Isle of Colonsay, Scotland
May 1650
Young grass grew in patches over the remnants of the MacFie house. Just beyond the razed foundations, a new house of gray stone kept our island under watch. My steps slowed as its walls loomed before me. A new laird sat within those walls, taking the place our fathers had kept for generations.
A Campbell laird yesterday, a MacDonald laird today. Our own legacy crumbling to dust.
“Come on, Seumas,” Ruadhri turned back to stand beside me. “Whatever the laird wants from us, it won’t get nicer if we keep him waiting.”
I huffed. “It won’t get nicer if we hasten to obey either.”
Ruadhri shrugged. “Perhaps not, but we might at least get some ale out of it.”
A mix of voices rumbled up the pathway behind us, and we turned in unison to see half a dozen men making their way up from the village. At their front came an exceptionally large man with a full black beard, closely flanked by a stocky, fair-haired man. The smith Maldouen and his brother Caelin. Maldouen raised his hand to us and called out a greeting across the distance.
“It seems we’re not the only ones the laird summoned,” I said, raising my hand in reply.
“A shame. Here I’d thought we were special.”
I cuffed Ruadhri’s shoulder. Having grown up on neighboring plots of land, we might as well have been brothers. “Didn’t realize you coveted the laird’s attention. Has he not given us enough work to do already?”
Half a day’s work in the fields, and we made a sorry sight. We’d long since loosed the upper half of our plaides from our shoulders, and the folds hung limp around our waists. Still, the sun’s unhampered warmth had left us sweating, and our linen shirts clung to us in dusty wrinkles.
Ruadhri’s golden eyebrows lowered. “Wouldn’t mind the work if I got to keep more of the benefit. I’ll wager he calls for twice the tax he did last year, come harvest time.”
I grunted in agreement. From the put-upon expressions of the approaching men, they were equally piqued by the unexpected summons. All the more work that’d be waiting for each of us tomorrow.
The group drew nearer until I could clearly see Caelin’s green eyes burning bright despite the lines of sweat trickling down his temples.
“Has he summoned half the village?” Caelin asked. He slapped Ruadhri on the back and shook his head at me. “Even these feeble yearlings?”
Ruadhri twisted, attempting to pin Caelin’s arm. A swift dodge took the seasoned warrior out of Ruadhri’s reach for only a moment before Caelin was back in, tangling his arms with Ruadhri’s, seeking a firm hold. I wrestled Caelin from behind as Ruadhri tried to hook his legs. With some resistance, Caelin folded, and all three of us landed in a heap on the grass.
“Feeble yearlings, was it?” I got to my feet, grinning down at Caelin. “Better that than a withered nag, I think.”
Maldouen joined us and clapped the back of my neck. “Aye, Seumas, it would be. So go easy on us, will you?”
A few specks of gray stood out in Maldouen’s night-dark hair, but young or old, the man stood head and shoulders above me and bore a great deal of burly muscle earned from a lifetime of battle and forge work.
I frowned in consideration as Maldouen offered a hand to his brother and pulled him to his feet.
“I’ll forgive your brother’s slights for your sake,” I told him with a firm nod. “But see you keep him in line.”
Maldouen tipped his head back and laughed, pounding my shoulder with mirth. “Let’s go then, young warriors. Let’s see what the laird will command today.”
Together, our little band wove between the outbuildings and through the laird’s yard. Several young goats bucked toward us, coming to nuzzle our hands for treats. I had scarce enough for the animals at home, not that these creatures cared. I shooed one away, but Ruadhri opened a pouch on his belt and held out an offering to a dainty white kid tasting the hem of his plaide.
“Don’t feed it,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s likely fed on our grain twice today already.”
Ruadhri bent down to scratch the goat’s ears. “Ah, but I never could turn down a pretty lass.”
One of the laird’s attendants awaited us at the main doorway as we ascended the staircase attached to the side of the house. He nodded to us in acknowledgment, bid us a perfunctory welcome, then pushed the door open and gestured for our little gathering to trickle in. “The back table has been left available for you.”
The youngest of our group, Bróccin, grumbled as he stepped over the threshold. “My da says our chief reserved the place of honor for those he’d summoned.”
“Both you and your da would do well to remember you answer to a laird now,” the attendant said, voice icy.
We all bristled, but even Bróccin was wise enough to hold his tongue and say no more in the laird’s own house.
The narrow entrance hall quickly opened up into the reception hall that filled most of the upper floor. Spring light streamed in through the narrow windows, giving the wood-beamed room a regal air of alternating light and shadow. Several nobles lounged at feast tables laden with enough bread and fine ale and fish to feed the rest of the village for a week.
The very bread, ale, and fish we’d labored to provide them. In consideration of our efforts, one elderly man offered a half-filled plate to a dog lounging at his feet.
But far worse was a sight farther along the table. A man I itched to greet with my fists sat half in shadow and half in light. Allistor MacDonald, the laird’s nephew, leaned against the wall and laughed irreverently as he ran his fingers lazily through the chestnut locks of the woman at his side.
I knew too well how the summer sun brought out the fiery red in her hair. Those wisps could dance against the evening sky like flames against the sea. There was only the slightest gleam on her now, lit dimly by a nearby oil lamp. A fine embroidered kertch enveloped her hair, leaving only a few curled locks hanging free near her temples. And it was Allistor’s fingers now twining among those loose strands.
I couldn’t help but linger on the sight of her, but Elspeth stared down at the plate in front of her, prodding her vegetables with a fine silver fork.
I stepped forward, heart clenched as tight as my fists.
Caelin laid a calloused hand on my shoulder. “Come, Seumas,” he murmured. “There will be others.”
My cheeks burned at his words. Every man and child in the village had known what Elspeth was to me, what I’d once been to her, and every man and child in the village had pitied me the day of her wedding.
Our rivals never came simply to claim our crops and land. They claimed our lasses too.
I shook off Caelin’s hand and took one more step. Allistor took notice of me. Our eyes met across the room.
His fingers paused in Elspeth’s hair. He smiled then raised his mug to me, a mockery of invitation.
Caelin’s grip returned to my shoulder. “Come lad,” he insisted. “A fight will earn you nothing here.”
Elspeth’s fork had paused. She sat as still as the stones amid the surf. Surely she could feel my gaze, yet she spared not a glance for me. I turned away, swallowing the bitterness in my throat, and sat with my back to Allistor and Elspeth both.
A few of the laird’s young kinswomen brought us mugs of watery ale. I brought mine to my lips, taking one generous swig and then another. It didn’t dull the feeling of MacDonald eyes on my back, taunting me.
Another dozen men joined our eight. Odart, the last remaining grandson of our deceased chief, sat at the head of our table. He sipped his ale and smiled, yet kept a keen eye on the MacDonalds across the room. Bróccin, barely fifteen and this likely his first summons, took in his surroundings with tense, wary eyes.
Our MacDonald laird himself sat before the gathering with an elder of the local parish. Together they leaned over a roll of parchment that the elder held open on their table. With how intent they were in their conversation, I could only imagine what they were scheming for us next.
“How much d’ye reckon he’ll demand from the next harvest?” Caelin leaned in close to murmur, letting the nobles’ noise cover his words.
Odart snorted. “No doubt we’ll live off boiled bark through the winter if the laird has his way.”
Though the words were said with a rough sort of humor, Odart’s eyes shadowed as he looked to the laird. As a descendant of a chief, Odart would have been among the candidates for succession. The man was just and clever, not to mention one of the best fighters I’d ever seen. Our island would have thrived under his leadership.
I could still feel Allistor’s gaze on my shoulders, and my blood heated. If only more of our lads were of proper warrior age, if only we hadn’t lost so many of our men to war already, we could have chased these invaders from our shores long ago. Even now, Odart might be sitting at the chief’s table.
Was there no justice in this world turned upside down?
“Is this all of them?” The church elder asked, glancing up to address the laird’s attendant passing near the head of our table.
Ruadhri answered before the attendant could. “No, I think there’s a cow or two out on the moor still. Shall I bring them in to join us?”
Our men laughed and thumped the table. The attendant looked at us humorlessly as he answered the elder. “They are all here.”
The elder nodded. “Then we shall proceed. Men of Colonsay, the Kirk has been in talks with Prince Charles in his exile. He has agreed to take the covenant and shall be reinstated as King.”
I shared a look with Ruadhri and scoffed. “The covenant? Would this be the same covenant his father took then broke the first three occasions he could?”
Some of our MacFie men grumbled in unison, but an unwelcome voice answered me from across the room.
“Ach, the dogs are barking,” Allistor said. “Best to turn them out if they haven’t learned their manners.”
I slammed a fist into the table, and only Caelin’s firm hand on my shoulder kept me from whirling around.
“Prince Charles will keep it,” the elder said, raising his voice pointedly. “He has no other choice. We are the only chance he has of reclaiming his throne from the English Parliament.”
Maldouen scoffed. “Aye, and just a few years ago we were Parliament’s only chance of keeping the king in line. Look where that war got us—nearly a third of our fighting men lie dead in faraway fields.” He shook his head. “Leave us to rebuild our farms. We have lost enough to war already.”
“I hadn’t taken you lot for cowards,” the attendant said. “I thought you might be with us in returning a Scotsman to his rightful throne.”
“Perhaps our Scotsman shouldn’t have lost it in the first place,” Caelin said, making to rise. “At any rate, we have a Scottish laird right here at home, and if we don’t tend to our fields, we’ll have naught to give him when he claims the feus again.”
I and several others stood as well. Caelin had the right of it. Was this what they’d summoned us for? We had no use for table talks of kings and thrones.
“That is not all the elders wished to pass on to you,” the elder said, motioning for us to retake our seats.
Caelin hesitated before obeying. I followed him reluctantly.
The laird spoke, his expression resolute. “If the king is to succeed, he will need an army. There’s been a call to arms. We will send one half of our able-bodied men to answer it, as is tradition. Each of you have been chosen to answer the call.”
I gaped at the laird. Half of our men? Did the laird mean to wipe us out now?
“You would pull so many from our fields and send us away to war?” Odart asked evenly.
“It is how it is done,” the attendant said. “In times of war, our men must be willing to answer the call—”
“To defend our home!” Caelin brought a fist down on the table hard enough to make the ale ripple in its cups. “Never have we sent so many to fight on foreign soil.”
My blood rushed through me in stormy waves as I glowered at the laird. He looked over us impassively, a slight frown drawn behind his immaculately pointed beard.
“And what of these fine gentlemen?” Odart asked. His long brown hair swayed as he jerked his head toward the nobles gathered near the laird. “Are half of them chosen for this honor as well?”
The laird’s eyes narrowed in reproach. “The army will need officers, of course. But whether these men are needed more on the battlefield or in their own lands, is not for men like you to question.”
I huffed aloud. “So the nobles will wait here in their stone houses, sipping ale and eating pork while the rest of us fight for a king that lost himself his crown.” I kept my eyes trained on the laird and raised my head defiantly. “A noble endeavor, to be sure.”
“You would do well to discipline your anger, lad.” The elder’s voice held a sharp warning tone.
I bristled at the slight, and my dagger’s cool handle pressed against my palm.
Caelin clasped my upper arm, his hand a vice. “Calm yourself, Seumas. Starting a brawl at the laird’s table will earn you nothing but trouble.”
“And should we refuse?” Odart asked. “What is the penalty?”
It was the church elder that responded, keeping his tone even as he rerolled his scroll of parchment. “Each household who does not answer the call will be required to sponsor a warrior in their place. One who has more courage and loyalty than they.”
Sponsor a warrior. Even I heard the trouble in those words.
“So we are to be taxed at the laird’s discretion?” Maldouen asked. “Besides the usual tax just to live in our homes?”
It was an impossible choice. Lose half our able-bodied men or subject ourselves to whatever our laird considered a fair price for a warrior. Either choice would destroy us, devastate every one of our families. I added my voice to those erupting around me and pounded my fists against the table.
“Enough, men of Colonsay.” The laird’s voice cut through the room, cold and imposing.
Immediately our din withered. The laird stood and rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. Though I’d not yet seen many battles, even one was enough to appreciate the laird’s skill with the blade. It was not idly that he carried it upon him now.
“This conscription comes from the General Assembly themselves. It is our loyalty to God that compels us to answer.” The laird stared down at us coldly. “Now which will it be? Are ye men enough to answer God’s summons? Or will your fields feed those who are?”
There was little choice. Our families could ill afford to disobey the laird. Still, my gaze wasn’t the only one that drifted to Odart, waiting for his judgment. If he called on us to take up arms and rebel, we would.
Odart had kept his seat at the worn table. Even so, he presided over our small gathering of kinsmen with as much command and gravity as if he sat upon a grand throne. His gaze didn’t flit to any of us, but remained fixed upon the laird.
“We will answer,” he said, “and we’ll see whom God favors in the end.”
A few rustles met Odart’s words as MacDonald and MacFie alike reached for blades, waiting to see if the laird would take offense to the thinly-veiled insolence.
But the laird simply nodded to the elder. “Let us take their names then, Eaun. Colonsay will answer the call.”
One by one, we rose with fiery eyes and vowed ourselves to the cause. The elder took down our names to be sent ahead to the chief of Argyll, where we were to report within the month. The attendant then provided each of us with a scrap of paper containing our mustering orders. Little good it did most of us, as few of us knew more than our letters properly. But the orders bore the signature of our laird, vouching for our eligibility and dedication to the cause, which the elder claimed would help us find good positions within the army.
Though my hand rebelled against the act, I accepted my orders, stamped with the laird’s own seal, from the attendant. Turning on my heel, I intended to be quit of present company without another word. I’d had enough of the oppressive finery of the laird’s house. Yet as I turned away from the attendant, he grasped my shirtsleeve and leaned in.
“You’re a raging fire, lad. You and all your kin. The laird has chosen to overlook your insolence, but a commander will not do the same.”
A raging fire. If only he knew how we schemed to expel the laird and his men from our land, to reclaim it for ourselves.
But anger alone couldn’t reclaim our land, nor had Odart given the command to unsheathe our swords. I held my tongue.
I shook off the attendant’s hand, and as I turned, my eyes fell upon the amused gathering watching us from across the room.
Elspeth’s eyes were on me, wide with unspoken emotion. But as soon as our gazes met, she lowered her head. I turned and strode from the room.