A CHRISTMAS WISH

Chapter 5: Madness

CHAPTER 5: Madness

"MADNESS"

"Please reconsider Milord, you can not possibly be thinking of inviting those monsters to the Tourney. Think of your only daughter Arnoff. What if the Wolf wins? you know off his reputation."

"I am aware of his legend my dear, tall tales of inhuman strength and cunning." The Baron shot back derisively, "But both legends and reputations are oft rumor and conjecture. He is but a man, naught else, a thorn in my side, one that I intend to get rid of once and for all."

"By risking your own daughter's future! This is madness Arnoff, I beg of you............."

"Enough Catherine!" the Baron boomed, going red in the face. "I tire of your incessant quarrelling. I know what I am doing."

His wife didn't seem to agree with him. In fact she seemed on the verge of tears. Arnoff felt guilty as hell for reducing her to this. He crossed the room to take the weeping woman in his arms. He couldn't tell her why he had to resort to this final desperate measure. It was far too demeaning for a man to admit to his own wife that he had no other option.

The men he had sent to defend his lands in the heart of Scotland were outmatched. The heathens knew the lay of the land too well and their brutal attacks on his men were depleting not only their numbers but also their spirit. His first in command had already been to the front-lines and the news he had brought back with him was dire. His troops would be lucky if they withstood the sneak attacks from those heathens one more week. 

Not only was that a damning blow to his pride, but an unbearable slight to his reputation. He would be the laughing stock of all Christendom if he lost his lands to barbaric clans of marauders. 

The irony was that his men had initially held on well, not only securing the rugged terrain but also strengthening their hold over the villages and people therein but then the McLaughlin clan had gotten involved and the rest as they said, was history. 

Yes,  Baron Arnoff de Chancery was scared, paralytically so. 

Arnoff cursed the day he had ever accepted the heathen lands from King John. 

It had been a reward for all his support and the Baron had gladly taken control of them at the time, licking his chops at the prospect of collecting yet more taxes to fill his bulging coffers.

Little had he known that the Kings gift would turn into a noose round his neck, one that was slowly but surely getting tighter by the minute.

Leaving him with only one way out, and it was a huge gamble, but one that would surely pay massive dividends if he won. 

He had paced many a night thinking about a way out of the untenable situation and he had finally conceived a plan that had every chance of success. One thing he did not lack was cunning, 'twas his courage that so often deserted him.

The only chink in a Highlander's armor was his own barbaric tribal code which demanded that a warrior must accept defeat if he lost. 

All the Baron had to do was hold a tournament and than invite all the greatest knights of the realm to participate. Which he was certain they would, for what knight worth his salt would not want to savour victory in a prestigious tourney with not only the promise of riches and land but also the hand of a fair maiden there for the taking. Oh yes they would come, and so would the Laird. His sense of honour would demand it. And that is where Arnoff could lay claim to victory; those wretched barbarians might be as wily as forest wolves up in their mountain lairs but here on English soil stripped of their geographical advantage the Laird and his men would surely fall.