“Aye, Laird,” Ross quickly replied.
“That will be unnecessary, Mahon Donovan. I am already here.”
Mahon rose, walked over, and grabbed Colin’s large forearm with a firm grip. “McTiernay, welcome.”
Colin tilted his thumb toward Drake. “If you agree, I would like my commander to be in attendance during our discussions. My other men have been instructed to wait just beyond the outer walls.”
Mahon nodded. “Your commander is welcome, and my servants will see that your men outside are well fed.”
“Your generosity is appreciated.”
Mahon pointed at the padded armchairs at the head table and retook his own seat. “As you can see I have restructured the room to fit the needs of an older man. If I were having this room built now, the hearth would not be situated in the middle of the room with the entrance door to the side. The only way to keep my backside warm is to have my table situated most awkwardly, which in turn results in my back being to the door much of the time. Damn nuisance.”
“It is a grand hall all the same, Mahon.”
The old man nodded at a servant and swirled his finger in the air, indicating for him to bring drinks for his guests. Mahon propped his elbows on the table and looked Colin in the eye. “Enough with the pleasantries. It is a long ride to Lonchlilar. One does not make the journey uninvited and without purpose.”
“If you wanted to kill me or my men, your sentries would have done so the moment we set upon your land.”
“You saw them, then?”
“I had not realized that you intended them otherwise,” Colin lied.
Mahon eyed the young laird. The Highlander’s size would daunt many men, but it was the man’s cunning that caught Mahon’s attention. In an unthreatening way, Colin had cleverly warned Mahon that his men were clumsy and needed further training. It also affirmed Mahon’s guess that Colin’s visit was not to start a war between their two clans, but to avert one.
“You have ridden hard for a reason, McTiernay, and I expect I will not like the answer.”
Colin reached into his leine and pulled out several torn bloody pieces of Donovan plaid and laid them down on the table in front of Mahon. “These were carefully placed throughout the remnants of an attack on my land.”
“A raid?” Mahon asked, picking up one of the still wet pieces. It was without a doubt the Donovan tartan.
“Nay, raids are for livestock. These attacks were senseless slaughters of horses and stock animals.”
“Attacks? More than one?”
“Nine all together, in the span of two nights.”
“No sane Scot would do such a thing. You say these were found on the scene?”
“Those are but a handful of the pieces, aye.”
“No Donovan committed such a crime,” Mahon vowed with conviction.
“I never believed you or your clansmen did. There are too many pieces and their cuts are too similar. As you can see, all are the same size and shape. They were easily found, and in chosen locations. Some of the mayhem was designed just so that I would find proof of a Donovan attack.”
The old laird leaned back into his chair and sat quietly for several minutes before standing up. “Do you know the reason why I did not support you along with Crawford, Boyd, and the others?” he asked, walking toward the impressive stone fireplace.
Colin looked at the man without expression. “I suspected you had had enough.”
The accuracy of the answer startled Mahon. “I must admit I am surprised you ascertained as much, but I am glad you did. I have seen too much war these past ten years. Edward II is being manipulated by his barons, and chaos runs rampant in the English lands. During this time, we must replenish our forces and rebuild our strength. I do not want to see it squandered on battles against our own. Scots should not be killing Scots. It’s a waste and disgrace.”
“I agree.”
“Edward’s son is a fool, but he is not completely stupid. Eventually it will occur to him that attacking Scotland might unite his quarreling nobles.”
“Robert knows this and will soon be mustering forces to attack England while it’s vulnerable. It is a sprint to see who will attack first. Regardless, though, war is imminent. The decision I have now is whether to wait and fight a battle against my own at the same time I fight the English or to fight now.” Colin watched the old laird wrestle with his thoughts.
Mahon took a deep breath and exhaled. “Turning potential enemies into actual ones is dangerous and costly.”
“I can ignore a potential enemy, Donovan, but I will not ignore one that tries to humiliate me and cause suffering to my clansmen. When enemies make themselves known whether English, Irish, or Scot, one has two choices, fight now or fight later.”
“And what are you inclined to do, McTiernay?”
“It depends on your decision. Someone intends for us to fight, no doubt to diminish your force and possibly eliminate mine, leaving Lochlen undefended for those who desire it. We can ignore what they did or we can band together against the one man who foolishly thought to pit us against each other.”
“MacCuaig.”
“There is no proof. No one saw any of the attackers, and unlike your tartan, I cannot link him or his clan to the attacks.”
“You know it was MacCuaig, just as I. The man has a black and greedy heart, but he wants more than just Lochlen. If you had spent your youth in the Borders, you would know the obsession he has with your wife.”
“He will never have Makenna, Donovan. I will leave the Dunstan clan and take her and my men to the Highlands before I would allow MacCuaig to touch one hair of my wife’s.”
Mahon swung around and marched back to his chair. He sank down into the worn cushions and locked eyes with Colin. “No man has ever dared to use me or my men before. If MacCuaig wants a battle, he’ll have one.”
“I am glad we are in agreement. But I came this way not just to show you MacCuaig’s misdeeds, but to ask for your favor. I have two battles looming in front of me, and with your assistance, I can end them both definitively and perhaps simultaneously.”
“And if I choose not to support you or your plan?”
“Then I leave here and devise another; however, I doubt my second plan will consider the state of the Lowland Scots to be a priority.”
A week later, Colin left Lonchlilar. His mood was dark and ominous. All who saw him knew the talks with Donovan had ended, and a war between the two clans was brewing.
Mahon watched secretly from his private chambers as the fierce Highlander rode at a gallop out of Lonchlilar’s gates.
The plan had begun.
It had taken a week to resolve all the specifics, and during that time, Mahon learned the fame surrounding the McTiernay strategic abilities was well earned. It all came down to timing and perception. Only one part of the elegant plan had caused Colin to hesitate.
“Your plan requires absolute secrecy of your numbers. Before MacCuaig makes his move, he will scour the hills to verify the size of your army. You have a month, maybe two at best,” Mahon had advised.
“Aye, a problem, but not an insurmountable one. To keep my numbers hidden, I will need to relocate them in stages. What concerns me is the one element I don’t control—MacCuaig. I cannot be certain how long my men’s stay will be. It is too much to ask,” Colin replied somberly.
“What is too long of a stay? Two, three months? Perhaps four? Where better than Lonchlilar Valley can you hide your men? And you know I am right. Your pride is preventing you from accepting this offer. Only under a cloak of mutual animosity will your plan be successful. You said yourself you suspect MacCuaig has already dispatched spies to Crawford, Moncreiffe, and Boyd to watch for any dispatches. He may even decide to send one or two men to my lands, but they will not dare enter the valley. Here is where your men must come.”