Page 34 of Highland Spy

Chapter 11

The tower bell rang the next morning as King Robert’s procession arrived at Hermitage Castle bright and early. A sentry atop the battlements blew a straight trumpet announcing the king’s presence while everyone ran to take their places.

“Hurry, Caleb,” called out Logan, waving his arm in the air from across the courtyard. Caleb overslept as usual, never liking to get up early. The sun had just started to rise, and daylight was lighting up the horizon.

Two lines of Highlanders stood across from each other, holding their swords in the air. The tips were joined, making a passageway for the king to walk under. The six lairds who were the finalists in the competition stood at the front of the line. These warriors were all hardened men who would do anything to earn the title and be crowned the winner of the Leader of the Lairds Competition. It was a high honor.

Caleb didn’t trust a single one of them, besides his own laird, Storm. And even Storm got a little crazy at times when it came to winning competitions. Highlanders were competitive, and didn’t like to lose. It wasn’t surprising that all Highlanders were in the finals and not a single Lowland laird made it through. Caleb also found it curious that so many of the competing lairds yesterday seemed to have bad luck or fall prey to accidents while competing. Mysteriously, they dropped their swords, or a weapon broke. Some seemed to stumble for no reason at all, and one man even fell and broke his arm. It wasn’t like these lairds to be careless or clumsy. But because of their mishaps, it took them out of consideration of even having a shot at the title.

The herald announced the king while the musicians played a lively fanfare that split the air. With an entourage of guards in front and in back of him, the king came forward atop his horse, his long ermine cloak of purple hanging over the sides of his steed. Above his head was a square cloth canopy being held up by long wooden poles that was carried by four servants. They walked alongside the king as he and his procession of guards rode atop their horses that were adorned in fancy tack.

“Your Majesty, welcome to Hermitage Castle,” said Storm proudly as he and his wife, Wren, approached the king. Storm, being last year’s winner, wore the brooch and crown that were part of his winnings. Wren curtsied and Storm bowed, showing their respect to their country’s leader. “We are honored that ye have decided to join us this year to observe the Leader of the Lairds Competition. It is a privilege to have ye inside the walls of Hermitage Castle. We are forever grateful,” said Storm, speaking loudly so all could hear. He seemed to be overdoing the praises of gratitude in Caleb’s opinion, but he realized Storm was just trying to get in the king’s good graces. Plus, Storm was very proud of having seized Hermitage Castle from the English years ago.

“MacKeefe,” said the king with a slight nod. The rising sun seemed to illuminate his auburn hair. A golden crown adorned with colorful jewels sat atop his head shining brightly in the morning light. “My stay here will be brief, so I suggest we move forward with the festivities anon.”

“Aye, of course, Yer Majesty,” said Storm. “May I escort ye into the great hall for a mornin’ meal?”

“Just a fast one,” said the king, dismounting his horse. “I’m anxious to watch the competition. Have the finalists been chosen yet?”

“They have, Sire.” Storm bowed again. “Let me introduce the lairds who are movin’ on to the final competition, startin’ with myself.”

“That doesna surprise me that ye’re in the finals, MacKeefe. Ye have a reputation for winnin’ any challenge ye take on.” The king nodded toward the crown on Storm’s head, causing Storm to straighten up and beam with pride.

“Thank ye, Sire,” said Storm, a large smile spreading across his face. He led the king to the entrance of the archway of swords held by the Scots. Then he introduced the competitors one by one, even though the king already knew them all. “This year’s finalists are: Ollie, chieftain of the Fraser Clan, and beside him is Laird Angus of the MacKenzies.”

Ollie was a weathered, older man, but had the most experience with weapons and was still quick on his feet. Angus had a chest on him the size of a barrel and was built like a castle’s retaining wall. He’d be hard to knock down.

“Then we have Lairds Owen of Clan Grant, and Henry of the MacDonalds. And last of all is Chieftain Clement MacLean,” finished Storm.

Owen was the youngest of the competitors, being not much older than Caleb. If it came to quickness or lithe in a challenge, he’d beat the others. Henry, on the other hand, was strong and had the biggest muscles of any of the finalists. He would probably win if it came down to strength. Then there was Clement, a mysterious man who was quick in mind games or in cases when he had to use his intellect.

While the preliminary round was planned, no one knew for sure what the finalists would be required to do. The king was the only one who knew since he would choose the events that led to crowning a winner.

“Umph,” mumbled the king, not sounding at all impressed by the finalists. “Show me to the great hall, MacKeefe. And call for my chronicler. I want all these events recorded. Where is the chronicler?” He grumbled impatiently as he headed through the passageway of swords on his way to the great hall.

* * *

Bridget had just finished writing about Caleb in the Highland Chronicles and was blowing on the ink waiting for it to dry when there came a knock at the door. Her father was on the other side of the room, dressing, getting confused by which end to put his head through on his tunic.

“Faither, someone is at the door,” said Bridget, jumping up. “Just a moment,” she called out, helping her father into his tunic and throwing his plaid around him. The pounding continued and she hurried across the floor and opened the door.

“Bridget,” said Caleb, out of breath, as if he’d been running.

“Caleb. What is it?”

“The king has arrived and is callin’ for his chronicler and he doesna sound patient.”

“Oh, my!” she exclaimed, looking back at her father. He wasn’t having a good start to his day. His mind was wandering more than ever this morning and simple tasks seemed to be monumental to him. She couldn’t let the king see him like this.

“Didna ye hear the fanfare and the tower bell ringin’ announcin’ his presence?” asked Caleb.

“I had the shutter closed. Nay, I didna hear it,” she said.

“Didna hear it? It was so loud they probably heard it all the way to the Highlands.”

“Well, I was busy writin’ in the chronicles all mornin’, so I didna pay much attention.”

“No matter, we need to go. Now.” He grabbed her hand and dragged her to the door.