by Aileen Adams
“Alasdair Macintyre,” he said. “I killed him about a short while ago, trying to steal a sheep from an outlying farmer near the village. I buried him to rot, but with all the local excitement with bounty hunters looking for rebels so they could take their heads back to collect their bounties… ?” He shrugged. “After I spoke with that woman ye injured because, after all, ye are cowards, I figured I’d better bring his head to ye before ye hurt any more of my people.”
Both William and the Englishman stared at the decomposing head, William turning a slight shade of green while the other one merely stared, lips turned down in disgust.
“How do we know it’s him? How do we know that thing is Alasdair Macintyre’s head?”
Colin glanced down at the head, his expression neutral, and then returned his gaze toward the Englishman. “Come look at it. Ye’ll see the scar running from forehead to jaw, just like the paper says. I’ve seen it.”
The man named William turned to his companion, grimacing in disgust as he shook his head. “I ain’t getting near that thing. I can smell it way over here!”
“Why would you help us?” the Englishman asked.
“Because I want ye out of my county. I want ye out of Scotland. Simple, isn’t it?” He paused. “Ye want it or not? Take it and collect yer blood money, but like I said, only in trade.”
“And what are we supposed to trade? You want part of the reward?”
“I’m not interested in yer reward. I want to know where the other woman is.”
“Why is she so important to you? She’s useless. She’s blind, she’s got a big mouth, and she’s—”
“She’s one of us. I want her back.”
Alasdair had to force himself to remain still, his arm pulling back on the bowstring. It took everything he had not to let the arrow fly.
“She’s down near the bottom of the hill. She lied to us, told us where we could find Alasdair Macintyre. We were going to fetch him, or his head at least, and then we were going to go back down and release her.”
“How very kind of ye,” Colin murmured.
Release her? They had her tied up out in the middle of the woods? Defenseless? Alasdair bit back a growl of disbelief and anger. Then he realized that the faint whisper of fire smoke that they had seen earlier must’ve been the two men’s campground the night before. Without making a sound, he lowered his arms, took the arrow in one hand, grasping the bow in the other as he quietly and quickly as possible made his way back through the trees toward his horse. His heart pounded with hope and fury as he left Colin to deal with the two bounty hunters. They needed the men to leave alive, though it grated on him to allow that. They had to claim the reward for his head to convince everyone looking for him that he was dead.
He ignored his pain and a fury that threatened to overwhelm him as he quickly mounted his horse and slowly walked the gelding away from the woods and headed back downhill. When he knew he was far enough so that they wouldn’t hear his horse’s hooves, he picked up its pace, once again gritting his teeth against the pain that shuddered through him. The growing mist and fog had increased, making it more difficult for him to find the trail of smoke through the trees. He had to go by his sense of smell.
Weaving his way through the trees, trying to find the source of the smoke that they had smelled earlier, his sense of panic increased. They had tied Beitris up, perhaps had beaten her as they had Elspeth. He wanted to scream and shout his fury and anger, but for now, he had to force himself to focus on his task. A short distance behind, he heard Colin riding up behind him. He dinna even ask what Colin had done with those two bounty hunters. At the moment, he dinna care.
All he cared about was finding Beitris. Praying that she was still alive.
24
Beitris shivered in the damp chill of the morning, trying to fight against the despair rising within her, her arms stiff, her muscles tight, her wrists burning with the pain of trying to remove the bindings holding her upright against the tree. When they found out she’d lied, they would come back for her… She sagged momentarily, but the bindings bit into the tree, digging into the tender flesh of her arms. Exhausted from standing throughout the long hours of the night, without sleep, her head felt fuzzy, her tongue dry. Her body hummed with the pain of a myriad of small cuts that that scoundrel Robert had given her. He knew where to cut and how deep to cause pain, the most pain, but without severe, life-threatening injury.
He cut her face twice, once near her temple, the other time near her jaw, threatened to disfigure her as much as Alasdair was disfigured, but she didn’t care. She had felt those flashes of pain everywhere, her arms, the top of her breast, her side, and then, he even had the audacity to lift her skirt and cut her thighs, her calves, and at the tender place just under her knee and around her ankle. She had been terrified that they would ravish her, but they seemed disinterested in doing so, perhaps because they had a modicum of decency left in their vile bones, but more likely because the thought of ravishing a blind woman was just too off-putting for them. She didn’t care what the reason; she was glad that, late into the night, they had stopped tormenting her, William complaining of needing sleep.
Unfortunately, Robert never seemed to tire of inflicting pain, taking short breaks to eat, to take care of his needs in the trees, but he was always back after letting her doze a moment or two when fatigue dragged her into blackness, but only for a few minutes at a time. Finally, close to midnight, as best she could gauge the passage of time, which was difficult, she had given them what they wanted. She felt warm trickles of blood dripping from at least a dozen slices in her skin. Enough to convince them that she had only divulged the truth after she couldn’t stand any more of the torture.
She had grown concerned that if she didn’t say something, he would truly start believing that she didn’t know anything, and a single thrust of the knife through her heart would end everything. And so she had confessed, not having to force tears into her eyes or her trembling voice. She had told him, softly and with deep regret, that Alasdair was hiding in an old fortress at the top of the mountain where two spires thrust upward on its eastern slope. She knew of the place from her childhood and had been told it was the fortress of an old laird whose family had long since died out. She didn’t know exactly how far away from it they were, as she had no idea of their location, but her words seem to assuage Robert’s knife, at least for the time being.
He had chortled with glee, woken William, and told them where they would find Alasdair Macintyre. They would leave at first light, head up there, make sure she was telling the truth. Robert had threatened that they would bring his head back and force her to touch it before they left the country and took the head back to wherever they needed to take it to collect their reward. What would they do when they found out she’d lied? When they didn’t find any sign of Alasdair up in that old fortress? Would they come back and kill her then? Would they—
She heard the sound of a horse… two horses. Her mouth went dry, and she fought against the urge to scream in despair. She dinna want to die! She struggled upright, turned her face toward the sound, eyes wide, trying to maintain a calm mien, though her heart pounded, her stomach tightened into a knot of anxiety, and fear surged through her brain, making her feel lightheaded and terrified. She needed to live, to enjoy the love and happiness that she sensed Alasdair could give her. She wanted to return to her new home, to make a life for herself, for Alasdair and, God willing, for Elspeth if she was all right. She wanted—
“Beitris!”
Her heart stopped, just for a moment before it began pounding again, this time with hope, joy; her eyes filled with tears of gladness.
“Alasdair?” she cried out, disbelieving, knowing her mind must be playing tricks on her. Could it be? Was it possible?
The horse stopped close by, and then she heard a rustle of movement as he dismounted, the grunt of pain that followed, but then she felt his hands cradling her face, his thumbs wiping the tears from her cheeks as h
e kissed her, gently at first, then with a growing sense of desperation. She returned his kiss, crying now, her heart pounding with joy, while she dimly heard the sound of another horse approaching, followed by more footsteps, and then someone slashing at the bindings that held her arms behind the tree.
She sagged weakly, but she dinna fall, not with Alasdair wrapping his arms around her, holding her close, cradling the back of her head with his hand as he pressed her head gently into the crook of his shoulder. Both of them breathing hard, words unnecessary as she managed to wrap her numb, tingling arms around Alasdair.
She cried now, her emotions too much to bear. Her pain forgotten, she focused on the sensation of security and safety that Alasdair gave her, encompassed in his arms. She clung to him desperately as he murmured soothing words in her ear, words that she couldn’t understand and dinna need to.
“All right, ye two, we’ve got to get out of here. Before they come back.”
She recognized Sheriff Colin Ramsey’s voice and finally broke off her embrace and turned toward the sound of his voice. “Sheriff? What happened to—”
The sheriff placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, a smile in his tone as he replied. “I gave them what they were looking for.”
She dinna understand, but Alasdair had already released her and now grasped her shoulders. She felt his eyes on her, examining her, his fingers gently touching the cuts on her face, low, angry sounds issuing from his throat.
“I will kill them,” he swore. “I will go back and kill both of them.”
“Nay, ye won’t, Alasdair,” Colin said, his voice serious and with a hard edge to it. “If ye do, ye will ruin everything, not only today, but for months, perhaps years to come.”
“How has this happened?” She looked between them, her eyes wide with fear now. “They hurt Elspeth. Is she—”
“Elspeth is at the stone house. The healer there,” the sheriff reassured her. “She was injured badly, struck about the head, Beitris, but the healer is doing everything she can for her.”
Fear once again burgeoned within Beitris’s heart. Tears for her friend trickled down her cheeks. “She fought them, Sheriff, she fought them hard, for me...”
“And ye killed one of them,” Alasdair said, his voice proud. “Ye—”
“I dinna kill him,” Beitris told them, her voice trembling once again with worry for her friend. “I stabbed one of them, in the stomach I believe. Robert, the Englishman, he killed him and shoved his body down a ravine—” she pointed with a trembling hand, “—down there.”
“I’ll take care of that later,” the sheriff said. “Alasdair, ye need to go back into hiding, just for a wee while longer, to make sure that word gets around that ye have been killed. Then no one will come looking for ye again.”
“What? Wait,” Beitris said, turning toward the sheriff. “He has to go away again? But I just got him back! We just got each other back! Besides, his injuries still need care—”
The sheriff grumbled, then reluctantly acquiesced. “I will let ye both go to the stone house tonight, but Alasdair, ye must remain out of sight. Ye must leave before first light. Ye will go into hiding again, maybe a couple of months, just to make sure that no one comes looking for ye again. No one in the village will ever betray ye. I want ye to know that.”
“Are ye sure?” Beitris asks, frowning. “Who was it who betrayed Alasdair in the first place? Was it my father? He came with ye and the English magistrate to the house.”
“It might have been, Beitris, but we will never know for sure,” Colin said. “Yer father has disappeared, and no one knows where he has gone. It is possible that he betrayed Alasdair, but I dinna think so. Besides, no word of his whereabouts has turned up in the past few days.”
Her father? Disappeared? Gone? Was it possible that he had been the one to betray Alasdair, and then taken the money offered his reward to leave, to abandon her without warning, without a goodbye?
“It’s all right, Beitris,” Alasdair murmured. “It’s all right. Ye’re all right now, and whatever yer father has done, is done.”
She looked up at him, wishing more than anything that she could see the expression in his eyes. She placed her hands on either side of his face, tenderly exploring that brow, his cheekbones, the beard stubble on his chin and jawline. Finally, with a smile, she nodded.
“Take me home, Alasdair.”
Alasdair took Beitris home; she, riding on his horse in front of him, one of his arms wrapped around her waist, her head resting against his firm chest as they returned to the stone house by the lake.
Once there, Alasdair quickly whisked her off to her bedroom while Colin had fetched the healer woman from upstairs to look after Beitris.
Before Colin left, he and Alasdair had spoken quietly with one another. She had heard Alasdair tell him that he wasn’t going to leave until he was sure that Beitris would be all right. Colin said he could stay for the rest of the day but reiterated that he had to leave before dawn. The sheriff would get word to him if anything changed, if her father returned, or if those two miscreants somehow discovered that the head that they had been given did not belong to Alasdair. He doubted that though; it was so decomposed, the slashes in the flesh covered with so much dirt, he doubted that the men would care to explore too closely. The hair color matched and the scars would match.
Beitris wanted to look in on Elspeth, but Alasdair insisted that the healer woman make sure that she was all right first, that she would suffer no lasting effects, other than scarring, from the injuries dealt to her. Wanting to assuage his worry, she had agreed, and then after a short time, she had appeared in the main room where Colin and Alasdair still waited, in a clean kirtle, her chin lifted, telling them, truthfully, that while she would be sore for a few days, she was going to be all right. The healer woman backed up her words and then moved upstairs to sit with Elspeth.
Only then did Colin leave, gaining a promise from Alasdair that he would only stay the night and then leave the following morning to a predesignated hiding place. Not the cave where he had hidden earlier. Colin didn’t want to take the chance that Beitris would be tempted to visit him, that anyone watching from nearby would be able to follow her.
“How long does he have to be gone?” Beitris asked again, not wanting to relinquish Alasdair now that she had found him again, with the knowledge that they would both live.
“Maybe a week or two, maybe a month or two. I’m not sure. But ye must both be patient. Yer patience will ensure Alasdair’s continued safety. I also want to make sure that yer father is gone for good, that he will not return or send any other bounty hunters back into our county. I still dinna believe he betrayed Alasdair, but… better to be safe.”
Beitris felt disappointment and regret about her father. While no one had positive proof that he was the one who had brought the English magistrate here, or word had simply traveled that Alasdair had returned and brought the other bounty hunters into the region, she had a sinking feeling that it had been. That betrayal settled heavily on her heart, and she found it difficult to forgive him. Maybe it was best that he was gone, that he would likely never return.
That night, after sitting beside Elspeth bed for a while, listening to her sleep, the healer told her that Elspeth had not yet woken from the injuries she had received at the hands of the bounty hunters.
Her heart heavy with grief, Beitris had cried softly, weeping over her friend, praying that she would recover. It was only when Alasdair had come upstairs to collect her that she agreed to leave Elspeth’s side, to get some sleep herself.
Alasdair had taken her into his room, gently placed her on his bed, then lay down beside her, his arm wrapped around her, holding her close. He knew how she felt, her concerns for Elspeth, her relief that he was alive, and that she was alive.
They held each other close, kissed, and then, after affirming their feelings for one another, wasted no more time.
They knew that life could be precariously cut short, so slowly and
tenderly, aware of each other’s injuries, they consummated their marriage. Afterward, exhaustion had pulled them down into the arms of a deep, restful, and peaceful slumber.
Epilogue
It’d been nearly three, insufferably long months, with only a couple of visits from the sheriff, who told her that Alasdair was fine. He told her that he was sheltering in an old keep on the edge of a moor close to the border of the Highlands. He was tired of hiding and waiting, the sheriff told her, but it was almost over. Over the past month, fewer bounty hunters and fewer Englishmen had been found roaming through the counties. It seemed like she and Alasdair were not the only ones tired of the hunting. Increasing numbers of Scots refuse to cooperate with English authorities, even under threat or torture. Men on both sides had grown tired of the constant fighting, wanting to get on with their lives, to sow and gather their crops, or to go home, to live peacefully in an era of uncertain times. The sheriff told Beitris that Alasdair missed her, that he needed and wanted to be with her.
“But is it safe? Is it safe for him to come home now?”
The sheriff had taken her hand and squeezed it. “Maybe within a week he’ll be home again. And how is Elspeth doing?”
Beitris sobered. “She gets confused easily, has trouble expressing her words at times, and she has not yet regained the use of her left arm, although we are working on it.”
Beitris shook her head, appalled at the severity of injuries that Elspeth had been dealt by those brigands. The healer had done her best and saved Elspeth’s life, but she would never, ever be the same. Beitris cared for her as best she could, and although Elspeth could still be her eyes, Beitris had become her support. Maybe in time, she would regain her strength, her balance, and her mental abilities, but if she didn’t, Beitris was more than willing to be her friend’s support, her confidence.
“It is good that ye two are such close friends,” Colin said, mounting his horse. “Ye have done well by her.”
