by Sarah Thorn
''I have come to ask you to agree to peace between out clans. War will only lead to death and suffering. The Irvine and the Muir clans are not seeking war, but you are.'' Eana winced as he pulled her to him.
''I will not allow you to come here and tell me what to do. Your father and Laird Muir are both murderers, and they will be eliminated at Clodden Moor.”
This was not how Eana had planned it. She knew she would be killed, but her heart sank knowing that it would be for nothing.
“Guards take her away. We'll kill her after the battle.''
Two guards took her by the arms and dragged her from the hall, down some stairs and threw her into a dungeon full of old straw.
''I quite fancy having a go at her later,'' she heard one guard say to his colleague.
****
Clodden Moor was an expanse of grassland exactly halfway between Drummond Castle and Sutherland Castle. It was a desperate day, horizontal rain lashed at both armies as they stood and looked at each other.
The Sutherland's had five hundred men, and the Irvine and Muir Clans together, four hundred and fifty. It should have been an even battle, but Laird Sutherland's warriors had much more fighting experience.
Alexander, his face covered in blue woad, stood in the front line next to Laurie and listened to Laird Muir as he gave his battle address from a white horse. A little further up, Laird Irvine was doing the same to his men, from a black horse. Between them, lines of tartan-clad men, some holding flags, looked on anxiously.
A hundred meters away, Laird Sutherland sat quietly on his horse and looked down his line of men. He was fully confident that, within the hour, most of his opponents would be dead, and that he would be the proud owner of two new clans. When the warriors on the opposing side roared, he knew that their pre-battle speeches had finished, and he started to address his own men.
When he was finished, his men roared their approval, and he gave the signal for them to charge. The two sides began to run towards each other through the wind and rain. When they collided, swords, axes, and knives were brought down on their unfortunate victims with a high degree of brutality. After ten minutes the field was littered with dead and half-dead men.
Laurie shouted to Alexander to watch out, but Alexander wasn't quick enough. The silver sword lashed across his back, cutting a deep wound in his flesh. As he groaned and arched his back, another Sutherland warrior saw that Alexander was injured, and lashed at him with an ax, cutting his leg open. Laurie roared and increased the tempo of his sword work, killing both Alexander's attackers before they could finish him off. As Alexander lay on the ground, bleeding heavily, Laurie waved for his father to ride forward and collect him.
Laird Muir rode towards them and dismounted. With Laurie's assistance, he slung his son over the horse's back and ordered Laurie to take Alexander to safety. Laurie was reluctant, but Laird Muir insisted. A few moments later Laird Muir was killed by a sword strike to his neck. Despite the loss of Alexander and Laird Muir, the alliance was holding its own in the battle.
*****
When the guard opened the dungeon door, he walked over to Eana and prodded her with his foot. She'd been lying in the damp dungeon for two days. Her body, deprived of food, had closed down and sent her into a deep sleep. When he prodded her again, she woke. Looking through half open eyes, she saw a large man in Sutherland Tartan looking down at her, longingly. It was then that she realized her kilt had ridden up around her waist. The guard was clearly no gentleman.
''You're to come with me,'' he said as he pulled her to her feet. ''Laird Sutherland is waiting for you. He took her arm and pulled her up, roughly. The straw she had been lying on must have been years old; it was more black than yellow. Her hands were filthy, and her knee was swollen, making it almost impossible for her to stand. As she struggled to her feet, he pulled her harder, amusing himself, causing her more pain that was necessary. She hobbled next to him, his fist entwined in her collar. Mounting the stairs caused her excruciating pain, and soon the guard had had enough. He picked her up and threw her over his shoulder.
When he dumped her on the floor, she heard a group of men laughing at her. She was in the great hall where it appeared a celebratory meal was being prepared. From the ground, she saw legs, men's legs, in knee-length woolen socks. They grouped around her in a circle, and when she looked up, she saw Laird Sutherland glaring down at her. When he flapped his hand, a younger man bent down and pulled her to her feet.
''Look, this will be our after dinner entertainment,'' Sutherland announced. He put his hand around her neck and kissed her cheek. She spat at him, the men laughed. Not enjoying being the butt of their joke, he thrust his hands down her blouse and grabbed a breast, painfully. ''I will be first, and after me, there will be many more.'' He pushed her into the arms of the young man. ''Tie her face down to the table,'' he pointed at a small wooden affair in front of the large banqueting tables. ''I want to look at my dessert while I'm having the main course.'' The men laughed again.
When the young man had finished tying her to the table, she was spreadeagled and ready for what Sutherland had in mind.
******
A ring of men stood around the bed and listened to the priest as he crossed himself, and began to give Alexander his last rights. Despite his colossal size, the loss of Laird Muir and the imminent loss of his friend was too much for Laurie, and tears streamed over his blood-stained cheeks. When the priest had finished, Laurie took Alexander's hand and knelt down next to him.
''Dear friend, take heart, we did not yield to the evil of the Sutherland clan, and we have our lands still. Laird Irvine is alive, and he will assist us to find a new leader.'' He squeezed Alexander's hand more firmly. ''Remember one thing, you were magnificent in battle, we were magnificent in battle, and Sutherland went away empty-handed.''
He stood up and looked at Alexander. His face was swollen and covered in his own and his enemy's blood. His leg had a terrible gash in it, the bone was visible. Laurie was the only person around the bed to have seen the deep wound in Alexander's back. He knew it was no use hoping.
One of the men cried out and pointed. Then another and a third. Soon they all jumped back in horror. When Laurie followed their pointing figures, he saw it. Flesh closing over the wound on Alexander’s leg. First the bone disappeared, and then the tissue began to knit together. In a few seconds the skin was closing, and soon afterwards, there was no wound at all.
''Turn him over,'' Laurie wanted to look at Alexander's back. They were just in time to see the wound on his back close, no scar visible. ''The Lord is taking him,'' Laurie concluded.
Alexander coughed and spluttered his way back to consciousness. When he opened his eyes, the men ran out of the room leaving Laurie with a drawn sword, ready to slay whatever evil was at hand.
''Laurie.......what happened?''
''Jesus mother of Mary, is it you, Alexander?''
''Who else?''
''But your wounds. You should be dead. I took you half dead from the battlefield and unable to do anything for you, a priest gave you your last rights.''
''Well, clearly something very strange has happened,'' Alexander said. He pulled his leg away when Laurie rubbed his hand over the place where the wound had been.
''This place was open to the bone, just a minute ago. Don't you have any pain at all?''
''I have never felt better.'' He jumped up and began to run on the spot. ''Look, like new.'' Alexander thought for a minute. ''Do you know where Eana is?''
''Not exactly, but we think she has been held captive by Sutherland after visiting him in a vain bid to keep the peace.''
*****
The great hall at Sutherland Castle was full of warriors quenching their thirst after the battle. When Laird Sutherland spoke to them, it appeared the Sutherland Clan had won the battle. Some of his men looked at each other, rolling their eyes in the knowledge that neither side had won an outright victory, and that, in all probability, there would be another battle soon. They were all drun
k, very drunk and very relaxed. Few of them could take their eyes from Eana as her curves strained against the rope which bound her.
''In a few moments, men, we will have some fun with this young woman. She's the daughter of Laird Irvine.'' The men booed, and some of them threw bread and wine at her. ''Muir is dead,'' the men cheered. ''And if his son isn't dead, I will be astonished.'' More cheers. He waved and walked from his place at the center of the banqueting table. When he reached Eana, he ran his hand over her calf and up under her skirt. When she screamed, the men laughed. Several of them began to masturbate at what was about to happen. In one movement, Sutherland ripped her kilt from her, and then her wine-sodden underwear. As her naked bottom became visible, Sutherland pulled his kilt up and got onto the table. He was drunk, but soon he stood above her, gripping his hard penis.
As he lowered himself onto her, an arrow fizzed across the room. It hit him in the left buttock, burying itself deep into the flabby flesh. He groaned and thrust a hand to the place of impact. Another arrow hit him in the opposite buttock. He fell backwards from the table, landing in a drunken heap. His men stood up and began to stagger towards him, but soon the room was full of Muir and Irvine Clan. Warriors weary after battle, but sober and fighting for a just cause: to rescue the Laird's daughter and the wife of the new Laird Muir.
The drunken Sutherland warriors stood no chance, and most of them died in the great hall. Alexander thrust his bow and arrows to the ground and ran to the table where his wife lay. As he approached her, he bent down to Laird Sutherland, who was still in agony on the floor. ''Thank you for showing me how important she is to me.'' He took out his dagger and finished Sutherland off with a flourish of his arm.
He cut the ropes and scooped Eana into his arms, covering her with his tartan cloak. When they were a safe distance from the castle he stopped and sat down under a tree, still cradling her in his strong arms.
''What did you do? I was dying?'' he asked.
''Sutherland told me you were either dying or already dead. All I did was wish you were healthy. Nothing more.''
''Well, you frightened the life out of Laurie,'' he laughed. ''It was you that cured me, I am certain, and I am certain of one other thing: that I was wrong to doubt you. I now realize that you are the kindest woman alive, and you only know good. I am sorry, please forgive me, I love you.''
''And I love you too, Alexander Muir. Now please take me home and make love to me but more gently than last time, my knee won't stand up to the intensity of your passion for long.''
****
The Irvine Clan and the Muir Clan flourished under Alexander and Eana's leadership. The Sutherland Clan desperate for peace after many years of war, elected a new leader, a fierce but kind woman named Morag. The friendship she and Eana developed ensured peace for the next fifty years.
*****
THE END
ROCKSTAR Romance – Bad Boy British Rockstar
There was a flash of light when Josh Bloodstone entered the room. It was the biggest gathering of journalists the hotel had ever seen. Josh stood at the door and raised his arms above his head. Flash after flash illuminated his face. He was surrounded by bodyguards and press officers from his record label.
''Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen,'' a man in a suit said. ''I'm Harry Jones from Brandy, Josh's label. Thank you for coming to the Hilton today. We are so proud of Josh and what he has done. He's the world's number one recording artist as we speak.'' More flashes, this time as Josh reached the stage. ''As you have been told you have half an hour to ask Josh what you want. Please refrain from asking anything about his personal life. Keep it about his music.''
The man stood aside, and Josh stood by the microphone. He looked strangely out of place in the luxury hotel. It was supposed to be a place where gray-suited business people met, not a place for a tattooed, pierced pop star.
''Right,'' Josh said. ''I ain't got all fucking day. So ask your filth.'' His manager, standing just off stage, cringed. No matter how he tried, he couldn't get Josh to stop swearing. Surely it couldn't be so hard to stop. But Harry Jones had been to Eton and Josh had been to some unmentionable state school in the back streets of Manchester.
''Josh, I'm Simon Hetherton from the Telegraph, can I....?''
''Wow even the posh bastards are here today. I must be doing something right.'' There was a chuckle in the room.
Simon continued. ''Josh, can I ask you what you think about what the Prime Minster said about you the other day?''
''You mean that tone deaf tosser who's fucking our country? He's a liar and a cheat, and he should be put in the Tower of London.''
''But what do you say to his specific words? In the House of Commons he called you the worst of British,'' Simon pressed.
''I'll tell you who the worst of British are. Those faggot politicians. They're bleeding us dry.'' Josh swept his hand through his bleached hair and adjusted one of the rings on his fingers. ''No, but seriously. I have sold over sixty million records, this year. Do you know how much tax I'm gonna pay? More than all those assholes put together, so don't give me no shit about being the worst of British.''
''Josh, I'm Richard Evans from the Rock and Roll Times....''
''You can fuck off straight away. You called me a prick in your article. What was it? Yes, that's right. The biggest prick on the planet. I'm not the biggest prick on the planet, I've got the biggest prick on the planet.'' People roared with laughter, and Richard Evans sat down defeated.
''Josh, I'm Jon Cookeridge from US Rolling Stone. Are you going to be touring the States soon?''
''At last, a proper fucking question. Yes, Jon we've got something in the planning. I think we'll be in the US in October and November. Is that right Tubby?'' Josh looked at Harry who nodded. ''Tubby will send you details Jon, okay?''
''Josh, it's Emma from the BBC....''
''Fuck me the BBC. I must be doing well. She's a bit of alright as well isn't she,'' Josh said pointing at Emma.
''Are you anti-women?'' Emma continued.
''Why do you ask that?''
''The way you talk about women, it seems disrespectful.''
''Oh does it, little Miss Perfect? Listen I love women, ain't nobody who loves more women that I do.'' The male members of the audience giggled. ''What would you girls do without me? You all wanna piece of me, admit it. Even Emma here. She's acting all prudish, but she wants it really. Look she's blushing, she really wants it.''
''I'm Harriet from the Times. Josh, talking in that manner really isn't going to get you very far. Don't you think it's insulting to women? Because I do.''
''Is that a question? Jesus your poor husband. I bet you make him beg when he wants to fuck you. Although why anyone would want to do that to you, I have no frigging idea. Tubby, I've had enough of this shit. Only one reasonable question, the rest were just prodding into my private life.''
Josh walked off the stage to more flashes. His bodyguards surrounded him and took him out of the room.
When they reached his hotel room, Josh opened the mini bar and took out a beer. ''Well that was a bunch of laughs.''
''Josh, you've got to stop swearing at everybody. The things you said about Emma and Harriet were unforgivable,'' Harry said.
''Fuck off, Tubby. What the hell do you know? The last time you dipped your wick the fucking Titanic was still in construction. Listen, I'm who I am. I write music and sing. I like to screw women, and I like to drink a few beers. What I don't like are people telling me what to do.''
''Insulting people isn't good for sales, though,'' Harry complained.
''I call you Tubby because you're a fat fucker. That hasn't stopped you working with me has it?''
''I only do that for the money, though. Do you think I would put up with you if you weren't a darn good earner for the label?''
''No I don't think you would, and I wouldn't blame you.'' Josh snapped the top off the bottle and took a swig.''But it's all about money. All those parasites just now were here to intervi
ew me because I'm selling their papers and magazines. What do you think sells better Tubby, a story about me insulting the bitches in the press or a story about my grandmother and how much she loves my music?'' Josh lay down on the bed and opened his shirt. The large Eagle on his chest looked ready to swoop down and peck Tubby's eyes out.
''I know Josh. I get the game too. But it's going too far. You just can't swear and insult people so much.''
''Who gives a toss. I don't insult my fans; they know I love 'em. But the press can fuck off and so can that asshole Prime Minster. Who the fuck does he think he is?''
*****
The crowd cheered, and the fireworks exploded. This was a Josh Bloodstone concert at it's best. The stadium was packed with fifty thousand adoring fans. Josh was the man women loved and men admired. When he bounced onto the stage, people went wild. He was the best-selling British artist since the Beatles. A household name, a person that you either, loved or hated. He was known in every household young or old.
It wasn't his music that had made him known to the older generation; it was Josh's ongoing feud with the Prime Minister. Josh wasn't a supporter of any party; he was on the side of fairness and honesty. One day the Prime Minister had said that the popular entertainment business was corrupting young kids into using drugs and alcohol. A journalist had asked Josh for his view on the Prime Minister's statement, and Josh had gone to town. He'd told the journalist that the Prime Minister was using words from the nineteen sixties and that he was a prude, and had done nothing for young people who happened to have the highest rate of unemployment in any category. He'd also cited the Prime Minister's reputation as a womanizer as not being a good example for young men. Once Josh had made it personal, the Prime Minister was out to get him and ruin him. But it was impossible. The kids loved him, and so did a lot of older people.
Josh threw his microphone stand in the air and caught it again. ''Hello Birmingham. How are you doing?'' The crowd erupted. ''What do with think of that asshole in number ten?'' he shouted. The stadium booed. 'What?'' the booing became louder.
