Page 35 of The Bells of Triumph (Highlands’ Lost Valley #3)
“ So ye survived the first day as guard?”
The question came from another young man Ciaran had not yet met. He offered his hand in greeting, getting a handshake in response.
“Aye, and it wasnae as tough as I thought it would be,” Ciaran admitted.
“Och, dinnae let Leith hear ye say that. Trust me, it will only get harder. I am called Joffrey by the way.”
The man gave him a lopsided smile that Ciaran thought was very fitting for his face. Joffrey’s shaggy blonde hair and slim stature gave him a boyish flare, but Ciaran knew that he fought just as hard as the rest of the guards.
“Ciaran,” he returned in kind. “When did ye join the ranks?”
“About this time last year. I thought it easy enough too, but Leith expects more from the superior ranking guards, he trains them harder.”
Ciaran nodded along, grateful for the insight. After everything his father and the Laird had said to him that morning, he couldn’t afford to let anyone down.
“There ye two are.”
A gruff voice had them both turning on their heels to find one of Leith’s officers staring down at them.
“Sir.”
They spoke at the same time, awaiting whatever it was the man wanted with them.
“Ye are both heading out on assignment tomorrow. The Laird and his daughter will be attending a feast at the Sinclair keep and ye are to escort them with the rest of the team. Leith thought it a fitting first assignment for ye, Barland. Make sure yer uniforms are in order for tomorrow. Ye are expected in the courtyard by three o’clock in the afternoon. Dinnae be late.”
Without so much as an acknowledgment from either of them, the commanding officer strode off, back through the guard tower, off to complete his next order of business. Ciaran didn’t care. His mind was buzzing with excitement.
“Orders on yer first day. That’s something I have nae seen before,” Joffrey commented.
“Och, well, it is just a diplomatic visit, aye? We are on good terms with the Sinclairs. It will be a simple first assignment.”
“Diplomatic is one word for it. I would call it strategic though,” another guard named Malcolm chimed in.
“And why is that?” Ciaran questioned.
“Laird Stuart is trying to rally his allies. This dinner is about securing that agreement more than it is about their friendship.”
“I am surprised ye dinnae ken more about this, with yer father being the Laird’s closest advisor,” Joffrey added.
In truth, Ciaran had not been told anything about the Laird needing more allies. He hadn’t been completely aware that there was any conflict. He knew there was something they were all trying to get to the bottom of, but every meeting he attended felt secretive, like they were leaving out the most important details.
“What is it that the Laird is trying to negotiate with the Sinclairs?”
“Surely ye must ken about the blood feud between our clan and the Knox clan?’
Ciaran nodded at the other men, but Malcolm explained anyway.
“For too many years, we have put up with the men from the Knox clan sneaking onto our territory, raiding our villages, and attacking our people. This blood feud has gone on for longer than any of us have been alive. We have been warring with the Knox clan for so long that no one even remembers why we began fighting in the first place. Yet, we have tried again and again to broker peace. And everytime we manage to secure peace, the Knox Laird orders his men to do something to break it all over again.”
“Aye,” Joffrey cut it. “We have tried just about everything to end this feud. I have even heard Laird Stuart and Leith plotting to use Laird Knox’s children against him.”
“His children?” Ciaran squeaked out.
“Och, aye. Like ye, I did nae think he had any children. Everyone kens his wife was barren. But Laird Stuart had gotten some intel from a few well placed spies several years ago that had proof that Laird Knox had children with another woman. In fact, that became a well known rumour. Some even claimed to ken where the children were being kept. It became some kind of mad dash for which of Knox’s enemies could find his bastards first. Laird Stuart is nae the only man who takes issue with the Knox Laird and wants to use whatever means necessary to stop him. But then one day, all word of those bairns stopped. It is like they disappeared.”
“I think that Laird Stuart is hoping he will be able to find those children and use them as blackmail against Laird Knox, should things come to that. I ken that he has nae stopped looking for them. In the meantime, he is ensuring that all of his allies remain his allies. He is preparing them for any and all upcoming conflicts and informing them of his plans.”
Ciaran didn’t hear the last part of Malcolm’s explanation for their trip. His heart was beating too loudly for him to hear anything but his own thoughts. Both Malcolm and Joffrey were watching intently. Trying to hide his shaking hands, Ciaran tucked them behind his back and nodded solemnly.
“Even still, escorting the Laird and his daughter should nae be too difficult of a task for us to handle tomorrow. Now, if ye will excuse me, my family is waiting.”
Ciaran left the guard tower without a glance back. It was certainly no way to leave behind his fellow guards, but he knew that if he didn’t get out of there and away from that conversation that he wouldn’t be able to get ahold of himself.
He tried to stick to the shadows as he stumbled through the courtyard and into the village that lay just beyond. His chest heaved as he darted from tree to tree. The last thing he needed was someone questioning him, demanding answers that he didn’t think he could give.
It wasn’t until he made it to the outskirts of his father’s property that he allowed his steps to slow. Even from outside, he could hear laughter pouring out of the house along with the lights from the candles. From the looks of it, the rest of his family was already here, ready to celebrate him. And that is exactly what today was meant to be—a celebration.
Only, his thoughts were a jumbled mess. Everything had started out so well, from the council meeting with his father to being accepted into the Laird’s guard. He had been given everything he had worked so hard to gain, yet after his conversation with Malcolm and Joffrey, he couldn’t think straight.
That day was already taxing enough for him. It might be the day his family celebrated as his birthday, but to him, it was also the day he lost his first family. Though the scars from the fire had healed, softening into a faded pink, his memories had not faded one bit. And here he was, twenty years later, being confronted with his past all over again.
“Ciaran? Is that ye, lad?” his father called from the doorway, peering into the night sky where he still hid.
Ciaran gave himself a mental shake, pushing the memories down. He couldn’t let his family see just how much he was affected by all of this.
Stepping out of the shadow of the barn, Ciaran squared his shoulders and walked towards his father.
“Aye, Da. Just takin’ a minute to catch my breath.”
“Well catch yer breath inside. Everyone is waiting for ye.”
James threw an arm around Ciaran’s shoulders and pulled him inside the house.
It was the same home that James first brought him to twenty years ago. It was the home where he learned to fight and hold his own against his brothers. It was where he had countless dinners and birthdays just like this one. It was the home he had come to know and love dearly, as well as the people in it.
“Och! Look at ye,” his mother, Gwen, exclaimed as soon as he walked into the kitchen. “Ye must be the most handsome guard there ever was.”
“Careful,” his father teased, brushing a kiss to her temple.
Ciaran smiled fondly at them. It amazed him how after so many years together they could still be so in love. It was the kind of future he hoped for.
“Ye said the same thing to me when I joined the guard,” his brother, Flynn, chirped.
“Aye. Same for me!” George mumbled through a mouthful of food.
Ciaran grinned, shaking his head at his brothers’ constant need for competition. It got them into more than one fight when they were boys, but they all found their niche. Flynn, who was blonde haired and blue eyed like their mother, could outrun any of them. George, who took after their father with his darker hair and green eyes, was stronger than even James. It had been years since Ciaran had been able to take him in an arm wrestling match.
And then there was Nessa.
“Hiya, lass,” Ciaran greeted, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
“Am I still a lass even with two bairns of my own?” she retorted, squeezing him around his middle.
He chuckled before telling her, “aye.”
Nessa was the baby of the group. With Ciaran nestled in between her and the other boys, Nessa retained her status as their father’s favorite even after James brought Ciaran home with him. She had been born seven years after George, after James and Gwen had given up all hopes of ever having a girl. And Nessa had been more trouble than all three boys combined. She was sharper and wittier than anyone he had ever met. It had taken her years to learn to bridle her tongue and even now there were some days when he felt its sting.
Perhaps the most painful thing of all was that Nessa reminded him of the sister he left behind to burn in the hut that night. It had taken him a long time to open up to his siblings despite the fact that he was treated as an equal from the first moment he stepped into the house.
James and Gwen had spared no expense in seeing him clothed, fed, and educated as well as the rest of their children. He was taught sword fighting and chess and even how to bake a loaf of bread, right alongside the rest of the children.
It made for a noisy house. With four kids running amuck, a houseful of servants to keep up with them, and all the animals and chores that went along with it, their home was never quiet.
Yet, every time he was gifted a new jacket or a hot bowl of stew was placed in front of him at the dining table, he couldn’t help but feel he had betrayed the family he had left behind.
“Come on now, give us a spin. Let us see ye in yer new uniform,” his mother urged, cutting off his train of thought.
“Ye act like ye have never seen a guard’s uniform before,” Ciaran teased even as he spun around for his mother to coo over him.
“I have never seen ye in a guard’s uniform before and I want to take it all in.”
“Just wait until the lasses see him, Ma,” George quipped.
“They will nae be able to keep their hands off of him,” Flynn added.
Their mother shooed them towards their spots at the table, brushing off their comments. He hoped that with the meal started, they would drop it but it was Nessa’s turn to chime in.
“Well, I say it is about time. At five and twenty ye are more than old enough to have a wife and a couple of bairns of yer own. I dinnae ken what is taking ye so long to settle down, Ciaran. Perhaps the new promotion is just the thing ye needed for the lasses to notice ye.”
Ciaran felt his face flush but he didn’t have a chance to respond before his brothers cut in.
“Dinnae fash, brother. I am more than willing to introduce ye to some of the lasses in the village if ye are feeling a wee bit shy.”
“We ken plenty of lasses who would be interested in ye. Nessa is right,” George told him while shoveling a spoonful of stew into his mouth, “it is past time ye find a wife and get married.”
“That is rich, coming for ye, George, seeing as ye cannae remember the girl ye spent all last night talking to at the tavern. And I dinnae see a wife sitting next to ye either, Flynn.” Ciaran looked pointedly at the empty seat next to his brother. “Besides, I do quite well with the lasses. I dinnae need either of ye to introduce me to anyone.”
Ciaran didn’t miss the glance his parents exchanged, though he pretended to ignore it. He knew they enjoyed these nights as much as the rest of them did. They adored having a full house and kids running underfoot.
“What is that ye are saying, brother?” Flynn asked.
Ciaran tried to hide his discomfort with a smile. Even though no one in the Barland family had ever made him feel excluded or less than, Ciaran couldn’t help but feel a distance between him and the rest of the family. He knew they loved him, that they truly saw him as their son, as their brother. And having never made mention of his past to any of them, he couldn’t fault them for pretending like he had always been there. And although it had never been hidden, he was sure that they didn’t think he remembered any of his past. He only wished that was the case.
“I am saying,” he responded, drawing himself back into the conversation, “that I do verra well for myself with the lasses. I dinnae have a problem getting their attention. Ye and I both ken that. Ye are just jealous that it took until ye were nearly grown to find a lass to pay ye any attention at all.”
The table howled with laughter while George muttered something into his plate.
Despite the fact that he was blatantly bragging about his good looks to his brothers, he felt no ounce of shame. He wasn’t lying—the women found his dark hair and green eyes alluring. Between that and his broad shoulders, he had never had any issue finding a woman to keep him company ever since he was a teenager.
“It is nae that I am nae interested in getting married,” Ciaran told the rest of his family. “I just have nae found the right lass. I want more than just a bonny face. I want someone to be my friend.”
He almost cursed himself for saying that out loud. He knew his brothers would never let him live that down. But to his surprise, it was his father who spoke next.
“That is wise, son. Bonny faces age and wither, but a friendship is what truly makes for a lifetime of happiness. There is nay rush for ye to settle down. Ye just became a guard. I am sure the Laird will have ye out on assignments before ye ken it. Ye have always had a better head on yer shoulders than the rest of these three. Dinnae let that change now.”
Ciaran shot his father a grateful smile. Strategy had been his niche. That was how he fit into the family and it was what had made him the youngest in the family to be made a member of the guard. It was the reason his father asked him to tag along to the council meetings with him. It was also the reason why he remained the only person in the room to have ever beaten his father at a game of chess. He learned at a young age, before his time with the Barland family, to always look five steps ahead and two steps behind.
“About that,” he said, using the opportunity to change the subject while he could, “I have been given my first assignment. I will be escorting the Laird and his daughter to the Sinclair clan tomorrow for a feast.”
“Och, how wonderful,” his mother gushed. “It has only been one day and ye are already being chosen. Ye were made to be a guard. Perhaps even one day ye will become the Captain.”
“Aye, ye would make a fine Captain,” his father added. “Ye have the mind for battle strategy.”
“To Ciaran, the newest member of the Laird’s guard,” Nessa offered, hoisting her drink into the air.
“To Ciaran,” the rest of the room echoed.
He followed suit, forcing a smile to cover his face. It was what was expected of him. Despite all of his planning and effort to become a guard, the idea of battle, of war, made him grimace. He knew all too well what the cost of war was. It was a grief that had haunted him every day for the last twenty years and was unlikely to leave him anytime soon.