Down the Rabbit Hole

“A very wise woman once told me that looks aren’t enough. What matters most is a good heart.”


“A wise woman, indeed.” Colin got to his feet and held aloft a cup of ale.

Around the room voices were stilled as the laird began to speak.

“My friends, I am in your debt. Even now, as we feast, the villagers are also celebrating with a feast of their own. Because of your skill with bow and arrow, no man, woman, or child, even the oldest among them, will go hungry this night. For that, I thank you, my friends.”

Hamish stood and lifted his own tankard. “It is we who salute you, my laird. These days spent in your company have been a special treat to all.”

Colin smiled at the young man. “It is time to announce the winners of today’s hunt.”

At a signal, Jamie stepped up beside his laird and handed him a bundle of arrows, sorted by feathers.

Colin glanced around the hall until he spotted the red-bearded son of an old friend. “Adair, you brought down the most pheasants. Come forward and accept your reward.”

As the young man paused before him, Colin clapped a hand on his shoulder before handing him a small sack of gold.

After accepting his prize, the young man knelt and declared loudly, “I thank you, my laird. And I declare my fealty to you forever.”

Touched, Colin nodded. “Your laird thanks you, Adair.”

He reached for the second set of arrows and called, “Bancroft. You brought down the greatest number of quail. Come forward and accept your reward.”

Like Adair, the young hunter with pale blond hair stepped forward and was handed a small sack of gold. And, like Adair, he knelt and loudly declared his fealty to his laird, to much shouting and pounding of goblets on the wooden tables.

“Hamish.” Colin picked up the largest bundle of arrows, bearing the soft, plumed feathers of an egret. “Yours was no idle boast. You have, indeed, proven yourself to be a most gifted bowman. When we combine the number of pheasants and quail brought down by your arrows, I declare you the winner of the entire hunt. In all, you provided my villagers with three score and five birds for a glorious feast.”

To much shouting and pounding, the young man stepped forward to claim a much larger sack of gold.

Clearly humbled by the honor, he knelt before his laird and declared in a loud voice, “Though I was born to the Campbell clan, and have declared allegiance to my clansmen, I do declare my fealty to you, as well. If ever you need my strong arm, it is yours.”

“I thank you, Hamish. You may walk freely among my clansmen, knowing they will never harm you.”

Ian walked up to the head of the table, stepping in front of his friend Hamish and swaying slightly.

His words were slurred. “What of my reward?” He looked around at the others. “Since I was the only hunter to bring down a stag, I have earned the right to be declared winner of the hunt.”

“I have not forgotten.” Colin’s expression never changed.

He nodded toward Jamie, who handed him a goblet of blood-red wine.

Colin held it out to his stepbrother. “Drink, Ian.”

Incredulous, the young man stared at the cup, then up at Colin. “What of the gold you gave the others?”

“Gold is their reward. But this is made from our own vines, grown in our own hallowed soil. It is the drink of life that binds us one to the other.”

With a look of absolute fury, Ian tossed the goblet against the stone fireplace, where it spattered and ran in rivers of red.

“You will pay dearly for this, brother.” Without another word, Ian turned and stormed out of the great hall, his booted feet beating an ominous tattoo on the scarred wooden floor.

In the silence that followed, Edwina hurried forward. “My brother is drunk and knows not what he is doing. On the morrow, he will apologize to you, brother-laird.”