Scot of Sin – Bonus Prologue
“MacBean. There’s a message fer ye.” Ian looked up as Alan, the smith’s journeyman he was currently sharing quarters with, wandered into the room and tossed a missive to him. Ian felt his heart leap at the recognition of the familiar seal on the front. His father’s seal.
As usual, the thought of his father made his heart ache. He hadn’t seen the man in almost two seasons, not since his father had traveled to the mainland on a trading journey and met him in Dunkirk.
Longer than that since he’d seen his mother, and longer still since he’d last stepped foot on the soil of his homeland.
I havenae seen anyone from the clan, aside from Maither an’ Faither fer… five, perhaps six years.
The thought made his throat ache. Ian pushed it aside and broke the seal on his father’s packet, then unfolded the packet to reveal the letter within.
Me dear son,
I hope ye are enjoying yer time in France, an’ that this letter finds ye well. When last I spoke tae ye, ye were considering continuing yer lessons as a blacksmith. Have ye done so, or has some other occupation caught yer eye and yer mind? Whatever yer circumstances, I hope ye are enjoying yer work, and yer life.
I would that I could write tae ye of naught but pleasantries, me son, but the truth is, I cannae. The winter has been hard fer the entire clan, but perhaps the most pressing news is tha’ I contracted a winter cough. The healer was able tae drive it off with her tonics and treatments, but it lingered long, and reminds me that the seasons pass, and I grow nay younger.
I am nae an old man, but time masters all men, and after much thought, I have resolved meself to a course o’ action that we discussed in idle speculation during me last visit tae the mainland.
I willnae beat around the bush – I wish tae retire, and hand the lairdship over tae ye while I am still available tae guide ye and advise ye as needed.
Ian felt his breath leave his lungs in a rush.
Retire. His father was not an old man, only halfway through his fifth decade, and the last time they’d met, he’d been hale and vigorous. They had spoken of his father’s eventual retirement, but Ian had thought it was something that wouldn’t happen for years yet.
It seemed that his father had other thoughts.
After a moment, Ian shook himself and returned to reading his father’s letter.
I have nae spoken tae the Council o’ this matter. I wished tae write tae ye first, and tell ye what I planned. It is me desire tae see ye as laird afore the winter snows come – if it is possible, though I ken it may nae be, and nae only because o’ yer travels.
I said afore that winter was hard, and I was ill. The greater truth is, I was but one o’ many. There have been several deaths, and several are still frailer in health, and slower than they might need to be. Tae make matters worse, the plantings have been poor, the weather either too cold, too wet, or too dry. Crops have drowned, withered, or frozen in the ground.
A single poor harvest wouldnae concern me, but last autumn’s harvests werenae as bountiful as we might have hoped. The clan did well enough, but unless we can find some solution or replant and grow the crops quickly, we will have a lean winter. Already, we are beginning to open the stocks of reserve seed, and I willnae lie – I worry fer our clan and kinfolk.
Och, listen tae me. I write ye a letter, an’ all I can manage is a few questions, an’ a missive full o’ woes. It wasnae me intention, me son, tae burden ye with all these troubles. Dinnae consider it too much, me son, and dinnae let me grumblings distress ye overmuch, or interrupt yer journey.
So, fer pleasant news: yer maither is well and happy, and sends her greeting. Three o’ yer cousins have recently married – Kathleen and Kieran, and Diana as well, and both the Mackintosh and Macgillivray clans are flourishing.
The Highlands are full o’ color, an’ one cannae take a breath without inhaling the sweetness o’ moorland heather. The courtyard rings with the sound o’ children laughing, an’ all the flowers are in bloom.
Thor has settled well into his position as me second-in-command, and he keeps our borders secure an’ our warriors fit and happy.
Our healer has recently taken an apprentice, o’ sorts – a young woman who took shelter with our clan. She’s a bright lass from a neighboring clan, an’ bids fair tae become a skilled healer and herbalist.
As ever, I look forward tae hearing news o’ all ye’ve seen and done since I last saw or wrote tae ye. Keep yerself safe, fer yer maither an’ I care greatly fer ye, an’ would be aggrieved if ye returned home ill or hurt.
Yer Faither,
Tad MacBean
Ian read the letter through twice, then set it aside, his mind racing.
His father wanted to retire, and the clan was at risk of starvation – perhaps not this season or the next, but soon, if fortune did not favor them.
Poor harvests could be mended by replanting the seed, or borrowing grain and surplus harvests from other clans. But replanting was risky, especially if the farmers waited too long, or the weather continued to be poor. And as for borrowing, it was was a difficult matter, and a delicate one. Too much, and it would shatter the pride of the clan, and leave them beggared, or laboring under an impossible debt. Too little, and there wouldn’t be enough for everyone, which would, in the end, make matters worse.
And in either case, if they had to borrow too often, then their clan would gain a reputation that would mean they would soon have no allies or prospects.
They could ask for supplies from his mother’s clan – his father had said that Clan Mackintosh was prospering, and he knew his aunts and uncles would never abandon them to their fate. But if they’d already tapped their reserve seed, there was a good chance they’d already gone to Clan Mackintosh for aid.
They had to find another option. After a moment, Ian unfolded the letter and looked at it again, and Ian felt somewhat guilty at his absence. He should be there, sharing the trials of his clan, instead of roaming the mainland as he’d done ever since his twentieth year.
A sentence caught his attention. ‘Three o’ yer cousins have recently married.’
Marriage. A marriage could bring allies, and new kith and kin. A marriage alliance could bring them resources. Even better – his father wanted to retire, and it would only help Ian’s claim to lairdship if he had a wife, or a betrothed. The Council might be reluctant to leave the clan with no heir, but they’d be far less reluctant if there was a chance for an heir in the near future.
There was no lass at home, nor on the mainland, who had Ian’s heart – the only lass to ever have claimed to his affections and his love had shattered both years ago. But that meant it mattered much less who was chosen for him. It would be an alliance marriage, an arranged marriage of convenience, of the sort he would be expected to make sooner or later, no matter what the fortunes of the clan.
If I’m only tae marry fer convenience an’ an heir, it daesnae matter who, or when.
The more he considered it, the more his idea made sense to Ian. An alliance marriage could solve the troubles of his clan, and it wasn’t as if it would cause him any great hardship. As a matter of fact, the mastersmith he currently studied with, Eugene, was married, and had often extolled the virtues of having a welcoming lass waiting in his bed every night.
Ian considered a few moments longer, but no other idea he could think of had as much potential to aid his clan as quickly as an alliance marriage.
Ian went and grabbed some paper, and the inkwell and pen that Alan had left on the small drawing desk there. Then he began to pen a letter of his own.
Faither,
I am glad tae hear about me cousins, and the beauty o’ the Highlands, as well as Maither’s continued good health. I am also aggrieved tae hear of the troubles our clan is facing – particularly the poor harvests. However, I have an idea that may offer a solution and a way fer us tae quickly and easily secure the resources needed tae see our people fed through the winter, nay matter what the weather may dae.
I speak o’ an alliance… a marriage alliance. I havenae yet found a lass whom I would desire tae wed, but it shouldnae be difficulty fer ye tae find a lass and arrange a betrothal. The right lass, from the right clan, would be able to offer grain and whatever else is needed tae see our clan through its difficulties.
I suggest then, tha’ ye search fer a suitable lass, and negotiate the marriage with their clan. In the meantime, I shall finish me work with Master Eugene, and then make me way home.
I will see ye soon.
Yer Loving Son,
Ian MacBean
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