A Lesson in Passion (27 page)

Like a father instructing a child, he said,
“No, it isnae fair. Few things are, though.”

“Maybe you could change that, Ian.
Maybe you can be different.”

“Ya stand with me or no'. Ya must
make yar decision, now. If yar no' with me, ya may stay here. I
willnae bother ya ever again.”

Ginny's lip began to quiver and her eyes began
to tear up. Ian saw her face and turned away. He could not be
swayed. His new wife had to know that his decisions were akin to
law and she was not above the law. The die had been cast when the
Sinclairs engaged in such treachery. A clan is just a large family.
The sins of the father always fell upon the son.

The tears were flowing down her face now.
Ginny could feel herself giving in and following him blindly, but
she would not be able to live with herself if she did. They say if
you don't learn from history, you're doomed to repeat it. Well, in
this case, Ginny had the knowledge of her time. The senseless
killing done by terrorist cowards. Strapping bombs to naive men and
women, telling them they would receive their reward in the next
life. Telling them to walk into groups of innocent people, whose
only crime was being born in a hated country. In the end, nothing
changes, only the hate is escalated. The retaliation repeated, back
and forth, with the leadership making decisions that end up killing
the innocent. Useless and stupid, but ultimately inevitable. Or was
it?

Taking a shaky breath, Ginny knew that her
decision would end this relationship. But principals were not
something so easily destroyed or at least they shouldn't be. “I
can't stand by you Ian. I know you think I'm just a dumb girl with
a big mouth. Truth is, I know a lot more than you do.” She could
see his disbelief and continued anyway. “You believe different
things and maybe I thought I could change your mind, make you see
things a different way, but I know I can't. This is who you are and
I can't change that. And you, of course, can't change me
either.”

“What would ya have me do,
Ginny?”

“I would have you speak to all the
lairds and find out what happened to bring this about. I would have
you be diplomatic, rather than automatically fighting. If it comes
down to something petty, I would have you fight the Sinclair laird
alone, without killing his entire clan. Or let Alec fight him,
since he was the one who lost the most.”

“
Impossible. Ya know that.”
Ian seemed to waver for just a moment, then he turned abruptly and
started walking toward the door. Ginny stood still, watching him
leave, feeling the sinking, empty feeling inside. The tears were
flowing freely and her breathing was coming in short pants.
Who am I to change things
, kept cycling through her head. But the truth was, she could
only account for herself and she knew what he was doing was wrong.
Humanity had a way of screwing everything up, but individual humans
could be brave and just. So, in the end, she stood her
ground.

“Good luck to you Ian,” she called
out as he left the room.

He turned suddenly, captured her eyes and
said, “I love ya, Ginny. I dinna know when it happened, but I do. I
wish ya only happiness.” And with that, he left.

Ginny dropped to her chair as if
some unseen force sucker punched her in the gut. Grabbing her
middle, she began to cry.
What's wrong
with me?
she asked herself.
This is make believe. Why does it feel like
this?

Not even hearing his approach, she felt his
arm slip around her shoulders. Brother Douglas was trying to soothe
her, like a father would soothe his daughter. “It will be fine, my
dear. Ya must trust in God's divine vision. He will look after
him.”

Ginny stopped crying for a moment and looked
at the monk. “It doesn't matter. He won't come back for me. I
wanted to take a diplomatic approach and as you know, Highlanders
don't take the diplomatic approach.”

The monk smiled. In his smile were many years
of trying to win the same argument. “They can be a stubborn lot. Ya
must trust that when it is over, he will take ya home.”

She thought about what the monk said. Take me
home. Indeed. But which home would she go to. She had such a hard
time believing this was make believe, but her logical side couldn't
grasp this being real. In the end, she was at a loss... a loss of
how to get home, how to make this right, how to not feel like a
piece of her had been ripped away.

Suddenly, Ginny knew. She stood up so
abruptly, the monk almost fell over. “I need a horse. Do you have a
horse I can borrow?” she asked the stunned man.

“Nay, we have only one horse and
one of the brothers has used it to administer to the
sick.”

Ginny's mind was working furiously. “Where are
the McKennas?”

“Right outside our
gates.”

Great!
she
thought. She would steal one of their horses. If this was make
believe, she would be fine. If this was real, she would be dead and
could go home. It didn't matter, because something had to change.
She did not want to spend the rest of her life cloistered with a
bunch of monks.

“Thank you, Brother. You've been
most helpful.” With that, she ran out of the room, heading to the
door to the courtyard.

*
*
*

Ginny peered through the gate of the abbey.
The large open field was crowded on both sides by the two different
groups. It looked like this field existed just for the battling
clans. Low grass, no trees nearby, just wide open expanse, with
only the occasional boulder to mar the landscape. On one side, the
Sinclairs and the MacBains. On the other, right outside the gates
of the abbey, the McKennas, the MacDonalds and the
MacGregors.

The early morning sun was just peering over
the horizon. Ginny had hoped for some darkness, so it would be
easier to steal a horse. Glancing around, she finally spotted the
horses in the back, near the outside wall of the abbey. Only a
couple of boys stood there, guarding the horses. Formulating her
plan, she slipped unnoticed outside the gate and headed to the
horses.

As she expected, all the men were facing their
enemy and not paying any attention to her skulking along the wall.
The guard boys were standing together, speaking in low tones. Ginny
caught only a snatch of their discussion. It revolved around how
many Sinclairs Ian and Alec would kill. Each had a bet on who would
get more, but they were having some trouble deciding how to
count.

Ginny crept into the middle of the horses and
searched for Ian's. Nothing would get that man's attention like
having his wife of less than twenty-four hours steal his horse.
However, in the end, Ginny decided that if she was to die today,
there was only one man who she would rather piss off more. Stealing
Broderick's horse, again, would be like the ultimate middle finger
to the man who was never nice to her, always full of contempt and
had, of course, back handed her when she first arrived to the
McKenna keep.

After locating the horse, Ginny quietly
mounted and prayed that she would be able to hold on long enough to
get past the McKennas and out toward the Sinclairs. Not being
particularly religious, but having had heavy Catholic training,
Ginny performed the sign of the cross and kicked the enormous
animal forward. She was well past the soldiers before anyone
realized what was happening.

Holding on, and feeling somewhat
confident, Ginny galloped across the field. She could hear
Broderick's bellow from halfway across the field and it made her
smile.
Screw you, jackass,
she thought merrily as she continued to hold on.
She began to sing Bob Dylan's
Steelers
Wheel: Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am,
stuck in the middle with you.

Now was the time to put the rest of her plan
into action. Quickly contrived and not very clever, she moved her
horse directly in front of the Sinclair men. They all stood still,
openly gawking at her, when she screamed, “I want to speak to the
Sinclair laird.”

No one moved, they just continued
to stare. Ginny wondered if they didn't speak English. So, in what
could only be the most insulting of pronunciations, she said,
“C'aite a bheil ceannard?” This finally elicited a response from
the men. They began laughing uproariously. Some even fell over with
laughter.
Great, this is working
great,
Ginny thought watching the men enjoy
themselves thoroughly.

Finally, a young man came forward and looked
at her. Speaking English, thank God, he said loud enough for
everyone to hear, “I am the Laird Sinclair.”

The laughter died down and the men watched her
carefully. Ginny knew she only had one shot at this and wasn't even
sure what she was going to do. The whole plan depended on her
thinking on her feet and acting quickly. Turning her head slightly
to the side, as if sizing him up, she said, “A little young to be
laird, aren't you?”

Raising an eyebrow, the young man scrutinized
her back. He was tall, over six feet, with broad shoulders and huge
muscles in his upper arms. His hair was an indistinguishable brown
and his eyes were gray. His face was handsome, but hardly beautiful
and he had a huge scar that ran across the bottom of his
chin.

Ginny was thinking he should grow a beard to
hide the scar, but then wondered if he was too young to manage one.
The silence went on for under a minute, but it seemed much longer
with all the tension everyone was feeling. Finally, he spoke, “The
former laird, my father, died recently. I have taken his
place.”

“Perhaps you can tell me why you
plan to battle the McKennas today,” she asked the question so only
the laird and a few others could hear.

The Sinclair laird moved a few steps closer
and in response, Ginny directed the horse a few steps back. She did
not want to be within striking distance of the laird. Seeing how
she responded, the laird stopped.

“Did the McKenna send you here to
ask?” he asked with an amused look on his face.

“Do you really think he would do
that?”

“Nay. I think yar no' a good
mistress. He may even kill ya for yar desertion.”

“I didn't desert him and I'm not
his mistress,” Ginny marveled how quickly information moved around
the Highlands despite a lack of technology. “My conscience dictates
that I try to stop this bloodbath. Your blood, by the
way.”

That brought a new round of laughter to those
who could hear her. “What makes ya think we will lose?”

“Passion. They are so angry at you
for what you did to one of them, they are beside themselves with
revenge. They are focused and determined. What do you
have?”

The laird's eyes narrowed. “What happened to
his brother's wife was in retaliation.”

Before he could continue, Ginny asked,
“Retaliation for what?”

“My father told us of what happened
all those years ago. The raping of Sinclair women who found
themselves anywhere near a McKenna.”

“What? When did that happen? I know
that Ian has no idea why you're so angry with his clan. How long
ago was that?”

The laird looked confused. He was hiding
something, although she wasn't sure what. Ginny noticed that many
of the men who had heard the conversation also looked
uncomfortable. It suddenly occurred to Ginny what was going on.
They were caught up in a revenge plan of someone else's making.
They weren't even sure what they were fighting for and now that the
person who wanted the revenge so badly, for whatever reason, was
dead, they were simply carrying on where he had left
off.

“You don't know, do you?” she asked
incredulously. “Did it even happen? Can anyone in your clan
corroborate his claims?”

“It doesnae matter. My father's
dying wish was for every McKenna to pay for those sins.”

“You would risk your clan's lives
for something you're not even sure happened? Do these men have
wives and children to care for? You would make them suffer for
revenge that may not even be warranted?” Ginny was beyond
stupefied. She was struck dumb, not able to speak another word.
There wasn't anything left to say.

The laird walked closer to Ginny, but this
time she didn't make any retreat. He looked peaceable enough. She
waited until he stood next to her and looked down at his face.
There was great pain in his eyes. He spoke quietly, obviously not
wanting his clan to hear, “Tis too late now, lass. When my father
took the McKenna woman and sold her to those lowlanders, I knew
that no McKenna would rest until he'd had his fill of blood. I
canna blame them either. My father had us all convinced of his
claims, but toward the end of his life, it became clear he was no'
himself.”

“You would destroy your clan and
the MacBains because you don't want to admit that your father
was...” Ginny didn't know how to finish that sentence. “Maybe he
suffered from a sickness that made him crazy. Ian never said
anything bad about the Sinclairs before he found out about this
treachery. He might understand that this fight wasn't yours, but
your father's.”