Taken Angeline Fortin (best novels of all time TXT) 📖

Rhys spoke up then.  “Pax, Mother.  I would rather hear such news straight away than have it forestalled by needless argument.”

“Aye, Lady Mother,” Patrick chimed in.  “None of the men hae yet to hear the details either.  Let Laird speak.”

Relenting with a mulish frown, Lady Ishbel proceeded to forestall the news herself, in Scarlett’s opinion, by commanding others nearby, probably servants, to bring ale for the men.  Everyone took seats around the table and waited until drinks were served before the hush was broken by Rhys asking, “What news?”

“As Patrick said, we are to war.”

“With whom?” Rhys asked, making Scarlett wonder how many possible choices there might be.

“The King has received notice from King Louis of France and Anne of Brittany that they have been under siege by Henry at Therouanne.  Louis asks that we honor the Auld Alliance and aid him in their war against Henry by invading the north of England in their support.”

“Wisnae the Auld Alliance voided by the Treaty of Perpetual Peace?” one of Laird’s men, Eideard, asked.  “James is married to Henry’s bluidy sister, after all.”

“No’ that Henry ever paid James the dowry as promised in the treaty,” Patrick said with a snort.

“Aye,” Laird agreed with a nod, tapping a finger against the page thoughtfully.  “’Struth, Henry disnae seem to care which treaty we honor of late.  The auld or the new.  King James has written Henry again and again offering peace if England dinnae attack France, requesting again the dowry be paid if the treaty is to be honored.  Last Henry replied that he would sooner consider reasserting his right of feudal overlord of Scotland.”

Rhys nodded.  “Look what benefits the treaty wi’ France has brought us.  Their envoy, La Motte, brought wine, munitions and his services as a military advisor.”

“But in turn we hae given them the loan of the Great Michael,” Patrick reminded him.

“The Great Michael?” Scarlett asked.

“Och, lass, ‘tis only the grandest warship in the land,” Murdo scoffed.  “Do ye no’ ken nothing, lass?”

“Leave her be,” Cormac leapt to her defense, shoving the other man nearly off the bench.

“Why is she even here?” Lady Ishbel asked.  “Call Graeme to take her away.”

“She stays,” Laird said flatly and Patrick laid a calming hand on his mother’s arm before turning to Laird once more.

“The problem lies in the fact that Henry has ne’er shown James the respect he thinks he deserves.  The respect the auld King Henry did.  Nor the love shown to him by Prince Arthur, who should hae been king.  Henry’s been naught but insulting.”

“Och,” Rhys cut in.  “The Sassenach killed James’ favorite ship captain, Sir Andrew Barton.  That is why the King craves a reason to hae at him.”

Laird nodded.  “Whatever the reason, it seems Henry’s hubris has finally given him one.”

Treaties and alliances.  It was confusing.  Still, like the names Scarlett had heard before, there was something familiar about all this though she couldn’t put her finger on it.  King Henry.   Which one?  There were eight to choose from.  James?  Five or six of those, and Scarlett had never been very good with dates unless they dealt with literature.

War.  Any war in any time was, regardless of the weapons used, a chilling thought but the idea of doing battle with swords like the ones they all bore in hand-to-hand combat seemed particularly barbaric to Scarlett.

What would happen to them all, she wondered, feeling a rush of concern for Laird, Rhys and the dozen men they had traveled with for the past two days.  Her captors might be little more than strangers, but she didn’t wish any of them dead.

Remembering the blood dripping from their swords at Dunskirk, she imagined the battle would be a gory one.

What if it was their blood?

She didn’t want Laird dead… Scarlett shook her head, dismissing the thought before it took hold.  It was only because her future was in his hands, she inwardly reasoned.  He was her ticket home.  If something happened to him, who knew what become of her?

Laird held the document out to Rhys and looked back at Patrick.  “King James has ordered that the Highland clans assemble at Brough Muir near Edinburgh bearing arms and twenty days supplies no later than the seventeenth day of the month.”

“That’s tomorrow,” Rhys pointed out, skimming the parchment.

“Aye, the progress has already begun,” Patrick said.  “King James sent his personal behest that we raise our forces to fight against the rabble the Queen Regent will surely gather from the north men.”

Laird traced his thumb thoughtfully over his lower lip.  “Wi’ most of England’s standing army fighting in France wi’ Henry, experienced soldiers will be hard to come by.  No doubt that fact only bolsters King James’ enthusiasm.”

Patrick nodded in agreement.

“It says here the King will join us at Crichton two days hence and we are to join his progress to the second muster point at Ellemford Haugh,” Rhys pointed out.

Laird looked to Patrick questioningly.  “When did ye receive this message?”

“Only this morn,” his brother told him.  “I’ve sent out messengers calling all men of able body to arms.  Our clansmen will gather at Ellemford.”

“I’m preparing the castle to greet him,” Lady Ishbel directed this at Rhys.  “A feast, of course.  Music and dancing.”

“’Tis war, Lady Mother,” Rhys said with none of his usual humor. “No’ revelry.”

“He is our King,” she retorted.  “And with him comes his court.  We must make ready.”

Patrick only shrugged.  Apparently there was no stopping Lady Ishbel.  “And we must make ready as well.  I’m glad ye’ve both returned.  I am anxious for yer counsel.”

“Aye, ye will hae it,” Laird said grimly.  “And God help us all.”

“My son has no need for your counsel,” Lady Ishbel hissed as the men pushed away from the table.  “Who are you to think you could advise him?  This is a matter for family and Patrick will look to his father when Sir William returns.”

“I will aid my brother by his request, my lady,” Laird