“Fi,” he said in a low whisper. “I be sorry. I did no’ mean to hurt ye. Mayhap the McDunnah is no’ behind the raids.” He tried to sound hopeful and optimistic.
“What does it matter?” Fiona asked, though she didn’t truly expect an answer. “Whether he be responsible or no’, we will never be anythin’ more than allies.”
Not wanting to discuss the matter any further, Fiona pushed away from the table and stood to leave. She stopped and placed a hand on William’s shoulder. “I love ye, William and I be glad to have ye as a brother. I’ll keep watch over the sheep with ye tonight.”
“Nay, ye need no’ do that, Fi,” he said, looking quite guilty and sad.
Fiona laughed slightly at his forlorn expression. “I fear I be no’ sleepin’ anyway. I might as well do somethin’ productive. I’ll meet ye out of doors after nightfall.”
Fiona had changed out of her dress and into her tunic, trews, leather armor, and boots. Though she felt somewhat certain that no one would try to raid their sheep this night, she would not go out unprepared or unarmed.
In the belt around her waist, she tucked two dirks at her back and two in the front. Sgian dubhs were tucked into each boot before she donned another belt that would hold her sword.
Properly armed, she grabbed her leather gloves along with a heavy plaid in case it rained, and left her room.
Bridgett was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. She, too, looked as though she were ready to ride into battle.
Fiona cast a curious look at her friend. “What goes on here?” she asked. “Are we at war and no one told me?”
Bridgett gave a wan smile. “So yer talkin’ to me again?”
Fiona’s brow drew into a fine knot. “I was no’ aware I was no’ talkin’ to ye.”
“The last time we talked, ye threatened to make me clean privies and chamber pots.”
Fiona gave a slight laugh. “Aye, I did, but only if ye brought up the subject of Caelen McDunnah. As long as ye stay clear of that, we can talk about anythin’ yer heart desires, me friend.”
A look of relief came to Bridgett’s face. “Good! Now, I hear ye be on watch this night. Would ye care fer company?”
Fiona gave Bridgett a warm hug. “Aye, I would! As long as yer sure ye can tolerate William!”
“Och!” Bridgett said as they headed out of doors. “He is such a serious lout all the time!”
“True,” Fiona said as she pulled open the large wooden door. “But he means well.”
Crisp night air held the promise of rain. Fiona shivered as the cool air tickled at her cheeks and neck.
“There be a chill in the air,” Bridgett said as she pulled a plaid around her own shoulders. “I hope ’tis no’ an omen,” she jested as they headed toward the stables.
“I do no’ believe in omens,” Fiona told her.
“Yet ye believe in fairies,” Bridgett pointed out.
“Aye, I do. Fairies ye can see. Omens? Nay, ye canna see an omen.”
“Ye’ve seen fairies, then, have ye?” Bridgett asked even though she knew the answer. Friends since childhood, Bridgett had heard the story dozens of times over the years, but never tired of it.
“Ye ken I have,” Fiona said as they crossed the courtyard. Black iron brackets affixed to the stone walls of the keep held lit torches. Their flames sizzled and crackled in the misty air as they helped light the way to the stables.
Seamus McPherson was waiting for them inside the warm, dry stables. Seamus had been stable master for as long as Fiona could remember. He was also one of her most trusted advisors.
He was adjusting the saddle straps on Fiona’s mount when he heard the two women walk in. Seeing Bridgett dressed as she was, he said, “I didna ken ye’d be goin’ out on watch this night.”
“I was no’ sure that I was until a few moments ago, Seamus.”
Seamus was large in stature and in heart, though he rarely allowed anyone a glimpse at his softer side. Fiona and Bridgett knew the man held a special place for both of them in his heart.
“I’ll saddle a mount fer ye then,” he said with a wink.
The two women thanked him and waited patiently for him to pull a brown and white Highland pony out of a stall and saddle it for Bridgett.
“William and the others are waitin’ fer ye down at the southern end of the pasture.” Seamus informed them as he gently tossed a saddle blanket onto the pony’s back. “Have ye heard from Brodie yet?” he asked as he grabbed a saddle and placed it on the pony’s back.
“Nay,” Fiona said as she plucked a bit of straw from a fresh pile near the entrance. “I do no’ think to hear from him fer a few more days.”
“Knowin’ Brodie,” Seamus said as he cinched the straps securely in place, “he’s fergotten what ye’ve sent him fer and he’s busy romancin’ women of questionable repute.”
Bridgett and Fiona laughed at his jest. Brodie did have a way with women, but Fiona seriously doubted he had forgotten what she had sent him for.
Soon, the women were mounted and heading through the gates of the keep.
“I wish there were a full moon this night,” Bridgett said.
Fiona looked at the sliver of moon that hung above them. Dark clouds rolled across the sky ominously, frequently blocking what little light the moon offered. The further they rode from the keep, the darker the night sky.
“I be certain that William will have fires lit for us, Bridgett.” Fiona tried to comfort her friend, who she knew did not like the dark.
“I wish we’d grabbed a torch,” Bridgett whispered. “I do no’ ken how ye see on a night like this!”
“We’ll be there soon enough, Bridgett.”
“I ken!” Bridgett said, sounding frustrated.
“Ye do no’ have to go,” Fiona told her. “I ken ye do no’ like the dark.”
Bridgett shook her head. “I would no’ make a verra good warrior, would I?” she asked with a slight giggle. “I truly need to get over me fear of the dark. I’m a woman full grown fer heaven’s sake!”
“Yer as good as any man with knives,” Fiona praised her. “Ye make a fine warrior, Bridgett.”
“I’d make a finer one if I were more fond of the night.”
Fiona laughed, and tried to offer words of encouragement. “Ye do fine, Bridgett. Do no’ worry it.”
They rode in silence the remainder of the way.
William did in fact have a fire built near the southern end of the pasture. He, along with Richard Wallace and Andrew McFee, sat around the fire. Fiona could just make out the murmur of their voices as she and Bridgett approached.
“See?” Fiona said. “’Tis no’ so dark with the fire, aye?”
Bridgett’s nervousness faded the closer they drew to the men and the fire.
Fiona called out a friendly warning to her brother so that he wouldn’t by chance shoot an arrow into her heart. “William! ’Tis me, Fiona, and I have Bridgett with me!”
The men stood and waited for the women to approach. “I heard ye comin’, Fi,” William said as the women dismounted and tied their horses to the branches of a bush. “Ye were never a quiet one, were ye?”
Fiona laughed, pulled off her gloves and went to warm them by the fire. Bridgett joined her, more for the light the fire offered than the warmth. The low flames flickered and hissed as one of the logs burned in two and fell into the embers.
“Have ye heard from Brodie?” Richard asked as he sat down on a thick plaid.
“Nay,” Fiona told him. “I imagine ’twill be a few more days. Mayhap a week.”
“I fer one,” Andrew said as he sat on his own plaid and stretched his legs out, “hope he finds out who is behind the raids.”
William nodded in agreement. “One way or another, we’ll find out who it is.”
Richard cocked his head to one side. “I thought ye believed ’twas the McDunnah behind the raids?”
William cleared his throat nervously before answering. “I be no’ so certain anymore.”
Fiona was about to offer her own opinion, when the sound of charging hoof beats broke through the quiet night.
It had all happened so quickly! One moment they were sitting around a fire, and the next, they were being attacked.
Some fifteen men on horseback charged at them with swords drawn. The horrifying sound of war cries and pounding hoof beats tore through the air.
Fiona had never been in battle. Aye, she had practiced nearly every day for this moment, but in truth, she never thought she would be forced to put her skills to use.
She barely had time to draw her sword when one of the attackers charged at her at a full run. Jumping out of his way before the horse could trample her, she managed to slice through his calf as he rode by.
William and the other men had their weapons drawn, defending themselves as one rider after another came bounding by.
“Bridgett!” Fiona called out as she quickly scanned the area for her friend. Bridgett was close by, sword drawn, hacking away at two riders who were doing their best to trample her.
Bridgett held her own. Her sword sliced through the air and landed on the ankle of one of the attackers. The man screamed in agony as he pulled on the reins of his mount and headed away.
“Fiona!” William shouted at her over the clamor of battle.
Fiona spun around in time to defend herself against a man on foot. He was coming at her with a mace, twirling it in the air, fully intent on crashing it against her skull. Instinct and years of training kicked in. She waited until the last possible moment before falling to the ground and rolling away. The mace came down hard on the damp earth where her head had been only a heartbeat before.
Before the man had time to raise his mace again, Fiona was on her feet and thrusting her sword deep into his back. Blood oozed down his back as he fell to his knees. A heartbeat later, he dropped the mace and fell forward.
Spinning around to assess the situation, Fiona caught sight of something that made her blood freeze in her veins.
Against the backdrop of the night sky, she saw a rider less than thirty paces from where she stood.
He carried a McDunnah battle banner in one hand, a sword in the other.
And he was wearing a wolf’s head on top of his own.
Caelen!
Fiona had seen it only once, on her only visit to the McDunnah keep. It had been on display, over the mantel, along with the bloodied swords and the McDunnah crest.
All sense of time came to a halt. Her heart ceased to beat. The world quit spinning as she stared in utter disbelief.
He lied. The bastard lied!
Fury boiled.
Raising her sword over her head, she ran towards Caelen, screaming, “Ye bloody bastard!”
Before she could reach him, she was tackled to the ground, and found herself rolling across the damp earth. Her sword slipped from her hands as she came to a stop on her back.
She did not know the face staring down at her. Battle-crazed eyes stared into her own as he raised his dirk to plunge it into her heart. A moment later, someone came flying from her left, grabbed the man around his waist, and flung him off her. ’Twas Richard who had come to her rescue.
Jumping to her feet, she withdrew both knives from the back of her belt. Scanning the area, she could see William fending off a mounted attacker. Fiona took aim and sent her dirk flying through the air. She had been aiming for his side, but at the last moment, the horse reared. The dirk instead landed in the man’s thigh, just above his knee. He cursed, pulled rein, and went running off into the night.
From over the din, a loud whistle rang out from somewhere behind her. Fiona spun to find the source of the whistle. It had come from Caelen! They were retreating!
Fiona ran toward him and sent her dirk sailing through the air. Caelen had seen her, had seen the knife, and moved out of the way before it could hit its mark; his heart.
They left as quickly as they had arrived.
Fiona turned to assess what, if any, damage had been done.
William was on one knee tending to Richard, who was bleeding from his head. She continued to look around as she headed toward her horse, fully prepared to give chase.
That was when she found Andrew.
He was on his knees.
Bridgett’s head was resting on his lap.
Bridgett wasn’t moving.
The world stopped spinning for the second time that night.
Chapter 17
An overwhelming sense of anguish fell over Fiona as the world slowly began to spin again. Numbly, she walked toward Andrew and Bridgett. Tears streamed down the man’s face when he looked up at Fiona.
“She’s gone, Fi,” he said, his voice catching on tears of anger and grief.
Fiona fell to her knees beside her friend. Blood oozed from a deep gash across Bridgett’s throat. Cold, dead eyes stared up, seeing nothing.
She was gone.
There was no hope for her. Bridgett was dead.
They hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye, no last words, no nothing. One moment they were standing around a fire. The next? Bridgett’s throat had been sliced, nearly decapitating her in the process.
A cry bubbled up from deep within Fiona. Deeper than her stomach, this cry came from her very soul.
“Caelen McDunnah,” Fiona cried. “Caelen McDunnah will pay fer this with his own blood!”
Tonight had been her first taste of real battle.
It would not be her last.
Chapter 18
“What?” He couldn’t quite believe what John McRamey had just told him. ’Twas just before dawn when McRamey and his wounded men came racing through his gates. With his healer tending to the wounded, he took McRamey into his office. He was wholly unprepared for what the man had to tell him.
John McRamey’s jaw clenched with frustration. “Fiona McPherson be dead.”
“I told ye no’ to kill her!” he shouted angrily, slamming his fists down hard on top of his desk.
“’Twas kill or be killed, m’laird. Had we lost any of ours this night, ’twould no’ take long fer it to lead back to ye,” he said with an air of nonchalance that was maddening.
“Bloody hell!” This changes everythin’.
He sat back down in his chair and tried to think of a way to fix the mess McRamey had made. He had hired McRamey weeks ago. He had one simple job; reive some sheep and make it look like the McDunnah was responsible.
How will I get onto those lands now? Fiona is dead. Bloody hell!
Some time passed as his mind raced for a way out. Slowly, hope began to break through the sea of confusion and despair. If the McPhersons believed the McDunnahs were behind these attacks, then soon, they’d call for war. They wouldn’t be able to do it alone. There was no way the McPhersons could win against the McDunnahs.
What they needed were more allies. Allies with more skilled warriors. Allies ready to come to their aid now that their chief was dead. Allies prepared to finally put Caelen McDunnah in his place, or in his grave.
’Twas the only way out.
Chapter 19
Fiona refused to let go of her friend. She sat on the wet earth as a gentle rain fell, cradling Bridgett against her chest. She cared not of the rain, only holding on to her friend.
Back and forth she gently rocked. Occasionally, she would brush back loose strands of Bridgett’s beautiful black hair and place a tender kiss on her forehead.
“I be so sorry, Bridgett,” she told her more than once. An unbearable ache, anguished and raw, settled in over her heart.
William, Richard, and Andrew left Fiona alone whilst she sang an old lullaby to her friend. In a voice scratched from crying, she sang:
Hi-ro-la, hi-ro-li
Oh, hush my wee babe
Sleep now ’til morn.
Oh, hush my wee babe
The day is done,
The sun is gone.
Night is here,
The moon watches over ye.
Hi-ro-la, hi-ro-li
/>
Oh hush my wee babe
Sleep now ’til morn
Oh, hush my wee babe,
Tomorrow ye’ll play
In the glen and in the gardens,
Yer laughter a song for the angels
Yer smile as bright as the sun.
Hi-ro-la, hi-ro-li
Oh hush my wee babe
Sleep now ’til morn
Hi-ro-la, hi-ro-li
William was finally able to convince Fiona that they needed to take Bridgett back to the keep. “Fi,” William whispered softly. “We need to take her home.”
Home? Home. Home to God mayhap, but never again would Bridgett’s sweet laughter fill the air of the keep. Never again would she bounce into Fiona’s chambers to share a bit of gossip or sweet cakes she had pilfered from the kitchens.
Fiona refused to allow Bridgett to be tossed across a saddle. Instead, William held the cold body against his chest as they slowly made their way back to the keep.
As soon as word spread that Bridgett was gone, and how she had fought so bravely, wails of grief broke out across the keep.
Fiona was in a daze, unable to think of anything but the gaping hole in her heart.
Revenge.
She needed to avenge her friend’s death. Bridgett had never hurt anyone. Always kind and generous, easy to laugh, sweet and beautiful. The young woman did not deserve to die in a pasture whilst defending sheep.
Sheep.
Bridgett was dead because of sheep.
Fiona did not bother to wash the blood from her hands or face. Quickly, she went to a small storage room next to her private study. Pushing old baskets and things aside, she made her way to an ancient chest.
Dust flittered in the air when she lifted the lid. Digging inside, she found what she was looking for, something that hadn’t been used by the McPhersons in over a hundred years.
A banner of war.
Fiona shook the dust from it and left the room, not bothering with shutting the lid to the chest. Quickly, the cloak of grief lifted as anger and fury gave her much needed energy. She made her way to the gathering room. William and Collin were surrounded by their wives and McPherson men. Richard was at one of the tables having his head wound cleaned and stitched.
Caelen's Wife: Book One - A Murmur of Providence (Clan McDunnah Series 1) Page 12
