by Carmen Caine
Time passed in a blur.
They resumed their mad dash, and she managed only a few glimpses of her surroundings. The lone hawk soaring in the sky, tree branch rustling in the wind, but it meant little. She didn’t recognize any of the terrain. She only knew she’d never been on these roads before.
They stopped rarely, subsisting on the occasional bannock and draught of water. She spent the majority of her day propped before Angus, gritting her teeth and nursing her sore jaw, as the horse jostled her unmercifully. At night, they rolled her in several plaids and slept on either side of her to ensure no chance of escape.
Tears flowed in those long, dark nights until she fell into an exhausted sleep amidst the damp heather, the smell reminding her of Ruan. She knew in her heart that he was following, and it gave her some measure of peace, but only a small measure. He wouldn’t think to look in Duntulm. No, her destiny was in her own hands. She had to escape. Panic, fear, and despair roiled within her, at times threatening to render her helpless, but she could not give up, not now when she had too much to live for.
It was thoughts of Ruan that began to steel her resolve in those nights and the days that followed. She had to survive. She had to escape. She fought desperately to bring her fear in control and doubled her efforts to find a way to elude her captors.
The cries of many gulls heralded their impending arrival to the sea. The sounds of pounding waves roared in her ears as they cantered down the beach to a waiting boat.
Bree’s heart sank. Her doom was fast approaching, and she hadn’t yet found one opportunity to escape.
“Aye, ‘twill nae be long now!” Angus rubbed his hands, apparently pleased with their progress. “Fearghus will reward us greatly for yer bonny face!”
Bree clenched her jaw and glared at him.
“Ach, what ye think makes no difference to me,” the man laughed as he shoved her into the boat. “We’ll be dining well enough soon and raising our tankards high with a wench or two on our knees!”
The men broke into cackles of anticipation as the oars dipped into the water.
Bree closed her eyes tightly, willing her panic to subside. Soon, they would entomb her in Duntulm, and whatever Fearghus desired of her; it was surely nothing good. She had to escape. Jumping overboard was not an option. She could not swim.
“Aye, ye canna escape,” Angus informed her with a laugh. “There is nothing ye can do, lass.”
Cursing her transparency, she didn’t lift her head to look at the man.
The winds turned violent, large waves tossed the boat mercilessly, sending her sprawling to the bottom. Her captors paid little attention. They no longer seemed to mind the fact her hood had slipped to her shoulders, allowing her to see. She cautiously peered over the vessel’s side at the coastline rapidly disappearing.
Soon enough, she saw the brown expanse of Skye on the horizon, gradually forming into in the rolling hills topped with stone columns. As they drew closer, she could see the scrubby trees and the tiny dots of sheep and goats.
Tears slid down her cheeks. Vainly, she wished Ruan would somehow magically appear. Her heart was heavy. She could still feel the sgian dubh tucked safely in her boot, but she’d little chance to use it with her hands and feet perpetually secured. Not that she’d have a chance against these battle-hardened men, anyway. No, she could not escape yet, but she had to remain vigilant.
The storm prevented further progress, and the men put to shore to wait it out. They built a fire and shared tales and ale long into the night. Someone tossed her a piece of bread as an afterthought. From listening, she learned they would reach their destination early the next morning, providing the clouds would lift. She remained alert, watchful, but Angus was ever at her side. Finally, she fell asleep, overwrought with dread of what the next day might bring.
The next morning, the dark clouds had lifted enough to allow them to continue their journey, and they sailed north. It was not long before the gloomy walls of Duntulm rose before them on a lofty pinnacle of rock, hovering over the surrounding lands like a sinister giant crow.
Bree shuddered, trying her best to quell a rising sense of panic. Merry had almost died here. She knew once interred in those walls the chance for escape virtually disappeared. Try as she might, she could not see any course of action to prevent it.
Angus flanked her side at every moment.
The boat finally ground to the shore and the man lost no time hefting her easily over his shoulder. Followed by several men, they hurried up the steep slope. With her hands and feet securely bound, she could hardly even wiggle in the man’s iron grip.
She clenched her jaw and raised her chin, willing the threatening tears to disappear.
The castle was dark and forbidding, the inner courtyard rank, and falling into decay. Loud raucous laughter greeted their arrival. Angus gave a cheer, hefting her upwards as if she were a prize, as he made his way through the gathered men and up to the private chambers of the castle laird.
“I have returned, my lord!” he bellowed, rapping the door with a single knock.
“Enter,” a thin, reedy voice replied.
Angus pushed the door open, swinging Bree down from his shoulder to her feet as he entered the chamber.
It was dark, illuminated only by the light of a single candle.
Bree was unable to see, but it made little difference. Assailed by a putrid stench, her eyes began to water.
“My lord,” Angus murmured, as he bowed in the general direction of the bed. “I’ve brought Ruan’s wife, Bree. The MacLeods failed in catching Merry. I’ve already paid them for their carelessness.”
In spite of the situation, Bree’s heart leapt at the first indication that Merry was unharmed.
A gaunt face with sunken eyes peered through the shadows. “Then, ye ken well enough what’s to be done.” The voice said in a hoarse whisper.
“Aye, my lord, it shall be done.”
“Bring her closer,” Fearghus whispered. He beckoned with a frail finger.
Placing his finger in the small of Bree’s back, Angus prodded her toward the bed.
Her feet were still bound, and she nearly fell on her face.
“Ach!” Angus grunted in annoyance as he slashed her bonds with his dirk before shoving her roughly forward.
Bree caught her balance, barely stopping herself from falling on top of Fearghus. Up close, the smell was even more overwhelming, and it was all she could do not to cover her face and gag.
Fearghus’ cheeks were hallowed, the bones of his face sharply prominent. His skin was transparent, hanging from his body like dry paper.
It was obvious the man was dying.
“Aye,” he acknowledged. “See what Ruan has done to me? Do ye see why he’ll pay?” His eyes burned with pure hatred.
Bree could not help it. She turned her head to the side and gagged.
“Aye!” Fearghus rasped, his voice shaking from the strain. “I’ll see ye ruined by Tormod first and then the both of ye will die. I’ll nae leave this world until ‘tis done and nae until I see Ruan’s head on a pike!” He pushed the covers down weakly, enough to reveal a rancid, oozing wound on his leg.
The stress, journey, and lack of food now ending with the sharp waft of rotting flesh suddenly became too much for Bree.
She crumpled in a dead faint.
Chapter 23: Taming the Beast
Ruan rode hard, the hardest he had ridden in his life, but fortune conspired to make his path difficult.
Rain fell in sheets, swelling the rivers to impassable heights that forced them to change course several times. He slept little, pressing on as fast as humanly possible. No one complained. They were loyal, fighting men, and they knew what was at stake.
They stopped only long enough to prevent the horses from floundering. But, even then, Ruan could not sit still. As the others took the opportunity to stretch or lie on the ground, he would walk some distance away to scream in pure frustration.
Cameron always followed,
standing with Ruan until he sank to his knees amidst the heather, too overwrought to scream anymore.
“Ye must rest,” the Earl admonished gently, “Ye’ll be of little use to the lass should ye collapse along the way and our path will only become more treacherous in Skye.”
“I’ll kill Tormod!” Ruan promised in broken whisper. “And Michael as well!”
“If I dinna slay them first.” Cameron drew his mouth in a thin line and clasped him on the shoulder.
Bree never left Ruan’s thoughts.
Repeatedly, he had replayed the last day in his mind.
Why had he left her alone? Why had he assumed she was safe? Why was it taking so long to reach her? He was ill at the thought of what fate she might be suffering. When he did find her, would she hate him for taking so long?
Sleep eluded him. He arose before dawn, waking the others.
“We should sail for Dunscaithe with haste before we head to Dunvegan.” Cameron broached the subject as they readied their horses.
“Nay,” Ruan said. He shook his head grimly. “I canna afford the delay.”
“Aye, but ye must nae lose. Now is the time to claim Dunvegan, and ye canna do it with my men alone,” Cameron insisted. “’Twill only delay matters by a day and in the end, may save Bree sooner.”
“Every moment is precious,” Ruan disagreed, even though he knew the Earl spoke words of wisdom.
At length and after much debate, he begrudgingly acknowledged the value of Cameron’s plan. It wouldn’t serve Bree well if he were to die before reaching her. Having Cuilen at his side would accelerate the ending of the matter, but his heart ached at the delay.
They reached the ships late in the morning.
He thought he’d die from impatience, but at last, they were shoving off, setting sail for Dunscaithe.
The winds favored them and they arrived in Dunscaithe as the evening rays glistened on the sea. Their feet had scarcely touched the shore before they were met by horsemen, Cuilen and Domnall among them.
“What brings the Earl of Lennox to Dunscaithe, unannounced and in great haste?” Cuilen asked, dismounting to bow respectfully.
“Ye look awful, Ruan lad,” Domnall interrupted, his shrewd gaze turning into outright alarm. “Is Bree safe?”
Ruan covered his face with his hands and turned away. How could he tell the man his daughter was anything but safe? He was at a loss for words.
Dimly, he heard Cameron’s calm voice provide a quick explanation.
“I’m coming with ye, lad! I’ll slaughter Tormod myself!” Domnall shouted hoarsely.
Suddenly overwhelmed, Ruan sank to his knees, covering his head with a groan as hot tears wet his lashes. He clenched his fists. Why was everything taking so horrendously long? Why could he not protect Bree from what she was experiencing this very moment? He wondered if this nightmare was ever going to end.
“She’s a strong lass, Ruan,” Domnall said, laying a heavy hand on his shoulder. “She’s a MacBethad. She’ll surprise ye, lad.”
“Aye, now ye must only keep hope in yer heart,” Cuilen advised. He reached down, offering him a hand. “We’ve time for nothing else. We must act.”
The words were comforting but only a minute amount.
It didn’t take them long to ready the boats. Cuilen had trained his men well. They set sail at once, but again the rough seas impeded their progress. They managed only a few leagues before the winds forced them to put ashore for the remainder of the night.
Ruan spoke to no one. He stood on the shore, screaming into the wind, caring little of what others might think.
At dawn, the winds died and the mists descended. They sailed up the coast for quite some time before the sun finally penetrated the mist, parting the clouds to reveal the stark and haunting peaks of the mountains drifting by.
Ordinarily, these sights would have thrilled Ruan’s heart, but now he felt nothing. He could only think of Bree, and the fact that he was descending upon Dunvegan to accomplish the very thing that his brothers had feared the most, the thing that had never been in his heart. He sailed to claim Dunvegan as his, to wrest power from their corrupted hands.
In the distance, the familiar cliffs and beaches appeared, and his heart began to quicken. Soon, Bree would be safe. Soon, he’d be done with these men he no longer considered brothers. No more would they harm Bree or his clan. Soon, it would be over. He clenched his fists, willing her to hold on just a wee bit longer.
They stormed through the sea-gate and into the castle. They had been prepared for resistance, but there was none. Even the three men who briefly touched their swords didn’t qualify as such.
Ruan advanced unchecked, and in minutes burst into Dunvegan’s main hall to find it empty, with only Michael hovering uncertainly behind the high table.
“Ruan, what is this?” the man asked, licking his lips.
“Ye ken well enough what ‘tis!” Ruan thundered. He leapt over the table, catching his brother about the throat and bodily pinning him against the wall. “Where is Bree?”
Michael’s lip lifted in a snarl. “She’s nae here.”
Ruan unsheathed his dirk, pressing the blade firmly against Michael’s throat. “Where is she?” he repeated in a deadly voice.
Michael took a deep breath and then smiled, angrily baring his teeth. “Aye. She is Tormod’s by now. He left for Duntulm this morning. A gift, Fearghus called her. I’m sure he’s had her many times—”
“Silence!” Ruan roared. He pushed the blade deeper as Michael fell silent. He closed his eyes, his heart breaking. Duntulm. They had taken her taken to Duntulm, how could he have known?
“Aye,” Michael hissed viciously in his ear. “Ye came to the wrong place!”
Ruan clenched his jaw and shouted, “Why did ye do this? Why? What have I ever done to ye?”
“‘Tis simple, Ruan,” Michael answered with a long, slow laugh. “Ye live and that is enough.”
Ruan shoved him harder against the wall, half in frustration, shouting. “It makes nae sense, man! I never would have taken Dunvegan like this!”
“Oh?” Michael pointed to the men standing behind him. “Why do ye think we wanted ye dead? ‘Twas only Ruan the clan saw as their laird, from the time ye finished yer fostering. Aye, ‘twas only yer name on their lips! We kent ‘twas only a matter of time afore ye murdered us whilst we slept! Ye’ve done exactly what we’ve expected, all along. Ye came back to this place to wrest it from the rightful heirs!”
“Nay!” Ruan clenched his jaw. “I would ne’er have come like this if ye hadn’t taken Bree!”
“Much blood has spilled on yer account!” Michael accused. “’Tis on yer head!”
“Nay, ‘tis upon yours and I’m done with it, ye black-heated dog!” Ruan replied, lifting his chin. “Ye’ve spilled enough blood, including Robert’s.”
“Fie! Robert deserved to die,” his brother said, relishing the words. “I took pleasure in it, with my own hand. He never dreamt I would do it, the fool!”
Ruan’s jaw hardened.
“This is nae news to ye,” Michael stated with a surprised brow.
“Gerland told me, ere he died.” Ruan clenched his fingers tightly around the hilt. “Ye can die knowing ye slayed your own son.”
“Gerland?” Michael’s face turned grey. “Ye murdered him? My own Gerland?” At that, he stooped and drew a knife from his boot.
Ruan was grateful.
It made it much easier to kill him.
As Michael crumpled at his feet, Ruan felt Cameron’s long fingers clasp his shoulder in a gesture of support.
Ruan straightened, feeling nauseated, and whispered, “She’s nae here!”
Cameron turned to his men and, raising his arm, ordered, “We sail to Duntulm, at once!”
“Aye,” the men in the hall agreed as one.
Ruan closed his eyes, praying they were not too late.
***
Dazed, Bree slowly sat up, her muscles stiff and sore. Confused, she lo
oked around. She had been lying on the floor on a pile of ragged plaids in a cheerless chamber. The small window afforded little light and there was no fire on the hearth. A bed stood in the center, dusty and devoid of any coverings, the chamber pot had fallen to the side, revealing a black, dry scum.
The door rattled and opened. It was a formidable door, studded with iron nails and with its own iron padlock.
She swallowed, remembering she was a prisoner.
“My, my,” a dour-faced woman clucked as she entered the chamber. She was holding a wooden tray and peered down at Bree with a thoughtful eye. “That’s a mighty fine gown ye have there, lass, and the boots…I’m of a mind that I know of a lass who deserves them more.”
Bree squinted, a little confused.
“Aye, take them off, ye will nae be needing them,” the woman ordered, placing the tray on the floor and kicking it close to Bree with her foot. The bread rolled off and the wooden bowl lost most of its water. “Ye can eat after; I’ll have my gown first.”
Bree stared, dumbly at first. As the woman’s expression darkened, she hurriedly complied. Perhaps she could overpower the woman, tie her up, and escape. She still had Ruan’s sgian dubh in her boot. She began to untie the fine gown Cameron had given her, inching closer to the knife when the door opened and two more women entered.
“Ye’d best hurry, Elizabeth,” one of them stuttered. “The MacLeod will be here right quick!”
“Aye, hurry, lass!” the woman said, stepping close to Bree and ripping the laces.
“What are ye doing, Elizabeth?” the other woman asked, but then as understanding dawned. “I want the boots!”
“No!” Elizabeth snapped, yanking the gown over Bree’s head. “I’m taking them both, and that’s an end to it. Hurry, before Tormod comes!”
As the women squabbled, Bree slid the knife free and quickly hid it in the plaids she’d been sleeping on. She could not fight all three, but she still hoped an opportunity for freedom would present itself. The fact that Tormod was coming was both good and bad. While she knew his intentions, she also might be able to twist the situation to her advantage.
