The Clan MacDougall Series (5 page)

She had paid no attention to the ground under the horse’s feet. Her only thought was of escape. She was horrified when she felt the horse stumble, and then rear its head. Unsuccessfully she tried to settle the mare, holding on as long as she could. When the horse reared again, Aishlinn knew instantly that all was lost. She was sent flying from the horse’s back. Agonizing pain enveloped her the moment she hit the ground and bright dots of light flickered in front of her eyes before everything went black.

Duncan and his men had heard the rider coming toward them at a full run. They barely had time to draw swords and step out of the way before the rider came crashing through the trees. They caught only a glimpse of a lass atop a gray horse as she raced toward them.

Before Duncan could warn her that she was running too fast on the rocks, the mare stumbled and reared. He could see the lass was holding on for dear life as she tried to settle the spooked animal. Before she could gain control, the horse reared a second time, pitching its rider. The lass fell and fell hard. Momentum worked against her as she rolled a few times before coming to a stop face down in the frigid water of the stream.

Duncan reached the stream first and hurried in after the lass. The icy water rose above his ankles. He scooped her limp body into his arms and was surprised at how slight she felt. As he carried her to a small clearing, Tall Thomas and Rowan pulled plaids from their packs. The men moved on instinct for there was no time to do much thinking on the matter. Duncan held the lass in his arms while his men covered her with the plaids and blankets.

Her clothes were soaked and clung to her skin and her hair was plastered to her face. When Duncan brushed aside her hair, each man gasped with surprise. Swollen black eyes and bruises covered most of her face and there were many small cuts on her swollen cheeks and lips. Duncan wondered who could have done such a thing to someone so young and small. It set his teeth on edge as anger and disgust blended together deep in his gut. He’d seen soldiers wounded in battle that had looked better than this wee lass lying limp in his arms.

Aishlinn dreamt she was covered in deep snow, hiding from the earl and her brothers. She could not remember ever being so cold or frightened. The earl cursed while he made promises that once he found her he would have what he had wanted. Then he would kill her. Her brothers urged him on, cursing, mocking, and making threats of their own.

The cold snow and fear of the earl brought violent shivers to her body. She wished her mum and Moirra would come and take her away to somewhere safe and warm. Her heart broke when they did not answer her pleas for help.

Suddenly there were hundreds of soldiers surrounding her. They pulled her from her hiding place. She tried to explain to them that she had only been defending herself; she had not meant to kill the earl, only to frighten him. Her pleas went unanswered as they lifted her from the snow and began stabbing her with their swords. The earl and her brothers were laughing. The more the soldiers stabbed her, the more they laughed. Bile rose in her stomach but she could not retch; she could only beg and plead for mercy.

Duncan gently rubbed her arms and legs in an attempt to warm the battered young girl while he looked for signs of broken bones. 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 and was relieved that she wasn’t dead. He heard Tall Thomas 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, and no more harm would come to 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, 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.

S
omething was pulling her from her dream. Low, muffled voices that she could not understand. As the heavy fog began to lift, she slowly became aware that she was not alone. She tried to focus her eyes as well as her mind, both requiring a good deal more energy than she had. 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 took its ugly hold again.

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 began to come into focus. 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 sent to find her.

“Nay,” she said. “Ye d-do n-not.”

They seemed quite pleased with her answer as a broad, proud smile came to each of them.

“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 Thomas be buildin’ us a nice fire.” Duncan gave Aishlinn’s arm a gentle pat. “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 tensed from fear and the pain in her ribs intensified. The doubt and despair were overwhelming.

Standing still for a moment, Duncan smiled and said, “Now let’s see how Tall Thomas 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 to forget how it felt when she plunged the dagger into his back. The memories 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 brought forth much anger.

“What be the earl’s name?” 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 enough strength to run, though she knew it would be impossible to defend herself against seven men.