Celtic Fury (3 page)

The bride price had been paid, so Val ‘Cour estate was her home. Upon arriving after her sham of a wedding, she found her husband to be not only old, but infirmed. He had suffered a fall during a hunt and his wounds were slow to heal. It was said he fancied himself a handsome lover, but with the injury he was quickly becoming more decrepit daily. Brielle couldn’t see if he had once been handsome. His face was craggy and he had the pall of infection about him. Whenever she visited his chamber, she was kind to him, but regarded him as she had any of her wounded animals. He had been grateful for the time she spent with him. He often called her child when she visited him to read to him or help re-dress the infected wound on his leg. He was thankful for her kindness and he promised her to make her his wife properly once he returned to health, Brielle always fought the bile in her throat that rose when he made such a claim. She secretly prayed he would never get well enough to make good on that claim. Once again her hand smoothed down the fold of the black gown she was forced to don.

A month past she had gotten her bitter wish. The infection in the leg of Marcus Val ‘Cour had festered and burst, sending the poison seeping throughout his blood into his body. He succumbed to the fever days later, leaving Brielle a virgin widow, trapped in a foreign land and a loveless home. She had been his third wife and his offspring did not take kindly to her. They accused her of everything from being a gold grabbing harlot, to the one responsible for the actual demise of their father, as if she had caused his injury herself. It was of no use to her.

Brielle just wanted to go home, but home was far away and her brothers would torment her worse than the offspring of Marcus Val ‘Cour had enjoyed doing. How many times she had been the brunt of their anger; receiving beatings for trumped up offenses. She bore a scar from her neck to her shoulder, when in a drunken rage, her older brother Roderick had threatened to kill her and his dirk slipped, just missing her vital artery. She sighed.

The physical beatings were almost bearable to the vile malignant taunts they inflicted on her daily. They made her believe she was ugly, fat, dowdy, unlovable, and they tried to make her think she was addled in the mind. Only her grandfather had loved her. Brielle was certain she could not go back to Castle Campbell, but she also knew she could not stay at Val ‘Cour Manor. She hatched a plan to return to the highlands, maybe to find refuge with a neighboring clan; perhaps one that didn’t hate the Campbells so severely.

Brielle would even be happy to render her services as a maid or a barn servant so long as she was in the beauty of the highlands. She was not a prisoner at Val ‘Cour. In fact, few people even noticed her. She could not spend her days as a grieving widow when she barely even knew her husband. She decided that she would hire a carriage to take her as far into Scotland as she could go and be free of the Val ‘Cour pall. She was certain Marcus’ family would be happy to see her go, at any rate, so it was settled. Soon she would be back in her Highland's precious embrace.

Chapter Three

Rory hadn’t realized he had slipped into a troubled sleep. He always did when the blackness enveloped him. He was still dressed in his plaid, failing even to remove his boots and he wondered what had wakened him. Then he heard the terrible sobbing of his nephew. Jumping to his feet, he went to the little boy. Kneeling next to the little trundle bed, Rory saw that the child was having a nightmare. What would cause a little baby to be so terrified?  He gently picked up the little boy and set him on his own bed.

“Wake up, Laddie. Ye’ are alright,” he spoke firmly but kindly to the child. As the child came awake, he continued to sob.”Sshh, Laddie. Ye were just having a bad dream. Uncle Rory is here. Ye are safe, sweetheart.”

The baby threw his arms around his uncle’s neck.
“
Do ye want me to take ye back to yer’ mama?”  Ian shook his head
, “no”
.

“Well how about ye come up with me? I have bad dreams too, laddie. Besides, it is cold.”  Rory settled his beloved nephew under the covers and furs of his bed. Removing his boots, he laid down, drawing the little boy against him. He kissed his forehead and he said, “There now. Ye are safe. Go back to sleep, Laddie.”

Ian’s sobs quieted and he said, “Dunna’ go away uncle…”  Rory looked at the boy incredulously.

He saw the look in those green eyes of the boy and then Rory knew. This child had felt his own anguish. It had invaded his innocent dreams. He had the “Gift” or the “Sight” as some referred to it. Bronwyn had said Drew did too. Rory felt sick, thinking he had been the cause of the child’s pain or nightmare. He soothed, “Never ye mind about that, Ian. Now go back to sleep and only have sweet dreams.”

The little boy once again put his hand to Rory’s cheek and he said, “Why are ye sad, uncle?”

“Because
ye had a bad dream, Laddie.” Ian shook his head, “Na
y
, ye are always sad.” 

Rory felt the wind being knocked out of him. The child was definitely an empath. It had to be, and their close bond made Ian feel Rory’s darkness. That sealed his decision. He had to go and it had to be soon. He couldn’t let his own darkness seep into this precious child, but as he thought those thoughts, Ian settled down and fell back to sleep. That was it; Rory would make plans to go in a week or so. Mayhap he would go to Edinburgh. It was long past due for him to make an appearance at the court of the Scottish King, Robert. He closed his eyes, falling into a fitful sleep.

When morning came, Rory woke to the sound of a gentle knocking at the door. Ian woke up and he said, “Mama.”

“Aye, Baby, it’s me. Ruiri, may I enter?”

“Aye, Bronnie. Come in.”

Her little boy scrambled from the bed and ran into her arms. She kissed his face and said, “Were ye a good boy for yer’ uncle Ruiri?”  He pouted and said, “No, mama. I had bad dreams and cried.” 

Rory spoke up and said, “He was fine, lass. I just let him sleep next to me. He settled down straight away.”

Bronwyn kissed his precious face again, smoothing his tousled hair.
“
Ah, wee one, what did ye dream?” 

Laying his head on his mother’s shoulder, he said, “I dunna’ know.” 

“Well, we all have bad dreams sometimes. Ruiri isn’t mad at ye.”

“Na
y
, Laddie, I love ye. Ye’ were a very good boy.” 

The boy instantly brightened and squirming out of Bronwyn’s arms, he ran and got the toy sword Rory had given him. He told her he was a knight just like his daddy and that he would not hit his baby sister with the sword. Bronwyn smiled at her son.

Rory cleared his throat and said, “He is like his da, Bronnie, in other ways too. Same gift, I am certain.” Bronwyn’s gaze snapped to Rory.
“
Are ye sure?” 

“Aye. Ye need only look into his eyes to know.”  Ian asked, “I have a gift for Daddy?” 

Bronwyn hunkered down next to her son and said, “Na
y
, sweetheart. Ye, are a special little boy. Yer daddy is special too. He can feel things deeply in his heart and ye can too.”  She explained, placing her hand over his chest.
“
That is a special gift.”

He raised his green eyes to his mom’s face and he said, “I want to be like Daddy in every way.”

Bronwyn smiled at the remarkable child. She scooped him up and said, “Come, Ian. Let’s get some breakfast into ye. Thank yer Uncle Ruiri for taking good care of ye.” 

The baby thanked his uncle. Rory placed a kiss on Ian’s forehead and then one on Bronwyn’s cheek. Ian giggled and asked, “Did ye and daddy kiss last night?”  Glancing at Rory, who was grinning boldly, Bronwyn blushed.

She said, “Aye, Ian we did.” 

“So Daddy isn’t grouchy today?” Bronwyn smiled as Rory laughed
out loud.

“
N
ay
, son. He isna’ grouchy today.”

“Yer da is happiest when he is home with yer ma and ye and baby Jenna.” Then to Bronwyn, he said, “Sis, later I will wish a word with you and Drew.” 

Bronwyn’s eyes met her brother’s and nodded in understanding. Somehow she knew what he was going to tell her. Their bond also was a gift. She kissed his cheek and left his chambers. Rory felt like Bronwyn could peer into his very soul. His heart ached thinking how much he would miss her, but the more he thought of how much he loved her, the more he knew he had to go,  The darkness inside him was becoming harder to hide. He could not chance it poisoning his sister and her beloved children.

Chapter Four

Brielle sat in the carriage lost in her thoughts. No one even seemed to notice her leaving. She took only enough gold to get her settled somewhere and to pay the coachman. As the carriage trundled on the rutted road, it was hard to ignore the bumps and jolts. She would have thought riding a horse would have been better, but she knew it would do her no good to ride out alone. Though it was March, it was still very much winter.

The frigid night air seeped into her bones, making each jar of the carriage more painful. She wished she had her plaid to wrap about her, but she didn’t dare display it. Her clan was hated in most of the highlands and though she was still a long way from home, she would not take that chance. She pulled her cloak about her and she thought about home. She choked bitterly on the word. She had no real home to go to. If her brothers learned she left Val ‘Cour, they would have her beaten or worse. Oddly, no one seemed to care if she stayed or left the manor. Still, here she was, alone and heart sick.

She longed for home, but home was not available to her. She would settle for somewhere in the highlands. She no longer had the dreams of a young girl. She was an untouched widow with no place of her own, no children of her own, no dreams or hopes for the future. At least if she was back in Scotland, she would feel connected to her heritage and the land.

A particularly jarring jolt brought her from her reverie. The road was pitted from over use, over time, but because of the recent thaw, there were deep potholes filled with icy slush that caused the wheels to thud and slide. Her cold fingers clenched tightly as the carriage swayed dangerously to one side. They had entered Scotland a day ago and the further north they traveled, the more treacherous the road had become. Not only that, it was common knowledge that brigands were known to lurk these roads. Brielle was nearly consumed with fear. Being discovered by her brothers was the least of her worries right now.

The coachman called, “Sorry, Missus. The road is pitted and t’is hard to see in the dark, what with no moon overhead.”

Brielle softly replied, “It is alright. I am fine.”

No sooner were the words out of her mouth when the carriage listed precariously to the other side. This mountainous road seemed steep and she held her breath as it righted itself again.

She was exhausted, but she didn’t dare close her eyes. She hated to admit that she was frightened. She was a highlander after all, but truth be told, she was terrified. She wrapped her hands in the folds of her cloak.

In her haste, she had forgotte
n her gloves.
She had taken only a trunk of garments, tucking her clan plaid in the bottom to avoid detection. She still wore the black of mourning, thinking it easier to not draw attention to her self when she left the manor. Now, she wished she had taken extra furs. While her cloak was fur lined, it still wasn’t enough to keep her warm on this frosty night. She tucked her legs up under her, trying to draw more warmth beneath her cloak. It was still many hours before morning, when at least the sun would warm the frostiness of the night air.

She felt the carriage pitch back as it began a climb up a steep road. It lurched and rolled, making her feel queasy. She began to wonder if this trip hadn’t been a very bad idea after all. Perhaps she should have waited till the spring, but even as she thought those words, she knew she couldn’t stay caged and left to rot at Val ‘Cour Manor. Death on this road would be better than life at Val ‘Cour. Those thoughts would be her last ones before bedlam broke out.

The carriage hit a terrible bump, and on the incline it was on, there was no chance for it to not be upended. As the rigging snapped from the horses, the carriage careened to the right and began a hideous plummet downward. Brielle was tossed inside as the carriage turned over itself twice more, bouncing along the rocks. She struck her head and pain seared through her skull. The last conscious thought she had was that she was suddenly weightless and she was flung from the inside as the carriage splintered around her. She landed with a sickening thud into the cold mud off the side of the hill. Pain scorched through her entire body and she was grateful when the blackness overtook her.

Chapter Five

Rory and a handful of men were making their way back to the MacCollum stronghold. He wanted to see his family before he went on to Edinburgh. His goodbye with Bronwyn and Drew was difficult. He could still hear Ian calling after him. He assured the wee lad he would be back before the next Yuletide, but the child was inconsolable. Rory sighed heavily. It was for the best. He was afraid his darkness would affect the sensitive little boy ultimately more than his leaving. Still, his heart was heavy. So much so, that he barely felt the cold of the morning air around him. They had made good time and were rapidly approaching the highland road. He was glad to be making the journey up the steep incline by morning light because the winter had taken its toll on the road. His destrier was adept at side stepping the dangerous slush filled holes. A night ride would have been treacherous even for so skilled a horse and Rory was grateful to be making his way north during the bright, sun dappled day.