“I want every able-bodied man armed and ready to leave in half an hour,” Fiona announced as she entered. She directed her next order to Isabelle. “I want every woman armed, I want more arrows made, whatever weapons we need, I want them made.”
Mairi stepped forward with Symon in her arms. “Fiona, what do ye plan to do?” she asked, looking quite worried.
“I plan to avenge the dea—” her voice caught on the word, raw and painful. Her friend was dead. “I plan to avenge the death of me friend. I’ll no’ sit by and wait for Caelen McDunnah to attack again.”
William came to stand before her. “War?” he asked. “Ye plan to start a war?”
Fiona was furious. “I did no’ start this war, but I bloody well plan to finish it!”
Chapter 20
Fiona had trusted him. She had allowed him to charm her into believing he was innocent, that he was not behind the raids. For days, she had believed he might very well be in love with her. She might very well have been in love with him.
Now, now she knew the truth.
Caelen McDunnah was a lying, manipulative bastard.
The hurt at realizing he had lied, had made a fool out of her was second only to Bridgett’s death. She had lost more than just her dearest friend. Fiona had lost faith in herself, in her ability to keep her people safe, in her ability to lead.
All because she believed a man with a handsome face and smile.
Never again. Never again would she allow any man to make a fool of her. By all that was holy, she would spend the rest of her days alone if she must, to ensure that would never happen again.
For the entire four-hour ride to the McDunnah keep, Fiona thought about all the pretty words he had said to her. The more she thought on it, the more furious and outraged she became.
Collin and William begged her to reconsider. She refused.
Finally, they were able to make her promise not to kill the man within his own walls. If she did, none of them would make it out alive.
So she promised not to kill him within his own walls.
She would wait until they were on the field of battle. Aye, she’d had a taste of it hours before. It disgusted her, angered her, the way her entire soul now felt, consumed as it now was with undeniable hatred. ’Twas a new experience for Fiona, for she had never hated anyone. Not once in all her five and twenty years on God’s earth.
But now, now she knew what it meant to feel betrayed, to feel hatred toward another human being. That was if Caelen McDunnah could even be considered human. Nay, a human wouldn’t kill an innocent woman. A human wouldn’t lie and tear another being’s heart from her chest. Nay, Caelen was not human. He was a monster.
Bridgett wasn’t dead because of sheep.
Bridgett was dead because of Caelen McDunnah.
Caelen had not been asleep long when he was awakened with the news that Fiona McPherson and her men were below stairs, demanding to see him at once.
“Should I wake Kenneth and Brodie as well?” the young man asked from the doorway. Caelen paid no attention to the worried look on the lad’s face and assumed the lad was simply nervous for waking him.
“Nay,” Caelen said. “Let them sleep.”
It had been more than a week since last he’d seen her. Mayhap she was missing him as much as he had missed her. Throwing on a green tunic, dark trews and his boots, he hurried below stairs.
He found William, Collin, Fiona and several men standing in his gathering room. He felt the tension in the air the moment he entered.
“Fi,” Caelen said with a smile, trying to hide the tension that was beginning to build. Then he saw her blood covered face and knew something terrible had happened. “What is the blood on yer face, Fi?” he asked.
Fiona glared at him furiously. For the life of him, he could not imagine why.
She stepped forward until they were but inches apart. There was no mistaking her anger. “Ye lied to me.”
“Lied?” he asked, confused as to why she would accuse him.
“Ye lied to me. Ye lied when ye said ye were no’ the one who reived our sheep. Ye and yer charmin’ ways, yer kisses, yer pretty words. ’Twas all a lie.”
“I did no’ lie,” he told her in a firm, steady voice.
Her hand struck his face hard enough to sting. Surprise and confusion kept him from speaking. He stared down at her, unable to comprehend this turn of events.
“Ye raided us again last night, Caelen.” She spoke through gritted teeth, her hands balling into fists. “Ye stand before me denyin’ it, but I was there. I saw ye with me own eyes, wearin’ that bloody wolf’s head!” She pointed to the wolf head covered helm that hung on the wall over the mantel.
“I do no’ even care anymore why ye started this war, McDunnah. But if it is the last thing I do on this earth, I will end it.”
Stunned, he did his best to keep his tone even. “War? Ye will go to war over sheep?”
Fiona stomped toward Andrew and took the bundle from his arms. She unfurled the McPherson war banner. Before they had left the keep, Fiona had wiped blood from Bridgett’s neck onto the banner. She then pulled from her belt, the McDunnah dagger they had found lying near Bridgett’s body. Furious, she went to the hearth where she pinned the banner to the mantel using the blood covered dagger.
“I do no’ start a war over sheep,” she said as she turned to face Caelen.
“We are at war to avenge Bridgett McPherson’s death.”
Chapter 21
After returning from her declaration of war with the McDunnah, Fiona made plans for retaliation. Three men were sent to the five clan chiefs who had made offers of marriage asking them to meet with her in a week’s time. Three additional men were sent to find Brodie.
After dispatching those men, she sat in her private study with Collin and William. The hour was late and exhaustion began to settle into her bones. A fire had been lit, but it did little to ward off either the chill in the air, or the one in her heart.
Collin and William sat in chairs across from her in the small room. Neither man looked pleased.
“Fiona,” Collin said, breaking through the stillness. “I speak to ye now, as yer brother as well as yer second in command. I do no’ think goin’ to war with the McDunnah is the right course of action.”
“It might no’ be the right course of action, but ’tis the right and only thing to do,” Fiona told him firmly.
“I ken ye be hurtin’ over Bridgett’s death—” Collin began, but was cut off when Fiona shot to her feet.
“Aye, I be hurtin’, but no’ as much as Bridgett was when they slashed her throat!”
He tried to explain himself, but Fiona was beyond listening to anyone who would say a declaration of war was inappropriate.
“Fi, I only meant to say that mayhap yer no’ thinkin’ as a clan chief right now, but as Bridgett’s friend.”
Fiona placed her palms on the top of the desk and leaned over to look Collin directly in the eye. “I am thinkin’ as Bridgett’s friend and as chief of this clan. How many more lives must be lost before ye think retaliation justified, Collin? Do we wait fer more raids? Do we wait until more ruthless bastards steal onto our lands and slice the throats of every man, woman, and child within?” She allowed some time to pass before continuing. “Collin, I do no’ like the idea of goin’ to war. It makes me ill to think of it. But we canna stand by and do nothin’ while Caelen McDunnah raids and murders.”
“Are ye certain ’twas Caelen?” William asked in a low, soft tone.
Fiona’s mouth fell open as she stared at him, aghast. “Of course I be certain!” she exclaimed. “I saw him.”
William gave a slight shake of his head. “Ye saw a man wearin’ a wolf’s head helm, Fi.”
The end of her patience had just been met. “I be no fool, William! I ken what I saw!”
Collin and William cast wary glances at each other before standing. “Fi,” William said. “Ye need to get some rest. We all do.”
Not wa
iting for further responses from their sister, the two men quit the room, leaving Fiona alone.
’Twas far too late to ask for a bath to be taken to her room, so Fiona heated water in a kettle and washed as best she could in the kitchens. ’Twas well past the midnight hour before she made it to her room, stripped out of her filthy clothes and fell into bed.
Her dreams were nothing more than haunting images of Bridgett with her throat cut, lying on the ground. She was trying to tell Fiona something, but her words were indecipherable. Whilst Fiona begged Bridgett not to die, Caelen’s face appeared. He was standing in the mist, at the edge of a forest. He looked so utterly sad and sorrowful and he kept shaking his head. In her dream, Fiona could feel her heart disintegrate, splintering into tiny specks of dust. Confusion ran rampant as she looked from Bridgett to Caelen, knowing not which one to go to, which of them needed her the most. Caelen began calling to her, begging her to come to him. She kissed Bridgett’s forehead and stood, walking slowly toward the man she thought she had loved. Just as she was about to take his hand, she was hit from behind. When she turned around, she saw the wolf’s head helm. It hung in the air like an apparition, taunting her as it stabbed her with a McDunnah dirk.
Fiona woke, soaked in sweat, tears streaming down her cheeks, and panic-stricken. The dream had seemed far too real, too painful to bear.
Her room was dark and cold, the fire in the hearth having burned out some time ago. Wrapping a blanket around her shoulders, she padded barefoot to the window and pulled back the fur. ’Twas difficult to ascertain the time of day, for the sky was filled with dark, ominous clouds. Rain fell gently, pattering softly on the cobblestone below.
Bridgett. Bridgett always loved the rain, saying it calmed her soul, though Fiona couldn’t believe Bridgett’s soul needed to be calmed. She was a vibrant, sweet woman. She didn’t deserve to die in a soggy, rain-soaked field, in the middle of the night, whilst defending a herd of sheep.
Cool, misty air blew in through the window. Shivering, Fiona let go of the fur and went to get dressed. She had a funeral to prepare for.
The land around the McPherson keep was far too rocky in most places and too soggy in others. ’Twas why they did not bury their dead.
Yesterday’s rain prohibited them from saying goodbye to Bridgett. By dawn, the rain had subsided and the McPhersons woke to a beautiful, warm, sunny day. Fiona dreaded what was to come.
She wore her finest gown, made of green silk, trimmed at the hem, sleeves and bodice in a brilliant purple thread. Her hair she left unbraided to tumble down her back, with a bit pulled back on each side. As was McPherson custom, she, along with all the other women, wore wreaths of dried lavender and heather.
With her McPherson plaid draped over her left shoulder and held in place with a beautiful silver broach, she strapped on her belt and sword, and led her clan out of the gates of the keep.
Behind her, ten men carried on their shoulders the raft that held Bridgett’s body. She’d been wrapped in linen strips, as was their tradition. Fiona had placed a bundle of fresh flowers onto Bridgett’s chest.
The rest of the clan — minus those left behind to guard the keep — followed behind the procession. Fergus played a melancholy tune on the lute as they walked the near mile-long trek to Loch Rannoch.
Fiona had to be strong, to lead by example, therefore she refused to shed tears. Stoically, calmly, she led the way with her head high, her shoulders back. Inside, her heart was breaking.
Once they reached the loch, Fiona said a few words about her friend.
“Bridgett McPherson,” she began as she looked out at the crowd of people, “was the most warm, givin’ and kind person I ever had the pleasure of knowin’. She was more than just my friend, she was my sister.”
Fiona looked out at her people. William and Isabelle stood holding hands. Quiet tears streamed down her face. Mairi looked no better as she stood beside Collin, holding Symon in her arms.
Bridgett had been an only child, born very late in life to her parents who were now gone. Fiona and her brothers treated Bridgett as if she were one of their own. It mattered not that she wasn’t related by blood. Bridgett was the sister of their hearts.
“Bridgett will be missed,” Fiona went on, her voice choking on tears she refused to shed in the presence of her people. “A hole in my heart, in the heart of our clan, that will never be filled.”
There was much more she wanted to say, but not to her people. Later, when she was alone, she would talk to Bridgett and beg for her forgiveness.
Fiona gave a nod to the men that it was time to put the raft in the loch. Carefully, and with great reverence, the men walked into the water until it was well above their waists. Gently, they lifted the raft and set it upon the water, keeping a tight hold on it until Fiona gave the word.
“Ag le Dia mo charaid,” Go with God, my friend.
Taking a deep breath, she nodded at the men, and slowly, one by one they let go and gave a gentle push. Fergus stepped forward and began to play another sad melody. The music floated through the air adding to the heartbreak. Fiona was tempted to ask him to stop, for it was too difficult to listen. Deciding against it, she allowed him to play Bridgett off to heaven.
Collin and William stepped forward and each placed an arm around Fiona’s waist. They watched as the raft floated quietly, easily toward the middle of the loch.
Deana, along with four other women, stepped to the edge of the loch, with bows in hand. Without uttering a word, they each withdrew an arrow from their quivers and nocked them into their bows.
Next, Seamus walked in front of each woman and lit the arrows afire. He whispered goodbye to Bridgett and stepped away.
Moments later, the arrows sailed through the air, one by one, and landed on the raft. Before long, large flames flickered and fluttered before engulfing the entire raft and Bridgett’s body.
The clan stayed until the raft finally succumbed to the heat and flames and collapsed before sinking below the water.
Chapter 22
Two full days had passed since they said goodbye to Bridgett. A reverent shadow of sadness had enveloped the entire clan. People went about their daily business, tended to their chores, simply going through the motions of daily life. There was not one McPherson who was not affected by Bridgett’s death. Some because they knew her well and loved her deeply. For others, ’twas the pending war that hung over their heads.
For the first time in more than one-hundred years, Fiona’s people were afraid.
She could not blame them, for she, too, was afraid and uncertain.
For two years, she had diligently worked at keeping her clan safe, fed, and sheltered. How many times had she said she did not want to be the reason why her clan failed or went to war? Even after the raids first began, she had done her best to keep them out of any clan war.
Now, it seemed ’twas all in vain. War, it seemed, was inevitable.
However, she was not without a plan. She had sent men out with missives, asking those chiefs who had proposed over the past months, to come to her keep. Purposefully, she had left out why she wished to meet with them. Ever mindful of the fact that she had been less than kind to some of them, she hoped they would not deny her request for aid when she went up against the McDunnahs.
Fiona kept to herself as much as she was able, staying in her private study and meeting only with her brothers and advisors.
This afternoon, she sat at the long table with Collin, William, Fergus and Seamus.
“I grow worried,” Collin said, his voice filled with concern. “We’ve no’ heard from Brodie in more than two weeks. I would have thought he’d have at least sent word by now.”
Fiona was concerned as well. “Mayhap, the messengers we sent to the other clans will have heard somethin’,” she said, trying to sound hopeful. “They should be back on the morrow.”
“And if they’ve no’ heard of or from Brodie?” Fergus asked as he softly drummed his fingertips against the cold wood.
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“Then we shall send out a search party,” Fiona answered. Silently, she prayed it wouldn’t come to that.
William, who had been customarily quiet, finally spoke up. “Fi, what shall ye do if the other clans refuse to join us?”
Truthfully, she hadn’t allowed herself to think about that possibility. With very limited options, she began to feel even less hopeful of a positive outcome. Alone, the McPhersons could not fight any clan, at least not any with significant numbers. But if they could join forces? The possibilities were endless.
“I will cross that bridge when I come to it, William,” she told him “Fer now, I must focus on what I need to do to win support in our cause.”
Collin sighed. “But is our cause just? Do we truly wish to go to war to avenge Bridgett’s death?”
“I do no’ wish to go to war, Collin! I’ve tried avoidin’ it. But again, I ask what are we to do? Allow the McDunnah to continue his raids? Allow them to continue to kill innocent people? Nay, I’ll no’ wait until they’ve killed again. We must take a stand, Collin. To do otherwise is akin to suicide. I might as well have married the Farquar or the McGregor or any of the others that asked, fer the outcome would be the same. Clan McPherson would cease to exist.”
Fiona, emotionally drained from the events of the past few days, went to bed early. Ever since Bridgett’s death, sleep had been difficult. If she wasn’t tossing and turning, trying to work out how she would keep her clan from being massacred, then her dreams were plagued with visions of Bridgett and Caelen.
’Twas the middle of the night when she was rousted from her sleep by William.
“Fi!” he whispered with a level of urgency that made her bolt upright in her bed.
Caelen's Wife: Book One - A Murmur of Providence (Clan McDunnah Series 1) Page 13
