JOHN SINCLAIR SAT in the great hall

JOHN SINCLAIR SAT in the great hall and looked across the scarred wooden table at the council of Highland chiefs, each man a king in his own right, defender of his piece of rock and willing to fight for it to the death. Each eager to hold tight his grip on the illusionary power that came with it. Sutherland, Ross, Mackay, and Gunn, and a few of the lesser chiefs. Those willing to discuss their collective fate had gathered at Sinclair Hall at his brother’s request, and the arguments began before they’d even sat down.
“Why should we trust you, Simon? You’re in bed with the Campbells now. What’s to say you’re not leading us into treason?” ’Twas Sutherland who spoke, his white hair bright in the dim light of the hall.
Simon stood at the end of the table, his booted foot upon a chair and a tankard in his fist. “I’m no more in bed with the Campbells than I am with your wife, Sutherland.”
Ross barked out a laugh, a raucous sound that scraped John’s good ear. The man’s jowls flapped like a hound’s when he spoke. “I’ve seen Sutherland’s wife. I’d not bed her either.”
“As if she would have you, you louse-bitten cur,” Mackay jibed. He was the youngest, and anxious to prove his place among them.
Soon they all joined in with their crude jokes and boastful insults. Like rams butting horns, they postured for dominance over nothing more important than rocky crags and empty pastures where little grew and nothing bloomed.
John let them crow, these coarse men and their pompous sense of purpose in the world. Simon had called them here to plot and scheme, but what did it matter if they swore fealty to James when he sailed around the Highlands? Here in the North, they were insulated from the politics of Edinburgh. They could promise one thing yet do another, and the royal court would be none the wiser. The king was a fool to seek loyalty here among these beggars and thieves, but they were even bigger fools to stir up trouble by refusing him.
John knew that now, for he’d thought on it in solitude these past few weeks but would share none of these thoughts with Simon. His brother had no sense at all of how his feelings had changed since the day Fiona rode away. Before the Campbells came, he’d thought only of revenge like the rest of these brutes. But now he’d had time to think about the future, his future, and all he’d learned from Cedric Campbell after the wedding.
“Stop pecking at one another, you vain peacocks. We’ve important matters to discuss.” Simon banged his empty tankard against the tabletop. Once they settled and he claimed their rapt attention, he continued. “The king arrives in Gairloch in September. Now, who among you will fall to your knees like a whore and beg for his love, and who will stand like men beside me and my brother and fight for our freedom?”
The chiefs cast uneasy glances at one another, with none speaking up.
“Well?” Simon demanded again.
“If the king defeats us, Sinclair, he will show no mercy,” said Sutherland, looking to each of them.
“Mercy?” Simon spit upon the rushes. “Mercy is for old men and wee girls. ’Tis freedom I’m talking about. He thinks to strip you of it, of your lands and your titles. And he’ll not stop at that. Once James has us in his noose, he’ll tighten it until we must beg him for every breath. My father would not live that way, and neither shall I!”
His passion stirred them.
“Nor will I,” called out Mackay, his fist raised in solidarity. “Sinclair is right. The king plays at being generous by telling us we may keep our lands. But what right has he to grant us permission to anything? The Mackays have occupied this area since before the first Stewart planted his arse upon the throne. I’ll not swear allegiance to him or any king who cannot see past the needs of Edinburgh.”
“It’s not enough to win the battle, you shortsighted fools,” shouted Sutherland over the supportive outburst from the others. “The king will come with a moderate force, but even if we defeat them, we’ll have to take his life. And then we’ll have the Campbells at our throats, along with any who fight to avenge King James. We will be bringing hell down upon our own people.”
“Not if we have help from London.” Simon doled out the words slowly, like each one was a precious gem.
John shivered, as if a ghost had walked through him.
“What help is that?” Ross asked. He was a head shorter than the rest, but twice the width.
Simon refilled his cup, taking his time and seeming to enjoy this moment. “The help of Archibald Douglas, of course.”
Sutherland scoffed. “What aid can he lend us, hiding as he is in England?”
“He knows of our trials. He respected our right of self-governance while he was Scotland’s regent. And the king has no legitimate heirs. With James dead, rule reverts back to the king’s mother, Douglas’s wife, making Archibald regent once more. I should think he’d be thankful—grateful, even—if our efforts put him back on the throne.”
“And he’d let us rule our lands as we see fit,” Mackay added, his dark eyes glaring at Sutherland.
John listened to them banter and sipped from his cup. The ale was sour in his mouth. He thought to get up and find himself some wine. Good wine, not the swill they’d served to the likes of these puffer fishes. They’d go on for hours, debating every contingency, plotting and recoiling, and going through it all again. And all their chatter would be for naught because Simon always had his way. But this time, John had plans of his own.
A movement caught John’s eyes, and he hid his smile behind his cup. ’Twas his Gen, peeking down at him from an archway of an upper corridor. She gave a tiny wave, and he tipped his head discreetly. He’d told her to stay far away from this mass of men, and so she had. She’d spent all morning lounging in his bed instead, letting their child grow big and strong inside her belly. How he wished he could’ve spent the hours there beside her. But he must be here to steer these sheep without Simon realizing.
Leaving her side was always a sacrifice. He had not imagined a woman such as she might exist. She made him laugh and burn. She raised him up and gave him courage. For her, he would do anything, which made Simon’s next words that much more difficult to hear.
“Once we have ensured allegiance to our cause from the other Highland chiefs, my brother, John, will go to London. He will take a letter, drafted and signed by each of us, swearing our support to Archibald Douglas as regent of Scotland if he will join us in our plan to remove James from the throne.”
“’Tis bold-faced treason to sign such a letter!” Sutherland slammed his fist upon the table. “I’ll not sign such a thing.”
Simon smiled, an ugly thing that twisted his dark face. “We all sign so that none of us can betray the other. And ’tis only treason if we’re caught, but my brother is a clever man. Aren’t you, John?”
All eyes to turned to him. He held his face steady. “More clever than any of you could imagine. I’ll deliver that letter with none the wiser.”
“There, you see?” Simon brushed his hands together as if the accomplishment were his and victory all but assured. “That is why we married our sister off to the Campbell pup, you dullards, so that my brother might have easy access through the whole of Scotland and straight on to London. He can plead loyalty to either side, depending where he is and who is doing the asking. We’ll sew the letter into the lining of his doublet so, until he takes it out, no one will even know it’s there.”
“Until he’s caught and someone puts a blade to his throat. He’ll spill out our names rather than his own blood,” Ross grumbled.
Simon leaned over and grabbed the little runt by the throat. He squeezed, just enough so John could see Ross’s fleshy cheeks go red. “My brother will not offer any of us up, except for maybe you, if you say the likes of that again.”
Simon pushed him back against the chair, and Ross sputtered and coughed.
“I’ll not be caught,” John said, his voice loud and strong. He stood up. “To all the world, we have the might of the Campbell clan protecting us. Their arrogance makes them believe we are glad for it, that we cower at their superiority. They have no idea we use them like a cloak to hide our true purpose. Nor will the king until his foot lands upon our shores and his feeble army meets our swords. Even without the help of Douglas, we would succeed, for we have surprise on our side, and the king’s forces will be weakened after weeks upon the water. But with Douglas’s aid, there is nothing that can stop us.”
The men thumped their hands against the table and harrumphed their agreement, spurred on by John’s careful enthusiasm. They were like sheep bleating for their supper, for his words had reached the target. He hit upon their own conceit, their certainty that they were the most deserving.
Simon smiled, raising his tankard to salute him.
John felt the faintest tapping of remorse knocking on his soul. He was Judas in Gethsemane, betraying one he loved. But he’d do this wicked thing for the most righteous of reasons and pray that history and all who knew him as a son of Hugh Sinclair would understand. And so that Fiona had not been sacrificed in vain.