by Alisa Adams
“It is worth a try,” Tristan said with a grim frown.
Ina was pulling Flori and Cenna off with her before he had finished his sentence, it seemed. With hands on hips, Tristan watched the three women walk into camp. They were no longer feigning weeping, but walking boldly and bravely among the soldiers.
If anyone could turn the balance and change these hired soldiers’ minds it was the Ross sisters, Tristan thought to himself as his eyes followed Cenna.
He watched as they approached one man who was standing by a fire. He seemed familiar with them, for he smiled and walked towards Ina. Cenna talked softly but rapidly to him with Ina adding a word here and there. The man listened quietly. Then he motioned to them to follow him.
Tristan held his breath. This could go badly. Very badly. If this man chose, he could throw the sisters into a prison wagon.
Instead, the man led them to a group of men around another fire. He talked quietly but urgently to them. That group of men broke off and went to other fires around the camp. Sometimes talking to the whole group of men at that fire or beckoning to just one or two.
Cenna, Ina, and Flori returned to the edge of the woods with the first man they had spoken to. A tall, thin red-headed Highlander. Cenna subtly beckoned to Tristan.
“Tristan MacDonell, brother to Laird Gordon MacDonell, this is Conn MacHugh, son of Laird Sean MacHugh. He was captured and forced to help Red Munroe. He has clansmen in those prison wagons, as do many of the men in this camp.”
Tristan reached out and clasped Conn’s arm. “Thank ye for yer name. I am happy to know ye and have ye on our side.”
“Aye,” Conn said, “and I ye.” He looked at Cenna with a rueful grin. “Though this one gave me no choice. Asked me name and when I said why? she said it was for me grave marker if I dinnae know which side was right.” He laughed softly. “She held a dirk to me chin, but no need fer that. This is a mauchit thing the Munroe is doing. When we saw he was taking Black Watch soldiers we became even more uneasy. This whole thing stinks of offal,” Conn said with a frown.
“How many of the men in this camp can we count on to help us?” Tristan asked in a hushed voice, for though it was dark and they were standing at the very edge of the woods, Tristan did not know who was on their side.
“Maybe fifteen. The other men I am not so sure of. They have not talked overly much.”
Cenna nodded her head. “Aye, they say those men have kept entirely to themselves. No names, no mention of what clan or where they came from. They joined the prison wagon after the others. Just seemed to appear one day. There is something odd about them that I cannae quite puzzle out.”
Tristan nodded his head and motioned to Friseal and Loughlin. Conn’s eyes widened at the two huge men.
Cenna quickly introduced them to Conn. Conn could not help the chuckle when he realized that Friseal was the giant woman that he had seen and shuddered at being married to.
“We are going to open those cages Conn,” Tristan said. “Between our men in the cages and you and your men, we can easily take those soldiers. Or convince them that they are on the wrong side.”
17
Cenna, Flori, and Ina—along with Conn—meandered through camp until they got to the prison wagons. Once there, Cenna quietly and quickly explained the plan to the men inside each cage.
In the darkness the men came out slowly, a few at a time. Little by little they squeezed through the barely open door of each cage so as not to attract attention. They blended into the darkness and made their way to the woods and Tristan.
It took very little discussion for Tristan and Cenna to explain the plan. Tristan’s men were eager to begin. The villagers that had been taken from their Highland homes needed more explanation as to who Tristan and Cenna were, but after hearing who Tristan was and what he and Cenna had done in the Macallen village, they were just as eager to follow them.
As one large group they came out of the woods and stopped. Cenna, Flori, and Ina stood in the middle of the front line. Tristan and Loughlin and Friseal were beside them. The men who the Ross sisters had spoken to came and joined them, facing those soldiers whose allegiance was an unknown.
“Ye are either our enemy,” Tristan said quietly, his commanding voice still able to carry over the stunned soldiers who had stood up slowly from where they had been sitting. “Or ye are with us, against the Munroe who calls himself Sheriff of our Highland Region.”
The soldiers stood, overwhelmed at the number of men who stood silently before them. They looked over and saw that the prison cages were empty.
One man who was taller than the rest stepped forward.
“Aye, we are with you. We want no quarrel with these men, nor you.”
Tristan frowned. The man’s English was very good. He could detect none of the Highland or even the Scottish accent. Tristan studied him, what he could make out in the darkness of the night, silently. He stepped closer, the better to see him. The man stared fully back at him. He was youngish, with light-colored hair and eyes. His manner was stately. He did not back down from Tristan’s hard stare even though Tristan stood taller and broader than he.
Cenna moved to stand closer to Tristan’s side.
“What is yer name?” she asked the man.
“My name is of no concern to you,” he said slowly and politely with a gentlemanly nod of his head.
“I think it is,” Cenna said stubbornly.
“Why must you need know this information?” he inquired.
Cenna took a few steps that brought her right up to him. Without him seeing, she produced one of her dirks and held it lightly up under his chin.
“Tis for yer grave marker, if ye deceive us. That is why I must need know yer name.” She turned and looked at Tristan with a mischievous grin. “Did I get that right? Must need know…? Vera fancy!” Then she turned back to the young man. He had a large grin on his face.
“You are a stunning, fierce woman, I must say. Quite the epitome of the Highlander warrior. If I was not happily married to my Charlotte I would woo you.” He did not seem to even notice her dirk.
Tristan stepped forward and lightly but firmly pushed the dirk that Cenna held out from under the man’s chin. Then he pushed Cenna’s mouth closed and pulled Cenna by her elbow away from him.
“Tis for his grave marker?” he asked Cenna under his breath, with a raised eyebrow and a crooked grin.
Cenna was staring at the young man. “There’s something about him...Do I know ye?” she demanded of him, resisting Tristan trying to pull her back.
Tristan turned back to the man and lowered his voice and said, “Tha e na urram dha mo righ.” Tristan bowed his head. His voice and demeanor were full of respect.
“It is an honor my king?” Cenna translated in a hushed whisper what Tristan had said to the man.
“Aye,” Tristan ground out quietly and firmly out of the side of his mouth to her.
“Oh dear,” Flori said in quiet shock from behind them.
“Our king!” Came Ina’s lilting voice. It was full of pleasure. “Tis King George! Here! And not the rat King George, but the actual man King George! Well one is really King Georgey actually and the other is really King George the second, or pardon me sire it’s King George the third, and I—”
“Sards!” Cenna said, cutting off Ina, then she covered her mouth and dropped to a hasty curtsy to her king.
King George was staring at Ina. “A rat, am I?”
“Oh dear,” said Flori again, this time in a near moan.
“Och, no. Friseal has named his pet rat, who lives under his beard, King Georgey. He feeds him, you see, and he has other creatures on his person that he feeds and—”
“Ina, hush,” Cenna said firmly.
The king looked at Tristan. “Tristan MacDonell, brother to Gordon MacDonell, Laird of Castle Conall.” He nodded and smiled at Tristan. “It has been too long. It is good to see you and have you here under these circumstances. I will need your skills.” He placed his hand
on Tristan’s shoulder and then paused. “How is your brother?”
“Tis happily married and expecting his first child. He would have been here but he and his new wife are inseparable,” Tristan said.
“That is as it should be. Who did he marry? He was much sought after I know. The ladies of the court swoon over you big Highlanders, and particularly you MacDonell brothers,” the king stated with a smile.
“He married Lady Godet Ross. And may I introduce her sisters: the ladies Cenna, Flori, and Ina,” Tristan said, pulling Cenna to his side.
“Ah, the beautiful and fierce Ross sisters of the lovely, white castle Fionnaghall.” The king smiled at the sisters, as they each dropped a hasty curtsy. “I knew your parents. I am sorry to hear of their passing. I had a report of what Mungan Munroe tried to do. To take Fionnaghall by forcing a marriage to Lady Godet. I take it Gordon thwarted his plans?”
“Aye, he did, with the help of the Ross sisters. They are a force to be reckoned with!” Tristan said proudly. “I feel his nephew, Red Munroe, has the same vile intent running throughout his veins,” Tristan said with a frown.
“You think he wanted to become sheriff to take lands for himself, and Fionnaghall as well?” the king said as he nodded his head along with Tristan. “It is what I deduced.”
From the woods behind them came a loud thrashing and cracking of branches. Two old women on ponies came out of the woods.
“They’ve left, ye dithering dunderhids!” one of the women said.
King George stared at the two women in fascination. The one who had spoken had grey hair flying in every direction, wildly about her head. The other woman on the other pony beside her looked quite confused. She was almost bald, with just a few stray hairs here and there quivering on her head as she looked back and forth at the people they were facing.
Ina turned around and looked at them. “Hello Auntie!” she said gaily. “I do like that one, ‘dithering dunderheads’!” she said, trying it out on her tongue. “Tis a good one, Aunt!”
Cenna rolled her eyes. Ina was forever collecting old Scottish expressions and had some favorites that she tended to use at inappropriate times.
“Good evening Hextilda,” the king said with a big smile. “How fair thee? You look well madam, as does your pony King Bobby.”
“Och, tis Georgey!” Aunt Hexy called out. She nudged her small pony forward past Tristan, Loughlin, Cenna, Flori, and Friseal. “Thank you Georgey, ye kind boy! How is running the kingdom going?” she asked him conversationally.
Tristan and Cenna were awestruck. They looked at each other with grins.
Cenna leaned towards him. “I had no idea they knew our king or he them, none a’tall!”
“Somehow I am not surprised, and he even knows the name of her pony,” Tristan said into her ear, nipping it lightly as he retreated. Cenna managed to jab him in the ribs with her elbow for that nibble on her ear.
“I’ve no freckles on me ear,” she reprimanded him as she jabbed him with her elbow.
“I thought I saw one. Doesnae really matter, I like the taste of ye,” he said huskily as he shrugged and nipped her again.
“The king?” Cenna said, trying to ignore the sparks of lightning traveling through her body at his words and at the feel of his mouth, and his breath, right there at her ear. She made a face and nodded her head towards the king, directing his attention back to their king, who was in their camp and on their side, they hoped.
They both turned back to the conversation between Aunt Hexy and King George. Aunt Burnie had come forward as well. She was staring at King George.
“Did I hear someone say King George was a rat?” Aunt Burnie spoke up. “I dinnae understand; there is King Bobby the pony, King George the rat, but ye are addressing this young boy as King too?” Aunt Burnie said as she looked around.
King George looked at her. “Good evening to you, Burunild. How is your pony, Countess Winnifred? You both look well.”
“Och tis little Georgey!” Aunt Burnie cried. “I recognize that voice. Ye sound vera educated and all grown into a man.” She beamed at him through tiny little eyes that were struggling to see. “So ye are king now? Tis a mighty burden on yer young shoulders Georgey!”
King George threw back his head and laughed. “My two favorite ‘aunts’,” he said and laughed again, “and their rebel ponies. I am glad that some things have not changed.”
Tristan took a step forward to catch Aunt Hexy’s attention. “Who has left, Aunt?”
Aunt Hexy turned from smiling at the young king to respond to Tristan. “That bowfin, bampot, boggin Sheriff Red Munroe and all his men! That’s who!” She nodded her head adamantly. “Snuck out in the dark like the mauchit, skiver, scunner he is.” She shook her finger at the king. “Georgey! What were ye thinking making that vile man the sheriff of this region?”
“Oh dear,” Flori moaned again.
“Aunt Hexy!” Cenna admonished her sharply in a whisper.
“Hextilda!” Tristan said in a warning tone.
“No, no,” King George said. “She is right. I did not have full information on the man. But reports of what was happening came to me. I decided to come and see for myself. These are my men,” he said, spreading his arms wide to include the men standing loyally behind him.
“I knew it!” Cenna exclaimed. “There was something different about them! They are dressed too well, that was it. And he looked so familiar!”
“Cenna, mo graidh,” Tristan tried to hush her.
“So MacDonell, ‘mo graidh’ is she? You have finally chosen? This warrior?” the king asked him with a broad smile. “Finally the ladies of the court will no longer be fighting over your pretty face,” he said.
Cenna turned to Tristan with a furious frown and glared at him. “No, they willnae,” she said as she stared hard at Tristan with one eyebrow raised and that fierce frown still on her face.
“I fear my king, that she would put her dirk in me heart if I even dared to smile at another woman,” he said, turning to see Cenna nodding her head in agreement with a mischievous rueful grin on her lips. She had pulled out a dirk and was twirling it between her fingers as she looked at him. Tristan pulled her to him and placed a lingering kiss on Cenna’s lips.
King George laughed. “Then marry her Tristan, and quickly.” He held up a finger. “You freed a minister from those cages. He can marry you.”
Tristan looked at Cenna. “Ye freed a man of the church,” he smiled softly and paused, a question in his eyes, “Will ye?” he said softly. His voice was low and deep and husky. “We even have the king’s blessing right here, right now. It is meant to be…”
“But,” Cenna said as she looked back and forth between Tristan and the king, “Red Munroe is getting away!”
The king laughed heartily. “Oh yes, you must marry her Tristan! You must!” He stepped forward to Cenna and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Marriage first, Munroe after.”
“But,” Cenna said again.
“Marry me, Cenna,” Tristan said as he pulled her toward him in a deep velvet voice. “Be my love, my partner. By my side through life and at my back in battle.” He leaned in close and whispered in her ear, “and in my bed at night. Blissfully making babies…” He held her face between both his cupped hands. “I love ye Cenna. I love ye so much it is making me crazy.”
“Och, I dinnae want to be marrying a crazy man…” she said with an embarrassed laugh as she stepped back, looking at the crowd of onlookers.
“Cenna!” Flori and Ina shouted as one.
“Ye love him,” Ina said. “Ye do, we all know it. Ye love each other!”
Flori was nodding her head along with Ina. Friseal rumbled some unintelligible words and pushed her towards Tristan where she fell into his waiting arms. She looked up at him and smiled. Then she grabbed him and kissed him, hard, full on the lips there in front of everyone.
“Well, I dinnae suppose ye are the only one made crazy with love. Ye have made me stomach sick with what
I feel for ye!” she said and kissed his laughter into silence. “And I did rescue ye after all. Tis only fair that ye become me husband. Why else would I have rescued me love if I didnae want ye forever?”
Tristan scooped her up and swung her around as he laughed happily.
And so they were married, there in the prison camp, with the blessing of the king, who watched the whole ceremony with a smile on his face.
And the pastor married them, the same pastor that they had freed from a sure and horrendous death at the hands of mockit, manky, mingin, mauchit, skiver, scunner, dithering dunderheads. According to Ina, anyway.
* * *
.
18
After much congratulating and hugging, (between the sisters) and kissing (between Tristan and Cenna), they wasted no time after the ceremony to pack up the horses and head out after Munroe and his men.
They knew Munroe was headed to Fionnaghall. Cenna and Friseal explained that Red Munroe was traveling with some of his men on horses and others on foot. His speed was such to accommodate those that were un-mounted.
Cenna knew this was their advantage. Her group would be traveling fast and on horseback. The Clydesdales were fit, as were Tristan’s soldiers’ horses. The Black Watch Army horses were used for long distance and seemed to enjoy the speed; the king and his men’s horses as well. The men from the prison wagons would be following on foot, led by some of Tristan’s men and the aunts.
They rode through the night with the sisters leading. Cenna, Flori, and Ina knew all the shortcuts there were. They made it to the coast and galloped on the beach since the tide was out. Then up the beach cliff paths whenever they couldn’t stay along the shore itself. They knew that by staying close to the sea they would be on the fastest route to Fionnaghall. They rode through the rest of that night and most of the morning, alternating between gallop, trot, and canter with some brief walking on bad ground. They stopped at noon to let the horses drink some fresh water they had come across and rest.
