Rowan took the dress from Duncan and studied it. “’Tis been cut clean from top to bottom.” Duncan thought of it and an image of the earl standing over a terrified Aishlinn came to his mind. As clearly as he stood there now, he could see the earl draw the dagger and cut her dress. How terrified she must have been! He did his best to quash the anger and disgust that swelled in his stomach.
Aishlinn was no kin to him, as complete a stranger as any, but that mattered naught. He could not think of one thing that would cause a lass or a woman to deserve such treatment. He thought of Aishlinn and how light her body had felt when he pulled her from the water. He could not imagine a man going after one so young and the thought sickened him.
“Do ye really believe that wee lass could have killed the earl?” Findley asked, motioning his head back in the direction of their camp.
“Aye, I do,” Duncan said. One look at her battered body was all he needed to be convinced she had done it and that it had been self-defense. He imagined he would have done the same had he been in her position.
“Her dress be threadbare and worn,” Rowan said. “Many a time it’s been patched and sewn together.” He paused for a moment. “And no shoes upon her feet!” He was appalled.
The same thoughts bothered Duncan as well. Another wave of anger began to wash over him as he stood with his men trying to sort it all out.
“And her hair!” Findley said. “’Tis cut short!” He shook his head, disgusted with the notion.
Duncan knew plenty a Highlander woman who would rather have her eyes pulled clean from their sockets by ravens than to have her hair cut. Aishlinn’s blonde locks barely went past her shoulders. It was difficult for him to shake the images of her battered body from his mind. She was defending herself, he was certain, but the English did not put much stock in self-defense. And apparently, they had also gotten to the point of savagery where they cared not about beating and raping a small, young girl.
“If she did kill him,” Rowan began, “then surely the English will be after her.” He looked at Duncan. “They probably be no’ far behind.”
They had to agree with him. If the lass spoke the truth, then the English would definitely be looking for her. They would want to bring her back to Penrith to mete out unthinkable punishments. Duncan vowed he would not let that happen. Kin or not, stranger or no, this lass had suffered enough. No matter who she was, he knew two things: they could not leave her here, and they would not allow her to be captured by the English.
Duncan looked into the faces of the men standing before him. They had pledged their fealty to her for killing the man who had haunted each of them for so many years. They would die before they’d allow the English to get their hands on her.
“We take her back with us. The reivers can have the cattle,” Duncan said, pulling himself straight and tall. The lass was worth far more than the thirty cattle. He found himself suddenly thankful for the thieves. Had they not stolen the cattle then Duncan and his men would not have been here this day and Aishlinn most certainly would have drowned in the stream. He knew as well that if by some miracle she had managed to survive her fall she would either die from starvation or at the hands of the English when they caught up with her.
“The English will not get their hands on the lass. The earl deserved what he received,” Duncan said. ’Twas settled and they made plans on what to do next. Duncan would send Tall Thomas, Findley, Gowan and Richard back in the direction the lass had come to scout for any soldiers that may be looking for her. Duncan and the others would take the lass the fastest route possible back to Dunshire, to Castle Gregor.
With no idea how many soldiers might be looking for her, they thought it best to return as quickly as possible. They would be safe within the walls of their home surrounded by hundreds of able-bodied warriors. Duncan had great faith in his men, knowing that if there were soldiers out looking for the lass, they would be able to assess the situation quickly and return unscathed.
If it were just Duncan and his men, they could make it to the safety of their castle within four days, five if the weather turned against them. He knew the lass needed rest and proper attention for her injuries, but what she needed most was the safety his home offered. They would allow her to rest for a short while before heading out to Dunshire.
They returned to the fire some time later and Rowan filled the others in on their decision. As expected, the men readily agreed. No more harm would befall this lass, not while they still had a breath left in them. Each man was certain as well that once they arrived safely at Castle Gregor, their clansmen would show her nothing but kindness.
The men let Aishlinn sleep while they hurried to pack the camp. It would be a long and arduous ride back to Dunshire. Duncan prayed it would be an uneventful trip for the lass’ sake.
When they were ready and dared not wait any longer, Duncan gently touched Aishlinn’s shoulder. She woke with a jolt and sat up, disoriented, afraid and in a good deal of pain. “Haud yer wheesht!” he whispered to her. “’Tis me, Duncan.” He gave her a moment to wake more fully before he spoke again. “We need to away this place, lass.”
It took a few moments to remember where she was and what had happened. She tried to stretch her tired bones, but her body screamed in opposition to that idea. She winced as she tried to stand; the pain was unbearable. Duncan helped her to her feet and waited patiently as she tried to steady herself.
The trews were still giving her trouble, and her fingers grasped tightly around the waist. She looked about her surroundings as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “What be it ye need lass?” Duncan asked. She was thankful at the moment that it was still quite dark for he could not see her face turn red. He repeated the question, a little more impatiently this time.
“I need a moment alone,” she whispered to him.
He was ready to ask her why when he realized what she meant. Seeing she could barely stand he knew walking on her own wasn’t a possibility. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to a large pine tree. He waited as patiently as he could to let her tend to nature’s call.
Holding on to the tree for balance, Aishlinn finally came around it, still unable to hold her balance. At the rate they were going it would be a month before they made it back to Castle Gregor. Duncan let out a quick sigh before scooping her up again and carrying her to where his men waited.
Manghus was already mounted, eager to put as much ground between them and the English as possible. Duncan handed the lass to Rowan so that he could mount his own steed. All this being passed back and forth as if she were a bairn was quite humiliating for Aishlinn and she looked forward to the day when she could walk on her own accord.
She took notice that only three men and three horses remained. “Where is my horse? And where have your other men gone?” she asked.
Before she could gain an answer from any of them, Rowan was lifting her up to Duncan. She was readying herself to protest when she felt Duncan’s hands gently take hold of her waist. He lifted her as if she weighed no more than a feather and sat her upon his lap. Speechless, she sat rigid and had to remind herself to breathe, though that action brought forth great pain. They were tall, enormous and frightening men. Although they had shown her nothing but kindness, they were still a terrifying lot!
“We be sendin’ yer horse back, lass,” Duncan told her. She could feel his breath on her ear as he wrapped a plaid around her shoulders, then his arms to hold the reins. She started to object, but he stopped her before she could utter a word. “We be hopin’ that if they find the horse without ye upon it, they may think ye fell from it. And if they think ye be out in the forests on foot, they might give ye up for dead.”
Although she did not like the thought of not having her own horse to ride, the idea did make sense. Too tired to protest let alone ride on her own, she simply nodded her head in agreement.
“And I’ve sent me men to scout for soldiers,” Duncan told her as he gave a gentle tap of his heels to move t
he horse forward. “We ken ye be needin’ rest lass,” he whispered. “And I promise there be a nice hot bath and a soft bed waitin’ for ye at Castle Gregor. But for now, me chest will have to do.” He gently pressed her head to his chest.
Aishlinn had never been this close to a man before, save for the earl. And that experience was not nearly as nice as this one. She was still befuddled at the entire situation. Not since her mum’s and Moirra’s deaths had she felt much kindness from anyone. Now here she was, in the middle of God-only-knew where, with complete strangers and they were treating her as if she were their own kin. She wondered why. Why would they go out of their way to keep her safe and warm?
A thought suddenly dawned upon her that she had no idea where they were going. She wondered if they were attempting to keep her calm and quiet while they secretly returned her to the English. The prospect was quite frightening. She grew tense and fearful and sat upright. She wished the sun were up so she could gain a better sense of direction.
“What be the matter, lass?” Duncan whispered as he nudged his horse along.
“Where are we going?”
“We be taking ye to Dunshire,” he told her. “Don’t worry lass. We’ll make arrangements to get ye back to yer family.”
The thought of being returned to her family was more frightening than being handed over to English soldiers. Either prospect was a death sentence to be sure. “I have no family,” she told him. For the most part, that was true.
“No family?” Duncan asked.
“Nay. My mum died when I was five.” She fought the urge to jump from the horse and run away. “My father died some two years ago.”
Learning that she had no family began to shed some light on how she ended up here. Had she a family, Duncan was certain they would have done better to protect her from the earl. “No family at all?” he asked her.
Aishlinn shook her head. She wanted to be as honest as she could with them and debated on how much she should tell them. She figured honesty was the best course to follow at the moment. “No real family. I have three brothers, but they’re the one’s that sent me to work and live at Castle Firth. If you send me back to them, you might as well just give me to the soldiers. ’Twould be the same thing.”
“But surely yer brothers would protect ye,” Rowan said. He couldn’t imagine not doing so himself.
Aishlinn laughed out loud at the thought. “They traded me to Castle Firth. They traded me for two sheep.” She let that sink in for a moment before going forward. “I imagine now I might be worth at least a keg of ale to them. They’d think naught about turning me over to the soldiers.”
Duncan was stunned and thought mayhap she was exaggerating. He knew that he would rather die a hundred deaths than turn a sister over to anyone who would do her harm. He could not fathom what she said to be true. “But lass, why would yer brothers do such a thing?”
Aishlinn let out a heavy sigh. “They be not my real brothers. My real father died before I was born. ’Twas their father that married my mum.” She decided to leave out the part of being conceived out of wedlock, as it had always been a sense of shame for her. “I’m not their real kin. They are selfish and lazy men who care for nothing but their own comforts.”
Duncan had known a few men like that, but none so selfish they’d treat a sister, real blooded or not, in such a manner. He could not blame her for not wanting to return. “Then ye not be wanting to return to them?”
“Nay, I want not to go back.” Going back meant death, there was no doubt of it.
Several long moments passed before Manghus asked, “What about yer mum’s family? Or yer real father’s?”
Tears welled in her eyes. “I know not of any family.” She didn’t even know her real father’s name, let alone any family he may have had. And the only thing she knew of her mother was that she had been from the Highlands. It hurt to think she knew nothing of her own history or who her family might be, and anyone who could tell her was now long dead.
“Ye've never met any of yer own kin?” Duncan could not imagine growing up without any family. While it was true that he had lost his parents and many of his kin a long time past, he had been fortunate enough to have many aunts and uncles. After his parents died, he had been blessed with being raised by his father’s best friend, Angus McKenna, who also happened to be Findley and Richard’s uncle. After the raid on their village, the three of them went to live at Castle Gregor and were raised as brothers and to this day, they considered themselves as such.
“Nay. I have never met any.” She was growing weary and truly wanted to sleep but there were too many questions, too many uncertainties racing through her mind.
Duncan had felt sorry for the lass before, for what she had endured at the hands of the earl. His heart had sunk more at learning ’twas her own brothers who had sent her to live with him. But on learning the lass knew naught of any of her own people brought a greater sense of sadness and pity to his heart.
“I do know that my mum was from the Highlands,” Aishlinn told him. Oddly enough it felt good to say it aloud.
Duncan raised an eyebrow. “A Highlander ye say?” That was promising news. “Ya no’ be English then?”
“Nay!” Aishlinn shuddered at the thought. She despised the English for what they had done to her people.
“Ye be one of us then!” Duncan said happily. He knew his people would welcome her with open arms, especially once they learned she had killed the earl. Having learned what he had of the lass and her life thus far, the possibility of helping her find her real family delighted him.
“We will help ye find yer people then, lass,” he told her.
His next thought worried him. “I just hope it not be any we have feuds with!” He would push that thought aside for now and concentrate on getting her to the safety of his castle.
Aishlinn had long ago given up hope of ever finding her blood family or the truth of her own existence. The prospect of finally finding the family she had dreamt of since her mother’s death brought an overwhelming sense of joy to her heart. There was however, a part of her that remained fearful. What if they were all gone and that was the reason her mother had ended up in the England? Or what if they did not want her?
Knowing nothing of the inner workings of Highlander clans, it mattered not to Aishlinn if her own clan feuded with Duncan’s. After all, these men had saved her life. Feud or no, she would always be grateful to them for that. It was strange for her to think there was the chance of finally finding her real family. As she lay her head upon Duncan’s chest, she prayed they would be as nice as these men.
Chapter Seven
They rode hard and fast for Dunshire, with Aishlinn sleeping atop Duncan’s lap. He held her closely, wrapped in plaids with her head in the crook of his arm. After several hours of holding her so tightly, his arm began to ache. When he thought of all the lass had gone through, he decided he could put up with a little pain.
It was becoming increasingly difficult for Aishlinn to breathe or to remain awake. Duncan repeatedly apologized for the fast pace at which they rode but he knew that the sooner they reached his home, the better her chances of surviving. Pausing only long enough to eat, stretch their legs, and rest their horses, they raced toward Dunshire.
It was difficult to sleep being jostled about like a sack of leeks, riding along at a full run. Sleep did not come any easier at night when they stopped to rest, for that was when the nightmares came. In them she was always hiding; in the snow, a tree, or a grotto -- it mattered naught. Each time she was found by the king’s soldiers and carried back to Penrith. She would wake frequently, fighting for air and with a churning stomach. The dreams were telling her no matter where she hid the soldiers would find her.
Even though she was covered in plaids and slept as near to the fire as she could, it was still difficult to become warm. When the dreams frightened her to the point of waking, she would find that Duncan and Rowan were sleeping very close to her. They guarded her as if she
were the Queen of Scotland and had forgone their own warmth and comfort by covering her with their own blankets.
They would not stop for long for they did not know how close the English might be. The pace was brutal, but necessary if they were to get the lass to the safety of their clan. Duncan and his men were used to sleeping little and riding hard for they were warriors. But the lass, he was certain, was not trained for such things.
They would sleep for only a few hours before Duncan would startle her awake. She knew he was not doing it purposefully; it was the dreams, the pain and the fear that rippled through her body each time she woke. “Haud yer wheesht!” he would quietly say to her. She did not know what those words meant but assumed it to be some kind of Celtic or Scottish greeting for good morning.
Aishlinn had no idea how far they had traveled for she was in and out of awareness far too many times to count. She longed for a hot bath and a soft pallet to collapse onto. She yearned to sleep peacefully, without the terrifying dreams that haunted her each time she closed her eyes.
Duncan was growing fearful that the lass would not survive the ride back to Dunshire. The longer they rode the more she slept and the more he worried over her. When he would feel her body fall limp in his arms he would explain to her the need for her to remain awake. Doing what he could to keep her from falling into a sleep she might not wake from, he told her stories. He would describe the lands that surrounded his castle and tell her tales of his childhood, his clan, and the family that would welcome her with open arms.
They had been riding nearly nonstop for two days when Duncan realized he had to get her off the horse and into a bed. “Manghus,” Duncan said, “We be no’ far from Aric McDonald’s cottage. I fear the lass will no’ make it the full trip to Dunshire.”
Manghus and Rowan nodded their heads in agreement as they began to veer their horses northward. Duncan’s clan held good relations with the clan McDunnah of which Aric was a member. They knew Aric would offer them shelter, food and protection if needed. His wife Rebecca would tend to Aishlinn’s injuries without question.
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