by Fiona Faris
A distant shriek called out from the cottages. Freya squinted and saw Sorcha.
“Freya! Ye hae tae come tae the cottage! Andrew’s awake!” Sorcha announced.
“Whit did I tell ye a’?” Freya shouted to the men.
She raced towards the cottage.
“Andrew!” she called out as she flung the door open.
Andrew was propped up on the pillow, his eyes open. A tear of joy ran down Freya’s face. He smiled as she ran to embrace him.
“Oh, Andrew, I am sae happy. Ye hae nae idea how scared I was,” she sobbed as his arms draped around her.
“How lang was I oot?” Andrew asked. “I feel as if I hae been sleepin fer years.”
“A week, my love. Ye nearly died from infection, but we gave ye herbs tae heal it,” Freya replied.
Andrew held his hand over his head, stunned by how long he’d been unconscious for. His thoughts then immediately drifted to the battle.
“Where are the soldiers? They hae no’ left yet fer the invasion, hae they?” Andrew asked as he threw the sheets off his body and attempted to stand. He clutched his abdomen and grimaced in pain as the soreness of his internal injuries had not completely subsided. He grunted. “I am still weak. If I get my hands on whoever attacked me, I will rip them limb from limb.”
“Please, Andrew, ye need tae still rest. Ye are in no’ condition tae seek revenge at this moment,” Freya remarked.
“I know ye are right, bonnie! I only wish my body was ready tae act on the anger which courses through my veins,” he stated.
A creaking noise from the door caught their attention and Rory walked inside. Freya frowned with disgust at the sight of him.
“I had tae see it fer mysel’! Welcome back from the deid, Andrew!” Rory exclaimed as he walked to Andrew’s side and placed his arm on his shoulder. “Yer soldiers hae been waitin’ fer their captain tae rise from his slumber.”
“Whit hae ye been doin’ since I hae been asleep?” Andrew asked him.
Rory grinned. “We hae been waitin’ fer ye, Andrew! This mission cannae be carried forth withoot ye. Everyone is ready fer battle, but they wanted ye tae lead the way. The moment ye feel ye are up fer a war is when we can depart.”
Andrew was overwhelmed with emotion to hear his men desired him to lead them in the invasion. He breathed slowly as he held his abdomen.
“Lead me tae the soldiers sae I can address ‘em, Rory. I want tae enlighten ‘em on the plan o’ attack fer the invasion,” Andrew stated.
“This way, chief,” Rory responded and opened the door for him.
“Dae no’ go, Andrew. Ye need tae stay in the cot an’ rest ‘til yer wounds are fully healed,” Freya protested and clutched Andrew’s hand. She looked up at him with endearing eyes.
“It is a’ right, Freya. I am only goin’ ootside tae greet everyone, tae let them know I am awake an’ I will be ready fer the invasion soon,” he told her, running his fingers through her soft hair.
Andrew then dressed himself to conceal the wounds as he did not want the soldiers to witness what brutality had been inflicted upon him. He viewed it as a sign of weakness.
Rory escorted Andrew outside the cottage towards the training field where the soldiers waited. Freya was irate at Andrew’s foolishness to prove his toughness to the soldiers. She was also livid that Rory had coerced him so easily. She dreaded the possibility of Andrew setting off for battle before he was physically ready.
She observed Andrew as he meandered towards the training field and prayed that he did not make any drastic decisions that would put his health in further jeopardy.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Freya was relieved that everyone would wait to commence the invasion until Andrew had regained his strength. Unsurprisingly, Rory interjected at Andrew’s decision to wait until he was physically ready, but Andrew stood firm.
“I hae already come tae a decision on this, Rory. Ye warned me once afore that Donald would attack the village, but nae attack occurred while I was unconscious. Why should I believe they will attack the village now? I think the source might be a wee bit misleadin’, wouldn’t ye say?”
Rory fumed at Andrew’s denial to listen to his suggestions to commence the invasion sooner rather than later.
“Andrew, ye were attacked in the middle o’ the night an’ nearly killed. How dae ye know that wasn’t at the hands o’ Donald? How dae ye know it wasn’t Donald himsel’? There might be another stealthy attack soon!” Rory exclaimed.
Andrew scoffed at the notion Donald would possibly attack anybody in the middle of the night.
“I hae nae idea who attacked me behind, but Donald would never attack onyone in such a manner. That animal would want tae see his victim a bloody mess an’ hae everyone witness the murder at his hands,” Andrew explained.
“Ye still hae nae idea who attacked ye though! All I am sayin’ is that the village may still be in danger, Andrew. Yer attackers are still oot there!”
“Aye, I know they are still oot there.” Andrew sighed as he took a deep breath.
“Keep that in mind while we are waitin’ fer ye. The rest o’ us are ready fer war an’ can put an end to this,” Rory stated, then left the cottage, slamming the door behind him.
The fact that Andrew’s attackers were still at large angered Freya equally as much as it did Andrew. Rory also provided no assistance to track down the two assailants.
Freya lay beside Andrew one evening as he slept and the images of the masked men flooded her mind. She struggled to fall asleep as her memories from that dreadful night seemed permanently ingrained in her mind. She tossed and turned as she was tormented by her own fears of Andrew still possibly being in danger.
“Freya, would ye please go tae sleep? I cannae fall asleep with yer restlessness,” Andrew complained.
Andrew adjusted his body toward Freya to place his arm around her to keep her motionless in the cot, but she cast his arm aside and stormed off in frustration at her inability to be at ease beside her love.
She paced around the cottage as she noticed the sound of raindrops on the roof. The soft rain usually eased her to sleep at night, but it did nothing to settle her apprehension.
Freya’s efforts to remain quiet were futile as Andrew rose from the cot and approached her as she sat at the kitchen table.
“Whit is wrang with ye, bonnie? Why can ye no’ sleep?” Andrew questioned as he wrapped a quilt around her shivering body.
“I worry aboot ye, Andrew. What if ye are attacked in the middle o’ the night again? What if ye are attacked again an’ they kill ye this time?” Freya sobbed.
“Freya, ye hae nothin’ tae worry aboot. I am healin’ as we speak. If those cowards try anythin’ like that again, I will slaughter them. I refuse tae let anythin’ separate us ever again,” Andrew said in an effort to ease her fears. “Besides, I can feel my strength returnin’. I will surely be ready tae battle this time tomorrow.”
“Ye are no’ just sayin’ that tae make me feel better? Ye should no’ fight unless the pain has gone.”
“Aye, I am a’ but healed. If ye dae nae believe me, strike me in the gut. Ye will see,” Andrew suggested so he could prove to Freya that his body felt reenergized.
He stood up in front of her and stuck out his gut. She looked up at him as if he had gone mad and shook her head.
“Would ye stop belittlin’ me, Andrew? I am serious. Ye should continue tae rest,” she said with a grumble and pushed him aside.
“I am tryin’ tae prove tae ye my condition has improved. Go ahead and strike me in the gut!”
Freya hesitated and then lightly tapped him with an enclosed fist. A look of disapproval highlighted Andrew’s face as he was confident Freya could punch him with greater force than that.
“Freya, I know ye can strike me harder than that. Go ahead.”
She rose to her feet and struck him harder. Freya was shocked as he showed no signs of pain or weakness. She was astonished at the short amount of time the pain had melted away f
rom his body. A couple of days prior he had writhed in agony just rising from the cot. Yet now he almost seemed back to his usual health.
Freya placed her hands over his. “Despite ye bein’ better, I will fear fer yer life ‘til I know the men who attacked ye are dead. Nae one else in the village seems tae concerned, sae I will find oot who mysel’.”
Freya’s statement took Andrew by surprise.
“Whit dae ye mean? I want ye doin’ nae such thing, Freya. I refuse tae let ye put yer life in danger o’er this,” Andrew told her with a growl.
“Why no’, Andrew? Whit if we are a’ in danger? I fear they will attempt tae attack ye once again, but who’s tae say they will no’ try tae slay some o’ yer soldiers oor God forbid the women an’ children in the village. These cowards must face justice, Andrew, an’ I will no’ sleep easy at night ‘til we find ‘em.”
“I beg o’ ye, Freya. Please, dae no’ put yersel’ at risk because o’ me. I care fer ye tae much tae let anythin’ happen tae ye,” Andrew begged on his knees.
Freya glared down at him. “Since ye are healed, ye focus on obliteratin’ Donald from the face o’ the Earth an’ I will search fer who attacked ye. Ye understand?”
Andrew held her hands and chuckled. “Whit choice dae I hae, eh? Ye will no’ listen tae me.”
“Ye hae tae promise me the same thing. Look whit happened the last time ye didn’t listen tae my intuitions,” she reminded him.
“Point taken.” He laughed as he stood up and pulled her by the hand to lead her back to the cot.
* * *
The following morning, the sun’s rays beamed inside the cottage. Andrew stood from the cot and yawned. He stretched every inch of his body. He was overjoyed that his wounds were fully healed, allowing him full mobility again.
He hummed a tune as he dressed to greet his soldiers outside on the training field. Andrew sensed his muscles at full strength and mimicked the motions of his broadsword in battle. He yearned once again to finally get his hands on Donald as his mental focus had been rejuvenated.
He gripped his broadsword and was mesmerized by the feeling of it in his grasp again. Andrew was never one to glorify his victories in battle, but he loved the feeling of empowerment his trusted sword provided him.
He basked in the sunlight as he stood outside the cottage and welcomed the crisp autumn breeze.
Freya climbed out of the cot and stared at Andrew out the window as he walked to the training field. Once he was out of sight, she hurriedly dressed and ventured outside. The soldiers were in the midst of sparing when she walked past the training field and quickened the pace of her stride.
Freya approached the cottages that housed all the soldiers and surveyed her surroundings to ensure no one saw her go inside any of them. She stood beside the very last cottage in the village where Rory slept. Freya purposely started with Rory’s sleeping quarters since she had a seething mistrust of him. She nervously placed her hand on the door handle and pushed the door open to shimmy her way inside.
She snooped through his few belongings, but nothing out of the ordinary came to light. The only items which presented itself was an extra pair of undergarments, some breeches, a scarf, and a pouch which contained nothing but a few shillings.
Freya then turned her attention to the cottages which housed the lads who lived in the nearby villages. She rummaged through their possessions but again found nothing out of the ordinary.
The handful of cottages remaining which she had yet to inspect is where the other Murray fighters resided. They were rundown, and the villagers had not lived inside them for at least two generations of Erskine clan.
She investigated the first three, but they all turned up empty too, and Freya began to lose all hope she would find anything to point her in the right direction.
She entered the final cottage she had yet to examine and inspected underneath the cot, inside all the kitchen cabinets, in between the sheets, and anywhere else she considered might be a hiding spot for objects. In blistering anger of discovering nothing, she clutched the pillow on the cot to scream into it at the top of her lungs. She felt like an utter fool for her violent screams into the pillow, but she lost her composure due to her disappointment.
Freya situated the pillow in the exact position it previously lay on the bed, and she was about to exit the cottage when an unusual site from the fireplace caught her eye. She noticed a light brown color perched above the black and gray smoldered ashes. She walked over and grasped it with her fingertips.
She shook the ashes from the fabric and pondered what its use could be. It looked to be of the same material as a miniature burlap sack, but it was cut in a manner which made storing items impossible. She dangled it a few feet from her face and realized what the fabric was. She shuddered.
It was in the shape of a mask.
She fumed and bit her lip at her discovery when voices sounded from outside the cottage. She cracked the door and saw two burly men walking towards her. Freya quickly put the bit of material back on the ashes and left the cottage before the men were close enough to see her. She scurried up the side of the cottage and kneeled down out of sight.
The dirt beneath her was soft, and she inwardly winced when something rigid pushed into her knee. She looked down to see something reflecting in the sunlight, and she dug it out. Once it was out of the dirt, she held it up to her face and had to smother a gasp.
It was a red-tipped dagger.
She had no doubt that whoever resided in the cottage had played a part in the treachery against Andrew. Between the mask and the bloodied dirk, the evidence in her mind was damning.
She’d now lost sight of the men but could hear them and trembled in fear. Freya held her breath to listen for the opening and closing of a door, but she failed to hear one.
The rhythm of footsteps sounded once again, and the vibrations of each step softened. Freya rose slightly and saw both of them with their backs turned toward her. She contemplated taking the dirk with her, but she decided to bury it in a different location instead.
Freya crawled towards a bush and positioned the blade under it, where no one could spot it from above.
She then seized the opportunity to make her escape and enlighten Andrew on her incredible discoveries.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Andrew was walking up to the cottage just as Freya ran up to him.
“Whit is the matter with ye, Freya?” he asked.
“Oh, ye are goin’ tae think I am mad, but I did some snoopin’ jist now, tae find oot who attacked ye,” Freya exclaimed.
Andrew’s eyebrows rose in astonishment as he waited for her to continue.
“While ye were a’ on the field training, I snooped the soldiers’ cottages. I found a piece of cloth with slits tae conceal one’s face in a fireplace. Behind that very same cottage was a blood-stained dirk buried beneath the dirt,” Freya explained as the expression on Andrew’s face transformed from intrigue to terror.
“Dae ye hae the cloth an’ dirk?”
“Nae. Two men approached an’ I panicked. I hid the dagger under a bush.”
“Freya, why didn’t ye bring them with ye?” Andrew shouted.
“Lower yer voice, Andrew. Dae ye really want someone findin’ oot I told ye this? We would both be in danger,” Freya scolded him.
“Dae ye know whit soliders reside in the cottage?” Andrew questioned.
“Nae. I couldn’t get a glimpse o’ their faces. But ‘tis a Murray cottage.”
Andrew was enraged. He refused to believe a member of his own clan would betray him like this.
“I cannae believe it… Nae, my men wouldn’t betray me,” he told her.
“Look at whit ye are plannin’, Andrew. Ye’re overthrowin’ a tyrant, but yer invasion is sure tae start an internal war in yer own clan. Ye mean tae tell me that no’ one Murray soldier ‘ere is capable o’ this?” Freya exclaimed.
“The Murrays ‘ere are the ones brave enough tae face Donald. The Murrays a
t Blair Castle are cowards, scared tae stand up fer themselves.”
Andrew considered the members of the Murray clan who joined him to be the bravest of the warriors in their clan. When they first arrived at the village to assist him, he was touched. In his eyes, that kind of treachery from one of them was unthinkable.
“If ye want me tae, I will prove it, Andrew. I am no’ afraid tae.”
“Nae, Freya. I want ye tae stay ‘ere ‘til we leave the village at dawn tomorrow,” Andrew commanded.
Freya was baffled that he was so fixated on his belief that none of the Murrays who lived in their village could be guilty of such betrayal. Did he want the piece of cloth and the bloody dagger to be brought to him by the perpetrator himself? She regretted that she did not bring them with her, but she predicted her word would be enough.
