by Kerri Carr
“Save the girl for me,” he wrote on a piece of paper. His lower face was swollen and horribly disfigured. It oozed continuously so it was wrapped perpetually in bandages. “Kill the man on sight.”
They rode on horseback for the lake house.
***
Donald approached the lake house alone. He had archers planted around the building already, ready to shoot at anyone that attempted to escape the house.
“Kill anyone that comes out without me,” he said. “He either surrenders to be tried or I kill him with my bare hands. If the girl attempts to escape, shoot her down.”
Approaching the door, he yelled. “I come in peace, Cailean!”
***
An archer was perched on a grassy ledge, hidden by foliage. He watched as the door opened to the old man and drew back his arrow. All he needed was a flash of movement from within the house, he was that skilled. He did see an exposed shoulder as an arm pulled the old man into the house, but his chance never happened. A biodag from one of Ross’ men, who’d discovered the ambush, sank into his exposed neck.
There was a cry of rage and a screaming body hurtled from another end of the grassy ledge to the ground below. A hulking man, with blood spurting from his right side, rose and bellowed, “We have been ambushed!”
Donald’s men sprang out of hiding with shouts, and confronted the new enemy. Pandemonium broke out.
Amid it all, Ross sneaked toward the lake house, narrowly missed by a randomly swung halbard.
***
The old man smiled at the powerful looking man before him, and then the strikingly beautiful girl. “So, I see ye finally, my son. After all these years.”
Aila turned sharply to Cailean. “What is he talking about?”
“Oh, he didn’t tell ye, darling?” The old man feigned surprise. “The same blood runs in our veins, he is my son indeed.” “I am no son of yours, Donald—”
“Ye are the son of the man who killed my parents?” Aila gasped, unbelieving, backing away from both men. “You, Cailean?”
“Why don’t ye tell her the truth, Donald!” Cailean shouted. “Donald killed yer father because my mother and I ran to yer father for protection from his wicked, devilish ways!”
Aila kept backing away, a stunned expression on her face as she backed away.
“Indeed,” Donald chuckled wickedly. “There is only so much humiliation that a man can bear. Yer father dared to protect my cursed, adulterous wife—”
“Say another word about my mother and I will kill ye!” Cailean thundered. “Ye were cruel to us our entire life, treating us worse than ye treated ye beasts. And then ye killed a man who protected us. Ye are a wild beast!”
“And ye betrayed my trust, pretended to be one with the brotherhood and then betrayed yer own brothers,” Donald spat back. “Ye are the lowest of all creatures on God’s green Earth!”
“Yes! And I will kill the very last of ye kind on this Earth—”
With a loud cry, the old man flew at Cailean, drawing a biodag.
That was when Aila slipped out the back door.
***
Ross, spying through a side window, saw a weeping Aila leave by the back door. He also heard the shocking revelation. He could have laughed or smiled, but the pain was excruciating. His opportunity had reared its head. He quietly slipped away toward the back door, unsheathing his biodag. He’d have to knock her out, and then toss her on a horse and head back to inverness. There he would—
“And what have ye been taught about spying through windows, Ross?” a voice behind him announced.
He turned sharply in shock and Aila whacked him across the face with a branch, shattering his jaw.
***
His first punch caught the old man in his belly, knocking the breath out of him. A lesser man would have crumpled like a shriveled plant to the floor. But Donald was no lesser man. He countered with a hard elbow jab to his opponent’s temple and then plunged the dagger at his midsection.
Cailean ducked, catching only a nick in the forearm from what would have been a fatal stab. He punched the old man in the chest and then smashed an elbow into his neck.
Donald fell to the ground, grimacing in pain. “Ye may kill me, but be assured I have burned the red smoke on yer behalf. Yer brothers whom ye abandoned will hunt ye down like bloodhounds and wipe whatever cursed memory ye seek to create with that woman.”
“Ye did give me a head start on that count,” Cailean retorted coldly. “I have already begun to wipe out yer cursed memory from the face of the Earth. Wherever Donald Mackay be mentioned, there shall be no man or representative standing in yer name!”
The old man cried in rage, flying at his enemy. Cailean easily parried away his lunge and smashed a fist into his face, belly and sent him hurtling backward with an uppercut. He picked up a claymore.
Donald also retrieved his claymore, with a fumbling grasp. “The man whom ye called father after me,” he panted, “was no good man. We together did things in Asia that the basest of criminals would entertain shame for. In Africa, we killed to collect gold. Ye are fighting for a soiled name!”
“And he spent the rest of his life in repentance and penance,” Cailean returned. “The gold that ye speak of, he had pledged to the Church and the welfare of his daughter. But ye – ye have no repentance or remorse in yer soul for all the years of evil and atrocities ye committed. Ye judgement was served long ago.”
Donald swung the claymore savagely at him and the other parried it upward and then slid its point toward the old man’s fingers. It was a quick trick which Cailean executed smoothly. Three fingers and the claymore fell to the ground from the old man’s hand.
As the old man yelled in pain, Cailean unsheathed a dagger and plunged it into his chest in one clean movement, twisted viciously.
The old man’s eyes and mouth widened in shock and pain as he crumpled to the ground. He was dead before his back hit the floor.
Cailean barely regarded the body. He turned and hurried out to find Aila.
***
Three warriors, all from Donald’s camp, survived the skirmish. Bloodied and battered, they started toward the lake house with claymores in their grip. They witnessed from over the distance a woman smash a man across the face with a hefty branch and then repeatedly smash him with the branch as he lay writhing on the ground. They exchanged amused looks.
If Donald, a strategist equal to Cailean, had had an opportunity to speak to his men earlier before he entered the house he would have warned them about the traps that had been crafted close to the threshold of the house. Perhaps, he had not seen an alternate reality in which he would require the help of his men or he had simply avoided them and took for granted the fact his men would see them outrightly.
The leading man stepped on a patch of grass and it yielded in an odd manner. He didn’t have time to contemplate the implications. A heavy blade swung from the rooftop toward them, decapitating the two of the men instantly. The third was lucky. The blade merely swiped off a clump of hair and scalp. He fell to his knees, dropping his claymore and clutching his bleeding skull with both hands. So he was unguarded when Aila came around the corner and ran him through with a halbard.
Cailean burst out of the house at the same moment in time to see her weapon still embedded in the man’s guts. Relief exploded on his face. “Aila!”
She turned, her face mirroring the same sentiment.
“I’m sorry I hid who I was from ye,” he said. “Ye father is the only father I will ever acknowledge as mine and I seek to preserve a name for him alone on this Earth.”
“No,” she said. “Donald is yer real father, and it’s a truth ye cannot escape. But ye renounced his wicked ways and embraced righteousness, even when it turned ye against ye own blood.”
She stepped toward him. “This is why I will love ye.”
He hurried forward to embrace and kiss her. “Will ye marry me, Aila?”
*****
They journeyed from Reay t
o Aberdeen by coach, pausing at several towns along the way when it was growing dark. They arrived and went to St Machar's Cathedral where they handed over half of the gold that had been unearthed at the lake house. At the entrance to the cathedral were Aberdeen roses growing in full bloom. Tears stung the eyes of Aila as she recalled the last fragrance she had perceived. It had been peace indeed.
There was no home any longer at the lake house, or in Reay or even in Scotland anymore. One morning, it was with great joy that Aila told Cailean of the new signs of life stirring in her.
“We will need a completely new life,” he responded. “We cannot live anywhere that our enemies will be able to reach us.”
“And where would that be, my love?” Aila queried.
“Spain,” he responded. “We will make our way to Spain and then decide on yet another course from thence.”
***
The hacienda they purchased was located close to a lake and surrounded by the woods. Aila had ensured she got her another lake house.
Cailean oversaw his sprawling plantation of apples, pears, oranges and mandarins. The quality of his crops was unmatched in the market and other plantation owners came to seek his advice on their own crops and vegetables.
Aila joined him to town several times a week to and from the market until she was too heavy with child.
When the child was born, a female child, they named her Rebecca after her mother.
THE END
Another bonus story is on the next page.
Bonus Story 11 of 44
Muse
Shuffling through the kitchen cabinets absently, Sophia frowned deeply when nothing stood out to her. It was about that time when hunger began to make her irritable and distracted, and she didn’t want to go through it. She’d pick a fight with her cousin again, and then Jocelyn would call her boyfriend to back her up. Just thinking about it made her already sluggish limbs hang a bit more limp at her sides.
“There’s never any snacks... I want snacks... Snacks, snacks, snackety-snack-snacky snacks.” Sophia let her head droop until the nice, shiny refrigerator came into her peripheral vision. She knew there wouldn’t be anything in there either, though. Jocelyn had been the one to go grocery shopping and she hated snacks and junk food of any kind. At this point Sophia would be willing to settle for some baked, low sodium potato chips.
That was the problem with living with a food nut, she supposed. It was also the reason she kept her personal stash in her bedroom where her cousin couldn’t find it.
“Sophia! You left your bedroom door open again!” The angry call seemed to burst Sophia’s pleasantly annoyed mood, and she rolled her eyes with a slight huff. Jocelyn was so up-tight that it was suffocating at times. Rules littered the floor like tar and if she wasn’t careful Sophia might get stuck. Just like with her lack of snacks, it was something she simply had to deal with. Living with her cousin meant she didn’t have to pay rent, and the ability to save money was awe inspiring.
“Yeah, yeah… I left my door open again… For two damn minutes.” Shuffling her way back through the living room of their shared apartment, Sophia grumbled to herself. Today was her only day off from her pitiful job, and she didn’t want to spend it listening to Jocelyn whine about trivial mishaps. Reaching the hallway that led to the bathroom and both bedrooms, her frown morphed into a slight scowl. The door she claimed as her own was only open an inch, if not less.
Even so the smell of her marijuana seeped through the small crack.
Sophia slipped beyond the barrier and shut the door gently before leaning on the door to glance around. Her personal space was so different than the rest of the apartment. On either side of her walls stretched out the color of a child left unattended with markers. There was no rhyme or reason to the bright display. She’d just splattered paint over the bland white that once dominated the room. Under her feet, the floorboards were healthy and rich, leading to a plain, black futon that served as a couch.
Before Sophia continued her inspection, her gaze fell onto the low coffee table in front of the futon. The glass surface was neat, holding only her cell phone and a smoking pipe she fondly thought of as her favorite. The hand-blown glass was supposed to be a pink dolphin, but she used it so much the fins had worn away. Against the bright light pouring in front her bedroom window it looked like a slug or worm. Somehow even looking at the object made her frown smooth out.
Unfortunately, Sophia didn’t understand why Jocelyn objected to her habit so much. Surely it didn’t smell as awful as her cousin made it out to be, and she didn’t push her lifestyle onto anyone else. Most of the people she knew didn’t even know she smoked, so it couldn’t have been noticeable.
It didn’t even bear mentioning that Jocelyn’s boyfriend asked her for an occasional bowl pack. Sophia didn’t like him all that much anyway, but he always tried to get out of paying her for it.
“I need to make it big already.” Dropping heavily onto her bed, Sophia sprawled on her back against the tie dye comforter with a big sigh. Of all the things she’d done with her life living with her cousin seemed like the biggest mistake. Jocelyn didn’t appreciate her artistic talents just like Sophia didn’t appreciate her cousin’s athleticism. One piece was all it took for her to go down in the history books, and she knew how good she was. Not many people received a full scholarship to the New York Art Institute, after all.
Really she was going to waste. Unlike Jocelyn’s common argument it wasn’t that Sophia smoked marijuana, either. If anything it made her think more creatively. Lately it hadn’t been working as well as it usually did, though.
Staring at the ceiling, Sophia reached up lazily to blot out some of the tiny, raised bumps that broke up the white paint. Oftentimes, she wasn’t even home so early in the day and didn’t know what to do with herself now. Searching constantly for that one blur that would become her muse was tiring, and working a day job was torturous. It was one of Jocelyn’s many ‘conditions’ to living here, as sad as it was.
“Knock knock. I’m going in the shower, Sophia. Can you keep an ear out for Paul? He should be here soon.” Sophia lifted her head but the door didn’t open. Jocelyn didn’t even wait for a response before the sound of her footsteps heading away could be heard. Sitting up, she ran her hand through her short blonde bob while another frown overtook her lips.
If she didn’t have it so good here, Sophia would’ve left. Maybe she wouldn’t have even moved here in the first place. Like her mother loved to point out, being an artist meant struggling and very little payout. She’d have to die to become famous and even that wasn’t a guarantee. Chances were she’d fade into oblivious like every other undiscovered genius.
When Paul eventually showed up Jocelyn was out of the shower, so Sophia didn’t bother getting up to welcome him. Instead, she packed her pipe and filled her lungs. Smoking wasn’t something she did all day every day, but with nothing else to do it didn’t seem like a bad past time. At the very least her analog clock would tick by faster. Once her head was starting to feel light and airy she picked up a sketch pad and a pencil and hunkered into her bed. There was no intent to get anything done. More than likely she expected to sit there for a while as the heaviest part of her high slowly rolled over her.
At least it drowned out the sounds coming from the other bedroom.
“So… hungry...” Groaning out the complaint, Sophia let her pad and pencil slip from her grasp to sit up straight. Procrastination wasn’t going to solve her problem. It took a second to really gather the energy to stand, but she managed and made it to her bedroom door in no time at all. Grasping the shiny, brass knob, she frowned lightly before turning it and opening the barrier.
Almost instantly the sound of Jocelyn’s ‘workout’ hit Sophia’s ears, and she tried to block it out. Her cousin coveted any type of health even if it wasn’t healthy. Surely Paul liked Jocelyn well enough, but Sophia would bet money she didn’t have that, it was the sex that kept them together. Really it was pitiful, but she
refused to go down that road. Any conversation about it wouldn’t end well at all for her. If she did bring up their tumulus relationship she’d probably get kicked out.
Jocelyn was stuffy like that. It was a wonder they were related at all.
Shuffling to the kitchen once again, Sophia paused near the small, four-person table to glance around in dismay. Everything in this room was something she’d have to physically work to cook. Even thinking about it made her want to go back to her bedroom, but she’d be back here soon enough.
Leaning over the counter as Sophia waited for water to boil, she stared into space and wondered about her failing career. It should’ve been so easy to find that one thing she needed. In theory it was, but putting that theory into practice definitely wasn’t. Lately she found herself working as a cashier at her local McDonald’s, coming home and sulking about her inability to find that one thing. If she were truthful with herself, it was that very cycle that stopped her from being successful.
Nothing was easy in a life that went at maximum speed, though. To live she had to work. To work she was distracted from her passion. It was never ending.
Less than half an hour went by before Sophia happily shoved wheat spaghetti into her mouth. Music blared from her cell phone and kept other less appealing noises at bay. Still, it didn’t drown out the sound of her own chewing, nor was it loud enough to make her oblivious. Should Jocelyn find the mess she made before she had a chance to clean it up she’d be in trouble. It might’ve only been a single pot, but it was still a mess.
*****
Unfortunately, she didn’t have much time to enjoy her hastily prepared spaghetti before a knock sounded throughout the room. Sophia didn’t really want to answer it, but even as she started to chew again, it sounded once more. Slowly pushing herself up from her chair, she held her bowl in one hand as she padded, bare foot, towards the front door of the flat.
