Bravely(17)

“Really?” Leezie said. “Ah, thanks.”

Merida went on. “Kin bonds have to be won, not just stitched, or they can be snipped just as easily. Give me a chance to go see which family might have me, and who I might have.”

The men looked at Leezie and Merida. They looked at Fergus and Elinor. They looked at Wolftail. In the background, they could all hear the sounds of Harris’s dog Brionn whining and barking his high youthful bark and scratching at the other side of the chest. Merida’s cheeks burned with embarrassment over the shoddiness of the blockade in front of the door, but she hoped they just interpreted it as passion for her proposal.

“And how will we know of your progress?” Wolftail asked finally.

It was working. They were considering it. Merida said, “I’ll send word from each territory, and your lord will have his proof.”

Wolftail’s hackles were lowering. He snarled, “This is a strange place.”

“Merida’s proposal is more than fair,” Elinor said. She’d returned to her usual self-contained form, with no evidence that she’d ever been out of step with her daughter. “Do you accept it?”

“He’d be bloody mad to not,” Fergus said. “Is this about peace or isn’t it?”

Wolftail shrugged. “Yes. The bargain is made.”





AFTER Wolftail’s men had taken their leave with their big ugly fighting dogs and the rest of the boar, Aileen’s staff immediately scurried back into the Great Hall to begin cleaning the mess. Merida remained there on the balcony, her hands pressed into the railing, her heart thudding in a way it hadn’t been during all of her speech. Leezie thoughtlessly rubbed her hands against her cheeks over and over as if she was trying to warm them, her big eyes vague but distressed. Across the Great Hall, Merida saw the triplets on the opposite balcony, looking down at the castle staff doing their work. Hamish looked pale. Hubert had a wooden sword in his hand and kept smacking it off balcony supports. Harris simply watched Merida.

So this was their Christmas. Merida felt hollowed out. She didn’t think she could bear seeing her parents making light of this and sweeping it all under the rug. Not after the night and day she’d just had.

“Leave it!” Fergus roared suddenly.

Everyone in the Great Hall stopped. Merida’s father stood in the middle of the disarray, his great big arms hung down by his great big sides.

“Fergus, what are you about?” Elinor asked.

Fergus mashed one big fist into one big palm. “I won’t have it. It’s Christmas. It’s Christmas, and I won’t have everyone’s Christmas ruined by those pups. Is all the feast on the floor?”

“First courses, sir,” Aileen said. “And half the meats. I held back some for the next courses.”

Fergus stretched a hand to her as if revealing a magic trick. “She held back some for the next courses. There’s still a feast. You see?”

“Yes, sir, but the villagers have all been driven away,” Aileen said. “And what’s left is a hodgepodge, not suited for tabling—”

But Elinor had brightened, all her confusion disappearing. She smoothed her hair around her veil and knocked invisible wrinkles from her dress. “Fergus, my love, of course you’re right. Aileen, I know this isn’t the feast you’d imagined. But please take the staff to the kitchen and pack up everything that’s left for travel.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Gille Peter, ready the horses!” Fergus howled.

Merida and Leezie exchanged a look.

“Are we going to battle?” Leezie asked.

“With biscuits?” Merida said. Although as soon as she said it, she realized that going to battle with biscuits was the only way she could imagine DunBroch doing it.

“Girls!” Fergus shouted up. “Stop your havering! Get down here! Boys! Down! We’re going out!”

And just a little while later, the family DunBroch were riding out into the frigid, windy winter night with much festivity, as if they hadn’t just been tousling with a warlord’s henchmen. The horses had been decked with all the bells and boughs that could be scavenged from the destroyed decorations in the castle, and with every step they took, they jingled and pealed. Pack ponies ambled behind them with laden baskets slung over their withers. The triplets sang carols as they rode on their matching geldings, for once using their energy to harmonize beautifully instead of cause chaos. Fergus had even allowed Leezie to quickly braid holly stalks with the pokiest bits trimmed off into his beard, and the berries gleamed red-red-red against his russet beard. (“The berries represent good fortune for the season,” Leezie had told him. “Do they now?” Fergus asked. “Probably,” she replied.) On all sides, Fergus’s men-at-arms carried torches and lanterns that lit the night.

They were taking the Christmas feast to the blackhouse village. All the potential partygoers had fled from the potential trouble the Dásachtach’s men represented, and now the king and the queen were going to reassure their subjects the danger had passed and make sure they still got the celebration they’d been looking forward to.

Merida couldn’t believe how different the night felt from just an hour before; she couldn’t believe how different it felt from the night twenty-four hours before. There was no wild fear or catastrophe threading this chilly blackness. Instead it was an intimate, convivial party bolstered against the cold.