Exerpt from Dum Spiro Spero: The Warrior of Kintail
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Nervously, he straightened his plaid and reassured himself by placing his hand on the
hilt of his sword. It was his first hunt, as well as his introduction to the true men of the
clan. Just in looking about, Robert noted the presence of the most prominent warriors of the
village; he remembered his father pointing them out to him when they had gone off to fight
in a small clan war years ago.
"There they are, son," his father told him. "All the best fighters in the MacLennan
clan, off tae fight the Grants."
"Och, aye..." wee Robert's voice trailed off in wonderment as he squirmed impatiently
behind the wooden fence which carefully lined the main road. It was an eye-sore for a lad
of six to see the fifty-some men march down the center of the village, all wearing the clan's
formal tartan, the brilliant green and blue laced delicately with lines of red and yellow. They
were armed well with terges, two-handed broadswords, basket-hilt claymores, and dirks
stowed not-so-secretly in each right sock. The Celtic clan's two best pipers led the
procession, and the lone drummer supplied the beat as all the boots marched honorably along
in front of the wide, proud eyes of the rest of the village. Every ten seconds or so, the music
would pause for the entire village to cry out the MacLennan motto "Dum Spiro Spero!"
translated to the glorious "While I Breathe, I Hope!" The noble sound rang in the young
laddie's ears as it would for the rest of his life.
"Why do ye no gae, Da?" Robert asked, loving the sight, the honor, the courage of
the men who were going to fight against another clan for land, rights and titles.
His father sighed uncomfortably, running a hand through his short brown, unkempt
hair. "Because I must stay wi' yer mam. What she needs now is a husband who will support
and help her through her pregnanca, no a dead corpse tae mourn over and bura."
"Och, aye," Robert said again, turning his attention from his dad and placing it once
again on the fantastic spectacle that was his clan's honor.
Robert had not understood the words then, and hardly understood them now. Clan
wars were not about death, not about slaying an enemy or dying for your clan. The wars
were about defense, proving one's status, and honor. When one clan got too close to
another, when freedom was being restricted, there was nothing to do but have the warriors
take up arms to defend the clan's name. The way Robert saw it, Dugald MacLennan was a
coward for not going, and did not deserve the honor he held. Robert was determined not to
end up a coward like his father, a man without a cause, a man too afraid to lose not to stand
up for what was right. As many whippings as his dad gave him, and as many times his da
told him what was supposed to be done, Robert was resolute in that he would not grow up to
be his father.
18 years later: March 12, 1745
The child was restless that night, waking Chlora up before the gentle light of the dawn
peeked through the glass of their bedroom window. The little one inside of her stirred and
kicked, eager for its mother to start moving about a little. Opening her weary eyes, she
turned a smile upon her mouth to feel her insides bruise with the most wonderful and unique
feeling of them all. It was as if they two were the only ones real, the only ones in the world
who could feel each other. The natural obligation to love rested upon the mother and child
who would live as one until the time when the mother would again become a woman and the
child a wee newborn babe. Chlora pushed the covers off and looked down at her round
stomach, seeing the movement as she felt it.
Then, the mother looked over at the father, startled out of her peaceful world to find
him awake and staring off into nothingness. She reached over, picking up his hand with her
sweaty palm, and guiding it to her belly. A moment later, the baby kicked and Robert gave
a surprised yip as he looked up into his wife's eyes.
She asked quietly, "Ye were up and thinkin'?" She knew what it was he had been
thinking about and she had to know his answer.
"Aye, I was. And I ken now what I must do." Chlora did not like the coldness of
his voice, nor his frowning eyes that were ashamed to meet hers as he continued. "I must
gae." She gave a disappointed sigh but said nothing until he was finished trying to justify
himself. "I am a fighter, and this cause is a just one. Tae stand wi' Bonnie Prince Charlie
himself would be the greatest honor in the world. His fight is for my honor, yer honor, the
honor of all of Scotland, and if I dinna fight, it will all be lost."
Chlora could not tell if he was finished, but she decided that if he was not, she would
tell him her mind any way. "Robert Douglas MacLennan, sometimes I think I could kill ye."
She sighed and tried not to sound as angry as she felt. "Ye mean tae leave me and the bairns
to fight as one man in a thousand against twice as many English? They willna miss yer
courage or yer honor, but I will, and our children will. Think o' wee Betty and wee Maggie,
and o' this one right here in me still, who will never ken ye if ye do not return. Robert, ye
canna win the battle single-handed, ye'll be part o' an arma, an arma that'll do fine wi'out
ye."
"But, Chlora," he protested, "If I dinna go, I'll be a coward, and my honor--"
"Damn yer honor!" she yelled, clasping her hand over her mouth as she remembered
her daughters sleeping in the next room. He voice continued softer, though the strength had
far from vanished. "It's alwas ye and yer honor--"
"That's all I have--"
"Nay!" she hissed, her eyes fiery and relentless. "Nay, ye have me! Ye have our
family! The honor ye spent years tae get is no goin' tae just fly away because ye havena
gone out tae slit yer throat fer the young pretender."
Robert considered for a moment. Then he shook his head. "Ye are right, lass, about
that. My honor will always be a part of me, but can I live wi' myself if I dinna gae? Can I
sit in my quiet little home with my peaceful little famila as onla a bit away the English and
Scots are slaughterin' each other? Can I live bein' just like my da, like my grandsire? Can I
live as a coward fer nae joinin' in? For nae defendin' that which needs defendin'? And what
would that say for my honor? And the honor of our children?"
Chlora could not answer. She knew there was nothing she could say to change his
mind; when he made a decision, he was stubborn, even if it led to death.
"I have tae gae. That's the only way I can be Robert Douglas MacLennan, yer
husband, Betty and Maggie's father." He waited a few minutes for the silence to calm their
tempers. Then he inched closer to her, finding his leg upon hers, his hand stroking her hair.
Quietly, "Do ye hate me now, Chlora?"
She turned to look at him, her eyes filled with tears the size of a loch. It would serve
him right if she did, if he had lost her to the bloody battle for Scottish freedom. But she
could not help but love him for that, for loving his stubbornness, his braw, Highland honor.
"Nay. I canna hate ye. It's onla that... I canna live wi'out ye. And if ye were tae die... Oh
Robert!"
Chlora dissolved into sobs and her husband's arms did their duty, wrapping
themselves around her. "I'm a bonny fighter, Chlora, there's none in the village as good as I
am with a broadsword or a dirk. I'll come back tae ye, dinna worra." He sighed, releasing
her and pulling her damp hair from her hot forehead. "Besides, a couple o' English muskets
could never tak my heart the way ye have."
Her hand clapped against the back of his cool neck, and she pulled him to her, kissing
him full on the lips. "I do love ye, Robert Douglas MacLennan."
He smiled and tilted his head forward so that their foreheads touched and their eyes
were but an inch away. "I love ye, my bonnie lassie. And I will forever."