Celtic Fury

by Ria Cantrell

  Ian said, “Where is my present, uncle?”

  “Wait and see!” Rory unwrapped a wooden toy sword and handed it to his nephew.

  The child’s eyes grew wide with delight and he said, “T’is like yer’ sword. Am I a knight, now?” Rory was amazed at how smart the little boy was.

  “Oh Aye, Sir Ian…slayer of dragons…” He watched the little boy stand on the bed and swing his sword as he imitated the movements of the men in sword-play.

  “Now, laddie, ye must ne’er hit baby Jenna with the sword…. or anyone else.” Ian looked horrified.

  “Nay, Uncle Rory. Jenna is just a baby and I am a big boy. I would never hit Jenna.”

  “That’s right. Ye must always protect her. Ye are her big brother.”

  “Like you are Mommy’s big brother?”

  “Aye.”

  “Did you p… patect mommy?”

  “Aye, laddie, until she met yer da and now he protects her.” As the words left his lips, Rory knew he should be moving on; making his own way; creating his own destiny.

  He was no closer to a destined path than he had been some years ago. Long ago, he had been given the name the Wolf of the Highlands. He didn’t like that title, which was born from his rage from losing Caitlyn. People liked to spread rumors and that name was not something he enjoyed living up to. When he came to England, he thought to escape some of his past somewhat and in doing so, escape the name he was dubbed not for his prowess but for his dark rage. It was more a title of a monster than a warrior.

  When Bronwyn married Drew, Rory thought to leave the past behind, but Bronwyn was well-cared for by Andrew. Rory needed to find his own destiny. Rory realized there was no running from his past. While he would hate to leave the precious little boy playing in his chamber, Rory knew he should either return home to his clan or seek his destiny elsewhere. In his musings, Rory never saw the little Ian clamber into his lap. He placed a soft child’s touch on Rory’s cheek.

  “Why are ye sad, Uncle?” Rory forced a smile down at Ian.

  “I am na’ sad, laddie, I was just thinking. Come, laddie, let us find some food. Come along with me.” Rory and Ian went to the great hall and they sat together eating some fresh bread and stew. Other soldiers were about, eating and talking, discussing their latest successful campaign.

  While they ate, a pretty serving maid approached Rory and said, “Will I be seeing you later, Rory?”

  He smiled his disarming smile and said, “Not tonight, lass. I am spending time with Master Ian here. Isn’t that right, lad?” Ian nodded happily. “Maybe another time, bonnie girl.”

  She pouted prettily, but in seeing the little boy’s concern, she said, “Alright, Rory, Master Ian looks like great fun to play with.” She tousled the baby’s hair and went on her way.

  Rory engaged his little nephew in conversation, telling him tales of valor and adventure. Ian adored his big uncle and he soaked up every word.

  Once their supper was done, Rory patted his belly and said, “Mmmm, I am full.”

  Giggling, Ian did the same. Hefting the child onto his mighty shoulders, he carried the boy back up to his chambers. He had a special trundle bed set up for Ian in his quarters. Bronwyn had indulged him, seeing how much the two loved each other. Besides, Rory thought with a smirk, Drew was probably thoroughly and properly being welcomed back by his beautiful sister. Rory enjoyed minding his nephew. It made him feel less lonely and like he had a child of his own, a dream he had long forsaken. Nay, there probably would be no heirs for him, so he used the time spent with his sister's son to fill that space left empty from so many lost dreams of long ago. Taking the child to his rooms, he sat the child down on the little trundle bed.

  “Let’s get ye ready for bed, Laddie,” he said to the drowsy little boy. Once settled into his bed, Ian quickly fell to sleep. No doubt all the excitement had exhausted him. Rory flopped on his bed, lost in his thoughts. Dragging a hand through his hair, he contemplated what he was going to do.

  His brothers would tell him to take a wife and settle down, but they had all married for love. He wasn’t going to marry just to set a course for his life. Aye, he wanted sons and maybe a couple of daughters too, but if he didn’t find love, those things and dreams would remain just that. Dreams; dreams were for the romantic. Life taught him that romance was just silly musings of youth. Thinking about love brought Rory to that dark place. He had made too many mistakes. Love was for the worthy, he was a soldier first and long ago he had made a silent vow to remain a warrior until every last Campbell was wiped from the face of the earth. Now living in England, some of that bloodlust had abated. It was the thoughts of love that brought him back to the vow he had made to avenge his betrothed’s life.

  He felt the rage return; something he carefully hid from his family and clan. It filled him like a slow seeping poison, making parts of him die bit by bit. “Aye, love was for the worthy,” he thought. “Which I can never be!” He sank into his thoughts succumbing to the darkness that choked his heart and soul.

  Chapter Two

  Brielle Val ‘Cour looked out on the rolling lawn of her husband’s estates. How she longed for home. She no more belonged to this place than she did her name. She was more like a trapped bird in a gilded cage, being forced to live in a home and country where she would never fit in. Val ‘Cour…even the name was distasteful to her. She smoothed the silk of her English gown over her legs, sitting idly in the large solar of her husband’s home.

  Husband…ha! She laughed bitterly. She had been married by proxy to a man she had previously never met. She had been well beyond the age of marrying, but was content to live out her days unwed so long as she got to spend her life in her precious Highlands. She had gone to live with her elderly grandfather when most of her clan had dispersed. Her mother had died when she was still very young from a terrible fall off the back of a horse. Her father sank into despair after that and less than a year later, soon succumbed to liver sickness from too much drink. Once a powerful highland clan, Campbells were left as the remnants of which were scattered through Scotland, because of their warring with neighboring clans and then ultimately amongst themselves.

  Her brothers had bartered her to the highest bidder after her beloved grand da had passed. At the age of three and twenty years, she was considered a spinster, but to a man of 65 years, she was a ripe young thing for the taking. She shuddered with revulsion remembering how sickened she was to learn his age. He had grandchildren older than her, but her bride price brought monies needed to fund her brothers and their renegade ways. The two had taken residence in the crumbling old keep that she had called home while living there with her grand da. Her eyes misted thinking of that beloved old man who had taken her in after both her parents were gone. Her brothers were already on a path of self-destruction and she was glad to be away from their cruel taunts. They seemed to derive great joy in reminding her how ugly she was. They had convinced her that she was plain at an early age, teasing her about her looks relentlessly. Old men didn’t care if their young wives were plain, Brielle thought. Her grand da had tried to convince her that she was beautiful, both of face and heart, but when she looked in the mirror she saw all the flaws her mean brothers had forced her to believe she carried.

  Brielle was happy to spend the rest of her days isolated in her highland home at Castle Campbell, crumbling and moldering though it had been. There it didn’t matter if she was ugly. She loved the land and the beasties of the forests and barns. Both wee and large came to her easily. She had a way with the animals and her many pets had eased her loneliness. Besides, the beasties didn’t care if she was ugly or not. Looking out on the rolling lawn again, she felt more isolated than when she lived in the old keep.

  The bride price had been paid, so Val ‘Cour estate was her home. Upon arriving after her sham of a wedding, she found her husband to be not only old, but infirmed. He had suffered a fall during a hunt and his wounds were slow to heal. It was said he fancied himself a handsome lover, bu
t with the injury he was quickly becoming more decrepit daily. Brielle couldn’t see if he had once been handsome. His face was craggy and he had the pall of infection about him. Whenever she visited his chamber, she was kind to him, but regarded him as she had any of her wounded animals. He had been grateful for the time she spent with him. He often called her child when she visited him to read to him or help re-dress the infected wound on his leg. He was thankful for her kindness and he promised her to make her his wife properly once he returned to health, Brielle always fought the bile in her throat that rose when he made such a claim. She secretly prayed he would never get well enough to make good on that claim. Once again her hand smoothed down the fold of the black gown she was forced to don.

  A month past she had gotten her bitter wish. The infection in the leg of Marcus Val ‘Cour had festered and burst, sending the poison seeping throughout his blood into his body. He succumbed to the fever days later, leaving Brielle a virgin widow, trapped in a foreign land and a loveless home. She had been his third wife and his offspring did not take kindly to her. They accused her of everything from being a gold grabbing harlot, to the one responsible for the actual demise of their father, as if she had caused his injury herself. It was of no use to her.

  Brielle just wanted to go home, but home was far away and her brothers would torment her worse than the offspring of Marcus Val ‘Cour had enjoyed doing. How many times she had been the brunt of their anger; receiving beatings for trumped up offenses. She bore a scar from her neck to her shoulder, when in a drunken rage, her older brother Roderick had threatened to kill her and his dirk slipped, just missing her vital artery. She sighed.

  The physical beatings were almost bearable to the vile malignant taunts they inflicted on her daily. They made her believe she was ugly, fat, dowdy, unlovable, and they tried to make her think she was addled in the mind. Only her grandfather had loved her. Brielle was certain she could not go back to Castle Campbell, but she also knew she could not stay at Val ‘Cour Manor. She hatched a plan to return to the highlands, maybe to find refuge with a neighboring clan; perhaps one that didn’t hate the Campbells so severely.

  Brielle would even be happy to render her services as a maid or a barn servant so long as she was in the beauty of the highlands. She was not a prisoner at Val ‘Cour. In fact, few people even noticed her. She could not spend her days as a grieving widow when she barely even knew her husband. She decided that she would hire a carriage to take her as far into Scotland as she could go and be free of the Val ‘Cour pall. She was certain Marcus’ family would be happy to see her go, at any rate, so it was settled. Soon she would be back in her Highland's precious embrace.

  Chapter Three

  Rory hadn’t realized he had slipped into a troubled sleep. He always did when the blackness enveloped him. He was still dressed in his plaid, failing even to remove his boots and he wondered what had wakened him. Then he heard the terrible sobbing of his nephew. Jumping to his feet, he went to the little boy. Kneeling next to the little trundle bed, Rory saw that the child was having a nightmare. What would cause a little baby to be so terrified? He gently picked up the little boy and set him on his own bed.

  “Wake up, Laddie. Ye’ are alright,” he spoke firmly but kindly to the child. As the child came awake, he continued to sob.”Sshh, Laddie. Ye were just having a bad dream. Uncle Rory is here. Ye are safe, sweetheart.”

  The baby threw his arms around his uncle’s neck. “Do ye want me to take ye back to yer’ mama?” Ian shook his head, “no”.

  “Well how about ye come up with me? I have bad dreams too, laddie. Besides, it is cold.” Rory settled his beloved nephew under the covers and furs of his bed. Removing his boots, he laid down, drawing the little boy against him. He kissed his forehead and he said, “There now. Ye are safe. Go back to sleep, Laddie.”

  Ian’s sobs quieted and he said, “Dunna’ go away uncle…” Rory looked at the boy incredulously.

  He saw the look in those green eyes of the boy and then Rory knew. This child had felt his own anguish. It had invaded his innocent dreams. He had the “Gift” or the “Sight” as some referred to it. Bronwyn had said Drew did too. Rory felt sick, thinking he had been the cause of the child’s pain or nightmare. He soothed, “Never ye mind about that, Ian. Now go back to sleep and only have sweet dreams.”

  The little boy once again put his hand to Rory’s cheek and he said, “Why are ye sad, uncle?”

  “Because ye had a bad dream, Laddie.” Ian shook his head, “Nay, ye are always sad.”

  Rory felt the wind being knocked out of him. The child was definitely an empath. It had to be, and their close bond made Ian feel Rory’s darkness. That sealed his decision. He had to go and it had to be soon. He couldn’t let his own darkness seep into this precious child, but as he thought those thoughts, Ian settled down and fell back to sleep. That was it; Rory would make plans to go in a week or so. Mayhap he would go to Edinburgh. It was long past due for him to make an appearance at the court of the Scottish King, Robert. He closed his eyes, falling into a fitful sleep.

  When morning came, Rory woke to the sound of a gentle knocking at the door. Ian woke up and he said, “Mama.”

  “Aye, Baby, it’s me. Ruiri, may I enter?”

  “Aye, Bronnie. Come in.”

  Her little boy scrambled from the bed and ran into her arms. She kissed his face and said, “Were ye a good boy for yer’ uncle Ruiri?” He pouted and said, “No, mama. I had bad dreams and cried.”

  Rory spoke up and said, “He was fine, lass. I just let him sleep next to me. He settled down straight away.”

  Bronwyn kissed his precious face again, smoothing his tousled hair. “Ah, wee one, what did ye dream?”

  Laying his head on his mother’s shoulder, he said, “I dunna’ know.”

  “Well, we all have bad dreams sometimes. Ruiri isn’t mad at ye.”

  “Nay, Laddie, I love ye. Ye’ were a very good boy.”

  The boy instantly brightened and squirming out of Bronwyn’s arms, he ran and got the toy sword Rory had given him. He told her he was a knight just like his daddy and that he would not hit his baby sister with the sword. Bronwyn smiled at her son.

  Rory cleared his throat and said, “He is like his da, Bronnie, in other ways too. Same gift, I am certain.” Bronwyn’s gaze snapped to Rory. “Are ye sure?”

  “Aye. Ye need only look into his eyes to know.” Ian asked, “I have a gift for Daddy?”

  Bronwyn hunkered down next to her son and said, “Nay, sweetheart. Ye, are a special little boy. Yer daddy is special too. He can feel things deeply in his heart and ye can too.” She explained, placing her hand over his chest. “That is a special gift.”

  He raised his green eyes to his mom’s face and he said, “I want to be like Daddy in every way.”

  Bronwyn smiled at the remarkable child. She scooped him up and said, “Come, Ian. Let’s get some breakfast into ye. Thank yer Uncle Ruiri for taking good care of ye.”

  The baby thanked his uncle. Rory placed a kiss on Ian’s forehead and then one on Bronwyn’s cheek. Ian giggled and asked, “Did ye and daddy kiss last night?” Glancing at Rory, who was grinning boldly, Bronwyn blushed.

  She said, “Aye, Ian we did.”

  “So Daddy isn’t grouchy today?” Bronwyn smiled as Rory laughed out loud.

  “Nay, son. He isna’ grouchy today.”

  “Yer da is happiest when he is home with yer ma and ye and baby Jenna.” Then to Bronwyn, he said, “Sis, later I will wish a word with you and Drew.”

  Bronwyn’s eyes met her brother’s and nodded in understanding. Somehow she knew what he was going to tell her. Their bond also was a gift. She kissed his cheek and left his chambers. Rory felt like Bronwyn could peer into his very soul. His heart ached thinking how much he would miss her, but the more he thought of how much he loved her, the more he knew he had to go, The darkness inside him was becoming harder to hide. He could not chance it poisoning his sister and her beloved children.
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  Chapter Four

  Brielle sat in the carriage lost in her thoughts. No one even seemed to notice her leaving. She took only enough gold to get her settled somewhere and to pay the coachman. As the carriage trundled on the rutted road, it was hard to ignore the bumps and jolts. She would have thought riding a horse would have been better, but she knew it would do her no good to ride out alone. Though it was March, it was still very much winter.

  The frigid night air seeped into her bones, making each jar of the carriage more painful. She wished she had her plaid to wrap about her, but she didn’t dare display it. Her clan was hated in most of the highlands and though she was still a long way from home, she would not take that chance. She pulled her cloak about her and she thought about home. She choked bitterly on the word. She had no real home to go to. If her brothers learned she left Val ‘Cour, they would have her beaten or worse. Oddly, no one seemed to care if she stayed or left the manor. Still, here she was, alone and heart sick.

  She longed for home, but home was not available to her. She would settle for somewhere in the highlands. She no longer had the dreams of a young girl. She was an untouched widow with no place of her own, no children of her own, no dreams or hopes for the future. At least if she was back in Scotland, she would feel connected to her heritage and the land.

  A particularly jarring jolt brought her from her reverie. The road was pitted from over use, over time, but because of the recent thaw, there were deep potholes filled with icy slush that caused the wheels to thud and slide. Her cold fingers clenched tightly as the carriage swayed dangerously to one side. They had entered Scotland a day ago and the further north they traveled, the more treacherous the road had become. Not only that, it was common knowledge that brigands were known to lurk these roads. Brielle was nearly consumed with fear. Being discovered by her brothers was the least of her worries right now.