Highlander's Wicked Gamel (Wicked Highlanders Book 1)

by Fiona Faris

  Two men came over and lifted Lachlan from atop of Duncan, laying the traitor gently down upon the blood stained floor. Duncan staggered to his feet and surveyed the terrible scene before him. Ian and the men from the village had helped to turn the tide of the battle and were still fighting to bring it to its conclusion. The bodies of his dead kinsmen littered the floor of the great hall. How has it all come to this? To Duncan’s left, he watched as Ian struggled with one of the other men, locked in a struggle to the death. Not another drop, his mind whispered in agony. Not another drop!

  “Enough!” He roared at the top of his lungs, pouring all of the hurt and anger he felt into that one single word. “Enough!” Those nearest him stopped and looked at the gruesome scene he and his cousin made, one dead, the other covered in his blood. Duncan moved over to the wall and pulled a broad axe from its hooks. He then walked over to the giant metal cauldron that hung near the fireplace and struck the pot with such force that it reverberated up his arms and shook his entire body. The sound reverberated throughout the hall. He struck it again and again and again, allowing the deafening cacophony to wash over him in cleansing waves.

  When the sounds of battle finally ceased, he turned to address the bloodied crowd of men before him. They stood breathing heavily, covered in crimson stain, looking at him as if he had lost his mind. “Enough!” he repeated, letting the axe fall clanging to the floor. “It is enough,” he sighed wearily motioning to their dead brothers upon the floor. “Lachlan is dead. Yer leader is nae more. The battle is o’er. What are ye fightin’ for? Can ye even tell me that?” The men looked from one to the other as if expecting their neighbor to answer. No one dared to speak. “Ye fight for nothin’. All o’ these men, our kinsmen, died for nothin’. Is that somethin’ ye can live with? Is that somethin’ ye wish tae continue in?” Duncan shook his head in disgust. “I dinnae wish tae shed another drop o’ blood. I dinnae wish for one single drop more o’ our shared blood tae be spilled upon this floor this night or any other night for the remainder o’ my days. Do ye wish tae spill my blood?” He asked walking up to one of Lachlan’s men, slapping at the flat side of the sword blade in his hand. He held the man’s gaze, waiting with his arms outstretched for him to make a move.

  After a moment of silence, the man shook his head and sheathed his sword. “Nae, Duncan, I dinnae wish tae kill ye. Ye have proven yerself in battle and shown that ye can protect yer people. That is all a man can really ask for in a laird, is it no’.”

  “And ye?” Duncan moved down the line of men to the next of Lachlan’s warriors.

  “Nae,” he shook his head.

  Duncan moved through the crowd of men asking each and every one of them the same question, spreading his arms wide giving each the opportunity to do as they wished. Each man refused. After the last man had laid down his arms, Duncan sighed, weary to the bone with it all. He moved to stand before the fireplace once more. He closed his eyes against the grisly number of bodies that lay strewn across the floor. “Bury the dead,” he whispered. Opening his eyes he stared into the eyes of the men before him and spoke clearly with the authority of the laird. “Bury them all with the dignity deservin’ yer fellow clansmen, and as ye lower their broken bodies in tae the ground remember that ye tae will share their fate if ye e’er raise yer hand against yer own people again.”

  Duncan stood and watched as each man moved tae do as he was bid, carefully lifting the dead into their arms and carrying them from the hall. The women of the clan suddenly appeared as if from the mists to wail and mourn over their dearly departed. Marra! Seeing the women reminded him of her, trapped and frightened in the library, assuming that no one had beaten Ewen and harmed her in any way. “Ian!” Duncan bellowed for her fellow clansman.

  “Aye,” Ian called out from the crowd, moving to stand by his side.

  “I need ye tae oversee the burials. I must away tae ensure that Marra and yer sister remain unharmed,” he instructed.

  “Aye,” Ian nodded solemnly, a look of worry passing over his features.

  “I will return with news o’ their wellbeing as soon as I am able,” Duncan promised, laying a reassuring hand on Ian’s shoulder. Once enemies, they now stood as allies, joined in a common cause.

  “See that ye do.”

  Duncan nodded, then took off at a run. He climbed the stairs two at a time, his heart pounding with the uncertainty of what he might find. Bodies littered the corridor in front of the library, but there was no other sign of Ewen other than his blade’s handwork. “Ewen! Marra! Diana!” he called, praying that one of them would answer. “Marra!” he called again, fear gripping his chest in its icy clutches.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Duncan!” Marra’s voice called from behind the library door. “Duncan!” The sound of scraping furniture was as music to his ears as he awaited the door to swing open. When it did, he found Marra’s beautiful face looking up at him, a mixture of relief and concern in her eyes. “Ye are bleedin’!” she cried out in distress.

  “Nae, the blood is no’ mine,” he reassured her, taking her into his arms.

  In spite of the blood that covered his entire body, she returned his embrace, kissing him fervently in her joyous relief. “Duncan?” A groan from inside the room brought his head up in inquisition.

  “Ewen?” Duncan asked, looking down at Marra.

  “Aye,” she answered softly. Duncan moved to enter the room, but was stopped by the feel of Marra’s hand on his arm. “’Tis no’ good,” she warned, her tone barely above a whisper.

  Duncan’s heart raced as he moved swiftly into the room. He found Ewen lying on the floor, his head in Diana’s lap, the blood soaked remnants of a lady’s torn undergarments wrapped around his torso. “Ewen!” Duncan fell to his knees beside his friend.

  “Duncan,” Ewen answered, opening his eyes. They were clouded with pain. “Did ye save our people?” he asked, his deep voice hoarse and unsteady.

  “Aye, but we lost a great many afore I was able tae stop it.”

  “Ye saved as many as ye could and that is what matters.” Ewen did his best to offer solace in spite of his own condition.

  “We need tae get ye tae Idonea, my friend.”

  “I fear it might be tae late for that,” Ewen admitted, groaning.

  “Nonsense,” Duncan retorted. “’Tis no’ but a wee scratch.” Duncan attempted to lighten Ewen’s spirits in spite of the fact that it was clear from the amount of blood that it was much more than a scratch. The serious looks on Marra and Diana’s faces told him the rest. There was a very good possibility that Ewen would not make it to see another sunrise. Duncan closed his eyes in pain at the thought. He could not count the number of times that the two of them had sat together out on the hunt and watched the sun come up. It had been their favorite time of the day, watching the forest come alive. “Dinnae fash, ye wee man. Idonea will ken what tae do with ye right enough.”

  Duncan stood and walked back over to Marra. “I will go and get the healer. I will send Ian up tae be with ye and Diana until I return. I will no’ be gone long, just tae the village and back again.” Marra nodded her head, squeezed his hand in reassurance, and let him go.

  Duncan raced down the stairs and out the door. He ran as fast as his weary body would allow to the healer’s croft. He knew that she would be flooded with men to tend to after the battle, but in that moment, he did not care. In that moment, only Ewen mattered. Upon arriving at the croft, he burst through the door. “Idonea, ye are needed at the keep immediately.”

  “Can ye no’ see I am busy, lad?” she asked clucking her tongue like a mother to her errant child.

  “Idonea,” Duncan moved forward grabbing her by the arm. Turning she looked up at him. “It is Ewen.”

  Idonea read the seriousness of the situation in his eyes and nodded. “We will go now.” She grabbed her bag of remedies, quickly instructed the women of the village on what to do for their loved ones, and followed Duncan up to the castle. When they entered th
e great hall, Idonea grabbed his arm to steady herself. Her face had turned ashen at the sight of the carnage that lay scattered around the room. “Nae,” she whispered, unable to bear the horror that met her eyes.

  “Come, this way. He is in the library. We must hurry,” Duncan instructed. He used his body to shield her from seeing any more of the damage than was necessary. As a healer, she had seen a great many things, but something like this, wherein one’s own people had mercilessly slaughtered each other, was beyond anyone’s comprehension.

  They ascended the stairs, careful not to slip on the blood of the bodies that lie waiting above them. When Idonea entered the library, she immediately assessed the situation and knelt down to examine Ewen’s wounds. When she pulled pack the strips of cloth, Duncan breathed in quickly, grimacing at the sight before him. Ewen’s guts were exposed for all to see. It appeared that a sword had caught him right across the middle rending his belly open from side to side. Duncan gulped in a mouth full of air to keep from vomiting upon the library floor. He knelt down and took Ewen’s hand in an effort to distract the highlander from his own physical state.

  “Ye did well, auld man,” he praised, attempting to infuse his voice with a jovial tone of comradery.

  “Aye, that ye did,” Marra agreed, coming to kneel beside them. She smoothed the hair from Ewen’s face and smiled down into his eyes. “Ye did verra well.”

  “Well enough tae earn an auld dyin’ man a kiss?” Ewen asked, attempting to smile, but not quite making it.

  “Och, aye, a thousand kisses,” Marra nodded, smiling with tears in her eyes.

  “A thousand kisses, aye?”

  “Aye, and a thousand more,” Marra confirmed, leaning down to place a kiss upon his forehead.

  Duncan watched the heartbreaking scene before him, helpless to do anything but hold his friend’s hand. Idonea did everything she could for Ewen, but in the end, it wasn’t enough. The wound to his abdomen was too severe. The life slowly faded from Ewen’s eyes until it went out completely. The last word to fall from his lips was the name of his dearly departed wife. When he was gone, Idonea closed his eyes and pulled his tartan up around him, covering his face and wounds. “At least he is with her now,” Duncan murmured, drawing Marra’s sobbing form into his arms.

  “He died protecting us,” Marra cried into his shirt. “How is my life any more important than his? Because I am a lady, he was required tae lay down his life for mine?”

  “Nae, lass. He died protectin’ ye, because he loved ye,” Duncan reminded her. “He chose tae do so. He was no’ forced in tae anythin’, title or nae.”

  Marra nodded her head, sniffling. Her tears had soaked through the fabric of his shirt, causing it to cling to his skin in damp circles. He pressed her closer to him in an effort to ease both of their pain. “Ewen and I spent nearly every day together since I first came tae ye for aid. When all others o’ yer clan hated and distrusted me, he showed me kindness and compassion. He did no’ have tae do so and had every reason no’ tae trust me, considerin’ the history o’ our clans, but he did anyway. I owe him a debt I will ne’er be able tae pay.”

  “Aye, he protected ye when I could no’. We both owe him that debt,” Duncan nodded against the top of her head.

  Diana eased Ewen’s head from her lap, wiped the tears from her cheeks, and stood up. “I would verra much like tae go and see my brother now, with yer permission my lady.” She stumbled a bit as if drunken. Her skin was as pale as cow’s milk, and her hands were shaking with such force Duncan was afraid she was going to faint dead away on the floor.

  “Aye, o’ course, Diana.” Marra nodded her head, swiping at the tears on her own cheeks. “Allow me tae assist ye down the stairs. ‘Twould no’ do tae have ye fallin’ down them afore ye can give Ian a proper hug now, would it.” Marra moved out of Duncan’s arms. He could tell she was attempting to pull herself back together, and he released her, allowing her to regain her composure. He felt the absence of her comforting warmth keenly.

  “We will both assist ye, fair Diana,” Duncan offered, holding out his arm for her to stabilize herself. “I must go and make arrangements for Ewen’s burial.”

  The mention of Ewen caused everyone’s eyes to turn to the tartan shrouded figure upon the floor. “Aye, I would be glad tae help ye with the arrangements, if ye would allow it,” Marra offered. “’Tis the verra least I can do after all he has done for me and mine.”

  “Aye, I would be glad o’ the help. ‘Tis no’ a task that I wish tae do alone, ye ken.”

  “Aye,” Marra nodded in understanding.

  “I have lost my faither tae my cousin’s hand, my cousin tae my own hand, and my dearest friend tae whose hand I dinnae ken, all in the space o’ a night. I felt for yer sufferin’ afore, Marra, but I did no’ ken the true nature o’ yer loss until now.”

  “I lost my faither and many o’ my people, as ye have this verra night, but I did no’ suffer the same level o’ betrayal as ye have. Tae be brought down by yer own flesh and blood as Lachlan has done tae ye is unfathomable.”

  “Aye, I dinnae ken how we will recover from this,” Duncan admitted, “but we must find a way, nae matter the pain and sorrow we have faced this night. The verra livelihood o’ both our clans depends upon it.”

  “We will get through this together,” Marra promised, sliding her hand in his.

  The feel of Marra’s hand warmed Duncan’s shattered heart, as did her pledge to work with him to save both of their peoples together. “So ye will no’ marry James MacDonald o’ Skye?”

  Marra looked up into his eyes and attempted a smile through her tears. “Nae, I will no’ marry James.”

  Duncan crushed her to him in grateful relief. “That is good, lass. That is verra good.” He released her, and the two of them continued walking. He wished to say more, but in the midst of the night’s horrors was not the best time to be declaring one’s eternal love. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Diana ran to her brother and flung herself into his arms, sobbing. The poor maid had had all she could take after surviving two attacks. “The poor lass,” Duncan murmured, thinking of all that she had been through.

  “Aye, she has been through more than anyone should be forced tae endure,” Marra agreed.

  The pair of them walked over to Ian. “Ewen is dead,” Duncan solemnly informed him.

  “I am sorry tae hear it. As enemies go, he was a good man,” Ian frowned as he patted his sister’s back in consolation.

  “We will be needin’ some o’ the men tae make burial arrangements for him. He will wish tae be buried in the kirkyard next tae his wife.”

  “Aye, I will see tae it myself,” Ian offered.

  Duncan was surprised by Ian’s words, but pleased. The man who stood before him was much changed from the one who had resisted him at every turn upon their meeting. Where they had once stood as enemies, facing each other at the end of their swords, they now stood as brothers in a cause far bigger than themselves and old petty rivalries. “We shall see tae it together,” Duncan promised. “Let us first see Marra and Diana safely tae yer croft.”

  Ian nodded in agreement, and the four of them left the castle and moved through the village to the croft. “I will return,” Duncan promised. He kissed Marra’s forehead. “Bar the door behind us,” he instructed, and then he and Ian left the croft.

  As the door closed behind him he heard her whisper, “Please hurry back.” The sorrow in her voice nearly made him turn back, but Ewen deserved better than that, and so he kept going as his heart broke more with every step.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  They buried Ewen in the old kirkyard next to his wife. The dark wrapped around them like a blanket. As dawn broke across the sky, they made their way back to the castle to begin the funeral proceedings for the laird himself. Not one man had slept since the battle as they buried body after body. Duncan stopped by the croft to see to Marra’s needs, but was not able to stay long. “Will ye come tae the funeral proceedings at the gr
aveside?”

  “Aye, I will be there,” she promised, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Ye dinnae have tae face a moment o’ this alone that ye dinnae wish tae do so.”

  “Yer presence gives me strength, lass, and I will need that strength in the hours and days tae come.” He caressed the hair from her face, tracing the outline of her jaw with his fingers. “How I e’er survived this world without ye afore, I dinnae ken. My heart longs for ye and the comfort o’ yer arms every moment o’ every day, and the nights besides,” he admitted, causing her to blush ever so slightly with pleasure.

  “As I do for ye,” she whispered.

  Diana snored softly from the bed where she slept next to Ian’s wife, interrupting the intimacy of the moment. “I must go,” Duncan murmured regretfully. He dreaded to see the state of his father’s corpse, but he knew he must.

  “I will come when I hear the processional drums,” Marra promised.

  “I will look for ye.” Duncan pulled her into his arms and kissed her softly, then turned and walked away, every foot fall heavier than the last.

  When he climbed the stairs to his father’s bedchamber, he found Idonea there waiting for him. “I did no’ wish for ye tae have tae bear the burden alone,” she told him coming over to lay a comforting hand upon his arm. “Yer faither was a good man and laird. I cared for him deeply, and it would be an honor tae aid ye in layin’ him out tae rest.”

  “Aye, Idonea, ‘tis grateful I am for yer skilled aid. Faither could no’ ask for better hands tae wash and dress him for his final journey,” Duncan accepted her help with relief.

  The two of them prepared the laird’s body for burial and then called in the men who would bear his body to the crypt in the old kirk. Every member of both clans assembled to witness the burial. Marra walked over to stand by his side, taking his hand in her own and squeezing it reassuringly. The two of them walked hand in hand, following behind the laird’s body wrapped in the Stuart tartan. When they arrived at the kirk, the stone cutters asked what he wished to inscribe upon the crypt’s face. “Fergus, beloved faither and laird.” He could not bring himself to have the Campbell name inscribed, but he was not free to choose the name MacGregor either. Duncan scanned the crowd for his Aunt Fiona and her children, but found none of them to be present. Under normal circumstances, she would have been there to help in the proceedings, perhaps even say a few words about her brother, but it was not to be.