Once a Warrior by Karyn Monk Page A

left the hall, his scarlet robes dusting the floor behind him.
    The moment he was gone, the clan erupted in a baffled cacophony of questions.
    “What did he say?” demanded Angus.
    Dugald shook his head, bewildered. “Something about seeds.”
    “I think he means we need to collect more seeds to replant what we felled last autumn,” suggested Graham.
    “Seems an odd time to be concerned about seeds,” mused Angus. “I thought we were talking about the Black Wolf.”
    Dugald leaned into his friend and whispered loudly, “He’s not the same as he used to be, you know. Getting older. I’ve noticed quite a difference since he turned one hundred and forty.”
    “The Black Wolf was supposed to come with his great army,” declared Niall, trying to regain his audience’s attention. “Instead he arrives alone, weak, and pathetically unfit for the role of laird. Because of him, MacKendrick and many others were slain, including poor Guy and Marcus, who were finally buried just today. Why are we dishonoring their memory by wasting our time with this man?”
    “Even Ariella realizes he’s not the one, or she would have given him the sword,” pointed out Agnes hesitantly.
    “Why did she bring him, then?” wondered Helen.
    Duncan rose from his chair and solemnly regarded the clan. “She brought him because she believed he could be of help,” he explained. “And although he is scarred, MacFane is not as weak as you seem to think.”
    “That’s true,” agreed Andrew. “On our journey home we were—”
    “If he’s not the one,” interrupted Niall, “then we should be spending our time trying to find the right laird, not performing foolish antics in the courtyard. We need a chief who leads a strong army that can defend us. And if we must train, let us find someone who is not so crippled with injuries, he can barely limp across the hall without eliciting pity.”
    “Then don’t pity him.”
    All eyes turned to Ariella as she descended the staircase. She swept her gaze disapprovingly over her clan before fastening her attention on Niall.
    “I realize you mean well, Niall, with your attempt to incite the clan to reject MacFane,” she began, her voice reproachful. “But as I made clear yesterday, I have not brought him here to assume the position of laird. I have brought him here because I believe he can train us to better defend ourselves.”
    “How is he training us by having us knock each other down and stab at empty air?” demanded Niall.
    “You don’t see him running and jumping and fighting air,” added Ramsay. “How can he teach us to do things he can’t even do himself?”
    “MacFane has fought countless great battles and never lost one,” stated Ariella boldly. She had no idea whether that was true, but the amazed faces surrounding her told her she had captured their attention. “He has trained thousands of men,” she exaggerated, “turning the simplest of farmers into the finest warriors in all Scotland. These things more than qualify him to be our teacher.” She paused, allowing her remarks to penetrate their disgruntlement.
    “Yes, his once perfect body has been weakened by the terrible toll of fighting many successful battles,” she admitted. “But do not think for a moment MacFane is in any way helpless. On our journey home Andrew, Duncan, and I were attacked by eight savage thieves. At the very moment we were to be brutally slaughtered, MacFane burst from the darkness on his magnificent horse. He expertly killed all eight of the murderers before any of us could so much as lift a sword to come to his aid.” She paused again, giving her people time to imagine the highly exaggerated but glorious scene she had described.
    “So, you see, even with his scars, even with his body racked with pain, with his injured arm and leg, the Black Wolf is still a great warrior. He could easily defeat five of you at the same time, with or without a sword. Given this extraordinary ability, I have no