking in the sight. “It ’tis ye, Beaux. Am I dreaming?”

Beaux shook his head, smiling into a face he’d not seen in a very long time. “Nay,” he said. “Ye’re not dreaming. But it’s been too long, Jamie. How long since we last saw ye?”

Jamison shook his head. “At least four years,” he said. “I last saw ye at Lioncross four years past. It was Christmas and I’d just come home from France with Arthur.”

Beaux remembered that Christmas and the heavy snows of it, making it particularly memorable.

But before he could reply, however, Kendrick and Caspian made their way to Jamison, hugging him in turn, reveling in the joy of being reunited with their old friend.

Jamison still had his hands on Kendrick and Caspian, looking at the pair in shock.

“I canna believe it,” he said. “The three of ye here. Are ye sure this isna a dream?”

Caspian slapped him softly on the cheek. “’Tis no dream, lad.”

Jamison chuckled. “I dunna even know where tae start,” he said. “Why are ye here? How did ye find me?”

Beaux slapped him on the shoulder, tugging him away from Kendrick and Caspian. “Take us inside, feed us, and we shall tell ye,” he said. “It has been a very long journey.”

Jamison was already moving towards the gatehouse. “Where did ye come from?”

“Home.”

That gave Jamison some pause. For some reason, a warning bell went off in his head and now the joy of their appearance was starting to turn into something else, something darker. He struggled against the sense of foreboding that filled him.

“Then it took ye months at the very least in this weather,” he said, endeavoring to remain calm. “Why did ye come?”

“Inside, man. We’ll tell ye everything.”

“Ye’ll tell me now.”

It was clear that Jamison wanted answers before he settled his guests.

Their appearance was not only surprising, it was concerning.

There was no earthly reason for the men to be here unless it was a serious matter and Beaux knew he had to tell Jamison something before the man grew less friendly and more demanding.

Already, his manner was changing as they tried to avoid his questions.

“We went tae Lioncross,” Beaux finally said. “Lord de Lohr told us ye were here at Four Crosses. There’s much tae tell ye, Jamie.”

That didn’t clear up any of Jamison’s confusion. In fact, it only made it worse and, suddenly, he was seized by panic. He came to a halt just shy of the gatehouse, facing Beaux.

“Tell me what?” he wanted to know. “ Sweet Jesú … is it me da? Is he well?”

Beaux could see the distress in Jamison’s face and he hastened to reassure him. “Yer da is well and healthy,” he said quickly. “But… tae be truthful, all is not well at home, Jamie. Let us go inside and speak o’ it.”

Jamison wouldn’t budge. Now that the truth behind their shocking visit was coming out, he wanted to hear all of it at that very moment.

He didn’t want to wait until they were comfortable and plied with wine.

He was selfish in that he wanted to know immediately.

In truth, even as his mind went wild with possibilities, he already knew what it was about. His gut told him so.

MacKenzie.

“What has happened?” he demanded quietly.

Beaux was exhausted; he and Kendrick and Caspian had been traveling for, quite literally, four months.

With the winter season, the roads had been difficult and the weather had been atrocious.

What should have taken them several weeks had taken much longer, but they had persevered.

They had made a promise to George Munro and they would not go back on that vow.

So here they were, finally facing Jamison, and the man wanted answers.

With a sigh, Beaux began to loosen his heavy leather gloves.

“Are ye sure ye want tae here it now?” he said. “It would be much easier for all of us over some mulled wine and a good fire.”

Jamison swallowed hard; they could all see it. “I would appreciate it if ye could tell me now, Beaux. Ye dinna come here tae see me pretty face. Something is amiss, something so terrible that it has ye traveling hundreds of miles in the dead of winter. Tell me what has happened.”

Beaux removed a glove and scratched his head. “Then I’ll come out wit’ it,” he said, looking Jamison in the eye. “There’s no easy way tae tell ye, Jamie. Georgie is dead. Yer da sent us tae give ye the news.”

Jamison’s features rippled with surprise and then, just as quickly, with grief, but to his credit, that was his only reaction. He steeled himself admirably. “What happened tae him?”

Beaux glanced at Kendrick and Caspian, as if the men would help him carefully phrase the answer, but Kendrick spoke because Beaux seemed hesitant to.

“The MacKenzies murdered him,” Kendrick said, his voice low and deep. He was a truthful man to a fault. “They lay in wait for him, Jamie. Georgie was going tae church and they ambushed him. Trampled him with their horses and dragged his body back tae Foulis for yer parents tae see.”

That drew a reaction from Jamison; his cheeks reddened and he rocked back as if he’d been physically struck. He stared at Kendrick in horror. “Oh, God…,” he gasped. “They killed Georgie.”

“Aye, they killed him,” Kendrick said. “Yer da told us that ye killed Connell whilst defending Robbie. Ye know the MacKenzies killed Georgie tae send a message tae ye, Jamie– this is tae lure ye home. Ye fled and they want ye tae come home tae face them.”

Jamison felt as if he’d been hit in the chest. He was having a difficult time breathing.

All he could think of was his pious older brother, a tall and rather meek character whose only goal in life was to become a priest. He hated fighting and politics.

He wanted to live in peace. To have met such a violent end sickened Jamison so badly that the more he thought of it, the more nauseous he became.

It was little time before he became violently ill and ended up vomited the contents of his stomach into the grass at the side of the road.

He could feel a hand on his back, meant to give him comfort and support, but there was no comfort to be had. He knew the truth.

He had killed his brother.

“ Sweet Jesú ,” he breathed, still bent over. “I killed him. As I live and breathe, I killed Georgie. Tae get tae me, they killed him.”

Beaux was standing next to him, his big hand on Jamison’s back.

“Ye know that’s not true,” he said quietly.

“Yer da said that Georgie wouldna listen tae him. Yer da tried tae tell him not tae leave the safety of home, but Georgie left and the MacKenzies found him. Had Georgie listened, he would be alive”

“Had Robbie not lusted after Eva MacKenzie, none of this would have happened!” Jamison suddenly roared as he stood up, wiping his mouth. He was pasty-white as he faced off against his friends, his closest brothers. “I leave for home today. If the MacKenzies want me, then I willna disappoint them.”

Beaux and Kendrick were shaking their head at him. “Jamie….” Kendrick said dubiously. “Ye canna….”

“If they want me, I am coming!”

He was already moving, staggering back to the gatehouse, but Beaux and Kendrick put their hands on him, preventing him from continuing.

He was half-mad with grief and anger, speaking before thinking, which was exactly as his father had feared.

It was Caspian who pushed between Beaux and Kendrick, his intense gaze on Jamison.

He was the most serious of the three, a deadly man with a deadly manner.

“Listen tae me,” he said, his hand on Jamison’s face.

“Yer dad sent us tae prevent ye from doing this. Ye’ll return, but it will be well-planned.

Ye’re not going tae walk into their open arms, Jamie.

Yer father canna bury another son, and especially not ye.

Are ye listenin’? Now, take us inside and feed us, for the love of God, before we collapse.

Let us calmly speak of this. If ye’re going tae face the MacKenzie, then ye need tae think it through and we will help ye.

Whatever ye decide, we’ll be there. Agreed? ”

Jamison gazed into the face of his friend, one of the wisest men he knew, and he struggled to control his rage. After a moment, he nodded his head, unsteadily, taking big, deep breaths in an effort to calm himself.