Bravely(69)

He did not posture and say he didn’t have to answer to her or anyone else. He didn’t ask her to prove her status and right to demand anything of him. He just did exactly as she asked. He explained how this kingdom had been fussing with its neighbors for generations. Stealing cattle. Stealing daughters. Refusing to help when the Norsemen came. Letting reformers come through and harass the clergy. Cutting down their resources and wasting them without sharing them with others. The trees on this rock wouldn’t last forever, after all.

“I asked them to comply again and again,” the Dásachtach said. Now he looked grim. Depressed. “Just a little show of loyalty. Anything, really. Send me sons; marry their daughters to the neighbors who were so fearful of them. Give us a choice. Anything. But…”

He held out his hand helplessly and showed them the ruined town as if that was the only option he’d had available.

If there hadn’t still been smoke roiling off the town, it might have seemed more compassionate, but as it was, it remained a hard sell for the queen of DunBroch.

“This is no way to change hearts,” Elinor said. “There are many other ways.”

As they’d been speaking, more men had come into view behind him among the trees. It was not an entire army, but it was certainly enough to take out the DunBroch travelers if it came to a battle. Unlike the rigid dignity of Ardbarrach’s regiments, the Dásachtach’s group was a somehow free and organic mass, sinuous and fierce. If Ardbarrach’s forces had been like a well-trained machine, this was like a nest of snakes, coiling and turning over each other. They were cunning and mobile and somehow seemed much more dangerous.

Harris watched them intently.

“If only that were true,” the Dásachtach replied sadly. “If only that were true. Dear woman. You have not told me your name.”

“Elinor of DunBroch,” Elinor said, and Merida was proud of her mother’s mettle. She was not having any of his fairy-tale spinning. “We have just returned from a journey to Eilean Glan, as per our discussion with your man, and have arranged for foster girls to come to DunBroch.”

“How excellent to hear you are working toward unity,” he said. “This must be your daughter. And oh—who’s this?”

A dog was scurrying around his horse’s legs, its tail up and curious. Very few horses like to be meddled with by strange dogs, especially in wolf season, and the Dásachtach’s mount was no different. It whirled and tossed its head and kicked out, but the dog was like warm jelly and simply trickled out of harm’s way.

“Tsssss!” Harris hissed through his teeth.

Because of course the dog that had crossed the distance to them was Brionn. Of course.

“Harris,” hissed Merida.

“One of yours? What a fine-looking creature,” the Dásachtach said. He had calmed down his horse without getting flustered himself, and now he slid off and grabbed Brionn’s wide collar in one smooth motion. Brionn twisted, his expression silly as usual, eyes pointing off in all directions, tongue lolling, but he could not free himself from the Dásachtach’s grip. The warlord cast his eyes over the group and seemed to discern even at a distance of several yards who was at fault, because his gaze flickered to Harris and stayed firmly there. “It’s all right; come get him.”

Harris stalked across the expanse, his head up, shoulders back. If he was embarrassed about Brionn—and Merida knew he was—it wasn’t visible in his walk. As ever, he looked much older than his years as he strode across the expanse under the attention of both Elinor’s royal retinue and the Dásachtach’s men. He looked neither left nor right. His fingers did not twitch to betray uncertainty. That was not the Harris way. He simply walked straight up to the warlord who had just slaughtered an entire town and inclined his head in understated gratitude.

The Dásachtach did not immediately relinquish Brionn. Instead he stood there and cocked his head and took in the sight of Harris of DunBroch. Harris remained unflinching, wearing, as always, his cool, slightly superior expression that gave very little away.

“This is your dog?” the Dásachtach asked.

“He was a gift,” Harris answered in his distant way.

“Do you not think a dog’s behavior reflects its master?”

“I do.”

“And do you think this dog reflects you well, boy?”

It was a critique, and Harris did not generally take critique well unless he respected the giver very much, but all he said was, “He will.”

This made the Dásachtach smile. He held a hand out as if displaying Harris to his men. “Here now is a fine creature. I can see the quick mind shining out through the eyes.” He looked at Elinor. “Is this one of your sons? Boy, wouldn’t you like to ride with us now? We have a horse just your size.”

Merida thought she might throw up.

“Thank you for the offer,” Elinor said coldly. “But we have already sent one son to Ardbarrach and we must consider if we want to send off another, as we have our own borders to think of.”

“Indeed,” the Dásachtach said. “How well you illustrate my point. You send a son; I send a son. You will not be unprotected. Together we are a family. You would not think twice to send your son to family to spend time, nor would you be sad to receive and host family in his place for a time. Does family always get along? No, family does not always agree. But they take care of each other. I am making a family. Are you sure you do not want to send him along? We are doing quite a lot of work on this trip and I think he’d enjoy seeing it.”