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“Do that again and I’ll turn the wife loose on ye,” he said. “Now, tell me– what did the messenger say?”

Hector was agitated. “Padraig MacKenzie wants to know if ye’ll meet him by the stream,” he said. “He wants tae speak wit’ ye. It will just be him. He wants ye tae come alone.”

That was an unexpected request. “Padraig?” Jamison repeated. “Why?”

Hector shook his head. “The messenger dinna say,” he said. “Will ye go?”

Jamison looked out at the line in the distance, pondering the proposal. By this time, Kendrick and Caspian and Beaux had made their way over to him, all of them wanting to know what the messenger had said. When Hector repeated what he had told his brother, the three men looked at Jamison.

“What are ye going tae do?” Kendrick asked. “Padraig is a man of honor, Jamie. He’s not like the rest of those brutes.”

Jamison’s expression was pensive. “Yet he killed Georgie,” he said, turning to glance at his friends. “I doubt this is a trap but the fact that he killed Georgie tae lure me home… how much honor can he have?”

Beaux shook his head. “Padraig dinna order the death of Georgie,” he said. “It had tae be his da. Somerled MacKenzie was much like Connell– the man had that taste for blood in him. Padraig isna like his da.”

That was generally true. Still, Jamison was puzzled and wary. “Then I wonder what he has tae say tae me.”

“You will not know unless you speak with him,” Havilland said quietly. All of the men looked at her but she was looking at her husband. “Make sure your dirk is close at hand when you hear what the man has to say. You have come this far, Jamie. At least he is willing to talk before striking.”

She was absolutely right. It was sage advice from his wife.

It was also her approval to put himself in a fairly risky situation but it was the only choice he had.

Lifting his hand, he motioned for his horse to be brought forth, the big black beast with the hairy mane and tail.

As the animal was brought through the ranks of men, Jamison turned to Havilland and kissed her soft, warm mouth.

“Ye hold the line here,” he told her. Then, he looked at his friends around him, men anxiously awaiting his order. “Go back to yer men. If ye see Padraig move against me, ye will unleash the archers. Do ye understand?”

Beaux, Kendrick, and Caspian nodded grimly, but Jamison looked pointedly at Kendrick at that point. “And ye, Ken… ye know what tae do.”

He meant in taking Havilland to safety. Kendrick nodded. “I do.”

There was nothing more to say. It was difficult not to feel the tension, the apprehension of what was to come, as Jamison mounted his horse.

He was doing a fairly good job with ignoring the anxiety until he looked at Havilland’s face.

She, too, was trying very hard to ignore the tension but he could see the fear in her eyes. He reached out a hand to her.

“Not tae worry, love,” he said. “I’ll know what he wants soon enough and we’ll know what our course of action should be.”

She nodded bravely. “Hector and I will make sure the MacLennan archers are ready.”

“Good.”

“Where is your dirk?”

He squeezed her hand and let it go. “Where Padraig canna see it.”

With that, he kicked his horse forward and the animal charged off, kicking up clods of soft earth as it went.

Racing through the cool morning air, many thoughts were rolling through his head when he should have been focused on Padraig.

Thoughts of Havilland and of their future together.

Thoughts of his clan and his brothers and the peaceful future they needed.

He was even thinking thoughts of de Lohr and of Four Crosses, of Madeline and Amaline, and of Havilland’s desire to return to Wales.

So many things rolling through his head when he should have only been thinking about Padraig.

Perhaps he was reflecting on a life well-lived and the desire to continue that life.

He wanted to see Havilland present him with their first-born son.

But first, he had to get through this day.

He was halfway to the stream dividing the meadow when he saw a rider break out from the MacKenzie lines.

Knowing it was Padraig, he slowed his horse and came to a complete halt once he reached the stream.

He dismounted, putting the horse between him and the MacKenzie lines to prevent a MacKenzie archer from targeting him.

Once off the horse, he stood there and waited for Padraig to arrive.

He wasn’t long in waiting. Padraig made his way across the field in good time, slowing his animal down once he reached Jamison.

Unlike Jamison, however, he remained mounted.

A stocky man with dark hair and a surprisingly gentle expression, Padraig MacKenzie was well-liked in his clan.

His opinion was trusted and he had proven himself to be wise and reasonable.

When his gaze finally met Jamison’s, he nodded his head in acknowledgement.

“Jamison,” he greeted. “My thanks for meeting me.”

Jamison remained behind his horse. “I suppose ye have something tae say tae me.”

Padraig nodded. “Indeed, I do,” he said. “The first thing I need tae tell ye is that me da died last week. I am now the MacKenzie.”

That drew a reaction out of Jamison. “I dinna know,” he said. “I hadna heard. I dunna believe me da has, either. He would have told me.”

Padraig shook his head. “No one knows,” he said. “I’ve given orders that the death be kept a secret until I choose tae announce it.”

That didn’t make much sense to Jamison but he didn’t comment on it. “I see,” he said simply.

Padraig smiled weakly when he saw that Jamison had nothing more to say to the news.

“I think ’tis time for total honesty,” he said.

“I know me da was out for yer blood because of what ye did tae Connell. If ye want tae know the truth, ’tis me da who killed Georgie.

He did it so ye’d return from wherever ye’d gone and face his rage.

He also did it tae take George Munro’s heir as ye took his. It was a reckoning.”

Nothing the man said surprised Jamison. “I suspected as much,” he said. “Is that all ye wanted tae tell me?”

Padraig climbed off of his horse. He took a few steps in Jamison’s direction and Jamison found himself mentally calculating how fast he could unsheathe his dirk. He was still quite wary of the man’s motives.

“Nay,” Padraig said. “I wanted tae ask ye if we canna solve our hostilities in ways that dunna involve men dying and widows weeping. I have no desire tae fight ye, Jamison. I’ve always believed our clans could live in peace but me da and Connell thought differently.

They were entrenched in the old ways, the ways when men had tae fight for their lands and people.

But ye and I… we’re different. I dunna think ye want a battle, do ye? ”

Jamison wasn’t particularly surprised to hear this, coming from Padraig. It was difficult not to feel some hope in the matter, the possibility that the MacKenzie’s vengeance against him wouldn’t lead to bloodshed, so he struggled against having too much faith in what Padraig was saying.

“Nay,” he said evenly. “But the fact remains that I killed yer brother when he attacked me brother. I’ll not go the rest of me life lookin’ over me shoulder for a MacKenzie assassin, Padraig. If we’re going tae fight, then let’s do it now and get it over with. Let’s settle it today.”

Padraig shook his head. “I dunna want tae fight ye,” he repeated.

“And me da’s sense of vengeance isna me own.

Connell was a brutal, aggressive man. He lived on the scent of blood, just as me da did.

Their vengeance is their own; it isna mine.

Ye did what ye had tae do tae protect Robbie.

I understand that and so do many others in me clan.

It’s not as if ye went forth with the intention of murderin’ Connell.

Ye did it tae save yer brother and that’s something we’d all have done in the same circumstances. I canna fault ye for that.”

Jamison was actually shocked to hear that. That wasn’t something he had expected, not in the least. His brow furrowed, showing his surprise and doubt.

“Can I believe such talk?” he asked, incredulous. “Ye brought yer army here today for a reason, Padraig. Ye came for a fight.”

Padraig’s gaze lingered on him a moment before turning to the line of MacKenzies far back behind him. A group of men stood in the distance, hair blowing in the wind, brecans waving like banners. It was a quiet, solemn group.

“Nay, I dinna,” he said. “I came tae show ye that each man is willin’ tae lay down his arms in a show of peace.

In spite of what ye think of the MacKenzies, we dunna like fightin’ any more than ye do.

We want tae live in peace and the only way tae do that was tae show ye a united clan, each man willin’ tae forgive and forget.

No one much liked Connell, anyway, and the men that killed Georgie were me da’s men. They were paid tae do it.”

As Jamison watched, MacKenzie warriors began laying their spears and axes and swords to the ground, putting them upon the soft sea grass. Every man was laying down the weapons he was carrying in an astonishing show of submission.

Jamison was growing increasingly amazed as he watched. He’d never seen anything like it in his life. Was he dreaming all of this? Was it really true that the MacKenzie wanted peace? Although he wanted very much to believe, he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it.

“Where are the men who killed Georgie?” he asked. “Unless ye turn them over tae me for punishment, I canna believe ye. What they did was murder, Padraig.”

Padraig nodded. “I know,” he said. “I had me own men round them up last night. I’ll give them tae ye.

They are misfits, men me da used tae do dirty deeds the rest of us wouldna.

Will ye at least consider a peace between us, Jamison?

Ye’ll take over yer clan someday and I’d like tae call ye an ally.

I dunna want me children tae grow up a-fearin’ ye. I want us tae know peace.”

So did Jamison. Now that he had a wife and the prayers for children in the future, he very much wanted peace, too.

Of all the things he thought that would happen today, this request for harmony was not among them.

Coming from a MacKenzie who wanted to change the course of his clan, to turn them from a warring one into one of goodwill, it was almost too good to believe.

But believe he did. Jamison knew that Padraig’s reputation as a reasonable and wise man was a well-established one.

As Kendrick had said, he was a man of honor.

So was Jamison.

“It has tae start somewhere,” he said after a moment. “If there is tae be peace, then let it start with us. I am willing.”

Padraig smiled, his expression infused with hope. “I was hoping ye would think so,” he said. “If ye’ll let me, I’ll bring the men who killed Georgie tae yer da. He can have them tae punish as he sees fit.”

“Me da will appreciate that.”

Padraig nodded, glancing back at the line of Munro warriors on the rise in the distance. Then, he cleared his throat softly.

“Me wife…,” he began, clearly fumbling for words. “She wanted me tae ask ye… we just had our first son and she wants tae know if ye’ll be his godfather. She thinks– she hopes– that it will cement a new peace between us.”

It was a great honor that Padraig was giving him and Jamison broke into a smile for the first time since they’d met.

Only a man with a sincere interest in peace would make such a serious request. That small gesture, more than anything else Padraig had said, told Jamison that he was, indeed, serious about an alliance.

“It would be me privilege, Padraig,” he said. “’Tis quite an unexpected request, I must say. I’ve never had a godson.”

Padraig smiled, also. “My son will be very fortunate tae have ye,” he said. “And I hope that we can become more than allies, Jamison. Someday, I hope we can become friends.”

Jamison liked that idea. “I’m sure we can.”

With that, they went their separate ways, Padraig back to his men to bring forth those who had murdered George the Younger and Jamison back to a very anxious group of friends and warriors who were waiting for the signal to charge.

When Jamison told them what Padraig had said and of the peaceful resolution to a volatile situation, there was no escaping the cheer that echoed against the bright blue sky, each man relieved and satisfied in his own way. But none more so than Jamison.

No blood would be shed today.

It was a startling conclusion to a day that Jamison was positive would bring a bloodbath.

It was better than he could have ever dreamed.

The flight from home, the battles in Wales, the death of George the Younger, and his entire relationship with Havilland had been a struggle revolving around one small incident between Robert Munro and Connell MacKenzie that had changed the course of Jamison’s life.

Now, Jamison was coming to understand the incident he thought had ruined his life had, in truth, changed his course for the better. Now, with great hope on the horizon, Jamison and Havilland could do nothing but look ahead and dream of the days to come.

The Red Lion and his lioness had finally found their heaven.

* THE END *