in a low, even tone.
Both men continued to glower at Murdoch and only took one step away.
“Galen MacCullough was my uncle,” Lachlan began. “I could pick his hand out from a hundred others. This is nae his.”
“But it says—”
“I ken what it says,” Lachlan interrupted. “But I swear to ye, ’twas nae written by Galen MacCullough. It does nae even sound like him.”
Murdoch eyed him suspiciously for a long while. “Do ye sincerely expect me to believe ye?”
“I dunnae care what ye believe, Murdoch. I speak the truth. Galen did nae write this.”
“Then who did?”
For the life of him, Lachlan didn’t know. But he had a sneaking suspicion. “Mayhap someone who wanted us at war with one another.”
Reluctantly, Murdoch gave it a measure of thought. “I ken no one who would do such a thing. No one.”
“Think of who benefited most from a war betwixt our clans,” Lachlan said. He leaned back against the edge of the table and crossed his arms over his chest and allowed the man time to consider what he’d said.
After a long while, Murdoch shook his head again and raised his empty palms in defeat. “Ye will have to explain it to me, MacCullough. I can think of no one.”
“How long did it take for the MacRay to come to ye after the attack?”
Murdoch scratched his jaw as he thought on it. “I dunnae ken. ’Twas nae long I reckon. Walter would ken better than I.”
“Yer steward, Walter Chisolm?”
“Aye, him.”
The two men sized each other up for a spell before Murdoch finally broke the silence. “Do ye honestly wish me to believe the MacRay is behind this?”
Lachlan shrugged his shoulders again. “As I said before, I dunnae care what ye believe. I for one would like to ken the truth of it.”
“Mayhap ’twas another MacCullough.”
The thought had entered his mind, but he immediately dismissed it. “I ken of nae MacCulloughs who would stoop to such treachery. Nay,” he said shaking his head in disbelief. “Nay, ’twas nae MacCullough. But I am determined to get to the bottom of it.”
There was still a good amount of skepticism to be found in Murdoch’s eyes.
“Do ye still wish to challenge me?” Lachlan asked.
“Damned right I do.”
A dare is a dare is a dare. At least in the mind of any good Scots lad. One couldn’t back down on a dare, or so nine-year-old Gylbeart Chisolm believed. He was just as strong as his da and older brothers; his mother had told him so only that very morning.
So when ten-year-old Inan Chisolm accused Gylbeart of being too afraid to go climb the tallest and oldest oak tree, well, ’twas a challenge he could not let go unfulfilled.
The group of three lads and one lass made their way across the open field behind their homes and into a very small forest. Just near the edge, sat the infamous tree. “It must be as old as God,” little Maldouen Chisolm said in awe. He tried to whistle, but he was only seven and his two front teeth were missing.
Mariam Chisolm was the oldest of the group at eleven years. A bright, sweet lass with golden blonde locks and bright blue eyes. “Ye will fall and break yer neck,” she warned the lads. “Yer mum would skelp yer hide if she kent ye’re even thinkin’ of doin’ this.”
The boys, as most young boys do, ignored her warnings.
Gylbeart brushed his curly brown hair from his forehead, spat into the palms of his hands and rubbed them together. A moment later, he began his attempt to climb the auld tree. But try as he might, he couldn’t quite reach the first low hanging limb.
“See?” Mariam said as she placed her hands on her hips. “Ye be too short.”
Undeterred, Maldouen came up with the next brilliant idea. “Here,” he said as he got down on all fours directly under the large limb. “Stand on my back and reach.”
“This is a bad idea,” Mariam warned.
“If ye dunnae want to watch, then go home,” Maldouen told her.
Gylbeart crawled onto Maldouen’s back and carefully stood up. “Dunnae move so much,” he scolded his friend.
“’Tis nay me, ye daft badger. Ye be the one wigglin’ like a worm.”
Uncertainty filled young Inan’s eyes as he came to stand nearer to Mariam. “He is verra brave,” he muttered under his breath as Gylbeart grabbed the low tree limb. ’Twas far too fat to wrap his hands around it entirely. “Stand up, Maldouen,” he said. “Boost me up a bit farther.”
With a