MacDougall 01 - Laiden's Daughter (4 page)

Duncan rubbed her arms and legs in an attempt to warm her.
 
After several long and tense moments, her small body began to shiver fiercely.
 
He could not make out the mumbled words that were coming through her chattering teeth but he felt relieved she be not dead.
 
He heard Tall Gowan say he would start a fire.
 

With her head resting upon Duncan’s shoulder, she slowly began to move her arms as if fending off something only she could see.
 
Duncan began to whisper soothingly to her that all was well, that she was safe now and no more harm would come her.
 

Tears flowed from her swollen eyes and she looked such a sad sight that it nearly made the Highlander want to cry.
 
“Ye be fine now, lass,” he whispered to her.

Her eyes began to flutter open. Through small slits she stared at him blankly, still foggy, not yet seeing.
 
“I’m sorry,” she said weakly.

“She be English, Duncan,” Findley said in his native Gaelic.
 
“Try the English.”

Duncan nodded and began speaking to her in English. “Sorry for what, lass?”
 

Mumbling through chattering teeth, she answered him. “I did n-not mean to kill him.”
 

Duncan smiled at her curiously, certain it was the fall and bump on her head talking.
  
“Tis all right lass, ye be safe now.” He knew not what else to say.
 

Something was pulling her from her dream. Low, muffled voices came to her ears.
 
As the fog began to lift, she became aware that she was not alone.
 
She tried to focus her eyes as well as her mind, both requiring a good deal more effort than she had available to her. Where was she and who was speaking to her?
 
Why was she so cold and wet? It was then that the memories came flooding through and fear enveloped her.
 

The soldiers had found her!
 
Terrified, she tried to move, to stand and run, but every muscle in her body ached and her ribs screamed at her to remain still. Her arms and legs felt as though they were made of lead and no matter how hard she wished it, she simply could not move.

Someone was holding her, speaking to her.
 
Her eyes began to focus and a man’s face became clearer.
 
He had long brown hair and blue eyes and he was smiling at her.
 
Her heart sank and her stomach reeled with the realization that she would not be getting away.
 
She had been captured and knew that very soon she would be back in Penrith.
 
Her life was over.
 

The cuts stung from the tears that streamed down her face.
  
She pleaded aloud for mercy, not certain she recognized the sound of her own voice; it sounded so weak and dry.
  
She heard another man’s voice but she could not understand what he was saying.

“Please,” she begged him, “I meant not to kill him.”

Duncan looked up at his men.
 
They appeared as befuddled as he was.
 
“Now what be this about killin’ someone?” he asked as he tried to keep his voice soft and reassuring.
 

Still struggling to move, she said, “The earl,” She muttered. “I m-meant only t-to f-frighten him.” She took a deep breath, still shaking.
 
“He would not s-stop and it h-hurt so m-much.”

From the bruises and cuts Duncan and his men could surmise she
had
taken one hell of a skelping.
  
Could what she was telling them be true? Could something so small as the lass before them have taken someone’s life?

“Please. Let me g-go. I p-promise not to t-tell you found m-me.”

“I’m afraid we canna do that, lass.”
 
Duncan knew she was afraid of something, but the possibility of leaving such a young girl alone out here was not an option.

“Please, I beg of you.
 
Leave me.”
 
More tears fell as she continued to plead with them.
 
She would rather die here alone and freezing than to be returned to Penrith.
 

Duncan and his men exchanged confused glances. There was no way they would leave her here.
 
He tried to lighten the moment by saying, “But lass, some of us have mothers.”
 

Aishlinn was dumbfounded for she could not imagine what having a mother had to do with anything.
 
Her head was pounding and she could not make sense of what he was trying to tell her.
  

Duncan smiled to his men.
 
They knew what he meant and knowing smiles formed on their own faces.
 
“Our mothers would skin us alive if we left a distressed lass stranded and alone out here in the middle of nowhere,” Duncan told her.

Rowan added, “Aye. Me own mum would skin me, then reattach me skin so she could do it again.”
 
The men nodded their heads in agreement.
 
Rowan’s mum was a fierce woman and it would have mattered not who this lass was nor the circumstances surrounding why she was here.
 
Had the men left her and anyone found out, it would be a most certain death for each of them.

Aishlinn was too tired and cold to care if these men had mothers or not.
 
Visions of what they were going to do to her raced through her mind. “P-please do n-not take me back.”

“Back where lass?” Duncan asked.

Aishlinn looked at the men who surrounded her.
 
Perhaps they were cruel men, wanting only to toy with her before they would shackle her and take her back to Penrith.

 
“Are you not K-king Edward’s s-soldiers?” Aishlinn asked breathlessly.
 
It was near agony to speak. She wanted only to sleep and to be warm and to be away from them.

The men looked insulted by her question.
 
“Och!” they protested in unison, apparently quite appalled by such an accusation.
 

A wry smile formed on Duncan’s mouth.
 
“Now lass, do we
look
like the king’s soldiers?”

She stared at each of them for several long moments. They certainly did not wear the uniforms of soldiers.
 
Bare-chested each of them was, with scabbards at their sides and long flowing hair and braids on either side of their temples.
 
Nay, the English did not dress in such a manner.
 
As she lay there terrified and freezing, she searched the cloudy regions of her mind for a few moments before it finally dawned on her.
 
These men were Scots!

But that meant little to her at the moment. She could not be certain as to their intentions. They could be mercenaries hired by the king or the earl’s own men to find her.
 

“Nay,” she said.
 
“Ye d-do n-not.”

They were quite pleased with her answer.

“I be Duncan McEwan,” the one whose bare shoulder her head rested upon said.
 
“And that be me cousin, Rowan Graham and that be Richard and Findley McKenna, and that be Manghus Williams.” Each man bowed at the waist in acknowledgement of his name.

“Tall Gowan be the one building us a nice fire.”
 
Duncan patted Aishlinn’s arm.
 
“Now,” he began.
 
“Tell us what be yer name lass?”

Wanting nothing more at the moment than to be free and warm, she gave up attempting to make sense of anything or to fight.
 
Perhaps, if they were mercenaries, she could buy herself some time and escape the moment the opportunity arose. Weakly she answered him.
 
“Aishlinn.”

Duncan thought it a fine name and repeated it.
 
“Aishlinn. We be pleased to make yer acquaintance.” Her body still shook from cold and he knew he needed to get her to the fire quickly.
 
He held her tighter and stood.
 

He had moved so quickly that it frightened her.
 
Afraid he was going to toss her to the ground, she reflexively wrapped an arm around his neck. Her body instantly tensed from the fear that shot through her and the pain intensified. The doubt and despair were overwhelming.

Standing still for a moment, Duncan smiled and said, “Now let’s see how Tall Gowan be doin’ with that fire.”

With his men following, Duncan carried the lass to a spot by the fire. He held her close to his chest as he sat down upon a plaid.
 
Aishlinn remained fearful but was glad for the warmth his body was providing.
 
She wondered if she would ever be warm again. Her wet shift and dress clung to her body and chilled her to the bone. Someone gave Duncan another plaid and he carefully wrapped it around her.
 

Embarrassed, humiliated and terrified, she remained rigid, ready for whatever onslaught, abuse or treachery these men might inflict upon her. She wondered if she would ever be able to get free and make it to her mother’s clan.

Duncan sat holding Aishlinn close to his chest as the others helped collect more wood for the fire. Aishlinn was afraid to speak and could not find the strength to ask what they planned on doing with her.

It did not take long before a blazing fire flickered before them.
 
Tall flames crackled and licked up towards the sky, the heat a welcome relief from the bone-chilling cold.
 

It was Rowan who finally broke the long silence. His low deep voice startled her. “Lass,” he began.
 
“Who did this to ye?”
 
He was sitting very near her and stared at her face.
 
Humiliated at what the earl had done she cast her eyes to the ground. Aishlinn hoped that if she were honest with them, then they might show her some kind of mercy. “Twas the earl.”

“Was that why ye killed him?” asked Duncan, not looking at her but at the fire before them.
 
She noticed that his nose appeared to have been broken at least once. But it did not look ghastly or out of place on his bearded face.
 

Swallowing hard she nodded slightly.
 
She did not want to think back to that night in the earl’s chambers.
 
She wanted not to remember how it felt when she plunged the dagger into his back.
  
Those thoughts brought an instant wave of nausea to her stomach.

Looking up at the man called Duncan, she searched his face for some sign that would tell her what his intentions might be.
 
She could see the muscles in his jaws clench and what appeared to be anger in his eyes.
 
The intensity of it alarmed her.

 
“I meant not to do it.” She was deathly afraid of these men.
 
“He was hurting me and I felt the dagger in my hand…” her voice trailed off as she thought back to that moment.

“I can’t say that I blame ye,” Duncan said through clenched teeth. Knowing any man could do this to such a small girl angered him to the point that he wanted to yell.
   

“What be the earl’s name?” Tall Gowan asked.

Aishlinn swallowed hard again and braced her body for the beating she was sure would come with her confession.
 
“The Earl of Penrith,” she whispered.

Instantly all eyes were upon her as bewildered expressions came to each of their faces.
 
“Ye killed the Earl of Penrith?” Rowan asked astonished by the notion. Aishlinn tensed more and began to pray that God would grant her strength enough to run, though she knew it would be impossible to defend herself against six men.
 

“Aye, I did,” she answered warily.

She noticed then that the men stared at Duncan.
 
He had not taken his eyes from the fire and he was working his jaw back and forth. Ever so gently he sat her on the ground and stood while his men gathered around him as if they waited for his directive.
 

 
She wanted to crawl backwards but the fear that filled her to her marrow froze her in place.
 
She knew it would not be long now; she had confessed. She wondered if they would kill her here or take her back to Penrith.
 
It mattered not anymore.

After several long moments of silence, Duncan turned back to her.
 
His piercing blue eyes seemed to search hers for something. “Yer certain ya killed the Earl of Penrith?” he asked.
 
Unable to find her voice she nodded her head.
 

Suddenly a curious smile came to his face. Why were they toying with her? Why didn’t they just pull their swords from their scabbards and kill her and be done with it?

“Then lass,” Duncan began, “We be forever in yer debt.”

Aishlinn stared at him in stunned silence.
 
She had anticipated a beating or torture. Not a smile and certainly not gratitude.

“Twould be our honor to see ya to safe lands, to see ya to yer people and yer family,” he said.

Perhaps she had injured her head when she fell. Perhaps she was hallucinating from lack of sleep and food.
 
Or perhaps she had lost her mind. This was a very confusing turn and it was probably too much to hope that he was not lying to her.
 
Confused and leery she asked him, “You’ll not take me back to Penrith?”