Holt
The Tournament of the North.
Most often, the tourney’s outcome meant its champion could claim bragging rights not only for himself but his family, his country. When an Englishman won, King Edward preened and saw the outcome as proof that his cause was just.
When a Scotsman was named victor, it solidified their own identity in their clan and all allies to that clan. This summer, more than ever, it would signify their right to be free from a tyrannical king whose welcome had long been overstayed.
“You cannot enter,” Boyd said.
They’d sat around Holt’s father’s table at Kenshire all day. Many of his kin had attended the council, including the chief of Clan Kerr. Toren agreed.
“If you enter, you will win,” Holt’s uncle said.
All murmured their agreement.
“If you win,” his brother Haydn repeated, as if Holt had not heard him the first few times, “Edward will use your victory to bolster his claims. The divine right of an English intervention none,” he gestured to their Scots family, “wish for.”
“Do you believe the rumors,” Holt asked his father, “that Edward prepares to denounce your claim to Kenshire?”
Murmurs of discontent drowned his father’s response.
When so much of the Brotherhood, of the Waryn and Kerr families, gathered, the result was never a quiet one.
The discussion continued.
From Boyd’s insistence that sides had already been drawn, to his father’s surprising calling for calm, opinions varied on how to best protect their families amidst the chaos around them.
“If he does not enter, will he not appear weak? And the Waryn name along with it?” his cousin Rory asked.
He and Holt exchanged looks, Holt silently thanking Rory.
He wished to enter the tourney. It was the largest of the year, and what sort of tourney champion was Holt if he sat on the sidelines for it? Holt had nothing else but his reputation, and he wished to defend it.
“Perhaps just this once,” his Uncle Toren said to him. “With the borders so unstable.”
“Just this once,” he countered. “Until we are at an impasse next summer as well. And the one after it. The king will not so easily relinquish his claim, and none seem ready to unify the Scots to force him out.”
Silence met his words. All knew Holt spoke only the truth. The future of Scotland was as uncertain as ever.
“Let us speak of the more immediate problem,” his father said.
Holt caught Boyd’s eye. His cousin nodded, and before the new discussion started, Holt left his seat and the men slipped outside.
“Endless talks,” Boyd said, clearly frustrated. “We accomplish nothing.”
Holt leaned against the stone wall of the corridor. “It may seem such, but if you’ll remember where our families began . . .”
Boyd laughed. “As enemies, Bryce holding Aunt Catrina captive. Aye, to think on it, much has been accomplished. And yet the fight, while not among us, rages outside these walls.”
“As it will,” he predicted, “for many years to come. The Brotherhood was created for such a reason. You know this.”
Boyd looked at him oddly. “Is my wild cousin growing tame? It was you, if I remember correctly, who railed loudest against the injustices around us.”
“And when that did naught, I retreated to the training yard.”
“And began winning tourneys.”
Holt did not disagree.
“You should enter,” Boyd said, echoing Holt’s thoughts.
“What of the claim that Edward will use a win against your clan and country?”
His cousin gave him such a look then that Holt held his breath waiting for an answer. He knew Boyd as well as any of his own brothers. Whatever he was thinking, Holt wasn’t certain he wanted to hear it.
“You have a plan.”
“Aye, I do.”
You should enter.
There could be just one reason for his cousin to encourage him to enter the Tournament of the North. It was likely Holt would win, and such a win would only bolster Boyd’s greatest enemy. The threat to Wallace, to Clan Kerr, to Scotland . . . certainly an English champion would not diminish such threats.
Unless . . .
He could not, would not, do it.
“Boyd,” he began, “go back to Gurstelle, to your beautiful wife. Bear children, enjoy your life.”
“I will enjoy my life when each and every one of my family members is safe. My sister, who even now risks herself for our cause. My clan, each of us waits for Edward’s next move with so little power to prevent it.”
“If there was but one claimant to Scotland’s crown. If you were more unified.”
“We,” Boyd reminded him. “You are one of us.”
And there it was. The gauntlet that his cousin had been preparing to toss since he brought him out into this corridor.
It was a bold idea. One that had crossed Holt’s mind before. “It will mean war,” he said, but Boyd knew as much already.
“We are at war already.”
Holt laughed. “I do not mean between our countries, but in my own family. Few will support me, my own father and brothers included.”
“I will support you. All of Clan Kerr will support you.”
“That was what it came down to.” Choose between his own kin or his Scot’s family. His father’s wishes and Holt’s own sense of justice.
He needed to think.
“I will consider it,” he said, knowing there was little time to do so.
“The tournament begins in less than a fortnight,” Boyd reminded him, as if Holt did not realize the fact already.
“Aye, it does.”
Boyd grasped Holt on the shoulder, looked him in the eyes, and said nothing. For there was little to be said. His cousin would stand with him, no matter his decision. But would his own family?
There was just one thing for Holt to do. He cleared his throat.
“I need an ale. Let us drink together,” he said to Boyd. “And sort the tourney, and my role in it, on the morrow.”
But Holt would need more than a mug of strong ale to sort through this, which might prove to be the biggest decision of his life. One that could alter the future of Kenshire forever.
He’s the greatest tourney knight in England, but Holt Waryn is powerless against Lady Clarissa. Preorder Holt’s story here.
