Written In Stone

called them to war sometimes, Muredach thought, mulling over the situation, the land enjoyed drinking the blood of the people fighting over her. However, this particular battle had not been over the land, it was purely personal. The Llewelyn used his only daughter to try to steal something belonging to the Mor's, failing that, he now sought to gain what he wanted by killing. It got him nothing but dead men in the end; though Muredach knew, it would not keep Llewelyn from trying again once they recovered from this battle.
    "Finally," Fergus said when the battle ended and they were on their way back to their keep, "thanks be to God. We can go home."
    "Aye," Muredach agreed. "'Tis been too long, Da. I shoulda killed the Llewelyn when he came for Bettina that night. And still the lizard lives."
    "Aye, he lives, but only because he is a coward and hires others to fight 'is battles. The time will come when 'e must fight for himself, then he will see what he has done."
    "Muredach!" Crinan called out. "Rider comin'."
    "Oh, bloody 'ell," Muredach spat. "What could it be this time? I'm tired. I wanna go home, sleep in me own bed."
    The rider carried an unknown flag as he approached the men. "Are ye the Mors?"
    "Aye," Fergus answered. "I be Laird Mor."
    "I am looking for Muredach Mor."
    "Aye," Muredach said.
    "MacKenzie sent for ye."
    Fergus looked at his son, and Muredach looked at his father. The MacKenzie clan were warriors known far and wide, and Laird MacKenzie led the largest armies against enemies of their lands; they'd never lost a battle. They were feared far and near for their methods of waging war, merciless attacks, and brutal methods of torture. When the MacKenzie called, a man went. Muredach served with them in the past, as had his father before him, and his father before that. He would go again, because not to go would mean war between his clan and theirs. Both clans were fearless and ruthless, and it had been more than two centuries since they'd been at war with one another. Muredach would not be the reason for a clan war now, especially since his clan spent the past year fighting two other clan wars. He gathered his things and rode out with the man who'd come for him.
    ~ * ~
    "What do ye mean, Fergus?" Maud asked, feeling her eyes begin to tear.
    "MacKenzie's man came for Muredach and he went. What else could he do? To refuse MacKenzie would be akin to bringin' the Devil himself down on our heads."
    Bettina came running into the room, out of breath and laughing. "Where's Muredach?"
    Fergus looked at her, then at Maud, then back at the beauty standing before him. "Bettina?"
    "Aye," she said, wondering why he said her name like that. "Is Muredach not with ye?"
    "Bettina?" Fergus said again.
    "Why do ye say my name again?"
    "I just canna believe 'tis ye, girl. When last I seen ye, ye was that little lass, nothin' but a babe, and now! Look at ye!" Bettina blushed at his words.
    "Fergus, for Heaven's sake, old man," Maud admonished him. "Quit ye starin' at the lass! 'Tis what happens when a girl becomes a woman."
    "I'll be turning sixteen two days hence," Bettina said shyly.
    "I'm wishing Muredach was here to see ye, lass. I'm bettin' he'd be wantin' to bed ye now."
    "Fergus!" Maud gaped at him and Bettina blushed from head to toes. "Look what ye've done to the lass. Now be gettin' yerself to the bath if ye be wantin' to put yer hands on me."
    "Aye, I'll be puttin' me hands all over ye, wench," he said and winked at her.
    "Oh, get on with ye then." Maud felt her cheeks heat in spite of herself. "Pay ye no heed to that one, dear."
    "Aye," Bettina nodded, "but where be Muredach. He is not injured?"
    "Nay," Maud assured her. "He was summoned by MacKenzie and couldna refuse. He'll return as soon as he can."
    "Oh, bloody hell," Bettina muttered.
    Maud burst into laughter. "Ye shouldna repeat what ye hear from yer husband, dear. He'll not be teaching ye proper."
    ~ * ~
    Muredach fought with MacKenzie for nearly two years. They made raids to the north, sending back several smaller clans that attempted to take MacKenzie land. Then they went farther, crossing the North Minch, capturing the Uist Islands. Muredach hated being at sea. He never really acquired sea legs and couldn't comprehend what people saw in sailing the seas. That was for the Norse, for the English, for anyone else but him. The more he thought about it, the more he just wanted to go home. He wanted to feel solid ground beneath his feet; to smell trees,