Of Gifts and the Goddess

Chapter 1

1

“Bollocks,” Duncan exclaimed as he examined the tracks.

The group he and his men had been following was leading him on a merry chase. He signaled for his band to make camp. Maybe, just maybe, their prey will circle around, not expecting to find him and his warriors, and they could surprise the group they had been tracking.

Duncan knew a lot about the McClearys, and not much of it good. Rumors had been circulating for some time as to the real leader of the ragtag McCleary Clan. Some said it was a distant cousin who was cast out from his own home because he murdered his father. Others said there wasn’t really any Clan McCleary, as they had all been either killed or integrated into other clans in the North. But the most recent, and the one he was interested in, was that a small band of warriors was being led by the granddaughter of Old McCleary. If that be the case, she had a lot to answer for, starting with why she was raiding his sheep and burning villages that were under O’Connor protection.

“Should we make a fire?” Douglas asked, already his arms full of kindling.

“Aye. Let them see we are not going anywhere. Station Enos, Matthew, Seth, and Malcolm out as sentries. The rest of you can go about making camp. Around dark, I’d imagine they’ll come looking for food or perhaps to make off with our weapons. But we’ll be waiting.”

Douglas nodded and moved off to carry out the orders. Douglas, a mountain of a man, and the only one taller than Duncan, silently moved about the clearing, dispatching his leader’s orders. Commands or no, there wasn’t one in their band who would have argued or complained when it came to Duncan. He had been leading Clan O’Connor since the death of his older brother five years ago. Unlike Seamus, Duncan had not been groomed for clan leadership. Younger than Seamus, he was consequently left at home to guard the homestead and the village, to study and to learn things like farming and politics. His brother went out to make peace, or war, Duncan knew, with the surrounding clans. With the McClearys. Douglas was the only one to make it home from that battle five years earlier.

The McClearys had long been neighbors of the O’Connors, their individual fates always seemed to be interwoven. When the Clan leader died in a poor wager of a knife-throwing contest after many tankards of ale, the grandfather took control of the McClearys. There were fights between the grandfather and the grandson, and rightful Chieftain, Bryan McCleary. Because of poor decisions on both their parts, they were forced to move further north, hoping to reestablish the Clan with a wool economy. For years, the O’Connors had been helping the McClearys make it through harsh winters by supplying them with food stores. On one particular delivery, the McClearys attacked the hand that fed them. The Battle of Lough Sheelin was the result. After barely half a day of fighting, Seamus and the other Clan O’Connor soldiers gone, Douglas made for Ballinderry Castle. The McClearys never came knocking on their door, but remained just out of reach. Duncan, the last male heir of the true Clan O’Connor, had no choice but to accept leadership of the Clan. His good heart was overshadowed by the brutal murder of his brother. He vowed revenge, but he was unsure as to whether or not a Clan McCleary was left on which to exact it.

Now there was no question. The proof lay in the drying mud. His horses had shoes, and these tracks did not. Mountain ponies from the North, he was sure. There looked to be about half a dozen. It mattered not. He would capture their so-called leader and justice would be done. Then the raiding would stop. And so would the ache in his heart over his brother’s death.