The Eagle by Hildie McQueen

Chapter Thirteen

It was late in the day when they arrived at Stuart’s lands. The sun was low in the horizon causing the trees to cast long shadows across the field that surrounded a house that had barely survived the passage of time.

“I am not sure it is habitable,” Ewan said looking to Stuart. “I think we should set up camp and get settled. We can take our time exploring the structure once the sun rises.” Ewan would remain for a few weeks but planned to leave before the winter settled in. Artair would come and replace him then.

Stuart agreed and scanned the area for a place that would be suitable. What had once been fields were now overgrown, young trees and bushes covering the ground. There were a few places that were passable for camping, but it would take them until nightfall to clear any space.

“This will take a while,” Stuart said turning his horse around so he could address the small group.

Stuart looked to the men, who also scanned the area. Some wary, others with interest.

“We will choose somewhere not too far from the house to clear and set up camp. First, we need to make proper shelters, so we don’t have to worry about the elements as we work to restore the house.”

Ewan added, “There are plenty of young trees we can use to make sturdy shelters. It should not take overly long to cut them down.” He gave his brother a challenging look. “Two each?”

He and Ewan often competed at everything. Most times, neither won because they were so close in size and stature.

“Very well,” Ewan said pointing to a narrow path. “Let’s try this way. Hopefully, the carts will fit through.”

It took several hours to get to the spot they’d chosen. Ewan got what he wished for because they had to chop down more than two young trees each, to get the wagons through.

By the time they were able to clear not only the path, but an area for the shelters, it was dark. They worked by torchlight to erect two tents made from linen that had been covered in fat before allowing to dry. The fabric was tough and would provide shelter from the wind and light rain.

While the men worked, Dougal set up a separate shelter for himself and his wife. He made a sturdy structure from the fallen trees adding a leather roof.

Everyone was exhausted as they quickly ate pottage and drank ale, anxious to sleep.

Stuart lifted the flap of the tent and searched for a space to lie down. He, his brother, and Anton would share this one, while the rest of the men were in the other.

Once he settled on the pallet of blankets, he promptly fell asleep.

A loud conversation startled Stuart awake the next morning. Thankfully, it looked to be a sunny day. Unfortunately, the bright light coming through the tent meant he’d overslept.

He made quick work of pulling on his boots and walked out to find that a group of men had arrived and were arguing with Ewan who looked half asleep and fully annoyed.

When his brother turned to him, he motioned for Stuart to hurry closer.

“These men came to challenge our being here. They say this land belongs to the village constable,” Ewan informed him in a bored tone. “I suppose we must go and meet this man.”

“No need,” a burly man holding a wooden club said. “Here ’e comes now.”

A man rode toward them atop a black horse. By the way he sat in the saddle, he considered himself to be quite important. Stuart glanced over his shoulder at his own warhorse, which would dwarf the man’s.

“Why are ye on my land?” the man called out. “Leave at once or I will set my men upon ye.”

Stuart looked to his own men who approached.

“Mount and bring our steeds,” he ordered in a low tone. It was but a short moment later that the men returned and brought their horses. Both Ewan and Stuart mounted at once.

At seeing the horses and Stuart’s guards on mounts, the burly villager and his companions exchanged concerned looks, especially when the guards drew their swords.

Stuart pulled out his tartan that hung from a sack on his saddle and threw it over one shoulder. “Who are ye?” he said meeting the man’s gaze.

At seeing the tartan, the man became less assured. “I am Torridon St. Claire, the constable of the nearby village.”

Stuart knew the man made up the surname. He was most probably a Smith, but he let it pass. “I am Stuart Ross, this is my brother Ewan Ross, my cousin Dougal Ross,” he motioned to each man as he spoke. “This land, as well as the village ye all live in, belong to Clan Ross.”

The constable’s eyes narrowed. “Why should we believe ye or that ye care about our village. Laird Ross has not stepped foot near here in years. We have had to fend fer ourselves and do not require ye or any of yer family to come now and take what has become ours.”

Obviously, the man and villagers were not aware of his father’s death. Stuart considered that perhaps now was not the best time to inform them of the fact.

He looked from the self-appointed leader to the men that had arrived on foot. “I do not come to take anything from ye. I come to settle on my land where I will farm and raise livestock. There will be work for those needing it.”

At his words, the men’s expressions became eager, and they showed great interest.

“We do need work,” one said.

“Will ye pay?” another asked.

“Yer father made us work without recompense. I do not trust ye,” another added.

There were murmurs of agreement. Ewan gave Stuart an urging look.

“My father, Laird Ross, is dead. My brother, Darach Ross, is now laird of Clan Ross. Ye will find him to be a good and fair leader.”

Two younger men turned and raced away, no doubt wishing to be the first to take the news to the village. They would have plenty to share, Stuart mused.

There was a strange interchange between the constable and the gathered men. It was as if they were fearful.

“Return to the village, I will deal with this,” Torridon ordered, his voice held a menacing tone. “Do not trust anything ye heard.”

Ewan along with two guardsmen guided their horses around the group, blocking them from leaving. Once again, the men looked to the constable for guidance.

“Ye are no one to give orders,” Stuart said. “I am of a mind to imprison ye for yer insolence.”

“Ye have no such authority.” The constable glared at him. “We are our own people now.”

It was a turn of events Stuart had not expected. Guiding his horse closer to the constable, he lowered his voice and met the man’s gaze. “What do ye hope to achieve by goading me? I can have an army triple the size of the village here in two days. Do not try me on this.”

The constable’s gaze slipped away first, his brows lowering. “I only state the truth. Ye can try to do what ye wish, but soon ye will discover that the people here do not trust ye and will never respect ye.”

The man turned his horse around, effectively ending the conversation. “Come,” he called out to the men, who hurried past Ewan and the guards to walk back to the village.

“Should we stop them?” Dougal asked coming alongside Stuart. “That is going to be a problem.”

“Aye,” Stuart replied. “I will need able men to help clear the land and to work on the house. My brother will be sending the animals in a fortnight and we’ll need help with them as well.”

Ewan motioned to the house. “First priority is fortifying the house. Worry about the village once the work here is completed. Meanwhile, we can send a message back to Darach to send more men to help clear the land.”

The outer structureof the house was in good shape. A few windows had to be replaced and mortar added to some bricks to ensure it was weatherproofed, but it would not be a lot of work.

The interior was another story completely. Only a couple of the walls and hearths were usable. They would have to rebuild walls, stairs, doors, and furniture. The front entrance was flanked by two large windows, quite rare for homes of the time. There was a large main room that led to a second room of about the same size. There was an archway that led to a kitchen and a second corridor where three smaller rooms were. Stuart guessed they’d been used for servant sleeping quarters. Off the kitchen was a back exit to what he assumed used to be a garden.

To the right of the main room was a corridor that led to three bedchambers.

He turned to Ewan. “Who lived here?”

His brother shrugged. “After our grandfather died, I do not think anyone has for at least twenty years.”

He believed it from the looks of it. Rats scurried from the hearth when they entered what looked to be a good-sized kitchen. Of all the rooms, this one would have to be dealt with first.

Pushing on the thick support wooden posts, he was glad to note they remained strong.

“There is much to do,” a feminine voice said, and they turned to see that a pair of women accompanied Dougal’s wife, Bree.

One of the women straightened her cap and gave Stuart a straight look. “I am Maisie, this is my sister, Grace. We will have this kitchen set up in no time at all.”

Grace’s face brightened with a smile that showcased missing teeth. “We worked for yer grandfather, bless his soul.”

Not about to stand between three women and whatever they had planned, Stuart and Ewan motioned to the kitchen. “See about whatever is needed.”

The women bustled past them.

“Strange,” Stuart said when they’d returned to the largest room at the front of the house. “The women do not seem affected by the constable.”

“It could be they do not live in the village or have no reason to fear him.”

“The men did seem to fear him,” Stuart said.

His brother nodded.

They went outside to find men clearing brush from around the house, and one sat on a fallen tree forming makeshift brooms.

Ewan looked around and smiled. “I do believe ye will have a good place to live. I almost envy ye.”

Two men came through the trees with buckets of water and headed into the house. Ewan went to a wagon and returned with hammers. He motioned to the man making brooms. “See about cleaning out the hearths.”

Stuart decided his first task would be to build a ladder so he could make repairs to the roof.

And so, the work that would take them many weeks to complete had begun.

One morning Stuartwoke ready to face the long list of tasks to be completed that day and realized with so many things requiring his attention every day he’d lost track of exactly what day it was.

Walking out of the bedchamber—he’d only moved into the day before—he went to the kitchen. There he found the sisters, Maisie and Grace, busily cooking a simple fare of eggs and porridge.

“The hens laid plenty of eggs,” Maisie said with excitement. “They have finally settled. We only took half of the eggs and put the others in a separate pen. Soon we’ll have plenty of chickens.”

Stuart settled into a small table that had been set up just outside the kitchen. The clearing of land to build corrals for the livestock had taken priority over the building of furniture, so the house still remained mostly bare.

First and last meal were the only time he sat and rested, the remainder of the time he had too many tasks to take breaks. This day however, he didn’t feel a need to hurry.

“Why are ye not scared of the constable? Some of the villagers seem to fear him?” Stuart asked the women.

The women exchanged looks, seeming to gauge what to say. Finally, Grace met his gaze as she slid him a bowl of porridge with a fried egg on top. “Torridon is a cruel sort, who takes glee in making people’s lives miserable. Since we’ve always lived away from the village, he hasn’t bothered us much.”

“Why do the people obey his every command then?” Stuart said taking a spoonful of food, blowing on it, and then eating it. It was quite delicious.

Maisie was first to reply. “Because the man has been smart about how he controls everyone. If he can’t get them through loans that require higher payments in return, he gets information about ’em they don’t want gettin’ out. And he also has himself a group of evil doers that follow his orders and threaten people who don’t obey him.”

“Those were the ones who came here the first day ye arrived,” Grace added.

Stuart nodded. “Aye, they seemed to obey his every command.”

It would be easy enough to rectify the situation. He had to get rid of the constable. Since Ewan was to depart the next day, he’d ask his brother to ride with him into the village to get a better idea of what the situation was.

The seaside villageconsisted of a scattering of cottages on hilly land. Most of the thatched roof homes faced the sea, a true testament to the people’s regard for where their livelihood came from. There were a few shops that had been lined up on a road that curved around an inlet. The rest were small homes. Several people milled about, some on foot, others urging slow mules to pull their wagons. In the water was a smattering of boats from which Stuart guessed men fished.

Altogether, he had to admit, it was a beautiful place. The salty air reminded him of home, and he wondered if he should have moved into the house closer to the village. Perhaps he would in the future. For now, he would have to ride the hour or so it took to see about the villagers.

When he rode past a small home, two barefoot children ran out and stared at him. Lifting tiny hands to block the sun from their eyes, their rounded eyes took in his horse.

“Are ye a warrior?” the lad asked his eyes moving from his face to the horse.

“I am Stuart Ross, I live near here,” he replied and smiled down at the child.

“I think ye is a warrior,” a young girl standing next to the boy insisted.

Stuart reached into his purse and pulled out a pair of coins tossing them to the delighted children, who picked them up and raced into the house.

He continued until reaching the main road and dismounted. In truth, his horse was quite large and intimidating. The animal was at home on the battlefield, fearless and trained to trample the enemy. Not exactly the type of horse to make people feel at ease.

Ewan met his gaze. “I like the place. I think it suits ye.”

Turning to the horse, he patted the animal’s head twice. It was a command to keep its head bent and give an illusion of meekness. The horse snorted to communicate its annoyance but did as commanded.

Pulling the horse behind, Stuart walked to the first shop. It was a bakery. The man behind the counter started at seeing him and rushed to the door. “Mister Stuart. I wondered how long it would be before ye came to the village.” The man gave a slight bow. “I am Albert Smith.”

Stuart took advantage of the fact that the man seemed pleased to see him. “How are things here at the moment? I heard there was a problem with yer livestock.”

“Aye, it was quite horrible. We lost almost all the cows, except for the few that belong to the constable. Managed to save most of the sheep, which is good.”

“Do the sheep belong to the constable as well?” Stuart eyed the man, noticing he’d become nervous.

“I am not sure.” The baker seemed to realize he should probably not be having this conversation. “Can I gift ye some bread?”

Stuart accepted several loaves but insisted on paying. The baker was a likable man and Stuart informed him that there was work available if he knew of men needing it.

Continuing, the next shop he stopped at was a cobbler. The man sat outside his shop, leather atop a form as he worked without looking up. Despite the man pretending not to notice him, Stuart had seen him looking over when he’d been speaking to the baker.

This man was slight, with thinning hair and he moved quickly giving the impression of someone who was always nervous.

“I am Stuart Ross…”

“I am well aware Mister Stuart,” the man interrupted. “Welcome.” Still, he did not look up, his hands smoothing down the leather.

“Why are the villagers so scared of the constable?” Stuart asked knowing it would startle the man.

His question had the desired effect. The man’s eyes rounded, and he looked in the direction of a large house in the distance. “We are not scared of him.”

“That is not the impression I get. Tell me. What do ye think of him?”

This time the man’s hands dropped down to the tabletop. “He is a strong man, who ensures the village has order.”

“Order,” Stuart said then looked to the house. He remembered it. When he was a child, he’d visited his great uncle and great aunt, who’d lived there. The house belonged to his family. Had his father gifted it to the constable? Somehow, he doubted it.

Then again if it was empty, it was better to put it to use.

Stuart considered that it could possibly be a better location for him and Cait. He’d have to ask her where she preferred to live.

“Order should be maintained by a constable. However, it is not his position to take from those he is sworn to protect.” Stuart met the man’s gaze. “A good and fair man does not rule by fear.”

The cobbler nodded. “I am Roger McTernan,” the man said standing and giving a slight bow. “Welcome, Laird.”

Laird.The word hung in the air. Stuart nodded in return and continued on.