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explained.
    â€œAnd he asked this of you?” Otis inquired, smiling.
    â€œI am his son,” Ramsey responded. “I would do whatever he asked.”
    Otis turned to his friend. “Laird Sinclair would never turn his back on anyone in need.”
    Ramsey had wasted enough time talking about personal matters and turned the discussion back to the primary subject. “You have said you want my protection, but could you not achieve this with a simple alliance?”
    â€œYour soldiers would have to patrol our borders night and day,” Otis said. “And in time they would grow weary of the duty, but if you owned the land . . .”
    â€œYes,” Brisbane eagerly agreed. “If the Sinclairs owned the land, you would protect it at all cost. We have—” He suddenly stopped, for he was so stunned by the fact that Ramsey had moved forward to pour wine into their empty goblets, he lost his train of thought. “You are laird . . . yet you serve us as though you are our squire. Do you not know the power you hold?”
    Ramsey smiled over their bewilderment. “I know that you are guests in my tent,” he answered, “and my elders. It is therefore my duty to see to your comfort.”
    The men were honored by his words. “You have your father’s heart,” Otis praised. “It is good to see Alisdair lives on in his son.”
    The laird accepted the compliment with a nod and then gently led the men back to the topic he most wanted to discuss. “You were saying that I would protect your land at all costs if I owned it?”
    â€œAye,” Otis agreed. “And we have much to offer in return for this union. Our land is rich with resources. Our lakes are glutted with fat fish, our soil is rich for planting, and our hills are filled with sheep.”
    â€œWhich is why we are being constantly attacked on all our borders by the Campbells and the Hamiltons and the Boswells. They all want our land, our water and our women, but the rest of us can go to hell.”
    Ramsey didn’t show any outward reaction to the passionate speech. He began to pace about the tent with his head bowed and his hands clasped behind his back.
    â€œWith your permission, Laird, I would ask a few questions,” Gideon requested.
    â€œAs you wish,” Ramsey told his commander.
    Gideon turned to Otis. “How many soldiers do you count among the MacPhersons?”
    â€œNearly two hundred,” he answered. “But as Brisbane explained, they have not been properly trained.”
    â€œAnd there are one hundred more of an age to begin training,” Otis interjected. “You could make them invincible, Laird,” he said. “As invincible as Laird Brodick Buchanan’s Spartans. Aye, it’s possible, for they already have the minds and hearts of warriors.”
    â€œYou call Brodick’s soldiers Spartans?” Gideon asked, smiling.
    â€œWe do, for that is what they are,” Otis replied. “Haven’t you heard the stories about the Spartans of times past from your fathers and grandfathers as we have?”
    Gideon nodded. “Most of the stories have been exaggerated.”
    â€œNay, most are true,” Otis replied. “The stories were written down by the holy monks and retold countless times. They were a barbaric tribe,” he added with a frown. “Sinfully proud but extremely brave. It was said they would rather die by the blade than lose an argument. ’Tis my opinion they were a stubborn lot.”
    â€œWe wouldn’t want our soldiers to be as ruthless as the Buchanan warriors,” Brisbane hastily interjected.
    Ramsey laughed. “Aye, Brodick’s soldiers are ruthless.” His smile faded as he added, “Know this, gentlemen. Though we are often at odds, I count Brodick as one of my closest friends. He is like a brother to me. However, I will not take exception to what you have said about