The Lion (Clan Ross of the Hebrides Book 1), Hildie McQueen [reading books for 5 year olds TXT] 📗

At Darach’s exclamation, the room quieted. The silence was short-lived because just then on the far side of the crowded room a fight broke out. The pair who’d been bound had somehow gotten loose and were now brawling. When they fell onto a table, the people there just cheered and shoved them away.

The guardsmen in the room pushed their way through the crowd to the fighters, pulled the men apart, and dragged them out to the courtyard. People jeered loudly at the end of their entertainment.

Darach motioned for one of his personal guards to come closer.

“I want twenty warriors to come at once. Enough of this unruliness. Take those in the back half of the room outside. Except for the women and children. They can remain.”

In short order, the warriors entered the room. Groups of people were herded out, some peacefully, while others had to be beaten over the head with flat swords or prodded forward with shields.

Taking advantage of the distraction, a group of women rushed up and tugged at Darach’s tunic to get his attention. One woman spoke for the group, tears streaming down her face. She trembled when he looked at her. “My laird, we’ve come to beg for food. Our bairns are hungry, our elderly are dying, and yer reply is to have the guardsmen beat and drag us away.”

Darach groaned but kept from raising his voice. Already the women shrunk back each time he looked from one to the other. He had given specific instructions that no women be taken out, and no child pushed away. But of course, that would not be the story they told once they returned to their villages.

Even bundled up with cloaks and with blankets around their bodies, it was evident the women were too thin, their faces gaunt, their eyes dull. One held a child against her chest that clung to its mother while crying softly.

“I will not send ye away hungry. Gather all the bairns, women, and any elderly who are here, and go to the dining hall. Food will be brought,” Darach said and motioned for his youngest brother Gideon, part of the warrior force, to come forward. “Ensure that Mother and Ella are aware that these people need to be fed.”

At eight and twenty, Gideon had turned from a lanky lad into a well-toned, muscled man. With dark wavy hair and the same hazel-colored eyes as him, no one would question his lineage. His brother nodded and raced to find their mother and sister.

“There may be too many to feed on such short notice,” Cairn, the councilman, neared and declared. At Darach’s glare, he held both hands up. “I only say what I see.”

“Go and eat,” Darach urged the women who remained in place, looking between him and Cairn. They hurried toward the dining hall, telling others as they walked by to follow them to get a meal.

Most of the women and elderly in the great hall shuffled out, urged by the prospect of a good meal. The few that remained were either quarreling or standing behind their husbands or fathers, who were busy complaining—loudly—about the injustices done against them by Darach’s late father.

The argumentative men, who had waited impatiently for him to return, were each given a stipend and sent to see the stablemaster to get a sack of oats each for their livestock.

Another group comprised of four farmers approached and demanded answers on how they were to defend their land. Unfulfilled promises by Darach’s late father were repeated.

One man’s ragged face contorted with rage. “Laird, we come to ye to ask for help, which has been sorely lacking. For months now, we’ve struggled to feed our wives and children. Ye must understand, Laird, our land is no longer fertile. Yer late father kept us from rotating the fields, demanding that we plant on all of them at once.

During the last harvest, our farms produced meager crops. After taxes, there was nothing left to take care of our own families.”

At a loss as to what should be done for the people who looked to him for answers, Darach scanned the great hall. Too many still remained. Those that had been escorted out by the guards, would return and bring with them more demands for compensation or help.

“Inventory will be done of the grain reserves, ye must give us time,” Stuart interjected. “For now, each family will receive two sacks of grain, a pair of sheep, and four chickens.”

“There is much to be done. I ask that ye give me time,” Darach said meeting each man’s gaze. “I am not my father. I wish to work with ye and hear what ye have to say.”

The men exchanged questioning looks. One finally spoke. “We will return in a month’s time.”

“Nay. I will ride out to yer land. For now, prepare the portion of land that ye think will produce the most. Taxes will not be collected until after yer second harvest.”

The farmer’s faces brightened. “Thank ye, Laird,” they said and hurried out to collect their allotments.

Darach leaned toward his scribe. “Mark a reminder to meet with the farmers.”

Just then the men who’d been brawling, were dragged up to the front by guardsmen. One was bleeding from his nose and held his head back. The other had a split lip and cut above his eye, blood dripping down the side of his face.

“Laird,” one of the guardsmen said. “These men are fighting about poaching.” He recognized them. They’d stolen cattle back and forth from each other for years.

Darach studied the men, the one with the bleeding nose was very plump, fat really. A woman, just as plump, stood with him. The other man was healthy and heavy as well. He turned to Stuart. “Where are their lands?”

“Near the river. They share the lands just north of the farmers that were just speaking to ye.”

Facing the bleeding men, he studied one and then the other. The room quieted as people became curious to see