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 Ten

Sometimes you are sad because it is raining, other times it is raining because you are sad.
~ Nana Calleigh to her granddaughters on a cold evening in the Castle Dunbroch

The rain had not stopped since they had left the harbor four days ago. It was a steady, constant drizzle that kept the skies and moods grey. Everything was wet and everyone was cold. The rain forced them to remain on their ships – or in rare cases to sprint along the cove to visit on of the other Lord's ships, the quarters were tight and getting tighter. The ground had not flooded, yet, but it was only a matter of time, each day it became more and more saturated. The only possible benefit to the showers was that both sides were stuck in the mud; neither the Lords nor the invading horde could advance troops. And so they waited. Waiting made everything worse.

The rain was not an atmospheric condition, but instead Agnes' grief. Laird Brolchain had recognized it on the second day, his curse and the curse of his eldest daughters manifested itself with their anger, but Agnes was different. She was a sensitive soul; she felt things more deeply than anyone Dougal had ever met, even when she was but a little girl. Rosalyn had scooped her up many times when the skies had darkened and focused all of her energy into cheering the little girl, to make her feel happiness rather than sorrow. Knowing that this rain, which seemed to fall with renewed purpose every morning, was because of Agnes' anguish, weighed upon Dougal, it made his mood bleaker than had it been a simple rain. Every time he closed his eyes he could see Rosalyn standing in her father's office, her hair falling from her braid, skin drained of color, and eyes wide and worried. He could feel her hand on his and it squeezed his heart.

Nights were the worst. He used to love falling asleep to the sound of rain, the steady rhythm of it against his window and the way it made the air cool in his room always lulled him into a deeper sleep than he would have had normally; but now it made true sleep that much more elusive. Yes, he knew Agnes was sad, but what of Rosalyn? Was she afraid? Was she sad? Was she still lonely? Did she miss him?

"Dougalyalooklikehell." Gregor MacGuffin finally said one morning as he rung his great cloak out into a basin, the young Lairds had taken to waiting for the weather to break together. It was a bit like the hunting trips their fathers had taken them on when they were younger, except it was much darker. Dougal could not cover his yawn, apparently his inability to find sleep was beginning to show.

"Like you're one to talk." He flipped defensively at the larger boy. Gregor's left hand was tightly wrapped in bandages that appeared to be made from strips of his mother's dress (if the floral print was any indication), along the right side of his fleshy jaw a shallow gash ran, the scar would be faint but it would be there. His right eye was also a vivid, putrid green, the black eye healing and fading into other colors. The clan MacGuffin had been through much already.

"Yerdoin'ittoyerself,Ididn'tdothistame." Gregor was quiet, he was shy – always had been, but in the near twenty years that they had known each other he'd learned to push back.

"Why don't you just tell her?" Ennis asked; he was plucking his bow string, listening for the perfect tone and tautness.

"Oh yeah, and why don't you just tell your Mum and Dad you want to marry Bonny? Why didn't you tell them you weren't interested in the betrothal instead of trying to fail your shot?" Dougal fired back. The Laird Dingwall's towhead flew up, his pale eyes wide. Gregor shot Dougal a look, the windward son was generally very laid back, but certain topics made him go bizerk. One of those topics was Bonny Sgein.

"I tried." He fairly growled, "It didn't work – they didn't listen. After we returned from the games I proposed." Dougal and Gregor exchanged shocked expressions, Wee Dingwall continued, "She accepted me. My mother promptly dismissed her and my father saw to it she was returned to her family farm – sending her as far from me as possible." The pale Laird gripped the bow so tightly his knuckles fairly glowed white. Young MacGuffin dropped into a chair, taken aback by the announcement; Dougal dropped his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Shit. Ennis, I… I'm sorry." Ennis' hand relaxed a little on the bow.

Dougal had never met Bonny, though over the years he had seen glimpses of her going about her tasks as a lady's maid. She was quiet and efficient and unobtrusive – the perfect servant. In fact, had he not known the Laird's heart he would not have noticed the petite blonde at all. But he did know how much Ennis adored the golden haired maid and in turn how devoted she was to him.

Dougal had been surprised when Ennis had been presented as a suitor for the princess' hand, considering he and Bonny had been sharing a bed for years. He'd not been surprised, however, when Ennis had done everything in his power to fail at everything. Dumping his entire quiver had been a nice touch, but Ennis had a flair for such details – he had his own father convinced he was simple after all.

With Ennis doing everything he could to loose Dougal had known the contest was between himself and Gregor. How sick he had felt when he saw how far off the mark Young MacGuffin's shot had landed. Dougal was a good shot, but not good enough to loose. When his arrow struck so near the bull's eye he could not clamp down on his emotions. He had won the Princess and lost all hope of Rosalyn.

Well the betrothal games were no more and he had still lost Rosalyn.

"You and me both." Ennis said darkly. "A fortnight before the games she woke screaming and sobbing, in her dreams she saw a war – and from what has come to pass and what she told me I believe she foresaw this war." An intense fire smoldered in his pale eyes. Dougal looked at the slight boy, his jaw hanging loose in disbelief.

"Whatdoyoumean?" Gregor asked, "Shesawthiswar?" The chair creaked as he leaned his stocky frame forward, his injured hand flexing around the bandages. Ennis set aside his weapon and began to pace, it was strange to see one so lost in thought suddenly so animated.

"That's the problem! I don't know! Not really, not enough, and now she's been sent away – nearly to Goddamn England and I cannot see her and I cannot find out more!" The outburst was followed by silence as Ennis stilled, his eyes sliding out of focus, a hand reaching up to drag through his hair until it stood on end like a tow colored paint brush.

The first few times Dougal witnessed this strange quirk of personality he had quite honestly thought the boy was mad, possessed, or simply simple. Eventually he learned that this was Ennis' thinking face. Dougal could not keep up with the mental gymnastics and logic that went with Wee Dingwall's thinking face but he did know that when next Ennis spoke the answer would be something no one would have thought of and it would also be completely accurate. One just had to wait for it.

"Rosalyn!" Rhiannon called, rapping insistently on her eldest child's bedroom door. "Rosalyn, open up please!" There was no response, not even the soft murmur of curses and the sound of an exasperated eye roll. Silence.

"Rosalyn, Sweetheart, are you alright?" Silence. Worriedly Rhiannon tried the knob; the door creaked but opened willingly.

The room was incredibly dark; the grey of the rainy day, the absence of candles, and the fire on its death bed in the grate cast the room in thick black shadows. Rhiannon slowly entered the chamber, hesitant as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light.

Sitting with her back against the headboard of her bed was Rosalyn. She was wrapped tightly in a blanket so that only her eyes and nose were visible, and just barely.

"Rosalyn?" Rhiannon asked stepping further into the icy chamber. The young woman made no acknowledgement, no sign that she had heard her mother or knew the other woman even existed. Her grey gaze remained fixed on the wall opposite her. She did not blink and neither did the wall.

"Sweetheart," Rhiannon tried a final time. Nothing. Resolved mother crossed the room to stoke the fire into blazing life. If her daughter would not send her away Rhiannon would stay. She would get to the bottom of this; Rosalyn had not stirred from her room in four days.

Rosalyn's eyes did not flicker; her gaze did not stray from the wall until Rhiannon placed a fair hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently. Slowly. Slowly Rosalyn turned her head to look at her mother, her eyes glistened with tears. They were painfully red, the kind of red that only came from constant crying. Rhiannon pulled the blanket from her daughter's face to feel her forehead, her skin was like ice and pale as the moon. It contrasted with the circles under her eyes which were as deep and dark as the shadows around them. Thin and sickly were the only words to come to her mind as Rhiannon looked at her daughter. On the sideboard beside the bed trays of food sat untouched. Four days' worth of meals undisturbed.

"Oh, honey." Rhiannon said, pulling her eldest child into her arms. Rosalyn had no tears left to shed but that did not keep her from shaking, trembling and hiccupping.

"Mamma, did – did he truly say those things?" Rhiannon looked down at her daughter pressed into her shoulder, unsure of the question.

"Who a leanbh?"1

"Dougal. Did… did he truly say I was kind?" Her voice was broken and unsure. Rhiannon rubbed circles along Rosalyn's tense shoulders. The young Lord's speech was vivid in Rhiannon's mind, his words, his posture, and most of all the look in his eye as he spoke of Rosalyn. The mother remembered every detail.

"Yes dear, he did."

"He defended me to Catriona?" She asked quietly, shoulders still shaking, but less violently than before.

"Yes dear, he did."

"He truly said I was smart?" She asked, tremors stilling, voice still uncertain.

"Yes dear, he did." Rhiannon said firmly. "And he truly said you were beautiful." She pulled away so that she might look into her daughter's grey eyes as she affirmed that Dougal Macintosh had indeed said those things.

"If you weren't so full of yourself," He continued his voice rising, "and did not spend your time trying to find ways to cut every person who tried to get near you, you'd see that I actually, strangely enough like you." His voice dropped, as he added, too quietly to be heard by anyone but his heart, "I love you. I have for a while."

Rosalyn's gaze met her mother's as a memory forced itself to the forefront of her mind. That night in the cabin, it had not been a dream. New tears filled her eyes as the ache in her heart grew, her stomach swooped.

He loved her. Dougal loved her. Laughter and sobs ripped from her chest.

Of course. Of course now that he was in danger of dying she would remember.

"Sweetheart?" Rhiannon asked worriedly as her daughter continued to both laugh manically and sob uncontrollably.

"Mamma," Rosalyn chocked out, her nose running in bubbling snorts as she tried to breathe, "Mamma, he loves me."

1 A leanbh – Little one

Author's Note: So yeah, Young MacGuffin... for the life of me, I cannot write Doric, I have no ear for accents. However, I still wanted to maintain the difficulty the average person has understanding Young MacGuffin, please forgive the methods I used, they aren't the best, I'm sure. I know it's difficult to read, it's supposed to be. These next couple of chapters have been challenging for me to write, I hope I won't let you down. Also, I'd like to emphatically and enthusiastically thank all of you kinds souls who are reading and reviewing, my life is a little completer reading your thoughts and encouragement.