Page 9 of McKenna’s Honor (The Clan MacDougall #4)

8

T wenty-five mounted soldiers surrounded the prison wagon that held Angus McKenna and Duncan McEwan. Ten soldiers led the way down the rutted, winding path to Stirling. The remaining guards were at the rear.

Large puddles of murky water littered the rough road. The trees hung limp, weighed down by the relentless rain. The deep green leaves, the near black tree trunks, the sodden ground and the gloomy sky left the prisoners longing for the comforts of home and hearth.

It was difficult to judge the exact time of day by looking at the sky, for it was as gray as an auld Highlander’s beard. Under different circumstances, Angus might have relied on his belly to tell him the time. His stomach had given up growling some days ago and he swore he’d never eat another bowl of gruel again, no matter how long he might or might not live.

Duncan longed to be home with his wife and bairns. If by some divine intervention he made it out of this alive -- there was a very good chance that he wouldn’t -- he would take a long hot bath and climb into his soft warm bed with Aishlinn. And he would not leave the comfort of that bed or her arms for at least a month.

A light breeze flittered through the bars of the prison wagon, stirring the fetid air. Angus doubted that man had yet to create a word that would describe the awful stench that emanated from his body. Sweat and grime blended together to create such a foul smell that it burned his nose and caused his eyes to water. He imagined a roll in horse dung would be an improvement over the revolting way he currently smelled. It was no wonder the soldiers were keeping their distance.

Angus chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood. “Ye’d think they were transportin’ the king himself,” he said.

Duncan agreed. “Aye. But I think I’d prefer one of the king’s coaches to this, ” he said as he shoved bits of dirty rushes away with his feet.

They were the only passengers -- if one could call them that seeing how they were chained together at their wrists and ankles. Side by side, they sat with their backs against the solid wall of the wagon.

Stale rushes strewn across the floor smelled of urine and vomit. These weren’t the worst living conditions Angus had ever experienced, but they were close.

They were less than a day’s ride from Stirling. Angus calculated that at their current pace, it would be long after nightfall before they arrived at Stirling Castle.

Although it had been difficult to receive word about his wife, daughter and grandchildren, it had not been impossible. Aye, he knew the bastards who had taken them. Knew them all too well. And the bastards knew that there was nothing Angus would not do for any of them. Arrogantly, the fools believed they had the upper hand. What they did not know however was that Angus’ death did not necessarily mean that they themselves would succeed. Neither did it mean they would live beyond another fortnight.

The fools took too much for granted, were far too arrogant to see any errors with their plan to see him hang. In the end, it would be their greed, arrogance and stupidity that would seal their fates. Whether Angus hanged or not, it simply didn’t matter. They were dead men. They just didn’t realize it yet. Chances were they would not see it until the very last moment, right before a sword gutted them or the noose draped around their necks. No matter what method of death was eventually chosen, they would die.

Angus took some satisfaction in knowing that fact.

An eerie silence had fallen across the land. The rain had kept the birds, red deer, and other animals in seclusion. The silence was broken only by the sound of the heavy hooves slopping through the mud and muck, the occasional jingle of a harness, the creaking of the wagon, and the quiet whisper between Angus and Duncan. It had been some time since the guards had uttered a single word.

Angus wondered how many of the soldiers were enjoying this foray north to Stirling. A few of them refused to look Angus in the eye, either out of shame for his misdeeds or fear of his reputation as a warrior. At the moment, he didn’t care what the reasons were for their silence. He was glad to be left alone.

He cast a sideways glance at Duncan. His son-in-law was as good a warrior, man, husband and father as they came. Angus felt guilty for having Duncan involved in this mess. He had done everything he could to keep him out of it, but the young man was just as stubborn as Angus.

He had spent days trying to convince Duncan to remain behind and finally take over the role of chief. No matter how Angus tried to convince Duncan that the clan was going to need him as their new chief, Duncan stubbornly refused to listen. Duncan was adamant that Angus needed his help more than the clan did or would.

Duncan had not been a party to everything that had transpired over the past year. In fact, no charges had ever been leveled against him. But when they came to arrest Angus, Duncan had stepped in, like a fool, and had falsely admitted to being involved. Had Angus not already been shackled, he would have beaten some sense into the young man's thick head or at least tried to.

It was too late now to save the man from himself. Duncan knew too much -- not all of it mind you, but enough to be dangerous.

“Do ye think Aishlinn will forgive me?” Duncan asked quietly. He sat with one knee drawn up, a shackled wrist resting on it. His leather trews and once white tunic were covered in dirt and grime and mud splatter. Even with his eyes closed, his face held a solemn expression.

Angus did not need to take any time to think on it. “Aye, she will. Aishlinn is a smart young woman,” Angus told him.

“That she is,” Duncan readily agreed. “She must get that from her mum.”

Angus smiled wanly and nodded his head. Considering where he was at this moment, he had to agree with Duncan’s assessment. Were they anywhere but inside a prison wagon, Angus would have taken credit for his daughter’s intelligence and tenacity.

“Do ye think they’ll ever know why we’ve done what we’ve done?”

Angus filled his dirty cheeks with air and let it out slowly. “Aye, they will. Eventually,” he answered, knowing full well that it would be years before anyone might learn the truth. Let Duncan hold on to what little hope he had, Angus thought to himself.

It wasn’t supposed to have ended up this way. When he had started on this journey, he had no intentions of ever being hanged as a traitor.

But hang he would, if it meant his people could live in peace.