Duncan nodded, and he placed his own hand on Donald’s shoulder, thanking him for his loyalty.
“I will be careful, Donald, I promise ye, but perhaps things will work out in the end,” he said, and bidding the guard a good night, he made his way into the keep.
Chapter 5
In the Dead of Night
It was now just a few days before the great Christmas feast and Duncan was lying low. His uncle had made it quite clear that he was not welcome after their encounter in the forest, and Duncan had no wish to anger him further.
Many of the guests had now arrived at the castle and the place was busy with the excitement of Christmas fast approaching. They were surprised to learn that Duncan Campbell had returned from his exile for they had been told that he was dead and to find him alive was quite astonishing.
“So, he will be Laird?” one of the women asked at breakfast, but Fraser Campbell simply shook his head and grimaced.
“I am Laird and let that be the end of it,” he growled, causing the woman to blush and apologize profusely to her host.
Duncan preferred to remain in his chambers, away from the hustle and bustle downstairs. Arabel came to keep him company, but her visits were fleeting, for she had no desire to antagonize Fraser further. All the while the Laird was brooding over just how to deal with his problematic nephew. The solution presented itself to him quite by chance and he congratulated himself on his own cunning and ruthlessness. The solution was simple, and he enacted it at once.
***
Duncan had retired early that night. He had eaten a little broth and bread, left outside the door by Arabel, who was ever dutiful in bringing him his food. He was not hungry though and ate only a small portion of that provided. The fire was burning low in the hearth and a draft was blowing through the room, for outside the snow still lay thick.
Duncan had wrapped himself in his cloak, climbing into bed and pulling the blanket up over himself. It was no life for him, confined as he was to his chambers and with no prospect of anything better. He had half made up his mind to leave before Christmas and perhaps make his way to Edinburgh. The life of a crofter had its attractions, but what he needed was a fresh start, away from the life of a clansman in a clan he had no authority over, despite his inherit.
He was just closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep when he heard footsteps in the corridor. It was unusual for anyone to be in this part of the castle so late into the night. Duncan’s chambers lay at the top of a long flight of stairs, along a corridor of empty rooms and closets. Perhaps it was a guest, confused as to where his own quarters lay, Duncan thought to himself. He pulled the blankets up, the room now in darkness save for the gentle glow of the fire in the hearth.
But a noise caused him to stir once more. There was surely someone out in the corridor and as he rolled over there came the gentle raising of the door handle, and it creaked as the door opened. Duncan lay stock still upon the bed, ready to leap up and defend himself. But in an instant, someone pounced upon him, pinning him to the bed as a foul-smelling rag was held over his face. Duncan could hardly breathe, and he felt nauseous as strong arms lifted him up.
“He’s out of it, bring him now, lad,” a voice said, but Duncan was too woozy to respond.
Feebly he struggled, but there was nothing he could do, and he found himself being dragged from the room. He was not unconscious, but the noxious substance on the rag was enough to prevent him from crying out or doing more than making a vain attempt to free himself.
“Stop strugglin’ lad, ye will make it worse for yerself,” a voice said, and Duncan felt a blast of cold air envelop his body as they dragged him out into the night.
What happened next became only a vague memory for Duncan, but he was dragged over the courtyard and out through the castle gates. How many men were with him he didn’t know and how far they walked out into the forest he could only guess. But it seemed that they went for some distance, covering several miles and going deep into the trees.
A thin light was breaking on the horizon when they stopped, and Duncan was dropped to the ground. He was shivering against the cold and as he hit the snow, his whole body convulsed, and he coughed and spluttered.
“What now?” a voice above him said.
“The Laird said to slit his throat,” another replied.
“Can ye slit the throat of the young master, for I cannae. Dae ye nae remember him as a lad? He used to join us on the huntin’ parties with his father, I cannae slit his throat,” the other said.
“Then we must snare a rabbit or somethin’, the Laird wanted proof, our swords must be bloody. He’ll nae survive out here anyway, come on, let’s get back,” came the reply.
“I cannae leave him bound like this, loosen the ropes. Give the lad a chance at least,” the voice said.
Duncan was too drowsy to open his eyes, and the cold was numbing his whole body. He felt a rough tug on his arms as the ropes they had bound him with were removed.
“Quick now, let’s go, there are some traps back along the path. If we can catch an animal, then the Laird shall have proof and our consciences can be salved,” came the voice, and Duncan heard the trampling of feet back into the forest.
He lay there for a moment, his head dizzy and spinning, unable to open his eyes as the cold numbed him. Feebly he struggled to sit up, falling back flat onto the cold, hard ground.
“He … help,” he wheezed, “help me.”
But there was no sound in the forest, only the icy ground and with a final gasp, he lost consciousness. Alone and abandoned amidst the trees.
***
Arabel knocked louder this time. There had been no response from Duncan and his food was getting cold. She held the bowl in one hand and banged again on the door.
“Duncan, tis’ Arabel, I have some breakfast for ye. Are ye awake?”
But there was no answer from behind the door and with a sigh of exasperation she turned the handle, expecting to find Duncan still fast asleep. But inside, the room was empty. There was no sign of Duncan and the bed had been made. In the hearth the remnants of last night’s fire still smoldered and the drapes still hung over the window so that the room was dark.
“Duncan?” she said, as though expecting him to emerge from some hidden closet or beneath the bed.
But the room was empty and with a puzzled look she returned downstairs to find Fraser and Alistair at their breakfast in the Great Hall.
“Where is Duncan?” she asked, seating herself opposite them and placing the now cold bowl of porridge on the table.
“Why are ye bothered to know, lass?” Fraser said, not looking up from his food, as Alistair cast a puzzled glance towards Arabel.
“I … I just took him some breakfast and his room is empty,” she replied.
“And why is it a concern of yers to take food for the lad? Does he nae have a pair of feet, can he nae fetch his own food?” Fraser said, bringing his hand down on the table and causing Arabel to jump.
“Father, there is nay need for that, Arabel was only askin’ if ye have seen Duncan and if he is nae in his chambers then where is he?” Alistair said.
“Why is every person in this castle so concerned as to the welfare of Duncan Campbell?” Fraser cried, leaping up and sending plates scattering across the table, “I will tell ye where he is, he is gone.”
At these words Arabel clutched her hands together and gasped, shaking her head in disbelief.
“What dae ye mean he is gone?” she said, looking first at Fraser and then to Alistair, who also turned in disbelief to his father.
“Gone, lass, gone from this castle. He came to see me last night and told me that he would nae stay here for Christmas and that his fortunes would be better served elsewhere. A statement which I believed was in everyone’s interest, includin’ yers,” Fraser replied. “Now, let us speak nay more of the lad. He has made his decision and we must accept it, as sad as I am sure we all are at his departure.”
Arabel shook her head a
nd fought back the tears in her eyes. How could Duncan abandon her like this? And without so much as a goodbye? How cruel it was to think that he had just left in such a manner.
“I … I must go,” she said, “excuse me,” and she rushed from the room.
She was dressed in her indoor things, with no shawl or cloak, but she ran out into the courtyard, almost knocking Donald McGowan over as she went.
“Woah, there lass, where are ye goin’ to in such a hurry? And dressed like that. Ye shall catch yer death of cold,” he said, catching hold of her arm.
“Duncan is gone, where is he gone?” she cried, no longer holding back the tears which flowed freely down her cheeks.
“Gone? What dae ye mean he is gone? He did nae say anythin’ to me,” Donald said, a puzzled look coming over his face.
“Fraser said he left last night, I dinna ken where he is gone, but he told him his fortunes would be better served elsewhere,” she said, and she wept, holding onto Donald as he shook his head in disbelief.
“There, there, lass, dinna worry now,” he said, “I am sure he will send word, but perhaps he just needed to get away for a while.”
“Perhaps,” she replied, “but to nae say goodbye, that is nae Duncan, nae the Duncan I know.”
“Nor I, lass, nor I,” he replied. “Now, get yerself back inside, or ye’ll catch yer death of cold.”
But as he said this the gates to the castle opened and through them came a posse of guards fresh from the forest. Their swords still drawn and covered with blood.
“Where have ye men been at such an early hour and why were ye nae about yer duties?” Donald called out, but the men just waved their hands in dismissal.
“We have been about the Laird’s business and tis’ none of yers Donald McGowan,” one of them said as they strode towards the keep.
Donald shook his head and placed his arm around Arabel who continued to sob.
“A strange business all of this and make nay mistake,” he said as they watched the soldiers return inside.
“I just cannae believe he is gone like that, and without even a goodbye,” Arabel said sadly.
“Duncan is a strong lad, ye dinna survive ten years in an English stronghold without being so. Ye will see him again, I promise ye that,” Donald replied as the gates to the castle were once more firmly closed.
Chapter 6
Rude Awakenings
“He’s coming around, I think. Stand back there, dinna startle the poor lad, Hamish. Lena, come away now, give him some space,” a woman’s voice from nearby said.
Duncan blinked and opened his eyes. His vision was blurry, and he tried to sit up, a pain in his head causing him to fall back.
“Take it easy there lad, ye have had a nasty bump to the head, and some devilry given ye alongside,” a man’s voice said as Duncan rolled over and groaned.
“Give him some water there, Hamish,” the woman said as Duncan blinked again, this time his eyes opening a little more to take in the surrounding scene.
A boy stood next to the bed on which he was laying. He had a cup of water in his hands and pressed it to Duncan’s lips. The cool liquid was like an elixir of life and Duncan’s parched mouth drank deeply from the cup, reviving him further. He was now able to open his eyes, and rolling onto his back he pushed himself up and coughed, his mouth tasting of whatever foul substance had been poured onto the rag.
“Wh … where am I?” he gasped, coughing again and tasting blood in his mouth as he looked around him.
He was in a peasant’s hovel, a cave hollowed back into the rock, the front of which had been built over with a rough wooden structure. A fire burned in the center, and around the edges were spread blankets on which sat a man and a woman watching him intently.
“Hamish found ye out in the woods earlier on. He was gatherin’ firewood and there ye were, sprawled out in the clearing over yonder. Ye are in a bad way,” the woman said. “My name is Christina, ye have met Hamish, and this is Lena our daughter.”
“And I am Brodie Macintyre and ye, if I am nae very much mistaken, are Duncan Campbell. Laird of this glen,” the man said, standing up and coming over into the light of the fire so that Duncan could see his face.
He was around the same age as Fraser Campbell and had a thick ginger beard hanging down from scraggy hair. His face was kindly, weather beaten and worn, and he held out a large hand, which Duncan gladly shook.
“I … thank …. thank ye for yer kindness,” Duncan replied, taking another sip of water and breathing heavily.
“Tis nae kindness, I wouldnae see a man die out in the forest like that, but ye are the Laird, aren’t ye?” Brodie said, looking closely at Duncan who gave a weak smile.
“Some may say, aye, but others dae nae,” Duncan replied. “That’s how I came to be in the forest where yer lad found me, for the Laird as is, is nay friend of mine.”
“Fraser Campbell is a despicable man, he demands taxes of poor folks and he gives nothin’ back in return,” Brodie replied, spitting into the fire. “Yer father was a good man and kind to us all. I dae nae forget that. We have remained loyal to him and we are loyal to ye too, Duncan Campbell,” he said, and his wife nodded her agreement.
“I am grateful to still have some friends here then,” Duncan replied, shaking his head.
Memories of the previous night were beginning to resurface, and he recalled the words of the soldiers in the clearing and how they were doing the bidding of Fraser Campbell. What wickedness it was that could see a man turn upon his own nephew so readily and seek him killed in such a cruel and cowardly manner.
“What happened to ye?” Brodie asked, and Duncan recounted his memories as best he could.
When he had finished the sad story, the family shook their heads and Brodie repeated his contempt for the pretender in the castle.
“Well, ye are welcome to stay with us for as long as ye need to,” Christina said, putting more logs onto the fire, which spluttered and sent sparks flying out into the room.
“Aye, stay here as long as ye need to,” Brodie said, “tis’ nearly Christmas after all.”
“Thank ye, and thank ye again for helpin’ me, but I must return to the castle, I cannae stay here,” Duncan said, struggling to get up.
“If ye go back there now then yer uncle will just have ye killed and, by the sounds of it, the men who were supposed to kill ye too. My advice is to stay here and regain yer strength, dae nae dae anythin’ without thinkin’ of the consequences for yerself and others,” Brodie replied.
Duncan was silent, but the kindly peasant was right. He had no choice but to stay there and regain his strength. He had been dealt a nasty blow and his head still ached and his body was numbed with cold.
“When ye are strong enough ye will find ye have much support amongst us ordinary folks,” Christina said, and she ladled out a bowl of soup from a pot which hung above the fire, “and from the nobles along the glen. There is often talk of ye but yer uncle put it about that ye were dead and that was why he had himself proclaimed as Laird. It would never have been allowed if it were known ye were still alive.”
“Aye, but that is Fraser Campbell all over, and never a more treacherous man was there than he,” her husband said, passing the bowl to Duncan who gladly began to eat. “Rest here a few days, lad and when Christmas comes, then perhaps that will be the time for ye to return and win victory.”
Duncan nodded, but it was not victory he longed for, nor the title of Laird. His only thought was of Arabel and his desire to declare his love for her. She was all he wanted in the world and nothing else mattered to him except the love of the lass whose memory had so sustained him in his exile.
“I will go back,” he said, laying aside the empty bowl, “and I will see to it that Fraser Campbell pays a heavy price for what he has done.”
***
Arabel found little consolation that day, and she moped around the castle, lamenting Duncan’s sudden departure. They say that absence makes the heart grow fond
er and Arabel could not help but find her heart yearning for the man she truly loved. She felt guilty for her feelings, but it was impossible to hide them, given that they had been planted all those years ago before Duncan went off to war and found himself a prisoner.
Arabel knew that her duty was to marry Alistair, a duty he too carried with him, but her heart was not in it. Now that Duncan was gone her heart was restless and pining and she would find no peace until she heard news of him. Had he really abandoned her? She could not accept it—and to not even say goodbye was unbelievable. Those were not the actions of the Duncan she knew and as she thought more of it, she found herself growing ever more suspicious as to what had really occurred.
That night she caught Alistair on the stairs just as he was going to bed. He had been very quiet at dinner, eyeing his father, who was holding court as usual. Many of the guests for the Christmas feast had now arrived and Fraser was in his element as host, showing off the riches of his wealth and boasting of his power.
“I dinna believe that Duncan has left without so much as a goodbye,” she said as Alistair ushered her into his chambers and closed the door.
“I daenae either, lass, but surely he cannae …” he began.
“Yer father is capable of anythin’ and I think that he is behind this. Duncan was goin’ to stay until after our wedding, he said as much. And why can yer father nae tell us where he is? I am worried, Alistair,” she said, and began to cry.
He took her in his arms and held her close to him, his head resting upon hers.
“Tis’ alright, lass, we will find him, I promise,” he said.
“Oh, but what must ye think of me, I am sorry, Alistair, it is just …” she said, fresh tears now pouring down her face.
“Neither of us believed Duncan even to be alive. I would never have stood in the way of ye two if he had been here, but then if he had been here my father would nae be Laird in his place,” Alistair replied. “None of this is how it should have been, it was the response of folks who had to make the best from a bad situation.”
The Castle Courtyard on a Snowy Christmas Eve Page 4
