MacDougall 01 - Laiden's Daughter (7 page)

Learning that she had no family began to shed some light on how she ended up here.
 
Had she a family, Duncan was certain they would have done better to protect her from the earl.
 
“No family at all?” he asked her.

Aishlinn shook her head.
 
She wanted to be as honest as she could with them and debated on how much she should tell them.
 
She figured honesty was the best course to follow at the moment.
 
“No real family. I have three brothers, but they’re the one’s that sent me to work and live at Castle Firth. If you send me back to them, you might as well just give me to the soldiers. Twould be the same thing.”

“But surely yer brothers would protect ya,” Rowan said.
 
He couldn’t imagine not doing so himself.

Aishlinn laughed out loud at the thought.
 
“They
traded
me to Castle Firth. They traded me for two sheep.”
 
She let that sink in for a moment before going forward.
 
“I imagine now I might be worth at least a keg of ale to them.
 
They’d think naught about turning me over to the soldiers.”
  

Duncan was stunned and thought mayhap she was exaggerating.
 
He knew that he would rather die a hundred deaths than turn a sister over to anyone who would do her harm.
 
He could not fathom what she said to be true.
 
“But lass, why would brothers do such a thing?”

Aishlinn let out a heavy sigh.
 
“They be not my real brothers.
 
My real father died before I was born. ‘Twas their father that married my mum.”
 
She decided to leave out the part of being conceived out of wedlock, as it had always been a sense of shame for her. “I’m not their real kin.
 
They are selfish and lazy men who care for nothing but their own comforts.”
 

Duncan had known a few men like that, but none so selfish they’d treat a sister, real blooded or not, in such a manner. He could not blame her for not wanting to return.
 
“Then ya not be wanting to return to them?”

“Nay, I want not to go back.”
 
Going back meant death, there was no doubt of it.

Several long moments passed before Manghus asked, “What about yer mum’s family? Or yer real father’s?”
 

Tears welled in her eyes.
 
“I know not of any family.” She didn’t even know her real father’s name, let alone any family he may have had.
 
And the only thing she knew of her mother was that she had been from the Highlands. It hurt to think she knew nothing of her own history or who her family might be, and anyone who could tell her was now long dead.

“Ye've never met any of yer own kin?” Duncan could not imagine growing up without any family.
 
While it was true that he had lost his parents and many of his kin a long time past, he had been fortunate enough to have many aunts and uncles.
 
After his parents died, he had been blessed with being raised by his father’s best friend, Angus McKenna, who also happened to be Findley and Richard’s uncle.
 
After the raid on their village, the three of them went to live at Castle Gregor and were raised as brothers and to this day, they considered themselves as such.

“Nay. I have never met any.”
 
She was growing weary and truly wanted to sleep but there were too many questions, too many uncertainties racing through her mind.
 

Duncan had felt sorry for the lass before, for what she had endured at the hands of the earl.
 
His heart had sunk more at learning 'twas her own brothers who had sent her to live with him.
 
But on learning the lass knew naught of any of her own people brought a greater sense of sadness and pity to his heart.
 

“I do know that my mum was from the Highlands,” Aishlinn told him.
 
Oddly enough it felt good to say it aloud.
 

Duncan raised an eyebrow.
 
“A Highlander ya say?”
 
That was promising news.
 
“Ya no’ be English then?”
 

“Nay!” Aishlinn shuddered at the thought.
 
She despised the English for what they had done to her people.
 

“Ye be one of us then!” Duncan said happily.
 
He knew his people would welcome her with open arms, especially once they learned she had killed the earl. Having learned what he had of the lass and her life thus far, the possibility of helping her find her real family delighted him.
 

“We will help ye find yer people then, lass,” he told her.
 

His next thought worried him. “I just hope it not be any we have feuds with!” He would push that thought aside for now and concentrate on getting her to the safety of his castle.

Aishlinn had long ago given up hope of ever finding her blood family or the truth of her own existence.
 
The prospect of finally finding the family she had dreamt of since her mother’s death brought an overwhelming sense of joy to her heart.
 
There was however, a part of her that remained fearful.
 
What if they were all gone and that was the reason her mother had ended up in the England?
 
Or what if they did not want her?

Knowing nothing of the inner workings of Highlander clans, it mattered not to Aishlinn if her own clan feuded with Duncan’s. After all, these men had saved her life.
 
Feud or no, she would always be grateful to them for that.
 
It was strange for her to think there was the chance of finally finding her real family.
 
As she lay her head upon Duncan’s chest, she prayed they would be as nice as these men.

They rode hard and fast for Dunshire, with Aishlinn sleeping atop Duncan’s lap. He held her closely, wrapped in plaids with her head in the crook of his arm.
 
After several hours of holding her so tightly, his arm began to ache.
 
When he thought of all the lass had gone through, he decided he could put up with a little pain.

It was becoming increasingly difficult for Aishlinn to breathe or to remain awake. Duncan repeatedly apologized for the fast pace at which they rode but he knew that the sooner they reached his home, the better her chances of surviving.
 
Pausing only long enough to eat, stretch their legs and rest their horses, they raced toward Dunshire.

It was difficult to sleep being jostled about like a sack of leeks, riding along at a full run. Sleep did not come any easier at night when they stopped to rest, for that was when the nightmares came.
 
In them she was always hiding; in the snow, a tree, or a grotto -- it mattered naught. Each time she was found by the king’s soldiers and carried back to Penrith.
 
She would wake frequently, fighting for air and with a churning stomach. The dreams were telling her no matter where she hid the soldiers would find her.
 

Even though she was covered in plaids and slept as near to the fire as she could, it was still difficult to become warm. When the dreams frightened her to the point of waking, she would find that Duncan and Rowan were sleeping very close to her.
 
They guarded her as if she were the Queen of Scotland and had forgone their own warmth and comfort by covering her with their own blankets.

They would not stop for long for they did not know how close the English might be. The pace was brutal, but necessary if they were to get the lass to the safety of their clan.
 
Duncan and his men were used to sleeping little and riding hard for they were warriors.
 
But the lass, he was certain, was not trained for such things.
 

They would sleep for only a few hours before Duncan would startle her awake. She knew he was not doing it purposefully; it was the dreams, the pain and the fear that rippled through her body each time she woke.
 
“Haud yer wheest!” he would quietly say to her.
 
She did not know what those words meant but assumed it to be some kind of Celtic or Scottish greeting for good morning.

Aishlinn had no idea how far they had travelled for she was in and out of awareness far too many times to count.
 
She longed for a hot bath and a soft pallet to collapse onto.
 
She yearned to sleep peacefully, without the terrifying dreams that haunted her each time she closed her eyes.
 

Duncan was growing fearful that the lass would not survive the ride back to Dunshire. The longer they rode the more she slept and the more he worried over her.
 
When he would feel her body fall limp in his arms he would explain to her the need for her to remain awake.
 
Doing what he could to keep her from falling into a sleep she might not wake from, he told her stories. He would describe the lands that surrounding his castle and tell her tales of his childhood, his clan and the family that would welcome her with open arms.

They had been riding nearly nonstop for two days when Duncan realized he had to get her off the horse and into a bed.
 
“Manghus,” Duncan said, “We be no’ far from Aric McDonald’s cottage. I fear the lass will no’ make it the full trip to Dunshire.”

Manghus and Rowan nodded their heads in agreement as they began to veer their horses northward.
 
Duncan’s clan held good relations with the clan McDunnah of which Aric was a member.
 
They knew Aric would offer them shelter, food and protection if needed.
 
His wife Rebecca would tend to Aishlinn’s injuries without question.

Arriving very late in the morning, Duncan and his men bounded down the mall hill that led to Aric’s cottage. Aric’s sons had been playing out of doors when they caught sight of Duncan and his men.
 
The boys raced into the cottage to announce that riders approached.

Aric McDonald came rushing outside as Duncan and his men stopped in front of the cottage.
 
He was a mountain of a man, with light coloring and arms as big as tree trunks. Aric took one look at the lass sleeping in Duncan’s arms and began belting out orders for the boys to fetch water and then tend to the horses.

“What the bloody hell happened to her?” Aric barked as Rowan took the lass from Duncan.
 
She lay limp in his arms while Duncan dismounted then took her from him.

Aric led the way into his cottage where his wife Rebecca was in their small kitchen with their young daughter preparing the mid day meal.
 
“What is all the commotion, Aric?” Rebecca asked as she turned to see the group of tall MacDougalls walking into her home.
 
Her eyes grew wide at the sight of the lass lying in Duncan’s arms.

“Och!” Rebecca said.
 
“What the bloody hell happened to her?”
 
She quickly went across the room to draw open a curtain that hid a bed.
 
Duncan gently laid Aishlinn upon it while Rebecca went about examining the wounds.
 
She told her daughter to fetch bandages and warm water.

“Again, I ask what the bloody hell happened to her,” Aric said, a bit more quietly this time.
 

“It’s a story best not told in front of yer little ones.” Duncan said as he stood staring down at Aishlinn who was still and limp upon the bed.
 

“This is at a man’s hands.” Rebecca whispered through angry teeth.
 
She could see the faint markings left by fingers around Aishlinn’s neck.
 

“Aye,” Rowan said.
 
“And again, not to be told in front of yer bairns.” he warned.
 

Duncan spoke up.
 
“Can we talk outside Aric, away from yer children?”

With a quick nod of his head, Aric led the MacDougall men out of doors and to a spot behind the barn.
 
“Who is that lass and who the hell did such a thing to her?” There could be no doubt the man was angry.

“Her name be Aishlinn.” Duncan said as he dusted the dirt from his trews.
 
“And ‘twas the Earl of Penrith that did it to her.” Aric’s eyes turned to dark slits at the mention of the earl’s name.
 

“What in God’s name for? What could such a wee lass as
that
done to him?”
 
Aric knew the answer before he finished asking the question.
 
“The whoreson!” he said as he ran a hand through his hair.
 
“She be a Sassenach?”

“Nay,” Rowan offered.
 
“She be a Highlander, or at least her mum was. Her mum died when the lass was but a bairn and she be raised by a stepfather and three brothers.
 
The stepfather now be dead. ‘Twas her brothers that sent her into the hands of the earl.”

Aric listened intently, his face growing redder as his anger increased.
 
“What of her father then? Her blood father?” he asked.

Manghus shook his head.
 
“She says he died before she was born.”

“A Highlander orphan, then she be?” Aric asked.
 
“What clan?”

“She ken no’.
 
I think her stepfather kept it from her.” Duncan said.

“It gets better.” Manghus said as he crossed his arms over his chest and hung his head.

“Better?” Aric asked. “What do ya mean?”

Duncan had to tell Aric the truth for a band of English soldiers could be fast approaching.
 
“The lass laying in yer bed, Aric?”
 
Duncan said.
 
“She killed the Earl of Penrith.”

Aric attempted to speak but could not get the shock dislodged from his throat and ‘twas nearly all he could do to keep his chin from falling to the ground.
  
“She killed him?” he whispered. “How in the hell did such a wee thing as
that
kill the earl?”

“Stabbed him.” Manghus said.
 
“With his own dagger. We ken no’ much else of it.”

“We be fairly certain she stabbed him because he was rapin’ her.” Rowan said angrily.

Aric glared at the men before him.
 
“So someone
finally
gave that bastard what he deserved?” There was not a clan in all of Scotland who did not despise the Earl of Penrith.
 
Once word spread of his death, great celebrations would most likely take place.

“Aye,” the MacDougall men said in unison.
 

Aric’s chest puffed out as he crossed his arms.
 
“Then she
must
be a McDunnah, with courage like that to no’ only take such a beating from the earl, but to kill him as well!”
 
A sly smile came to his face.

“While that is a
possibility
, Aric,” Duncan replied. He was not ready yet for anyone to lay claim to the lass.
 
“We’ve sworn our allegiance to the lass and will be taking her to Castle Gregor with us.
 
We’ll sort out who she belongs to later.
 
Right now, we have to get her healed enough to ride.
 
The English could be closer than we realize.
 
I’ve sent Richard and Findley to scout nearly three days ago.
 
We’ve no’ heard from them since.”

With a band of English soldiers possibly descending upon his home at any moment, Aric decided it best not to argue to whom the lass might belong.
 
The McDunnah clan was small in comparison to the MacDougalls and he knew theirs would be a better match against the English than his own would be.
 

“Well then,” Aric said as he led the men around the barn, signaling the conversation was done, “We best see to it that the lass is well cared for.”
 
He turned and looked at the travel worn MacDougalls before him.
 
“I’ll make haste and warn Caelen that there might be trouble a comin’.
 
While I’m sure we’d do well against the English lads, I think it might take more than the four of us to do it.” Caelen was the chief of the Clan McDunnah, a good friend of Angus’, and hated the Earl of Penrith as much as any other Scot.
 

While Duncan did not want word to spread that they now protected the young lass who had killed the earl, he did not relish in the thought of only the four of them against the English.
 
“Aric,” Duncan said as he followed him into the barn.
 
“I fear if word gets out what happened, then it could spread to the ears of the English.”
 

“Aye,” Aric said as he began to saddle a horse.
 
“That’s why I’ll be speaking to Caelen and Caelen alone.
 
If word gets to the English that we have her here...” his voice trailed off for he did not want to think of the battle that most assuredly would ensue.
 
“We’ll come up with a different story of how the lass came to be in yer hands. Dunna worry of it.”

Within minutes Aric was mounted and leaving to meet with Caelen. As he rode away from his home, he sent a silent prayer up that the good Lord would keep his family as well as the MacDougalls safe until his return.