Aishlinn shook her head vigorously. “Nay!”
Duncan quickly removed his tunic, and placed it over Aishlinn’s body. He donned his broadsword again and kissed her on her forehead, relieved to find her alive and for the most part unharmed.
“Stay beside me at all times. We’ve men fightin’ out there and I dunna want ye getting’ in the way. Do ya understand?” he said. For once, he hoped she would listen.
“Aye. I do,” she answered as she grabbed his arm and clung to him with both hands. She wasn’t about to let go of him. Not now, not ever.
Complete mayhem was taking place in the clearing outside the earl’s tent. Dozens of dead English soldiers lay sprawled across the ground. More stood fighting the countless clansmen who had come to rescue her. She could hear the clash of metal as sword met sword. The sound of skulls cracking and dirks driving deep into bodies made her sick, but she felt terribly relieved that they were there. She prayed that God would protect her clansmen.
Duncan lifted his shield from the ground where he had left it before entering the tent and crouched low. Aishlinn followed suit. They had to climb over dead bodies as they headed towards the line of trees to their right. Duncan had horses and men waiting for her there.
As she crouched behind her husband, the sounds of battle thundered on. As they started for the line of trees an arrow shot through the air and landed in Duncan’s left shoulder. Aishlinn screamed as he fell to the ground face first. He rolled over to his side, reached up and pulled her down then threw his body on top of hers, shielding her from the barrage of arrows. Aishlinn heard several distinct whooshes followed by thumps as arrows pierced the ground around them.
“Tis my fault! I knew this would happen!” she cried. “Tis all my fault!”
“Haud yer wheest, lass!” Duncan scolded. “I’m not hurt that badly! Lay still and pretend yer dead,” he told her. She might not have to pretend if the onslaught of flying arrows did not cease.
They lay on the ground, unmoving for several long moments before the flying arrows finally stopped. Duncan winced from the pain of the arrow sticking from his shoulder and his face began to pale. It was not long after before she felt him go limp as he lay on top of her. Aishlinn shook with terror and great waves of guilt began to build in her heart. Had she never left, this would not have happened! She had meant to save her people, not throw them into a battle.
She heard Duncan’s voice as he lay on top of her and it sounded weak. “Yer cold,” he said. “Try not to shake so, lass. When we get home, we’ll warm ourselves by the fire, I promise.” He closed his eyes and his breathing slowed. “I love ye, Aishlinn,” he whispered in her ear.
He was dying; she knew it. He was dying just as he promised he would. Dying for her, fighting for her honor, for her life. She whispered to him how sorry she was that she had gotten them all into this mess. She choked on tears as she repeatedly apologized and professed her love for him.
Duncan did not respond. He lay on top of her, limp and lifeless and she had no one to blame but herself. An anger, unlike anything she had ever experienced before began to consume her. It built in the pit of her stomach and grew quickly, spreading to every part of her body like a fire that had grown out of control. She wanted to slay every last English soldier who might remain standing, like the woman in the book Bree had read to her.
She was angry with herself and with the English bastard that now lay dead in his tent. No matter how hard she tried, she could not tamp the anger down and it kept growing until she felt her skin might glow white hot, like the iron in a blacksmith’s forge.
As she lay there with Duncan’s lifeless body on top of her, soaked from the rain, mud and her husband’s blood, an Englishman fell dead at their side. Not far from where they lay, she heard Angus shouting something in Gaelic and she thought she heard Wee William’s voice too.
A violent determination came over her and she decided to act. She would rather die fighting than be slain while she lay on the ground hidden under her dead husband. Vengeance would be hers this day. Vengeance for the lies Broc had told that kept her from knowing her real family and vengeance for her husband’s death.
She squirmed and managed to wriggle herself from under Duncan’s body. A dead English soldier was an arm’s length away. She rolled over to her stomach, reached out and grabbed the dead man’s sword and stood. A bloodlust rose in her as she began violently swinging at any soldier who came near her.
Months ago, she would not have been able to act in such a manner. Now she swung and thrust her sword at anyone who dared come near her. Three came at her from different directions and she took hold of her weapon with both hands as she swung full circle. She sliced each of her enemies at their waists, all the while letting loose with another blood curdling scream. Blood spattered across her face and chest but it mattered not. She was avenging the death of her husband.
She crouched low to get a better grasp of her surroundings. Angus was to her left, fighting off two Englishmen, Wee William had three not far from Angus. Rowan was to her right, Tall Gowan ahead of her, both busy with their own battles.
Not far from where she stood was a mounted soldier. A flash of a very determined smile came to his lips as he dashed towards her. She stood, waiting until the last possible moment before thrusting her sword into the soldier’s steed. The horse cried and whinnied before it fell, trapping its rider beneath it. Begging God’s mercy for killing such a beautiful animal, she took her sword and thrust downward into the man’s chest.
The sword began to grow quite heavy in her hands and she started to tire. She would not however, give up in her pursuit to avenge her husband’s death. Nor would she give in to the weight of the sword.
Her clansman surrounded her as they fought the English. There was much grunting and moaning mixed in with the clanging of metal. Blood flowed from dead or dying soldiers. The rain had increased and in the distance she could hear the roar of thunder.
She saw Caelen McDunnah across the clearing fighting sword against sword with an English soldier. For a moment she pondered his presence. Why was he here?
Her eyes searched for a better weapon, for she knew she could not hold the sword much longer. Catching sight of a fallen archer, she raced towards him at a full run, grabbed his quiver and bow and surveyed her surroundings. Her legs felt heavy but she would not give in. She stood and began to take aim at the English soldiers. Within a minute’s time she had killed seven of them, emptying the contents of the quiver. Seeing no more arrows within reach, she returned to the sword and began hacking her way through the crowd of battling men.
More English soldiers fell at the hands of her clansmen as she battled her way through the remaining soldiers. Her frenzy intensified as she sought out more of the bastards.
From somewhere to her left Angus bellowed a warning. “Behind ye!” She turned in time to see the soldier as he lunged his sword towards her. She had not moved quickly enough and the tip of his sword sliced through her upper left arm. Consumed with hatred and rage, she ignored the blood as it trailed down her arm.
She used her rage and plunged her sword deep into the English soldier’s belly. With her sword lodged firmly in his midsection he felt backwards and landed in a twisted heap. Using her foot as leverage, she wiggled and pulled until the sword finally let loose with a nauseating sucking sound.
She turned to seek out more men to kill. Duncan’s tunic and her shift clung to her body soaked in mud, sweat, blood and rain. She fought to raise her sword again as her breath came in great bursts. Using her free hand to wipe the sweat from her eyes she looked about readying herself to kill any one who came near her.
She noticed that her clansmen were staring at her with wide-eyed bewildered expressions. A deafening silence had filled the air. Angus began to cautiously walk towards her with one hand held out fearful she was so caught up in the moment that she might kill him.
“Aishlinn,” he said nervously. “Tis me, Angus. Yer da.” She stared right through
him as if he were an apparition made of mist.
“Lay the sword down, lass. They all be dead now,” he spoke quietly, trying to reassure her that it was over. He took another step towards her and prayed she would soon acknowledge him. “Tis all right, Aishlinn. ‘Tis over.”
She recognized him finally and let loose the sword. It landed with a thud on the ground at her side. The ferocious rage she had felt only moments ago was now replaced with absolute despair and anguish. She fell to her knees, her body racked with guilt, remorse, and grief. She cried not for the lives she had just taken, but for her dead husband whose body lay not far from her. His men had surrounded him, shaking their heads and mumbling words she could hear over the sound of her own sobs.
Angus pulled her into his chest, her fisted hands grasping his bloody tunic to keep from falling completely over. When he spoke, his voice was soft and low. “Tis all right, lass.” His attempts to soothe her did not work.
“No! No it isn’t! Duncan is dead and it’s all my fault! I might as well have thrust a sword into his heart with my own hands. It’s just the same!” She cried out, holding onto her father. The guilt was maddening. She would never forgive herself for her husband’s death. He had made good his promise to defend her honor to his death if necessary. Because of her, his death had become necessary. He had sacrificed his own life so that she could live.
Twenty-Nine
A torrent of grief enveloped Aishlinn’s heart as she clung to her father. No matter how hard they tried to pull her from him, she could not let go. She heard muffled voices as if they were speaking to her through heavy blankets. She could not see for the tears blurred her vision completely. Her body and her soul were breaking in half and there remained nothing left of her heart.
Finally, she looked up and into her father’s eyes. “Please, please plunge your dirk into my heart and kill me now for what I’ve done!” She begged him between sobs. “I know I’ll burn in hell for all eternity, but that would be better than living without him!”
Pain covered Angus face as he watched his daughter suffer in utter agony. He hated when lasses cried for he knew not how to deal with it. “Lass, ya need to calm yerself down!” he shouted at her for he knew not else what he could do or say.
She had to see Duncan, one last time. She had to hold him in her arms and tell him how sorry she was and that she would spend the rest of her days in agony over losing him. Finally, she pulled away from her father and raced to her husband. She pushed through Wee William and Black Richard to get to him. Tall Gowan knelt beside him, his face looking horribly pained.
Aishlinn flung herself on top of her husband as the tears racked her body again. She clung to Duncan, crying uncontrollably as she laid her head upon his shoulder.
“I am so sorry,” she choked between sobs. “I would plunge a dagger into my own heart if it would bring you back, if only long enough so that you could hear my words.” She shook violently and felt as though the air had been kicked from her lungs.
“Has anyone ever told ya, lass, that ya be horrible at judging if a man be dead?”
For a moment she thought she had imagined hearing his voice. Her eyes flew open as she bolted upright. His eyes were open and he had a slight smile upon his face as he tried to hide the pain. For a moment she could not breath, could not speak.
“You’re not dead!” she shouted, stunned and relieved.
Duncan winced. “I told ya to no’ leave my side, lass,” he managed through clenched teeth. Tall Gowan had removed the arrow while Aishlinn had been clinging to her father and too overcome with grief at thinking Duncan was dead. “But ye just never listen to me.”
She kissed him, every inch of his face she plastered with kisses as she held his face in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she said between sobs and kisses. “I never meant for this to happen.” She looked up to Tall Gowan. “Will he live?” She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him now.
Tall Gowan nodded his head. “Aye, I ken so.”
“But only if ya promise to never, ever leave in the night like that again,” Duncan told her. “Or I promise I will die, on purpose, just to get even with ye!”
“Never,” she told him. “I promise to listen to you always!” She smiled as she kissed him all over again.
Duncan sighed heavily. “I’m not sure I should be believin’ ya,” he said with a smile.
Aishlinn looked at him, heartbroken that he did not believe her, but really, could she blame him? If it took every day of the rest of her life to regain his trust, then so be it. “I swear it! I will always listen to you,” she pleaded with him.
“Aye,” came Angus’ deep voice from behind them. “She’ll listen to the words that leave yer mouth, lad.” He smiled as he placed a hand upon Aishlinn’s shoulder. “But that doesn’t mean she’ll mind them!”
Duncan reached out to pull her closer to him. When he touched her arm, Aishlinn winced from the cut. Duncan examined the torn tunic and saw the gash in her arm. “What the bloody hell happened to yer arm?” he demanded.
“One of the soldiers cut me with his sword,” she told him.
Duncan was instantly incensed and tried to sit. “Where is the bastard?” he shouted.
“Layin’ dead on top of the other two she killed,” Angus said, motioning over his shoulder at a heap of fallen soldiers.
The men broke out in laughter. Duncan eyed his wife for a moment. She was a sorry mess, with her hair and clothes plastered in mud and blood. “What the bloody hell happened?” he asked.
Wee William spoke up. “Well, while ye were lyin’ on the ground takin’ a wee bit of a nap,” he began. “Yer wife took up arms and slayed at the least a dozen men.” He crossed his arms over his chest and smiled proudly.
“Nay,” said Black Richard. “Twas at least ten and five.”
“I counted twenty-one!” said Rowan. “Seen it with me own eyes!”
Duncan stared in disbelief at his wife. Aishlinn sank lower, bracing for the wrath she was certain would come forth from her husband at any moment. She tried to muster a sweet smile, but it came out looking more like she was bilious and in pain.
Angus let out an exasperated sigh. He rolled his eyes and looked down at Duncan. “They keep this up and before this day is out, they’ll be swearin' she took on the entire regiment single handedly while we all stood shittin’ our trews in fear!”
While the men argued over the number of soldiers Aishlinn had slain that day, Duncan reached up and touched Aishlinn’s cheek. “Wife!” he said. “Will ya please take me home and nurse me back to health?”
Aishlinn nodded her head. “I’d be glad to, husband.” She bent and kissed him full on the lips and when she was done, he smiled back at her deviously.
“I imagine I’ll be needin’ plenty of rest,” he told her. “Bed rest.”
“Aye, and that you’ll get!” She told him firmly, not picking up his sly inference.
“I’ll see to it that you’re well cared for. You’ll stay in bed a month if you need to.”
Duncan smiled at her. “A month ya say?” he winced again as he tried to sit. Aishlinn pushed him gently back. “Stay put!” She scolded.
Duncan motioned for her to come closer. She bent low so that he could whisper in her ear. “Will ya be joinin’ me in my bed rest, wife?”
Aishlinn began to protest that now was not the proper time to be thinking of such things. Duncan forced himself to sit. He pulled her to him and kissed her firmly on her mouth. When he let go, he saw that he had left a smile upon her face. “Lass?” he asked.
“Yes?” Aishlinn said, rather breathlessly.
“Haud yer wheest and love me.”
Epilogue
Three months later
“Are ya listenin’ to me, wife?”
“Aye, husband. I hear you.”
“But are ya listenin’ to me words?” he asked. His wife had a habit of hearing the words he spoke, but not always heeding them.
Aishlinn sighed heavily. “Yes!” sh
e told him.
“Yer no’ peekin’ are ye?” He asked as he glanced down at her.
“Duncan!” She was growing frustrated with him. “How on earth could I peek? You’ve got me blindfolded and my face stuck to your chest!” She could hear him chuckle wickedly.
“I think we might use this blindfold again,” he whispered in her ear.
Aishlinn had learned over the last three months that her husband was quite inventive when it came to new ways of bringing pleasure to her in their marital bed. She was glad for the blindfold and her face being hidden, for he could not see the rush of red that came to her face.
Duncan kissed the top of her head as they rode down a path. She was perched atop his lap, her arms wrapped around his torso tightly. He had a surprise for her, hence the blindfold. Duncan could barely wait to see the expression on her face once the blindfold was removed.
When he pulled the horse to a stop, Aishlinn sat upright. She didn’t think they’d ridden very far from the castle and wondered why they had stopped so quickly. Duncan dismounted while Aishlinn strained to listen for any familiar sound that might give a clue as to their surroundings.
“Come here, lass,” Duncan said, reaching up for her. Aishlinn leaned over so that he could grab her waist and set her upon the ground. She realized then there wasn’t a man on God’s earth that she would have trusted to blindfold her. A thrill shot up her spine when his hands lingered for a moment at her waist.
Duncan took her hand and elbow and guided her only a few short steps before stopping. “Do no’ move, wife,” he told her as he walked away. “I mean it!”
Her anticipation grew but she would not allow herself to peek. She had made a promise that she intended to keep, no matter how long he might force her to stand there. Waiting. For heaven only knew what or how long!
She felt him standing beside her again. Suddenly, he tugged at the blindfold and the sun blinded her momentarily. When her eyes adjusted she saw that it wasn’t Duncan who had removed it, but Wee William.
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