by Jane Stain
Kelsey stared intently at Nadia a moment, then closed her eyes. When she opened them, she, Nadia, and Ciaran were in the hanging room at Cameron house, making friends with Mairee. Tahra's voice could be heard down the hall… Tahra walked by the open door, clutching the book… Tahra's voice was heard berating the man... The whipping… The dying man screaming… And then they were in Tahra's quarters, listening to Tahra's voice and the voices of her maidservants in the bathroom… And then they saw the book… And read it, slowly.
"What in the waurld is happening?" Ciaran's voice said in Nadia's head.
“Sarah telt me o’ this,” she told him silently in their shared thoughts. “Kelsey does na ainly coome intae dreams, she can alsae recall memories. Apparently she can fast-forward them, just like we can in the future, with things recorded on oor televisions."
"Yer lives are beyond my comprehension," he told her solemnly, looking at Kelsey with a combination of awe and terror.
The druidess had a faraway look on her chiseled features, her fair skin glowing with energy even in the dream as she worked some sort of magic that was incomprehensible to Nadia. Then she stopped abruptly, raised her eyes over to Ciaran, and spoke as if she were revealing the secret of the universe.
"Fire. Fire would get her oot o’ bed in such a fright. Start it toward the north corner o’ the barn sae that 'tis as far from her door as possible. Raise the alarm right away." She pivoted her head toward Nadia as if she were a cyborg. "Dinna gae up the stairs nor even leave the kitchen till ye hear the alarm. Ye must gae fast, and ye must gae furious. Nay hesitation. Say ye are gaun’ae put the fire oot. If ye are caught with the book, say ye rescued it for Tahra. And mean it."
With a decisive nod, Kelsey vanished.
Nadia was alone with Ciaran in the dream world, down inside the rune-carved great hall of the ancient Celtic seat of Scotland, beneath Dunskey Castle.
He got up off his throne and stepped toward her with a question in his eyes.
She got up as well, and in less than a second, they embraced.
Silently, she asked him, "Can ye start the fire she described?"
He clung to her, snuggling his face against hers. "Aye. I ken just how tae dae it."
She breathed in the earthy scent of him. "What alarm dae I listen for, sae that I ken when tae run up the stairs?"
He chuckled as he held her. “A bunch o’ men yelling, starting with me."
"What wull ye yell?"
"Fire, fire, fire! What else would we yell?"
She laughed, and he joined in, their bodies rocking against each other in a very pleasing way. His mouth found hers again, and she threw herself into their kiss with abandon, letting joy fill her.
Abruptly, he pulled away. "I canna dae this."
He was gone, disappeared from the dream in a wink, as if no one had ever been there except her, alone in this cold damp basement throne room. It felt very lonely and empty without him there, and she stared around it, utterly confused, but also lightheaded from the kiss.
Something must have happened back in the stable to distract him, she decided. Was it morning already? That must be it. She’d better go listen for his alarm.
14
It was still black night when Ciaran awoke, disoriented at first, but then remembering where he was, the Cameron fortress.
Bixby’s orders were to tend to the horses, who had all just returned, sweaty and shivering. He must've fallen asleep too early. He got the ‘walking stick’ under him to help him up, in case Ruadh, his boss the stable head, appeared, then went to the stable door and looked out, noting how high the moon was in the sky, shining through the clouds. If the stars had been out, he would've had an even better idea how long he had until the sun came up. As it was, he figured he had three hours.
He didn't trust that druidess Kelsey. Nonetheless, he said a silent ‘thank you’ to her, for she must have woken him up from the dream, knowing how precarious his situation was here, how dangerous it would be for him to shirk Bixby’s duty.
Bixby's ‘walking stick’ hummed in his hand and turned hot for a moment.
Shaking his head at the mystery of the thing and leaving the door open for the light, Ciaran went to the corner where the grooming items were kept and got the curry comb and the brushes, the rags, and the bucket for water. After he set them down on the shelf outside the first stall, he went out the gate to the loch and filled the bucket with cleaning water. Nodding to the watch as they passed by, he took the water to the first horse stall, then decided he needed to start the pretense now. Waiting, while more pleasant for him, would rouse suspicion.
Pretending the moonlight wasn't enough, he picked up the lantern and knocked on the kitchen door, holding it up.
Listening to the lasses bustle about inside with the breakfast preparations, he was hoping Nadia would answer, but of course it was Sorcha. She looked at him sternly, tapping her foot. "Why dae ye bother us? Ye ken we are busy."
‘Bixby’ held up the lantern, averting his face from looking at her in a way that she would find respectful. "I hae tae groom all the horses this night, and the moonlight is na longer enough."
Growling like a cat who’s been put out of the house in the rain, she snatched the lantern from him and lit it in the fireplace. "Dinna make this a habit, ye hear?"
Conscious of his pretense at being lame Bixby, Ciaran gulped down an imaginary lump in his throat, trying to look put upon, when really he wanted to… Well, never mind. "Nay, I wull na make this a habit." He turned around, careful to lean on the walking stick and hold the lantern so it swayed as he limped away.
She must have noticed his difficulty, because she called out after him, "Hae a care with that lantern, mind!" The kitchen door slammed.
Feeling bad for what he had to do but also determined to do right by the horses first, Ciaran made his way back into the stable, limping and leaning heavily on his walking stick in case she opened the door again. He used a rag to wash the horse and dry it before using the curry comb and then the brushes on it so that its coat was clean and dry. And then he moved on to the next stall, and the next. By the time he'd finished grooming all the horses, the air had that chill which comes just before dawn.
It was time. After looking around at all the horses and calculating in his mind the place that would do the job, Ciaran set the lantern down in a corner and then pretended to trip over it, kicking the burning oil into a nearby pile of straw and falling down in the process. He shouted out in imaginary pain at having landed on his elbow while the fire caught well on the straw, then took his time getting up, using only one leg. Once it was burning brightly, he used the ‘walking stick’ to slowly reach the stable door and shout, "Fire, fire, fire!"
Noting with satisfaction that the fire was indeed going up toward Tahra's room, he limped over more quickly now and opened the first stall door, threw a rope around the horse’s head, limped out into the stableyard leaning heavily on the ‘walking stick,’ and yelled out “Fire, fire, fire!” again when he released the horse. On to the next horse he went, and the next, and the next. When he came to the fifth stall with his stick and his rope, Cameron men came rushing to put the fire out, cursing him as they did so.
"Ye had tae hae a lantern!"
"Get the horses oot!"
Ciaran didn't have to be told to get the horses out. He had considered letting them out into the stableyard before he set the fire, but of course that would've given him away. No, he’d had to do things this way, and so he threw himself into getting them out of the burning stable into the yard. He was close to opening the gate and letting them out into the wild, but the Cameron men were doing a good job getting the fire out. Perhaps too good.
No, the distraction served its purpose. Tahra came running out of the house in her chemise. Clutching the bedclothes around her with both hands, hair all disheveled and smelling of smoke, she stormed at Ruadh, yelling, "Punish that clumsy oaf who started the fire!"
Ruadh fetched a switch, and the older man's loo
k said to ‘Bixby,’ "I gave ye a chance, and look how ye repay me. I will na gae easy on ye because o’ yer lame leg, either. Ye hae this coming, and wull ye ken sae. But I wull spare yer life, sae dinna ye fash for it. Grit yer teeth, for ’tis coming."
Looking all around for a supportive face and finding none more so than Ruadh, ‘Bixby’ quickly tucked his walking stick through the front of his belt, holding it there as if his life depended on it.
Amid the horses, who were skittish from the fire and running about this way and that in the stableyard, two Cameron men took Bixby by the elbows and carried him to the front gate, pushed the front of him till he was leaning on it with both hands, then pulled his shirt up to expose the skin of his back.
Anxious for Nadia’s safety, Ciaran looked to see if the fire was under control. It was almost out, which relieved him.
Ruadh gave him a scant nod in agreement before he brought the switch down on Ciaran's back. In all, he gave him 30 lashes.
It was painful, but nothing Ciaran couldn't handle. ‘Bixby,’ on the other hand, screamed out in pain at each and every lash.
Ruadh turned to see if the druid child’s demand for justice was satisfied, but she was overseeing the fire dousing with hollered commands.
However, the Cameron warriors knew what they were doing and showed a great deal more sense, in Ciaran’s opinion. "The cripple has been punishit. Good with the horses, is he. We could use his help getting them back in the stable."
Tahra turned steely eyes on ‘Bixby.’
He lowered his head as if ashamed, hoping that even up close like this, she wouldn’t recognize the man who had helped rescue her ritual sacrificial maidens barely a week ago.
She didn't. "Aye, he wull get all the horses back in the stable, and then he will be jailed and chained until I deem he has been punishit enough."
The two Cameron men let go of Bixby and lowered his shirt back down.
‘Bixby’ took his walking stick out of his belt and went to the stable and got the lead rope.
Ruadh accompanied him, hollering curses at him aloud, but breathing out softly, "I wull see tae it ye are na doon there ower long. I wull tell her I need yer help."
"I thank ye," was all Ciaran said, thinking anything more would have ruined the simple-minded Bixby character he was playacting.
Anyway, he held no resentment at being told to put the horses back in the stable. They were still skittish from the smoke even though the fire was out and likely to injure each other. They would be much calmer in their familiar stalls. He found it soothing, putting the rope over each one's head and calmly leading it back into the stable. They trusted him, horses and cattle. He was glad he had taken the time to relieve them all of their sweat before beginning the ruse which got Tahra out of her room.
All he hoped now was that it had been worth it.
The same two men who had held him while he was switched took his arms again and carried him down the stairs into the dungeon.
Just before they did, he desperately tucked his ‘walking stick’ through his belt again.
This time, it promptly vanished from view, draining him of strength.
He wondered if he would need that strength while they chained him to the wall, locked the door to his cell, and walked up the stairs, laughing together.
Alone, he felt the pain of his bloody back against the wooden wall of the dungeon cell, right through his shirt. He arched his back to avoid that, but he could feel his muscles cramping.
He didn't know how long he had stood there before he heard a noise on the stairs and felt some anxiety. Was it the Cameron men come to torture him? He hadn't thought they looked especially resentful of him, but who knew what that druid child Tahra might make them do.
And then he relaxed when Nadia's soft whisper came lilting down the stairs to him.
"Bixby? Bixby, are ye doon here?"
He didn't answer. He didn't want her to see him like this.
But she came down anyway and put her hands on the bars in the window of his cell door, looking at him with stricken eyes full of tears. "What hae they done tae ye?"
All he could think for a solid minute was she wasn't close enough! He couldn’t have the halberd take them out of this place, let alone hear her thoughts or show her silently what he was thinking. There was a space under the door, but it wasn’t quite large enough for her to squeeze through.
"Dinna fash upon me," he told her. "'Tis na what I'm afashit aboot.” He lowered his whisper till it was barely audible. “Did ye get it?"
She swallowed and wiped her tears, which was pointless, because she kept shedding more. "Aye," she whispered, "I got it."
“Slide it under the door tae me." He held her gaze and used his eyes to plead that she understand. “Ye canna be caught with it.”
Her eyes searched the cell and then grew round with panic. She frantically shook her head no.
He willed the walking stick to show itself to her, and it did. He looked at her with significance in his eyes, praying that she understood.
She put a tentative hand on a bundle that was tied under one of her skirts. "It wull hide it?"
"Aye," he rushed to assure her. "Ye ainly need slide it close enough."
She looked over her shoulder at the top of the stairs, then put her hand on the bundle again tentatively, freezing there with indecision.
"Dinna bring trouble doon upon yer ain head," he whispered to her desperately. "Ye hae tae stay clear o’ trouble till I get released," he pled, his eyes beseeching her.
She swallowed and nodded ever so slightly, then looked again over her shoulder before taking the book out from under her skirts, kneeling down, and quickly sliding it under the door toward him in tearful torment at the risk they were taking, having the book out in the open.
He smiled at her and nodded his thanks at her trusting him.
But something was wrong. Her eyes and mouth opened wide. She gasped in panic. Whatever could be the matter?
He looked down where she was looking and saw that the book had caught on a stone midway between them.
She was sobbing now, the racking sobs of the heartbroken. "Nay, och, nay, nay, nay, nay, nay. What wull we dae?"
What would they do, indeed?
"Ye must gae, Nadia. Gae, afore ye are caught doon here!"
15
Ciaran put into his voice every bit of pleading he could, desperate for Nadia not to get caught even more than he worried for his own life.
As soon as he thought his own life was in danger, the book slid all on its own the rest of the way to the walking stick, up the stick, and into his belt with it. He felt strength drain from him, the book vanished, and he passed out.
With trepidation, Nadia went back upstairs. The wives were making cheese out of all the milk that hadn't been used in cooking yesterday's feast. They had heated it last night and added a bit of existing cheese, and now they were straining the curds. She didn't relish the thought of helping with that. Their cheese was smelly. She preferred milder cheeses that didn't stink so much.
But as soon as Nadia hit the top step, a crying Mairee who looked so distraught Nadia almost didn’t recognize her ran over and grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her down the hall into the laundry room. After taking great care to close the door quietly behind them, she then pulled Nadia behind one of the washtubs, ducking down so they would be hidden if anyone opened the door.
Nadia didn't struggle. Mairee was a friend. But she did ask, "What's gang on?"
The air rushing through half a dozen pairs of frightened female lips shushed her.
"Shhhhhhhhh!"
Nadia looked, and the other washerwomen / milkmaids peered at her in the darkness from behind the other wash bins.
Barely audible and holding Nadia down behind the wash tubs with shaking hands, Mairee said to her through tears, "Tahra is oot for blood.”
Sorcha took over when Mairee was sobbing too much to speak. "She's gang on and on aboot that book she always has with her. Mispla
ced it, she has, and she's blaming everyone but herself. Mairee has been sae fashit aboot ye. Praise be tae God she at last has found ye."
Nadia turned a grateful face to her friend, though inside she was trembling with guilt over putting them all in danger by taking the book. "I thank ye, Mairee, for taking the tyme tae bring me in here."
Mairee nodded, but instead of saying anything, she just bowed her head and put her finger over her lips.
Nadia nodded as well, and they all crouched there, silent and sobbing, frozen in terror while outside the sanctuary of the laundry room they heard yelling, pots and pans hitting the floor, and shrieks of fear. They winced at every crash, gasped at every scream, and ducked lower every time footfalls came down the hall toward them.
Tahra drove all this, raging at everyone.
“A spy lurks among us!”
“Someone telt the Murrays o’ oor ambush and ruinit my plan!”
It went on and on, until Nadia’s hands ached from their white-knuckled hold on the rim of the wash basin. And then she heard a particularly loud scream, followed by the druid child uttering words Nadia couldn't ignore.
"If ye return my book tae me now, Boisil here will be spared. But if I dinna hae my book in my hand by the time I count fifty, he wull die. One… Two… Three…"
Bile came up Nadia’s throat into her mouth, and she let go of the wash tub. A man was going to die because of her, because of something she had done.
Giving her loyal women a pained face that did its best to say she really wanted to stay in this room and be safe but she just had to leave, Nadia quietly left and snuck back down into the dungeon. At Ciaran’s cell door, she grabbed onto the bars and put her face right up against them so that he could see her and know she'd been crying and was afraid.
