"Ye did what?!" his voice echoed in the empty room as he spun around to face her. He was so livid he could burst. "It is one thing to arrange a betrothal fer yer fully grown, laird-of-a-son without his consent, but to do so without me even kenning about it is quite another!"
The woman before him didn't even look up at his outburst, but continued busying herself with the flowers on the table, clearly unmoved and unaffected. She answered blandly, "Alasdair, I am yer mother and without yer father here, it is my responsibility to make sure ye have a suitable woman to wife before the people start questioning yer ability to produce an heir."
"Ye're right, Mother," Alasdair allowed in a soft voice with a deep breath, fighting the exasperation he felt as he shut his eyes, "Father is no longer with us, and this responsibility may have fallen to you before I took his place, but I am the Laird o' Mackenzie now! I am responsible fer finding my own woman, preferably someone from a more advantageous clan -" he stopped, brows furrowing in concentration, trying to remember something long forgotten, "Wait, Leslie... isn't that the clan where ye -"
"Alasdair," Lady Fiona stopped him with a dangerous look, "What's done is done. The contract is written and signed by both parties." She paused then softened a little before continuing, "Just go have a look at the lass. If she no' be pleasing to ye, break off the contract. That is the agreement I made."
Alasdair pinched the bridge of his nose.
This woman and her endless agreements!
Some even said Lady Fiona was more ruthless in business than her son in battle. Alasdair loved his mother dearly, but sometimes she infuriated him to no end as she treated life as a business arrangement.
"Fine, I'll go see her," he huffed, his mother's lips twitched to a faint smirk, "But only so that there will be no doubt that the word o' a Mackenzie is trustworthy." He started to leave, but spun around and called as he went backwards, "And no one is questioning my ability to produce an heir, it's only been six months!"
With that he stormed out of the great hall and all but ran to the training ground, almost knocking a maid over in his haste. He had to get out before his anger got the better of him.
It rarely did; Alasdair prided himself with great concentration and a presence of mind on the battlefield, his anger was fine tuned into his attack, giving him strength and agility.
His father had taught him that.
But when dealing with people he loved and cared about, he had to be a bit more careful and find other ways to release his pent up anger than drive his sword through their chest.
It was time for the midday meal so the training ground was very nearly empty. Alasdair hardly noticed the late stragglers heading in for the meal as he began sparring with the thick wooden pole they used for drilling the basic self-defence techniques from head knowledge to muscle memory.
His muscles moved swiftly and expertly of their own accord as he ran through the movements he had practiced since he was a boy.
Another thing his father had taught him.
Alasdair still remembered his first day in this very spot in the training yard with his father guiding his arms. He had been so excited that he was finally starting his training so that he would be able to fight alongside his father, his mentor, his laird.
Growing up, Alasdair had wanted to be just like his father and so since Laird Arthur had started setting up Mackenzie's feared reputation, Alasdair had made sure to continue and strengthen it in the months since his passing as a way to honour him.
That was to outsiders though. Within their clan, Laird Arthur had been one of the softest hearts around, kind and generous; he couldn't rest if a family were to go hungry for only one night. Alasdair could only hope he was doing his father justice in this area too...
One thing he did not aspire to though was Laird and Lady Mackenzie's marriage.
If Alasdair thought his younger years were filled with hellish days, he could only imagine what the servants went through before he was born! The pair never loved each other, nor did they grow to love each other. By the time Alasdair was nine, they had started becoming more tolerant of each other but there was always tension. To his father's credit, he did try to show his wife love in the last few years, but his actions were never reciprocated.
No, no. Alasdair did not want a marriage like that! One filled with the tension his whole childhood had been lathered with, where it felt like he had to tread cautiously in case there was glass underneath his bare feet.
In a hidden corner of his heart, he had felt a guilty relief when his betrothed died not long after his father because that meant he was free - free to meet a girl, fall in love, raise a family in harmony. But now...
"If ye're looking fer something to get yer mind off things, I'll tell ye right now, that pole is no' going to do it."
At the sound of his first in command, Alasdair stopped beating up the wooden pole and instead rested on it. Still breathing hard, Alasdair looked up to see the smug challenge in Ivor's eyes; he knew very well he was one of the few people Alasdair couldn't best in hand-to-hand combat as he always, always changed his tactic.
Alasdair had a knack for studying his opponent and testing their strengths and weaknesses, keeping uncannily calm no matter what verbal taunting they threw at him. This made him all the more frightening though, for when he attacked, his aim was sure and precise; he fought his opponent as if he had fought that exact fight before. But when it came to his first, the fight was never predictable and it left Ivor undefeated among the Mackenzie men.
But there could always be a first time, Alasdair decided as he pushed himself off the pole, accepting the challenge.
Laird and first in command sparred in the training ground. The fight was fair enough, but the older, more experience warrior had his pupil-of-a-laird at his mercy more times than Alasdair would have cared to admit. But there was nothing like a challenge to take the edge off and help him calm down to think rationally - even if it had him flat on his back multiple times.
"Ye're getting better, stronger," his first acknowledged with a nod of approval as he reached an arm down to help Alasdair up... again.
"Ye're just saying that," he accused with a tired smile, accepting the extended arm.
"Nay, I mean it, I'm actually out of breath this time," the normally stoic man mocked with a ghost of a smile, placing his hand over his chest.
A breath escaped Alasdair that could have sounded like a laugh as he shook his head at him.
"I heard of Lady Fiona's contract with Leslie," Ivor returned to his serious state and at his words, Alasdair followed suit.
"Aye."
"What are yer intentions?"
"I'll see it through," he sighed, running a hand through his hair, "The integrity of Mackenzie would be doubted if I do no'. Mother said that in order to meet the terms of the contract, I at least need to lay eyes on the lass before I can annul it."
"So, ye're set on annulling it?"
Alasdair's mouth opened with an affirmative answer, but stopped himself. His first raised an eyebrow at his hesitation. "I'm willing to have an open mind..." he answered thoughtfully before continuing with frustration, "But I'd like to set out as soon as possible to get this over with."
"Weel then, I'd advise we go see the lass as soon as things with Clan McDonell settle down."
Alasdair nodded his assent. Clan McDonell of Glengarry on Mackenzie's north-western border had been stirring up trouble and Alasdair's first priority was to see his people safe before any extended absence, especially a journey to the Lowlands.
***
"Is that Laird Lachlan's castle, Fergus?" Alasdair addressed his third in command who had accompanied his mother on her journey a month past.
"Aye," Fergus confirmed without removing his keen eyes from the sight as they looked down from their vantage point on top of a hill. "No' much to look at, but that's Leslie a'right. It has a lot o' potential, but Laird Lachlan has been struggling these last few years."
The valley was quite expansive with lots of lush greenery and a fast-flowing river running right through, but not much had been done with it. Alasdair could see how a financial advisor was desirable and wondered at Laird Lachlan not reaching out to someone earlier. Alasdair had certainly had his fair share of troubles as the new laird over the past few months. He had helped his father as he prepared him for the role, but at Laird Arthur's passing, much more responsibility fell on his shoulders. Alasdair, however, had benefited from his father's support system that he had set up during his time. That and the vigorous warring had stood him in good stead both at home and among neighbouring clans.
"Keir," Alasdair addressed his second sitting on his horse just behind them, "Send messengers on ahead to acquaint the laird with our arrival on the morrow."
Keir solemnly nodded his blond-red head and went to carry out the orders.
Alasdair turned to his first, "Ivor, tell the men we'll descend the hill and make camp fer tonight before entering the keep."
Soon the group of fifty men had set up camp and were settling down for the night. That was when Fergus spoke up.
"Ye'd better go down to the river fer a wash," he crinkled up his nose, "Ye reek o' horses and sweat."
Alasdair turned sharply to look at him. Fergus wore his trademark smirk, his dark brown eyes betraying the fact that he knew full well he had just enjoyed insulting his laird and friend.
"We all reek," Alasdair retorted as he returned to untying bundles from his horse.
"Aye, but only one o' us is on official business with a laird and his daughter," he shot back, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, "Ye do no' want to scare the lass with yer wild appearance any more than she probably a'ready is."
"Why would she be scared?"
"Ye're jesting," Keir joined the conversation with an incredulous look, "Do ye no' ken o' the rumours spreading about ye?"
"Aye, I ken o' them," Alasdair answered, guardedly.
"Weel?" Fergus prompted, looking shocked that he had to explain himself, "The ruthless, bloodthirsty Mackenzie coming to yer doorstep would set even the bravest o' men quaking in their boots."
"That's only when I'm on the battlefield," he dismissed them, "I'm not like that at home, ye ken that."
"Aye, we ken that," Keir affirmed, "But I'd wager other clans do no'."
Fergus' gaze filled with hope as he saw Ivor coming towards them, the shortest strands of his uneven hair falling over his eyes as always, Alasdair could never understand how he could actually see anything.
"Ivor! Do ye no' think Alasdair should get cleaned up before presenting himself to his bride?"
Ivor suddenly looked like he regretted joining them at this point in their conversation, but after a moment of consideration he gave a small shrug.
Fergus rolled his eyes at Ivor's uncommitted response and looked at Alasdair pleadingly, "Just go wash and try to make yerself presentable fer tomorrow. I'll even go with ye, I was just about to go to the river myself to fetch some water fer us."
"Fine," Alasdair conceded, more just wanting Fergus to stop talking, "I suppose it can no' hurt."
Making himself ready for his bride, Alasdair scoffed to himself as they set out. Potential bride, he corrected, he wasn't sure about his not having been there to arrange matters. He was a man of honour and therefore wanted at the very least to meet the contract's terms of annulment. As annoyed as he was with his mother for not consulting him, the more he thought about it, and the journey gave him plenty of time for that, the more curious he became. What kind of woman would Lady Fiona of Mackenzie deem suitable for her son? Knowing his mother, looks would not be considered, so possibly someone who was well-educated and wealthy. Although, that was the strange part: Leslie was not wealthy by any stretch of the imagination, so why this clan? He vaguely remembered hearing about his mother's ties with Leslie before her marriage to his late father, but couldn't quite place it. And what had made his mother set out to do such a thing in the first place? His betrothed from birth had died two months before and Lady Fiona hadn't even breached the subject once since then. When she was heading off after receiving a letter that made her shake from what he almost thought was excitement - a strange sight, indeed - he had been told she was invited to visit with a very old friend. No mention of a betrothal.
A bloodcurdling scream broke his train of thought. The two men quickly glanced at each other before drawing their swords. They strained to hear which direction it had come from. The sound of splashing water and someone struggling caught his ear.
He froze. Alasdair felt his stomach drop and twist. He could feel the familiar rigid tension fill his body as old memories surfaced.
People screaming, water splashing, horses neighing, confusion, utter chaos.
"Alasdair," Fergus pulled him away from the bitter past, "It came from the river."
He forced his legs to work again and they sprinted the last bit of the way through the trees, coming into the clearing where the river was rushing by.
"There! Just beyond the bend," his third pointed. The person was tiring and wouldn't last long in these frigid temperatures.
Even before he had spotted the person, Alasdair started to strip himself of his weapons and plaid. He was calf-deep, ready to take the plunge, when he heard another splash.
His head shot up in surprise, searching for the source and found a second figure making good headway towards the one struggling.
"Who's that?" Alasdair asked more to himself as they watched.
"I do no' ken, she came out o' nowhere; just stripped to her shift and dove in."
"She?"
Trust Fergus to notice any and every lass.
Alasdair could do nothing but watch as he stood frozen with the water running rapidly past his legs. The woman made quick work of pulling the struggler, no more than a child, to safety. She quickly stripped the wet clothes off the child and grabbed a fur from the horse nearby, wrapping it about the wee shivering figure. After the woman checked the wee one for what Alasdair could only assume was injuries, he saw her giving a gentle scolding to the child who was remorsefully nodding as she tended to his head.
As they looked on from afar, Alasdair found himself admiring this little raven haired woman's care and compassion. From the looks of the pack on her horse, she wasn't traveling with the boy and possibly didn't even know him. He couldn't help but be impressed by the woman's bravery and courage for risking her own life for another.
This was the type of woman he wanted by his side leading Mackenzie. Someone willing to put the needs of others before her own, someone who cares for those in need, someone who was not sore on the eyes...
"What a bonnie lass," Fergus' comment echoed his thought.
"Fergus, ye think every lass is bonnie," Alasdair huffed, suddenly irritated as he forced himself to turn his gaze away from the captivating scene and gather his discarded attire.
"Weel, I like to say I have a keen appreciation fer the good God's gift to man, and she, my friend, is one hell o' a gift."
Alasdair eyed his flirt-of-a-third and did not like the way Fergus was looking at her.
"Let's get washed and be done with it," he ordered, roughly yanking Fergus by the bicep in the opposite direction of the distant pair, "The sun's setting."
As cantankerous as he tried to come across, Alasdair couldn't help the corners of his mouth curving up. Aye, this woman was something special... Mayhap if this betrothal business turned for the worst, their trip to Leslie would not have been a total waste, Alasdair would seek this lass out.
The lass with the raven coloured hair and the Forget-Me-Not eyes.
Wim de Klerk as Laird Alasdair
Mads Mikkelsen as Ivor, First in Command
Joel Edgerton as Keir, Second in Command
Ioan Gruffudd as Fergus, Third in Command
*Disclaimer: I do not own any of these photos. All belong to their respective owners.*