A Merry War


Disclaimer: I am not BRAVE enough to claim that I own Merida, the Suitors, or anyone else.

Summary: The Macintoshes are not the only family in Scotland whose temper is the stuff of legend. Young Macintosh/ OFC.


Chapter Nine

Love and war are really not that different, they both change everything.
~ Nana Calleigh to her granddaughters on a cold evening in the Castle Dunbroch

Dougal did not get a wink of sleep after the messenger left the castle. The family had stood together in near silence for a long time, Calleigh's face buried in her husband's chest. Lord Macintosh's lean arms wrapped tightly around his bride, holding her up and holding her close. Dougal had stood nearby, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest. Numb. He was numb. Eventually they could not stand any longer; Calleigh had cried herself out and was now as weak as a newborn kitten.

"Get some sleep, son." Craig said sadly as he helped his wife back to their chambers.

Dougal had returned to his chambers, he had extinguished the light and he had laid down but he had not slept.

War.

War was a major part of his family's history. War was major part of his country's history. War was a part of his own history. The first toy he recalled receiving was a small wooden sword. Growing up he had held his father's flail, sword, bow, and axe as he and the other Lords had sparred. Battle training and strategy and weaponry had been as much a part of his education as reading and writing. Yet here it was, staring him in the face. He thought he was prepared. He thought he would be ready for the day when he would be called to battle.

He was not ready.

Dougal had not been to Brolchain House since that wretched morning over a month ago. As he passed the formal front room he winced, the memories flooded him for a moment. Those were soon driven from his mind as he and his father were shown into Laird Brolchain's personal study. Dougal stood behind his father, straight and stiff, the tension in his stomach the only thing from keeping him from collapsing from sheer exhaustion. He watched as the color drained from Thomas Brolchain's usual tan skin as he read and reread the call. The paper slipped from his blunt hands and fell silently to the desk.

"We must go." The Laird said.

"Aye, Tom." Craig nodded, "Will you join me?"

"I will." And Dougal knew he would, Brolchain's fierce loyalty was as well-known as his temper.

"Thank you."

Rosalyn was rudely pulled from the first long sleep she had had in weeks, as well as a frustrating, teasing dream involving honey, Dougal, and a private cabin in the snow, by the high pitched squabbles of her sisters.

"Iona! Iona I need you!"

"I get her first!"

"I-O-NAH! NOW!"

"Dougal is here? What is Dougal doing here?" Rosalyn sat up, her sheets tied in knots about her legs. It was early yet, the light in her room was still tinted pink and it was cool and damp.

Dougal was here? Now? Whatever for? Outside her window she could see the figures of Lord and Laird Macintosh riding down the lane to the stables.

Rosalyn flopped back on her bed. Whatever reason he was here for she would not be allowed in the same room with him. It had been six weeks since the banquet and her mother still refused to unground her. At first it had been as if she was certain that if Rosalyn was in the same space as Dougal another blizzard would come crashing down on them. Now there was no way she would be allowed in the same room as the Laird for the crops could not withstand another hail storm like the one they had had after the dinner party two weeks ago. Agnes had told her in secret what had sparked such fury in their sister but Rosalyn could not believe it, not fully. But now it didn't matter, she was not thinking of what had or had not been said, the only thing she was thinking about was seeing him again. Rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hands Rosalyn decided.

After nearly twenty years she knew every secluded corner of the house. She only wanted to see him after all. Quickly Rosalyn threw a simple gown on over her night rail, refusing to allow her mind to wonder to the last time she had dressed in the morning without a maid. Her lips, against her will, tingled none the less. On tiptoe she crept down the stairs, keeping to the shadows as Carson, their butler, ushered the Lord and Laird into the great hall.

Dougal appeared tired and strained. His narrow face was all angles and his skin had become sallow since she last saw him. Lord Macintosh appeared no healthier. Behind her on the stair she could hear the clatter of feet, cackle of voices, and swish of dresses. Her sisters would make everything worse if their paths should cross, and so Rosalyn melted into the wall, becoming next to invisible behind a great tapestry.

"Good Morning Lord Macintosh, Laird Macintosh!" Catriona crowed. In her voice Rosalyn could hear how she flipped her honey colored hair.

"Good morning Girls." Lord Macintosh's voice was flat. "Carson, might we meet with your master in private?"

"Of course, my Lord, right this way." As the sound of masculine footfall faded down the hall a frenzy of female movement followed.

"A private audience? Why does Lord Macintosh wish to speak to Papa in private?" Agnes wondered aloud.

"And why did he bring Dougal?" Fiona asked wistfully.

"Maybe the Laird has finally decided to apologize!" Catriona huffed haughtily.

"Maybe Dougal has come to ask for my hand!" Ina's comment ignited a new argument over who was prettier, who would be a better bride, and who Dougal preferred. Her sisters thus employed Rosalyn slipped from her hiding place and continued on silent bare feet to the main floor.

If the Lord wanted a truly private meeting Carson would undoubtedly show them to the study Rosalyn reasoned as she turned down the hall. The door to her father's sanctum was indeed closed tightly, but as she pressed her ear to the keyhole Rosalyn could hear Lord Macintosh's voice addressing her father gravely.

"Last night the King's messenger delivered this. The north has been invaded and William's clansmen cannot hold out much longer. It is nothing like he has ever seen…" Rosalyn leaned further into the door, straining to hear everything.

Invasion?

"Well! What do we have here?" Catriona's voice was poisonous but Rosalyn did her best to tune it out and focus on the serious tones on the other side of the door.

"Look at her listening at keyholes! Loot at her dress! How uncivilized!" Fiona chimed in.

"Did you try to dress yourself?" Ina added. Rosalyn closed her eyes tightly. Had Lord Macintosh just asked their father to join him? Invasion?

A sharp tug on her ponytail made Rosalyn's eyes water.

"Rosalyn! We're speaking to you!" Catriona taunted.

"What is going on here?" Rhiannon asked harshly from behind her daughters. Catriona, Fiona, Ina, and Agnes parted and Rosalyn, flustered and still stinging tried to get off of her knees and away from the door. She failed, hooking her toe in her hem and falling backward into the doorframe. Pain shot through her shoulder and her temple.

"Rosalyn! What are you doing?" Rhiannon demanded. As insult to injury the commotion had been heard inside the office. The door flew open and Rosalyn fell into her father. His face was ashen and etched with worried lines.

"I have news," He said seriously, his storm grey eyes seeking his wife.

"The King has called for every able bodied man to join him in the North to help Lord MacGuffin repel the invading menace." Thomas Brolchain reported evenly, looking at each of his daughters in turn. "We are at war," he continued, "I have been called to serve, as have the Lord and Laird." Rosalyn felt as if a house had been dropped on her.

War.

Beside her her mother gasped, Agnes swooned, Fiona and Ina missed the point, and Catriona wondered how this would affect her chances of marriage.

War.

Rosalyn's stomach dropped and her heart seized. Her father had been called to war.

Her eyes landed upon Dougal, who stood beside his father stiffly. Suddenly she felt overcome – nauseous, terrified, and sad – too sad to cry. Her chest ached.

Dougal had been called to war.

"We will leave by sunset tomorrow. There is much to do." Her father was speaking but she could not understand him. Her eyes remained fixed on Dougal, his gaze met hers and she did not even hear what Lord Macintosh said.

Her father was first to approach her, still standing in the door, and gently move her out of the way. Lord Macintosh passed her silently with a sad acknowledgement she could not return, her focus was still on Dougal who followed behind his father. As he passed she reached out. Her body and her mind moving independently, she captured his hand and for a moment he stopped, the world stopped, and her heart stopped. She could not speak, she knew not the words, so instead she squeezed his hand and looked straight into his eyes. For a moment he closed his eyes and then he squeezed back.

Then he was gone.


Note: For those of you playing along at home Thomas Brolchain's curse brings heat, Rosalyn's curse brings snow/ cold weather, and Catriona's curse brings hail.

Also, I really, really don't like Catriona.