Sàmhach, the Silent One
Copyright© 2026 by CaptainPig
Chapter 8
Glossary
Smatchet, A small, nasty or insignificant person.
An Neach-faire (AN neych-FAR-uh) The Watchman, a very popular anonymous gossip columnist in the River City newspaper, An Glaodhaiche.
An Glaodhaiche (GLUH-uh-khuh, the kh is pronounced gutturally like the ch at the end of Bach) the Town Crier.
For a few moments, there was such an uproar as everyone spoke protesting the challenge that no one could be understood. Finally, Seanair slammed his hand down on the table and loudly demanded silence. A moment later, the room was finally still.
Horace spoke up, “Sàmhach, let me see the challenge, please.”
I handed him the envelope and drawing a sgian achlais from his sleeve, he used it to carefully lift the wax seal without breaking it.
He pulled the paper from the envelope and unfolding it, read.
“It seems in order,” he said. “He is asking for a duel tomorrow in the dueling square at the Constabulary’s training facility. He offers to meet at 9 of the morning clock.”
“What else,” Seanair asked.
“He is requesting the use of pistols but will agree to use the claidheamh beag if the use of pistols is not accepted.”
“Angus, no,” Dorrie cried. “I won’t have it. We searched for Sorcha for years, I won’t lose her son now that we have just found him. He’s all that’s left of her.”
Seanair asked, “May someone be a champion for him?”
Teachdaire McWhirter spoke up, “By the rules of the Cùirt an Urraim, unless the wording of the challenge specifically allows for champions or substitutes, then only the principals are allowed.”
“There is no language allowing for champions in the challenge,” Horace said. “Sàmhach must either refuse the challenge or face Lukas MacDonell himself.”
Dorrie began sobbing quietly. Everyone in the room knew that even though I was only seven years old to MacDonell’s fifty or more, I would have to accept the challenge or my honor would be permanently stained and diminished.
Ainslie spoke for me as I signed to Teachdaire McWhirter, ‘Tell MacDonell that I accept his challenge. My claidheamh beag’s blade is thirty one and a quarter inches long. The time and place are acceptable to me. He can die then and there just as well as anywhere else.’
By now, the girls were huddled around Dorrie, all of them in tears.
That little tiny ember of rage that had lived in me since the murders was now grown to the size of a candle flame. I knew that when I stepped into the dueling square, it would be much larger, hotter and fiercer.
I looked at the striking clock on the mantel and saw that the ninth hour was about to strike. I stood and signed, the faithful Ainslie repeating my words, ‘It grows late. I must rest to be ready for the morning.’
I went to Seanmhair Dorrie and, even though I was still uncomfortable doing it, I gave her a hug and kissed her cheek. Each of the girls insisted on giving me a hug and a kiss on my cheek as well.
Gwen insisted on kissing me on the lips and whispered, “Don’t you dare get killed. When we’re old enough I want you to be my first.”
I signed ‘I will be very happy to be your first. MacDonell will be the one who dies, not me.
We arrived at the Constabulary training facility about thirty minutes before the appointed time, just Seanair, Ainslie and I.
Seanair and I walked the dueling square, carefully examining every inch of the ground and testing the footing.
About ten minutes before nine of the clock, a noisy, chattering crowd of MacDonells arrived and gathered at one side of the square. Two of them detached themselves from the group and walked over to where Seanair, Ainslie and I were standing. With some surprise and trepidation, I recognized Gordon MacDonell.
“Sàmhach,” he said. Indicating the man with him, “I wanted you to know that we, my Athair and I tried to persuade Lukas not to challenge you. Ewan’s màthair is Lukas’ second wife. She coddled and spoiled the boy terribly and always persuaded Lukas to overlook his misdeeds and protect him from any consequences.”
His father spoke, “I am Rory MacDonell, Lukas MacDonell’s oldest son and probably the next clan chief. I wanted you to know that, in this matter, Gordon speaks for both of us and for all of my living bràthairs.”
Gordon said, “I know that you held back in our match at the Games. My seanair and I have fenced many times and I can beat him nearly every time. Do NOT hold back. I love him, but he is wrong to do this. Kill him as quickly and as mercifully as you can. Do not let him bait you or prolong the fight.”
Seanair and I were both taken aback at Gordon’s words. We exchanged a look and then I signed, Ainslie speaking my words.
‘I promise you, as far as I am concerned, this ends here. Let there be no feud or hatred between our families after I kill Lukas.’
“Agreed,” Rory said. “My bràthairs and I have all spoken about this and we are of one mind. If Lukas kills you and survives, we will assemble the clan and strip him of the chieftainship. We would have done this already if there had time to assemble the clan before he issued the challenge. If you kill Lukas, it is over and done with. No feud will exist between our clans. I would offer my hand on this but I dare not let Lukas see me do so.”
‘Consider it offered and taken,’ I signed. ‘You had better go back to your side. It is time.’
Teachdaire McWhirter called out, “Duelists, step to your marks.”
Ainslie handed me my claidheamh and I stepped into the dueling square and walked up to my mark.
“Is there any possibility that you may settle your differences peacefully?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“It will be peaceful enough once I have killed this smatchet,” Lukas snarled.
“Very well,” McWhirter said. “Cross your blades, gentlemen, and on the command to fight, commence.”
I released the hold I had kept on my inner flame until that moment. I felt it rush throughout my body. It felt as if time itself slowed for me until the even motes of dust in the sunbeam ceased to move.
“Fight!,” he said.