A Highlander's Redemption

by Aileen Adams

  “Sheriff,” he managed as Sheriff Colin Ramsey dismounted and quickly approached.

  “Alasdair, what happened? Who did this to ye?”

  Alasdair felt Colin’s hand on his shoulder, helping him to sit, as Colin squatted beside him, his gaze taking in his injuries, the dried blood, the fresh blood now seeping from his side.

  “Alasdair, who did—”

  “Beitris,” Alasdair interrupted, a sense of urgency in his voice. “They took Beitris. Elspeth is hurt—”

  “Wait, Alasdair,” Colin said, shaking his head and frowning in confusion. “What’s this about Beitris and Elspeth?”

  “Men came… I was wounded,” Alasdair told the sheriff, knowing that if he wanted his help, he would have to tell him everything. “I was hurt, and Beitris and Elspeth brought me to a cave in the woods so that I wouldn’t…”

  Colin nodded. “So no one would find ye. I understand. And Beitris and Elspeth?”

  “No one came… I waited, then Elspeth crawled into the cave. Badly hurt. Told me that Beitris had been kidnapped—”

  “Those bloody bastards,” Colin muttered as he gazed down at Alasdair. “Let’s get ye back on yer horse. I’ll take ye back home, and then I’ll go fetch Elspeth.”

  Alasdair looked up at him, also frowning. “Yer not going to arrest me, turn me over to the Sassenach?”

  Colin scowled. “Now why in the bloody blazes would I do that?”

  “Because I’ve got a price on my head?”

  Colin snorted and shook his head. “Dinna talk nonsense, Alasdair. Let’s get ye up on yer horse.”

  It was a struggle, but Alasdair finally managed to get to his feet, swaying until he reached for his horse. It was another painful, laborious effort, but he was quickly mounted. He felt a surge of strength, realized that this was his chance, that now he had hope of not only getting help for Elspeth, but finding Beitris.

  “First things first,” Colin said as they rode back to the stone house.

  To Alasdair’s dismay, he had not traveled far at all, maybe a mile from the edge of his field behind the stone structure. As Colin tried to urge him toward the stone house, Alasdair shook his head. “I’ll show ye where the cave is. It will save time.”

  “Alasdair, ye can barely maintain yer mount as it is. How am I supposed to bring—”

  Alasdair sent an angry glare toward Colin. “I’ll show ye the cave. Ye fetch Elspeth, and then we’ll ride to the house.”

  Clearly, Colin knew better than to argue with Alasdair. He wouldn’t win. He never had in their youth and he wouldn’t now. With an impatient sigh, Colin nodded and followed Alasdair as he guided his horse around the edge of the field bordering the woods, and then, at the forked tree along the northwest corner, he ventured into the trees, his horse once again winding its way without much guidance from him. After another half mile, his horse stopped in front of a low hillock, shrubs crowding around them.

  “Why are ye stopping?” Colin asked, glancing around with a frown. “I don’t see any cave.”

  Alasdair, finding himself once again leaning over the gelding’s neck, pointed. “Over there, behind the shrubs.”

  Colin said no more but quickly dismounted and moved into the shrubbery, then pulled a couple of branches aside. He glanced once over his shoulder at Alasdair, and then disappeared into the cave. Alasdair fought back a wave of nausea, his head swimming, every muscle in his body now protesting, but he kept his gaze riveted to the opening, hoping that Elspeth was all right, that she would live, that she would be able to tell them what had happened, and who had taken Beitris. Moments later, Colin emerged, caring a limp Elspeth in his arms, her head once again drenched with blood, her skin pale, even in the waning light of day.

  Alasdair wasn’t sure how Colin managed it, but in moments, he was mounted, still cradling Elspeth in his arms as they turned the horses around and headed back to the stone house. Exhaustion tugged at Alasdair as he followed, and while darkness fell, ever-increasing waves of blackness hovered around the edges of his vision. As they approached the house, he clung desperately to his reins, one hand grasping a handful of the mane to help him maintain his seat. As Colin dismounted, sliding off his horse with Elspeth in his arms, Alasdair finally let go.

  Colin disappeared into the house with Elspeth as he felt himself falling again, moaned softly as once again, his body struck the ground, hard, and then he slid into unconsciousness and the blissful, painless sleep that came with it.

  22

  Beitris listened to the two men—Robert and William—talking softly, their conversation broken occasionally by low chortles of laughter. Her heart continued to pound, to the point where she feared it should have burst a little while ago. She focused on trying to slow her breathing, inhaling slowly, holding her breath a moment, and then slowly exhaling. The numbness in her body slowly gave way to a prickling sensation, her muscles awake, aware, and ready. But ready for what? What would they do to her?

  Would they torture her? Ravish her body? Threaten to kill her, slice her throat, or choke her to death if she dinna tell them where Alasdair was? She persuaded herself that she dinna know. That was the truth, wasn’t it? Surely, she could convince them she told the truth? He could still be in the cave, but he might not be. Besides, she wasn’t exactly sure where the cave was. That was true also. She had just followed the horse and Elspeth. She could give the men no landmarks, no information that would help them find the cave. So what good was she? They should let her go. She knew nothing valuable.

  Still, she knew what happened to unprotected women in these troubling times. No one was safe, not the old men, not the women, nor the children. The English man… Was he a soldier as she assumed? Or was he merely yet another bounty hunter who had joined with Scotsmen or others from other lands, taking advantage of Britain’s offer of coin for the capture and ultimate death of Scots who had joined the Jacobite rebellion? Did they really think they could hunt each and every one of them down to punish them? Would they take their revenge out on the families, friends, or even entire villages in order to gain their retribution?

  The pop and crackle of the fire burning a short distance away and the aroma of roasting rabbit wafted into her nostrils. She was hungry, exhausted, and filled with anxiety, but still, her stomach grumbled softly at the aroma. Even so, if she had been offered a piece of that rabbit, she doubted she’d be able to choke it down. Just the thought sent bile rising in her gullet. She sought comfort by retreating into her mind, ignoring the weariness of her legs as she stood, bound to the tree, her fingers numb, her wrists sore and scratched from trying to struggle against the bindings. She leaned her head against the tree, the rough bark scratching her scalp, but she focused on Alasdair, picturing him in her mind’s eye, wishing that before she died she could hear his voice once more, his reluctant laughter, and relive the memory of them skipping stones on the surface of the lake.

  She felt that she had grown somewhat content there, and with time, it would truly become her home, a place where she and Alasdair would fall in love, devote themselves to each other, and perhaps someday raise a family. Elspeth would be there as well, part of that family, the loving sister, aunt, and friend. Warm tears filled her eyes as she lifted her head and blinked them back, worrying about Elspeth. Would she live? Had they killed her?

  One after the other, her fears assailed her, giving her no respite. As far as escaping, she had no idea how. Even if she did, even if she found a hiding place in a log, up a tree, or in a cave, who would find her? No one knew where she was. For all she knew, Elspeth was dead and Alasdair, lying in the cave, would also die of starvation, of thirst, or of infection. She tried not to let despair overcome her, but her outlook for her future was more than dismal. Even so, she promised herself that she would do her best to resist whatever it was these two men planned to do to her. She would protect Alasdair to her dying breath, if God gave her the strength and the fortitude to do so.

  She had just completed that thought when she heard a
sigh from near the fire, followed by soft footsteps in the dirt, dry pine needles crunching beneath boots. She turned and stared at who she was sure was Robert, waiting.

  “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

  She dinna answer. They would give her neither water nor food, and she knew that.

  “You know that no one is coming to help you, don’t you?”

  Again, she said nothing, only the pulse throbbing in her throat any indication of her heightened emotions.

  “You tell us where Alasdair is, and we’ll take you back to the path that leads to the village. Someone will find you there and take you home.”

  “I don’t believe ye,” she said, striving for calm though she recognized the tremor in her voice.

  “I don’t particularly care whether you believe me or not,” Robert said. “I want to know where Alasdair Macintyre is. If you tell me, we’ll let you go. You have my word on that.”

  “The word of an Englishman means wee bit to me,” she snapped.

  Immediately after she spoke the words, the sting of an open-handed slap against her cheek prompted her to gasp. Her head jerked abruptly to the side, her cheek brushing against the rough bark of the pine tree. She barely managed to stifle her startled cry and rapidly blinked her eyes, fighting back tears.

  “You will tell me where Alasdair Macintyre is hiding his cowardly bones,” Robert said, his voice soft but cold. “If you don’t, we’ll employ what I like to call encouragement. And I suppose that even if you do manage to resist our efforts, it won’t much matter. You can die here, tied to this tree, left in the wild for the animals and your godawful climate to clean your bones.” He paused, paced in front of her for a moment, and then spoke again. “No one will ever find you. No one will care. Not even your precious husband, who will go on his merry way, likely pleased to no longer be burdened with less than half a woman.”

  Beitris wanted to respond, wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that she would be missed, if not by her father, then by Elspeth, if she was still alive, and perhaps Alasdair, if he lived through his ordeal. At that moment, she realized how truly alone she had been her entire life. She would die out here alone, enveloped in darkness. If she were strong enough, perhaps she could die with a modicum of courage.

  “Where is Alasdair Macintyre?”

  She felt his face near hers, his breath wafting against her cheek. She stiffened in surprise when his hand grasped her jaw, turning it to face him. His fingers tightened on her tender skin. She winced, but with his fingers crushing her cheeks as they were, she couldn’t have spoken if she wanted to. She made a sound in her throat, and he quickly released her.

  “Well?”

  She opened her mouth but couldn’t make a sound come out. She swallowed and tried again. “As ye have so astutely pointed out, I am blind. How am I supposed to know where he is? I haven’t seen him, and that’s God’s truth.”

  Another blow, this time with a fist, struck her cheekbone, jolting her head roughly, banging it against the tree again, offering two more points of pain to focus on. She felt warmth dribbling down her cheek, realized it he had opened a cut and she bled. She grimaced and closed her eyes against the pain now pounding inside her already throbbing skull. Her knees buckled. Fear and a looming dread such as she had never felt before nearly had her newly found resolve crumbling. They were going to hurt her. She felt certain of that, but she couldn’t betray Alasdair. She couldn’t!

  “William, bring the knife.”

  The words spoken by Robert were so soft, so casual, that it took several moments for Beitris to understand what he said. A knife?

  “Ye would really do this?” she asked, voice trembling, brow furrowed with a sense of confusion and dismay. “Certainly, the English dinna promise vast amounts of wealth for one man, one of thousands who joined the rebellion?”

  “You haven’t heard?”

  This from the man named William. He spoke, his tone amused. “The crown is promising a plot of land for every rebel’s head.”

  And he believed that? Before she could respond, Robert spoke up.

  “Oh, you don’t believe it,” the Englishman said to her, chuckling softly. “I don’t either, but William here does. I find it quite dangerous to believe anything the monarchy promises, especially if it takes away from their holdings—”

  “I saw it written!” William disagreed.

  “You’re a fool, William. You can’t even read, so how do you know what it says?”

  “You’re the one who read the words!” William protested. “Why don’t you believe it?”

  “Think about it, William. Thousands joined the rebellion. Countless numbers were killed at Culloden, the Bonnie Prince has gone into hiding, and those bloody Scotsmen have scattered like rats. Even if they disapproved of the rebellion, you won’t find many Scots willing to give up their own, even with the promise of coin or a miserable plot of land. Did you even stop to think where that miserable plot of land could be found?”

  “Then why—”

  “Money is money.” Robert sighed impatiently. “Besides, hunting Scotsmen is fun, and most especially since we’ve been encouraged to do it.”

  Beitris felt another surge of nausea rise in her gorge. This man enjoyed cruelty, enjoyed hunting and killing, and not just animals. He sounded like a professional bounty hunter, and it was then that she knew without a doubt that he would eventually kill her and take the greatest pleasure in doing so.

  William grumbled while Robert laughed, all the while Beitris’s terror increased. If she did divulge Alasdair’s true location, which she had no intention of doing, would he kill her immediately or take her to that location to be sure that what she said was true? She dinna know, but she had to take a chance, but only if absolutely necessary. By the way things were going, it would be necessary.

  “And if I tell ye where Alasdair is, ye will let me live?”

  “Of course,” Robert said. “Do you think me a complete scoundrel?”

  Because Beitris felt that nothing she said would save her life, she dared speak the truth. “Yes, I do. I don’t believe that anything I say will encourage ye to let me live, so tell me, what do I have to gain in telling ye?”

  She frowned and jerked away as something sharp touched the skin just in front of her ear and traced a downward path, just a wee bit, maybe the width of her thumb, before it stopped. She frowned, uncertain what he had done until she felt warmth trickling down toward her jaw. Then she felt a stab of pain. He had cut her with his knife. Not deep, but enough to open the skin and make it bleed. She did her best to glare in his direction.

  “Now do you understand? I can, and will, make you die very painfully. But if you tell me, and I verify the truth of your words, I will show mercy and give you the dignity of dying quickly, without much pain. I can’t promise no pain, but I can promise that it will be short-lived.”

  The point of the knife tapped at the top of her shoulder, the point digging down into her skin. She held still.

  “For example, I could stab your heart… here,” he said.

  The point of the knife pressed into her chest, near her left breast.

  “Or, I could slit your throat… here.”

  She felt the blade of the knife tracing a trail along the side and front of her neck. He pressed a little deeper, prompting her to wince, and then she again felt the trickle of hot blood making its way down her neck beneath her kirtle, tracing a path down her breast. It wasn’t a lot, but enough for her to know that he was experienced in causing death, knew where and how deeply to cut, and took great pleasure in instigating pain.

  She could stall him all she wanted, but such a delay wouldna do her any good. No one was coming for her. No one knew where she was, where these miscreants had taken her. So, she began to talk, hoping against hope that Robert and William would believe her, that they would keep her alive long enough to check, and while they did, she might find a way to escape. What happened after that, she had no idea, but she had to try, because if she didn�
�t—

  “You’re wasting my time!”

  She turned toward Robert’s angry voice, opened her mouth, and then cried out as his fist struck her in the belly, prompting her to gasp for air, though none would come. She doubled over as far as she could, her bound hands preventing her from collapsing to the ground. She felt the knife blade slashing at her left upper arm one moment, then slicing at her side, just below her rib cage, the next. She tried to twist and turn, still struggling to inhale air as she felt the blade flick over different parts of her body, some light as a caress, others a bit deeper, sometimes the point, sometimes the edge of the blade.

  Pain tingled and erupted everywhere the knife touched her skin, some of the wounds deeper, some more painful than others, but there were so many, so many different parts of her body, no respite as she twisted her head back and forth, thrashing at her bindings, trying to kick out at him with her feet…

  “Tell me now, or the next cut will be a lot deeper,” he threatened.

  The point of the knife dug into the soft skin under her jaw. Dazed, in disbelief, her body trembling with pain, fear, and anger, she finally managed to inhale a gasp of air.

  “Tell me!”

  Breathe… She ordered her lungs to fill with air, to breathe, to survive—

  Her skull exploded with pain once again as a blow struck her temple, causing her ears to ring and hot flashes of pain to jolt from the top of her head down her spine.

  She cried out this time, unable to stop herself. Then came the buzzing in her ears, her swimming head, and through her growing panic, she heard the two men shouting at one another, but their voices sounded so far away…