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Authors: Rebecca Sinclair
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when I was maun, maun younger. E'en in me prime I'd not have dared aught so bold against a family so strong, a family I'd a centuries-auld blood feud with. Yet The Black Douglas dares that and, with his latest escapade against his twin, maun. Kidnapping the Lady Gabrielle threatens to bring down upon his head the wrath of both young James and that sourpuss old Bess. One doesn't have to like what Connor Douglas does to admire his guile and daring for doing it, don't ye ken? Och! lad, stop scowling and shaking yer head at me."
"I dinny believe I'm hearing this, and from me own da nae less! Are ye going to let a Douglas, any Douglas, get away with stealing a goodly portion of Caerlaverock's beasties and to many prisoners to count?"
"O' course not."
"But ye just said—"
"That I admire Connor's daring, naught else." A slow, sly grin tugged at the corners of Johnny Maxwell's lips as he linked his fingers together and rested them atop the generous hill of his stomach. "I dinny say a word aboot not seeking me revenge. Och! lad, we be Maxwells! Revenge is in our blood. We couldn't stop seeking it—especially against those God rotten Douglases—any maun than we could stop breathing."
Gordie returned his father's grin. "Now, that I'm liking the sound of. Tell me, what do ye plan to do?"
"Weeell..." Johnny's smile broadened. "Naturally I've filed a bill with the March Wardens against The Black Douglas. It shall be heard on the next Day O' Truce. I admit I'm sorely grieved to loose Siobhan—och! that wench was a mighty fine cook!—but I'm not so foolish as to think we'll be getting her back any time soon, if e'er. Yer mither and sisters are already busy weaving us new blankets to replace the ones taken by The Black Douglas. There's naught else that can be done aboot the raid, not legally, except the obligatory counterattack, which we've already planned." Johnny shrugged and lifted his right hand palm upward in a gesture indicating he was helpless to do anything more, which indeed he was. About that matter. He swiftly turned the conversation to a matter he could do something about "Now that I think on it, mayhap The Black Douglas's latest escapade be not so bad for us after all."
"Meaning...?"
"Meaning 'tis well kenned that a Maxwell's blood runs thick and strong, our loyalty to each other unmatched. Nae matter our differences, we always defend our own."
Gordie frowned and cocked his head to the side. "Aye, so ye've taught all yer sons since we were bairns. I dinny ken how any of this has to do with Gabrielle Carelton, or getting revenge on Connor Douglas."
"Think a wee bit harder." When Gordie showed no indication that he knew what his father was talking about, Johnny pillowed his elbows on top of the desk and leaned toward the young man, his gaze locking with Gordie's. "Did ye not just tell me The Black Douglas is in possession of a misbegotten guest in his keep? A guest who, unless I be wrong, and I dinny think I am, would rather be anywhere but Bracklenaer?"
"I did," Gordie acknowledged.
Johnny nodded. "Mind ye, ordinarily I'd not care. Howe'er, as luck would have it, the guest in question happens to have a drop of Maxwell blood trickling through her veins."
"Only a drop," Gordie reminded his father firmly. "Have ye not said often enough that 'tis an ancient indiscretion we dinny admit to? Something that happened in the past and was meant to be forgotten?"
"Aye, that I have. And so 'tis. Yet, like it or nay, the fact remains that Gabrielle Carelton is a Maxwell. Och! lad, the maun I think on it, the maun I like it. This could work in our favor quite nicely! Do ye see where this all be leading?"
Gordie's frown deepened, then just as suddenly disappeared. "A Maxwell takes care of his own," he repeated softly, seemingly to himself. Louder, as realization dawned on him, he said, "What sort of kin would we be if we dinny lift a finger to get the poor, sweet wee lass away from her arch enemy, the Douglas?"
"Poor kin,
"I dinny believe I'm hearing this, and from me own da nae less! Are ye going to let a Douglas, any Douglas, get away with stealing a goodly portion of Caerlaverock's beasties and to many prisoners to count?"
"O' course not."
"But ye just said—"
"That I admire Connor's daring, naught else." A slow, sly grin tugged at the corners of Johnny Maxwell's lips as he linked his fingers together and rested them atop the generous hill of his stomach. "I dinny say a word aboot not seeking me revenge. Och! lad, we be Maxwells! Revenge is in our blood. We couldn't stop seeking it—especially against those God rotten Douglases—any maun than we could stop breathing."
Gordie returned his father's grin. "Now, that I'm liking the sound of. Tell me, what do ye plan to do?"
"Weeell..." Johnny's smile broadened. "Naturally I've filed a bill with the March Wardens against The Black Douglas. It shall be heard on the next Day O' Truce. I admit I'm sorely grieved to loose Siobhan—och! that wench was a mighty fine cook!—but I'm not so foolish as to think we'll be getting her back any time soon, if e'er. Yer mither and sisters are already busy weaving us new blankets to replace the ones taken by The Black Douglas. There's naught else that can be done aboot the raid, not legally, except the obligatory counterattack, which we've already planned." Johnny shrugged and lifted his right hand palm upward in a gesture indicating he was helpless to do anything more, which indeed he was. About that matter. He swiftly turned the conversation to a matter he could do something about "Now that I think on it, mayhap The Black Douglas's latest escapade be not so bad for us after all."
"Meaning...?"
"Meaning 'tis well kenned that a Maxwell's blood runs thick and strong, our loyalty to each other unmatched. Nae matter our differences, we always defend our own."
Gordie frowned and cocked his head to the side. "Aye, so ye've taught all yer sons since we were bairns. I dinny ken how any of this has to do with Gabrielle Carelton, or getting revenge on Connor Douglas."
"Think a wee bit harder." When Gordie showed no indication that he knew what his father was talking about, Johnny pillowed his elbows on top of the desk and leaned toward the young man, his gaze locking with Gordie's. "Did ye not just tell me The Black Douglas is in possession of a misbegotten guest in his keep? A guest who, unless I be wrong, and I dinny think I am, would rather be anywhere but Bracklenaer?"
"I did," Gordie acknowledged.
Johnny nodded. "Mind ye, ordinarily I'd not care. Howe'er, as luck would have it, the guest in question happens to have a drop of Maxwell blood trickling through her veins."
"Only a drop," Gordie reminded his father firmly. "Have ye not said often enough that 'tis an ancient indiscretion we dinny admit to? Something that happened in the past and was meant to be forgotten?"
"Aye, that I have. And so 'tis. Yet, like it or nay, the fact remains that Gabrielle Carelton is a Maxwell. Och! lad, the maun I think on it, the maun I like it. This could work in our favor quite nicely! Do ye see where this all be leading?"
Gordie's frown deepened, then just as suddenly disappeared. "A Maxwell takes care of his own," he repeated softly, seemingly to himself. Louder, as realization dawned on him, he said, "What sort of kin would we be if we dinny lift a finger to get the poor, sweet wee lass away from her arch enemy, the Douglas?"
"Poor kin,
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