A Wedding

Josiah Mercer sat on a low bench. Forty years of struggle and combat darkened his eyes. From childhood all he had known was wars. First fighting against the Romans, then the fall of the Empire had left a vacuum in Scotland that ambitious men wished to fill. The scar across his right cheek, down to the chin, left his mouth in a somber frown even when he laughed. But there would be no laughter this day. This day he would give his youngest daughter as wife to his oldest enemy.

“Still n' word from the McIntyre's, m'laird,” a young man reported. “The Drugan's 'ave 'em cut off in the pass. Our men can nee get through.”

“We're finished, then,” Josiah sighed. He looked out over the fields of wild heather, marred by the encampments of the Drugans. He knew that even should Joshua McIntyre break through the pass, it would take days to fight his way through to Josiah's aid. He didn't have days. In four hours his daughter would be wed.

Thain Drugan demanded the hand of Ceana Mercer as terms of surrender. If Josiah refused there would be no Mercer left, and Thain would likely take Ceana anyway. Josiah wouldn't need to offer Ceana's hand to Joshua in return for his aid – she had given herself to the young man freely years before. Their wedding would have been a joyous event, the joining of two clans who had long been allies, and friends.

Josiah knew that at the root of Thain's desire for Ceana was his hatred of the McIntyre's. She was not a lovely woman, there was too much of him in her hot blood. She was stout of build, but had a heart as pure and loyal as the most noble warrior. She would have made Joshua, who loved her dearly, a fine wife. Their children would have been men of grand stature and stout spirit.

Thain was almost as old as Josiah, but still a powerful warrior. It was his ax that had cleaved Josiah's best friend, leaving young Joshua to lead Clan McIntyre. It was their feud, the McIntyre's and the Drugan's, that now cost Josiah his daughter. The Mercers were a small clan – no match for Thain's armies.

“Say the word, m'laird,” the young man's voice broke Josiah from his thoughts.

“Aye?”

“Say the word, m'laird and we shall fight tee the last man. None of us wish tee see our cousin bedded to that dog. There be nee man here who will not die for her honor.”

“Aye, and she would give herself for ye, nephew. I have spoken to Ceana, 'tis her choice.”

“Aye, m'laird,” he replied dejectedly. “Ceana would marry the devil 'imself, did she think it best for the clan.”

“She fights in her own way, laddie. Don't be thinkin' Thain will find comfort in his wedding bed.”

The young man laughed.

***

“Any news?” Joshua McIntyre asked his scout.

“Clan Mercer 'as fallen, m'laird. Thain camps in Laird Mercer's courtyard. Rumor be, the dog shall marry Lady Ceana this very night.”

“Seth,” Joshua shouted. “Ye are my second, ye ride with me. Mic, ye lead the army, my cousin – and the clan should we fail.”

“What are ye doing, cousin,” Mic objected. “There be nee hope of passing through Thain's army unopposed.”

“Then we shall fight our way through,” he said soberly. “If Ceana marries Thain there shall ne'er be an heir to my house. I'll nee marry another.”

“This be madness,” Seth argued. “We can nee fight our way through the whole Drugan Clan.”

“I shall go alone, if I must,” Joshua warned.

“Aye, ye'll not be alone, cousin,” Seth vowed. “Bring our horses,” he ordered a young man nearby.

***

“Clan McIntyre be trapped on the far side of the pass, daughter,” Josiah Mercer reported, as Ceana took his arm. “Joshua would be here, err he could.”

“I'm glad he nee be, father,” she admitted. Josiah looked at her in confusion. “He would fight Thain,” she added.

Josiah understood. Thain was renowned as the most fierce warrior in all of Scotland. He stood six-foot-nine, and weighed well over three-hundred pounds. He had been trained by the Roman Centurions. His favored tactic was to wade through the army of a rival clan and kill their leaders personally. Thain was more than likely to achieve his goal of uniting all of the clans under his despotic rule.

The sacred circle was beautiful in the full bloom of spring. There were few people there, only the leaders of the two clans and their advisors. Their armies still held fast facing each other in vigilance. Thain stood proudly, his eldest son Lucas by his side. Thain had married five wives, each of which had died young, and all had given him children.

“Not the prettiest bride,” Thain commented, disdain coloring his haughty voice, “but perhaps you shall give stout offspring.”

He looked down at his son, Lucas. He was a smallish, rat of a man. No resemblance to his father in body or spirit.

The priest blessed the couple, reaching high to touch Thain's unbowed head with the sprig of holly. “Get on with it,” Thain grumbled impatiently.

Noise and commotion outside drifted into the sheltered circle – shouts and the clash of arms. Everyone turned to the break in the high hedges which was the only entrance.

“If your men have been stupid enough to attack,” Thain stabbed a finger into Josiah's chest, “our agreement is off.” He turned to his son. “Watch the girl,” he commanded. “I will still have her.”

Thain took a step toward the entrance, but a horse and rider bolted through madly, blocking the way. Joshua sprang from his mount, drawing twin hand axes.

“I've used yer own tactics, Thain,” he growled. “Now I shall 'ave yer 'ead.”

“I took your father's head, pup. Yours shall be no great prize.”

Thain reached out his hand and a young man ran up quickly, baring a giant war-ax. Thain took the ax in both hands and crouched slightly, ready for battle.

“Joshua, nee!” Ceana cried as Lucas laid hands on her.

Josiah drew his claymore and looked threateningly at the assembly. “This fight be between lairds, aye. Back away, now, and let 'em settle it.”

The men left their weapons slung and backed away, dividing into Mercers and Drugans. All were prepared, if a battle erupted, but none would interfere with the personal battle between clan lairds.

“And ye unhand my daughter,” he threatened Lucas, “or I shall teach ye some manners.”

Lucas complied and backed away into his father's entourage. Ceana moved quickly to the safety of her father's men.

“For Clan McIntyre!” Joshua screamed, charging Thain.

Thain swung his mighty ax. Joshua swerved. Thain redirected catching him on the shoulder with the side of the blade. Joshua tumbled across the grass, then regained his feet. Thain was almost a foot taller, and more than a hundred pounds heavier than Joshua. The ax gave him a reach of almost ten feet and Joshua needed to get in close. He stalked cautiously around the huge man.

“Not sure you want to play anymore?” Thain laughed. “Why don't you just run along so I can bed the uncomely bitch and get it over with.”

Joshua moved in like a whirlwind, catching the war-ax with his right-hand ax, diverting it, then spinning and planting the left-hand ax into Thain's hip. He raised his right again to strike Thain's chest, but the back of an iron gauntleted fist caught him in the face sending him rolling across the lawn.

Joshua's face was covered in blood, his eye quickly swelling shut. He crouched like a tiger, eager for the kill, his axes twirling in his deft hands.

“I'm just startin' ta 'ave fun, ol' man,” Joshua taunted. “Ye lost yer prime years past. Tis time ye lost yer 'ead.”

Joshua sprang again, slipping beneath Thain's mighty swing, hooking an ax blade in his ribs as he passed, tearing a gash in the warriors side. Thain spun, but Joshua was out of reach.

Joshua stalked around him again. Thain was favoring his hip. The ax blade had chopped into bone. The old warriors leg was red with blood. Joshua charged.

“For Ceana,” he shouted this time, as the mighty ax swung toward him.

Thain swung low, blocking another strafing attack. But Joshua went high, diving headlong through the air and over the ax. He slammed into his opponent, catching him off balance. The two men crashed to the ground. Thain dropped his ax.

Thain pushed him up, but he hooked the curve of his left ax into Thain's shoulder and held on. A massive hand held him aloft as an iron fist pummeled his face. Joshua held firm to the ax handle, its hooked blade cutting deeper into Thain's shoulder. He chopped with his right ax on Thain's ribs, but the warrior matched each blow with one of his own.

Joshua chopped the arm holding him aloft and planted the blade deep into muscle. He crashed down on Thain's battered chest when the crippled arm gave way. He rolled off and swung blindly, unable to see through the blood covering his swollen eyes.

The blow was true, chopping into Thain's throat. Blood spewed out covering his hand and arm. He let loose of the ax and rolled away.

“Joshua!” Ceana cried running to him. A dirk flew through the air and stabbed into her left breast. She staggered and fell to her knees at Joshua's side.

Josiah witnessed the cowardly attack by Lucas and spun, swinging his claymore. The blow severed the young man's neck and his body collapsed to the ground. Fighting erupted in the circle as Mercer clashed with Drugan. Josiah ran to his daughter.

Ceana pulled the dirk from her breast and dropped it on the ground. Joshua lay motionless before her.

“Joshua?” she cried again, surveying him for serious wounds. “Lay still, m'love. I'll call for the healer.”

“Ye are so beautiful in that dress, Ceana,” he coughed out. “An angel come down from heaven.”

“Hush,” she said, blushing. “Ye can nee even see me.”

He reached for her and found her shoulder, then followed her neck up to her face.

“Tears?” he asked, frowning.

“Sweat,” she laughed, “'tis hot t'day.”

“Donee cry, m'love. I'll survive,aye” he comforted with a weak smile. “'twould take more than a few bruises to stop me from courtin' ye.”

He coughed again, pain evident on his battered face. Josiah reached them.

“Are ye hurt, daughter?”

“Just a flesh wound, father.”

“What?” Joshua started, and tried to get up. “Who hurt ye, Ceana. I'll 'ave his 'ead.”

“Calm down, laddie,” Josiah laughed. “You can 'ave his 'ead later. It be laying beside his corpse. Run get the healer, Ceana.”

“Be careful, m'love,” Joshua called after her.

“Tis anythin' broken, laddie?” Josiah asked.

“Some ribs, I suspect. Tis Ceana a'right?”

“A nasty stab ta 'er breast, but the healer will see tee it.”

“Would this be a bad time tee ask ye for yer daughter's hand, m'laird.”

“I do believe she's been yours since ye met her, but aye, ye have my blessin'. Yer father and I hoped ye two would wed someday. I jus' wish he were here tee see it.”

***

The priest blessed the lovers as they knelt before him in the sacred circle. This day it was packed with people, leaving hardly room to move. Beyond the hedge hundreds awaited the union of Mercer and McIntyre – the young Laird of McIntyre and his beloved bride.

“Blessed be,” the priest completed the ceremony.

“Ye must be gentle with me, aye,” Joshua smiled, softly caressing Ceana's cheek. “There be little of me 'tis without bruise.”

“Ye best mind my stitches, husband,” she retorted playfully, “or I shall bruise the one part of ye that be without.”