11
It was midnight when the rebels gathered together in an old ruined barn that was as near to the grain store as they could be without being seen. The barn had served them well for a few years as both a hideout and a place to store their booty until it was time to distribute it.
“Right,” Keira said grimly. “I have heard that the store is only half full, but our people need food, so let us take what we can and hide it. If we must, we will do another raid after that.” At once, there was a storm of protests, but Keira held up her hand, then put a finger over her lips. “Shhh! I know it is something we have never done before, and it is risky, but times are desperate and we cannot let people down when they are depending on us. Are you in agreement?”
This time, there was a general chorus of agreement, but even if every man in the band had not followed her, Keira would have gone anyway since she was passionate about the welfare of the people she thought of as her own.
“I would prefer that we all had time to rest before we strike again, but we have no choice.” Keira sighed. She was already exhausted, and the night was not half over.
Cautious as always, Keira had sent out scouts before them, but there was no sign of any movement that suggested that the store was being watched.
“Naybody there, Keira,” said Ben as he crept back to them. “It looks safe.”
Keira nodded. “Good. Are we ready?” she asked, looking around.
There was a forest of nodding heads.
“Aye!” they replied very quietly.
“Let us go! And good luck, lads!” Keira called out, then they began their journey of mercy.
While she was carrying out her missions, Keira always kept her final aim in sight. No one would go hungry if she and her band could help it.
* * *
Keira crept around the side of the store while the others spread out around her. She had a bad feeling about their raid that night, but she had no idea why. They had planned meticulously, as they always did, and there were no signs that anything was any different from the way it usually was. She chastised herself for being foolish and tried to push her presentiments of doom to the back of her mind and concentrate on the task at hand.
Each of the rebels kept a fair distance away from each other so that if the worst happened, they could not be captured all at once. As well as that, they were all dressed in dark clothing that would blend into the night. Every precaution that could be taken had been taken.
Keira was the leader, but she had never claimed to be better than any of the men who worked with her and was not keen on barking out orders. Thoroughness and organization were her best weapons. She was, without doubt, a better rider and had keener eyes than most, but apart from that she claimed no special skills and let each of the men do what he did best. She had found that things usually worked out better that way.
The door was firmly locked and bolted, but two of the more powerful men levered the door open with a heavy iron implement that Keira had instructed the blacksmith to make for her. He had been rather baffled at the time.
“What dae ye want it for, mistress?” he had asked, with a puzzled frown.
“I want to break the doors down with it,” she informed him, with a mischievous smile.
He had laughed heartily and followed her instructions. The same tool was used to break the keyhole in the wooden door so that Keira could reach her small hand inside and open it.
Now, the band moved silently into the barn, and Ben lit a stump of a candle to pierce the stygian darkness. They moved in utter silence and with the ease and fluidity of long experience as one man unloaded a sack and then passed it to the next man, then the next, until it arrived at the cart that was waiting outside. It was a large cart pulled by a big, placid draft horse, and it was perfect for their needs since all six men and Keira could ride in the back along with their loot. When the cart was full, they moved back to the barn, where the sacks of grain were dropped into a trapdoor on the floor and covered with straw.
When they arrived at the barn, Keira counted the sacks as they dropped one by one into the cellar. “Twenty,” she said, sighing. “That is not going to go very far among all the people in this village, but it would feed my father for a year. Damn him!” Her voice was a growl.
There was silence for a moment while she stood thinking.
“I am afraid there is nothing else for it, men. We need to go out again. I am sorry.”
As she spoke, she felt a fierce anger flare up inside her. Her father had taken all the barley, rye, and oats from his tenants and paid them nothing, despite many promises and written contracts Keira herself had witnessed. Most of the tenants were illiterate, and she did not trust the laird, but she had hoped to help them the legal way.
However, her father had no respect for the law, and the common people were too afraid to stand up against him, which was why Keira was out in the dead of night putting matters to rights. Upper classes had ways of finding their way around contracts.
“Aye, well, as ye say, hen,” James Dunn, a stout man, said firmly, “we must dae what we need tae dae.” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked around. “Aye?” he asked.
“Aye,” came the reply.
“You are all such good men,” Keira said warmly. “Come, let us quench our thirst.”
She took out a few flasks of ale from her backpack and offered them to the rebels. After they had all helped themselves and the flasks were empty, James said, “Ye know, Keira, ye are the best lass I ever knew. Withoot ye, this wee collection o’ ragtag men couldnae manage tae dae anythin’. Thank ye, hen.”