Chieftain by Arnette Lamb Read Free Book Online Page A

him for good?
    She whirled and raced for the stable, fear rising like bile in her throat.

Chapter 3
    Perched on a padded saddle, his son before him, Drummond sat atop Longfellow’s broad back. A specially woven carpet with tassels and tinkling bells protected the elephant’s spine and further cushioned the passengers.
    The slow pace and high vantage point afforded an unobstructed view of his holdings. Summer ripened fields turned the land into a sea of swaying grain. The loamy soil would support any number of crops, and he wondered why she did not vary the plantings. Peas and beans would thrive in the furrows. She could even graze cattle on this land.
    On the western horizon lay Solway Firth. In the distance to the north, a sizeable loch looked like a giant platter of silver. Closer, and straight ahead, a rocky banked and tree lined burn wended through the countryside. Longfellow plodded toward the water.
    A gentle old bull, he obeyed Drummond without hesitation, and only occasionally did his enormous feet stray from the hard packed wagon road.
    “I want to stand up.” Alasdair drew his knees beneath him and moved into a crouch, preparing to stand.
    Patience, Drummond had decided, was a rare gift when dealing with a seven-year-old lad. “So you’ve said, Son, at least a dozen times.”
    His skinny ass in the air, Alasdair looked over his shoulder at Drummond. Freckles dotted his nose and cheeks, and a familiar defiance twinkled in his eyes. “Then say yes.”
    Alasdair had been blessed with his mother’s mouth, which was now drawn tight in frustration. He’d also inherited her willfulness. Her new willfulness, Drummond amended, for she’d been quiet and tractable when he married her. “Sit down, Alasdair!”
    “Listen, Father. I could be persuaded to serve as your squire, should you be persuaded to let me stand.”
    “Nay.”
    “But if I’m to steward this land someday, I should know all of the farms and the herds.” He flapped his arms, as if exasperated. “How can I, unless you let me stand up and see them?”
    The lad could negotiate himself out of a sealed barrel. But could he wield a sword? Eyeing him cautiously, Drummond said, “I could be persuaded to forgo shining your bottom with a leather strap, should you be persuaded to sit down.”
    Miraculously the lad did as he was told. Then he spoiled it by grumbling, “You’re afraid of what Mother will say.”
    The statement was so unexpected that Drummond almost laughed. Had he, as a lad, spoken so disrespectfully to his father, he’d have been cuffed soundly, then given the dreaded task of cleaning chain mail. “You have the manners of a cornered badger.”
    As precocious as a prince, Alasdair again moved into a crouch. “She will not yell at you, you have my word of honor on that. Mother seldom yells.”
    Mother. The sound of that word sparked another oddity. In the last hour Drummond had heard it said more than he would have in a week’s time at Macqueen Castle. The patriarchal clan system had specific places and duties for women, and indulging their sons was certainly not one of them.
    “Next year, when I’m older, I’m also going to scale a castle wall.”
    Drummond sent his son a threatening stare, then waited until he resumed his seat “Also?”
    “Like you did when the evil Viking lord kidnapped Mother.”
    Caught off guard, Drummond merely stared at the crown of his son’s head and the mop of wavy black hair that played host to an assortment of twigs. Alasdair was obviously referring to another tale his mother had told.
    “You burned his sails so he couldn’t escape with her.”
    A reply worked its way through Drummond’s confused mind. “Macqueen Castle lies three days’ ride from the sea, and it has no dock.”
    “So?”
    Drummond had wrongly responded with logic. He was quickly learning that nothing about the fables his wife had created had anything to do with logic.
    “She gave you a piece of a kiss,” Alasdair said