For Love of a Laird (Irvines of Drum Book 1) Read online

  Reginald scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Ye are a spoiled lout, ye ken that? She is the bonniest lass I have ever seen and ye got to share her bed last night. There is nay need for a frown and if she is such a burden, I shall gladly take her off yer hands.”

  “Haud yer wheesht,” Robert warned, scowling at his brother. “Ye have nay respect, do ye?”

  “On the contrary, I respect her, or at least parts of her, verra much.”

  Alex slowly turned his head and narrowed his eyes at their younger brother, who was known for his handsome looks, sharp wit, and loose tongue. “I didnae lie when I said I would run ye through, Reg.”

  “All I am saying is ye need to stop yer frowning and appreciate yer good fortune. Father didnae leave me such a bonnie bride.”

  Staying silent, Robert breathed deeply and looked ahead. They were about midpoint now. Drum Castle was just about ten miles south of them and it had taken more than half the day to travel this far. There was no point arguing with Reginald. He wanted a fight, even thrived off it, and Robert refused to feed into his younger brother’s foolish games. He sensed that Alex felt the same, and only threatened him out of husbandly obligation, though he did not seem as bothered to hear his brother speaking of his wife as mayhap he should, for having bedded her the night before. He wasn’t sure why his stomach tightened into a knot at the thought of them together, or why it soured his mood more than the fact that they were headed for battle.

  Holding up his left hand, Alexander stopped and the scores of men behind them and he did the same. Robert pulled on his destrier’s reins and the well-trained war-horse stopped and shook her head, snorting slightly in defiance, if only to let Robert know that she listened because she wished to, and for no other reason. That’s what he loved most about Fodla. She was as fierce and determined as the goddess she was named after, yet reliable and always ready for a fight.

  Pointing to the stream just east of them, Alexander hopped off his horse and wiped his brow. “We rest for a wee bit. Water yerselves and yer horses,” he shouted to the line of men behind them. Turning to Robert, he jerked his head, signaling for him to follow, away from the other men. Dismounting, Robert allowed Fodla to wander toward the stream while he followed his brother over to a large stone protruding from a small mound of grass, surrounded by yellow and purple wildflowers. Sitting warily on the stone, Alex ran his hands through his dark hair and looked up at the sky. “My mind is heavy, Brother.”

  “Aye?” Robert already knew as much, but he stepped closer and leaned against the tree, enjoying the support on his lower back at least for a short while until he would be on the road once more.

  “Aye.”

  Wind blew past Robert, causing his linen tunic to billow slightly, cooling the sweat slicking his chest. It was refreshing, yet something foreboding slithered up his spine. He was not certain what his brother had on his mind, but already he knew he would not like it. “Battle weary already?” Robert asked, ribbing his brother and earning a weak smile.

  “I am weary of much. I miss the days before Father passed, before I had responsibilities coming out of my arse, lands all over Scotland to manage, titles, peace treaties. I ken I was born to be the heir, but having to take on a wife, a war, and a lairdship all at once is a grand burden.”

  “Alexander…” Robert had to say it. Mayhap he should not, but he could not understand and wanted an answer. “Elizabeth is… quite bonnie. I ken ye love Mary, and Elizabeth kens as well. But is it so bad being married to the lass? Surely ye can grow to love her.”

  “Have ye ever loved a woman, Rob? Truly loved her?”

  Shaking his head and taking a deep breath, Robert shrugged. “Ye ken I havenae.”

  “Then ye cannae understand what it is to lose her, even to the bonniest of lassies.” Alexander rubbed at his short beard and Robert did the same. It was a nervous tell they both inherited from their father and was usually followed up with a request.

  “What do ye need from me, Alex? Anything. Ye ken I am yer friend, not just yer brother.”

  “I do ken. And I do have a mighty favor. Should I fall in battle—”

  “That willnae happen.” Robert pushed off the tree’s rough trunk, feeling the sudden scratch of its bark against his back. He did not want to hear such talk from his brother. “Ye have fought many battles and survived. Ye are one of Mar’s best knights.”

  “I am fallible, and I am mortal, and I have much to lose should I die. I need to make certain my affairs are in order should the worst happen.”

  “That willnae happen, Brother. But I already ken I am next in line as laird. I already ken all the lands and all yer responsibilities. Ye neednae worry about any of that.”

  “That isnae what I am worried about. Our peace with the Keiths is fragile. It wasnae so long ago they set an Irvine lad on fire, if ye remember.”

  Cringing and feeling his stomach churn, Robert swallowed, remembering the horrifying day and details acutely. How he wished he could forget the traumatic day. The screams. The cries. The smell of burned flesh. The retaliation. The Keiths had paid dearly for their sins, their cattle slaughtered and their fields burned. It had been a bloody road between the families, and peace was much needed. An heir must be born soon to make the bond stronger. “I pray nightly to forget,” Robert whispered.

  “Me, as well. ’Tis why my marriage to Elizabeth is so verra important. We have ended a feud and gained an ally. If I die, I cannae have the fighting continue. Ye must marry Elizabeth instead. It is in the marriage contract that the next brother in line will marry her, should the other perish. Ye will take over my entire life, Robert, even my name. Ye ken ’tis a tradition for the laird of Drum to be named Alexander.”

  Aye, he knew this, yet had not ever truly considered it a possibility. A name was just a name. He could sign his brother’s name on documents and still remain himself in private. But, to marry his widow? That was asking too much, and though Robert found Elizabeth to be a beautiful and pleasant woman, marriage was not in his immediate plans. “Ye want me to marry yer wife? Are ye mad?” Head spinning, Robert propped against the tree once more, feeling like a horse had just crushed his chest. “Ye ken I dinnae wish to marry for a verra long time, and certainly not to my sister.”

  Alexander scoffed and waved his hand. “She isnae yer sister. And if I am dead, she is just my widow.”

  “Dinnae speak of yer death with such ease. Ye arenae going to die and I willnae marry Elizabeth.”

  Standing from the rock, Alexander straightened his back and grew serious once more. “If I die, ye will. Ye need to. Ye have nay choice. I told ye, ’tis in the contract. Peace depends on it. Give me yer word. I require it, as yer laird.”

  “Och, dinnae pull that shite on me, Alex.” Robert sighed, knowing he had no choice but to comply. If it was worth peace between their people, and contracted, then his fate was sealed. “All right. Ye have my word. But ’tis unnecessary, for ye willnae die.” Spitting on his palm, he put out his hand for Alex, who did the same. They shook on it and sealed the agreement. “I will let Reginald ken.”

  Shaking his head, Alex began to walk back toward the men, then paused and turned around. “Nay. I will tell him. ’Tis better coming from me. One more thing, Robert, and ’tis just as important to me, if not more so. Ye must take care of my Mary. I am worried about her as it is. If I shouldnae return, promise me ye will make sure she is always taken care of.”

  “Ye neednae ever ask such a thing, Alex. Mary is important to us all. She is family and will always be cared for,” Robert vowed and followed his brother toward the river, desperately in need of some cool, refreshing water and a moment of quiet for his pacing thoughts. He always knew he was the spare to the heir of Drum. He always knew there was a chance tragedy would strike and he would have to step in, especially with Alex being knighted last year in France and having strong loyalties to Mar, ever at the ready for a fight. But it had never occurred to him that he would need to take over his brother’s wife and discussin
g Alex’s potential death had shaken Robert more than he cared to show. Never had they sat down and talked about anything so important, nor had they ever had to.

  “Where is Reginald?” Alexander asked, shielding his eyes against the blazing rays beaming down on them. It was a midsummer’s day and a beautiful one at that, but very little shade was to be found on this road heading north.

  “He went into the forest that way, with a group of men,” a man pointed. “He decided to hunt for some game while we were stopped. Said they would catch up to us.”

  Sighing, Alexander scratched his beard and looked at Robert, clearly stressed. Obviously, he had wanted to get this off his chest as soon as possible, but it was going to have to wait. “We need to continue on. He kens the way.” Alex approached his horse and Robert did the same, mounting Fodla quickly and guiding her away from the river, back toward the dirt road. “Harlaw is about ten miles north of here and if we dinnae break, we will be there by nightfall.”

  Alex and Robert rode side by side, yet neither man spoke. Alex seemed to be focused as he looked straight ahead, and Robert simply had swirling thoughts of battle on his mind and how much more he had to lose than any other man. Many men had brothers that may fall, and he always had to worry for all his warriors, especially Alexander and Reginald. But of all the men in their train, he was the one who would need to give up everything he knew to take over his brother’s life, should he fall.

  Shaking his head and squinting his eyes into the horizon, Robert took a deep breath, feeling the air in his lungs and an ache in his heart. Protecting his brothers was always a priority, but now, it was an absolute necessity. Alexander would not fall in battle. Robert would not allow it.

  Sitting alone on a rock, Robert stared at nothing in particular. Morning dew clung to green blades of grass, reflecting the light of the rising sun as its rays stretched over the Harlaw horizon. So much beauty surrounded him in the new light of dawn, yet all he could truly see, feel, smell, or taste were the horrors of the day before.

  Mayhap if he stared at that one blade of grass, so new, fresh and bright, he could forget the many other blades just over the hill that were still drenched in blood. Not just blood of the enemy, but blood of his kin. So much death. The acrid scent of it wafted on the wind, reminding him even from a distance that there was no escaping the horrors that awaited on the other side. More war. More blood. More death.

  When they reached Harlaw the morning before, the Irvines and Keiths were met by their cousin Mar and his army of three thousand men, less than half the men that marched toward them from the north. The Donald had a reported ten thousand men, and from what Robert had seen on the battlefield as they approached, before the slaughter began, he had to agree that the army had been massive, yet they were ill-prepared and untrained.

  If nothing else could be learned from Red Harlaw, as the men already referred to it, it was that numbers meant very little. Mar’s army consisted of warriors, knights, armor, and superior weapons while the poor bastards fighting from the Highlands had crude swords and no armor to speak of. They had been but commoners made to believe that the will of powerful men was worth dying for. And, they had.

  But it was not only them who lost lives. Even important men, knighted men, can fall. Closing his eyes, he willed himself to forget the moment. To stop repeating the images in his mind. The battle had nearly been over. Men were either dead or exhausted and it had been impossible to tell who had won the day, for it felt like a loss all around. But they had survived. The three brothers of Drum had lived through the slaughter.

  And then, a man had pushed through the line. Red Hector of the Battles Maclean, the leader of Donald’s army and a hulking man with a vendetta to fulfill. Robert took a shaky breath, trying to calm his pulse and roiling stomach. He felt as if he would be sick once more but was certain he had already vomited up every organ he had.

  While the Highland army attacked in one line, Mar’s army had been split into three, keeping the knights in the back as reserve. That meant that the very best men were the last on the scene and Maclean was determined to fight the best, hacking his way through crowds of men, seemingly not caring who he felled, friend or foe. That’s when it happened. Everything was still as clear as the River Dee on a summer’s day in Robert’s mind. Every detail. Though he wished to forget, he knew it would plague him for a lifetime.

  Alexander saw the infamous warrior approaching, covered in blood while wearing a sadistic smile. The man had been mad with bloodlust and wandering the field for his next victim. Alexander saw him first, and before Robert even had a chance to turn around, the two men were locked in combat.

  Every second had been torture. Alexander had fought and defeated many men in his life, but just being a few yards away and being unable to do aught but watch and pray his brother survived had been excruciating.

  Robert watched as Alexander’s blade ran through Hector’s chest and breath filled his lungs for the first time in what felt an eternity. His brother had killed the mad bastard and survived. Until the moment the dying man used the last of his reserved energy to push his blade through Alexander’s heart.

  Everything had happened in slow motion and Robert was certain he had let out a wail that shook the heavens. Even now, he relived the moment over and over, torturously. He and Reginald had run over to their brother, tried to stop the bleeding as Alexander faded before their eyes.

  Feeling nauseous once more, Robert doubled over and clenched his belly. His brother was gone. He lay on the field at Harlaw along with thousands of other men. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Alexander was strong, powerful, intelligent, and always full of light. He was the one who had always guided Robert and Reginald, and now… he was no more.

  Bile rose in his throat and he spit it out, wiping his chin and cursed his stinging throat with its repressed pain. There had been no clear winner of the battle and despite the death of his brother, fighting was meant to continue now at dawn.

  Taking a breath, Robert walked back to his men, finding Reginald sitting beside where they had temporarily laid Alexander’s body. Neither of them was handling this well, but Reginald was only two and twenty, the spoiled third brother who never had much more to do than chase skirts and fight in skirmishes. Life had not been full of trial for him. He had trained beside them on the lists, but never had to fight in any major battles. Now, here he was, staring blankly at a body covered with an Irvine plaid, and Robert had nothing to say for comfort. There was no comfort. No calming the grief. Yet still, the battle was unfinished, and Alexander would want them to fight on.

  Walking over to his brother, Robert put out a hand and helped Reginald to his feet. “He wouldnae want us to wallow, Reg.” The words burned in his throat. Unshed tears stung his eyes.

  “Aye, he would. He was too self-important to not want a display of grief,” Reginald chuckled and Robert forced himself not to smile.

  “Mayhap so,” Robert nodded, slapping Reginald on the back. “But he would wish us to wallow after the battle was won,” he corrected.

  “Aye. Now that, I believe,” Reginald sniffled and gripped his belly, clearly feeling the same loss and pain Robert was.

  Every part of Robert ached, not just his heart. Fighting had taken its toll on his body as it had every other man. Nobody had the strength of body or heart to continue this fight as they were surrounded by the bloodshed of their kin, yet none of this could be in vain. There was no giving up and no turning back. If they lost, The Donald’s army would continue their march south and burn Aberdeen as promised. It could not be allowed.

  “Reg. I need ye to stay back.”

  “What?” His brother tilted his head and furrowed his brow.

  “If I die next, ye are all that Drum has left,” Robert forced through his cracked lips and aching throat.

  “So ye wish me to stay back like a coward? Nay! I wish to fight!”

  “I ken ye do, but think what will happen to our people should we both perish. Uncle’s daugh
ters and their awful husbands will come and one of them will be laird. Father would roll over in his grave!”

  Reginald went silent, but Robert could see his jaw clenching with frustration. Robert knew his brother wished to avenge Alexander, as did Robert, but there was more in life than vengeance and the man who killed him also lay dead in this field. When vengeance was used to fuel a war, nothing good ever came from it.

  “Men! Gather around me!” Mar shouted and everyone turned to face their leader who was also covered in blood, despite having been covered in armor during the battle. The blood he wore was not of the enemy, but of the kin they had moved off the field all night. “It appears The Donald retreated during the night, coward that he is. Even with an army thrice our size, they fled in fear, kenning we were the greater force!”

  Men shouted and whooped, both happy for the victory and to not have to fight any more. He doubted any of them had much more fight to give. Though he was relieved not to fight, this felt like no victory at all. They had lost their laird, their brother, their best friend. But he had died to protect his people and his land, just as Robert knew he would have wanted, though it did not make the pain of his loss hurt any less.

  Though the battle was over, there was much to do. Bodies had to be burned to prevent disease from spreading, for there was no way to bring them all home. Reluctantly, Reginald and Robert approached Alexander’s body, now covered with several Irvine plaids and, once more, Robert held back the wail wanting to escape from the depths of his soul. “We cannae burn him.”

  “Nay,” Reginald whispered, looking down at the pile of plaids, swallowing hard. “He must be buried. It is cruel to leave the others to burn, though we have no choice. But, not Alex. Not the laird.”

  “There is a kirk a few miles from here. Order the men to put Alex on a cart. Before returning home, we will see him properly buried.”

  Storming away, Robert gripped his throbbing temples and allowed the tears to flow once more before hardening himself to the reality that stood before him. He was now Laird of Drum, and, whether he liked it or not, he was contracted to marry his brother’s wife. His beautiful, intelligent, stubborn widow.