Entwined (34 page)

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Authors: Elizabeth Marshall

Tags: #Fantasy, #Fiction, #Historical, #Romance, #Time Travel

BOOK: Entwined
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“Go, Corran, make your life and raise your child, - This is our last chance,” cried the Stag, as Corran opened her eyes and once more burst through the shining light. Her eyes flung widely open to stare up into her husband’s face. She turned her head sharply to the side. An old woman lay beside her, unmoving, her head resting heavily on the crumpled and lifeless body of the great Highland Stag.

“No!” Corran screamed, “No, not Marta, not the Stag. Do something, Simon, please?”

“I can’t, Corran,” he said, desperately trying to avoid Marta’s glassy stare.

Shock and fear gripped Corran and her body started to shake. She tried to sit up but Simon held her back.

“No lass, please. You are not well.”

“Let go of me,” she cried, hysterically.

He released her and immediately she sat bolt upright staring, in dazed confusion at the carnage.

“What’s happened? I want to know what has happened,” she demanded.

Simon raised himself from the ground. Straightening to full height he squared his shoulders, set his jaw and filled his lungs.

“Graham,” he boomed across the night, “Get yourself here and be quick about it, man.”

Then he dropped to his knees beside his wife, his hand brushing gently across her forehead.

“You are alive?”

“Yes, I think so,” Corran stammered, trying to get herself up from the ground.

“No, be still, at least until the doctor arrives. Please, Corran. Just try and calm down.”

“The doctor?”

“Graham, do you remember?” he paused, furrowing his brow in thought, “It doesn’t matter,” he said, eventually wiping his bloodshot eyes.

 

“God’s teeth, what the hell has happened here?” Graham said, surveying the dead bodies beside his patient.

“She’s alive,” Simon said, choking back a sob.

“But they most certainly aren’t,” Graham replied, searching for a pulse on the old woman’s neck with one hand and taking Corran’s wrist in his other.

“Tell me, Simon, what happened here?” Graham demanded.

“I don’t know, Doctor,” Simon said, trying to still his trembling body.

“Corran, can you tell me what happened?” Graham asked gently.

“I think I died,” she replied slowly.

“But you’re not dead now?”

“No, but the Stag and Marta?”

“I can see them, Corran. They are dead,” Graham said.

“Where is everyone else? My baby, where is he? Duncan, I want to see my son,” Corran shouted, trying to stand.

“Our baby is fine, lass.”

“Stay where you are, Corran,” Graham ordered, resting a firm hand on her shoulder. “It’s too cold out here for you. Will you be OK with her for a few minutes?” he asked, turning to Simon.

“Aye, Doctor, I will be fine with her.”

“I’m going to find her some shelter and a bed.”

“Duncan? Where is Duncan?” Corran cried, frantically searching the darkness for signs of her son.

“He is safe,” Simon replied.

“You are hiding something from me. Tell me, Simon, where is he?”

“He went to find Eilidh,” Simon replied, reluctantly.

“Eilidh? Where is Eilidh?”

“I don’t know Corran. We lost her at Scotch Corner, don’t you remember?”

Corran shook her head slowly, her mind clouded by a heavy fog.

“I don’t remember. Please, Simon, tell me they are safe?”

“They are safe, lass.”

“Do you mean it?”

“Aye, I mean it, Corran.”

“Will Duncan come back when he finds Eilidh?”

“Aye, lass, he will,” Simon said, praying that time would not make a liar of him.

Corran turned slowly to stare at the bodies beside her. A deep sense of loss and confusion tumbled through her mind.

“He gave his life for me,” she whispered, looking wide eyed at the fallen creature.

“I know,” Simon said, cupping his hand at the back of her head and drawing it to rest on his chest. “Don’t look, lass. There is nothing to be done for them now.”

 

People, some of whom she recognized, some she thought she might, drew closer and as they did the tiny dancing flames of their candles converged to form one giant sea of flickering light.

A confusion of sounds erupted as they drew closer. Corran lifted her hands to ears and buried her face in the safety of her husband’s chest.

“Make it stop, please Simon, make it go away,” she whispered.

“What, lass? What do you want me to stop?”

“The noise, the people. I just want to be alone.”

His hand slid beneath her knees and he rose with her in his arms. She relaxed and put her arms around his neck, still hiding her face against him.

“Find this woman a bed,” Simon’s voice boomed and as it did the noise around them stopped.

“I’ve got one,” Graham panted, coming to a halt beside Simon.

“You don’t do enough exercise, Doctor, or you wouldn’t breathe so hard.”

“Never mind my state of health, Simon, just follow me,” Graham said, turning on his heels and walking back the way he had just come.

“Do you hear that lass?” Simon whispered, “They’ve got a bed for you.”

But she didn’t reply because she had fallen asleep in his arms.

 

When she awoke it was to her husband’s hand in hers, their child beside her on a bed in a small, roughly plastered cottage. She blinked hard, trying to recall what had brought them to this place.

Simon’s eyes fluttered open and a broad smile crept over his mouth.

“Good morning, lass. Did you sleep well?”

She stared at him, confused, dazed and extremely bewildered.

“Is this our baby?” she asked, nodding at the sleeping child beside her.

“Aye lass, this is Andrew.”

“How did you know I wanted to call him Andrew?” she asked.

“Because you told Grace, when you, when you thought you were, well, when you were in the lorry,” he paused, and looked at her thoughtfully. “Do you remember the lorry?”

She nodded and then slowly shook her head. “Some of it, but not much.”

“Do you remember what happened last night, when we arrived?”

“I had a dream,” she said, staring at the flames as they licked around the logs in the fireplace, “that I was dying and the Stag saved me.”

“It wasn’t a dream, lass.”

“So the Stag is still alive?”

“No. The Stag died, shortly… errm… shortly after saving you.”

“I’m so confused.”

“Don’t trouble your head with the thought of it, Corran.”

“But I want to know what happened.”

“And I will tell you, just not now.”

“Will you tell me where we are?”

“We are safe.”

“In the village?”

“Aye, Corran, we are in the village.”

“This cottage? It looks familiar,” she said, running her eyes around the room.

“Does it?” Simon said.

“Yes, Simon, it does and I know why,” she said, suddenly remembering where she knew the cottage from. “This is Marta’s home. The one Giorsal brought me to when we were looking for Angus.”

“Does it bother you, lass?”

She stared, for a moment unblinking at the hot coals of the fire in the center of the room, the tidy blue checked curtains that covered the window, and the crude bookcase with its tidy line of spines.

“No, Simon, it doesn’t bother me to be in Marta’s home. In some ways it is a comfort to be here. I will miss her,” she said, sadly.

“I know you will, lass, but she was a very old lady who had lived a long and full life.”

“What do you think killed her?”

“Old age,” he said, simply.

“But why now, just when the Stag died?”

“Because it was the Stag who kept her alive. Without him she would have perished a long time ago. She must have been close to the end of her natural life when you all fled to the mountains after the massacre.”

“Have you any word from Duncan and Eilidh?”

“No, Corran, nothing, but I am sure they are alright,” he said, with a confidence he didn’t feel.

They were distracted by a demanding cry from Andrew as his tiny mouth routed fervently for a feed. Corran pushed herself up, propping the pillows behind her and leaned comfortably back against them before lifting her baby to her breast. Simon rested his eyes on the tiny form of his son, nestled against its mother’s chest.

The room blurred around him, his wife and child’s features fogged before him and his mind drifted into a dream like daze until he was alone, in a dark, dirty, dilapidated building that felt vaguely familiar and heart-wrenchingly painful. He heard a knock at the door and felt the ache in his joints as he moved slowly towards the sound. He squinted his eyes against the dim light of dusk.

“What do you want?” Simon asked, through a wet cough.

“I’m here to see Simon Campbell,” the figure of a man replied with a threatening growl.

“Oh aye, and who would you be?” Simon asked, with little genuine interest.

“I’m his son.”

“Aye, well, he doesn’t live here. I suggest that you turn around and go back to wherever it is you came from. With that accent, you’re no son of Simon Campbell, which means you’re in danger in these parts.”

“These parts’? There’s no hut but yours for miles.”

“Precisely,” replied Simon, lowering his tone.

“Right, I get it. I’ve come a very long way, so if you know the whereabouts of Simon Campbell, I think you should tell me.”

“On your way, lad!” Simon bellowed.

“I think you should come out and make me!” the man shouted, throwing his arms in the air in a goading manner whilst he backed away from the hut.

“You little shit…” Simon said, turning back into the hut and lifting a shotgun from beside the door. He moved, slowly, like an old man as he trained the gun at the stranger.

“It’s you…” he choked. “Simon Campbell…”

“No! Not anymore. State your business and be gone.” Simon’s long curly black hair was knotted and frayed and the strands of white stood out in his untidy black beard.

“You will talk to me with respect, old man. It’s the least you owe me,” roared the man, as he walked fearlessly towards the barrel of the gun.

“I owe you nothing!” Simon croaked weakly.

The man stood back, with his arms at his side, palms facing forwards and openly cupped. Simon stared in horror at a red glow that grew from his hands. He aimed one hand at Simon, and watched as the red energy flew from his hands. It hit Simon in the stomach and he felt himself thrown back, against the hard wall of his cottage with a painful thud.

“I hope you aren’t dead, old man!” the stranger shouted.

A desperate choking sound came from Simon’s mouth as he rose, unsteadily to his feet and he could feel blood dripping down the side of his face.

“Why not?! Is that not what you came here to do?” Simon shouted through a bloody cough.

“I came to talk, actually. You were the one who pulled the gun out, you prick,” Brody lowered his hands which were still glowing red.

“What kind of dark magic is this?” Simon barked.

“The kind that will kill you if you don’t let me talk!”

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