Highland Rogue

by Dana D'Angelo

  “Erik, I’ll need ye tae scout ahead again,” Donnell said. “Report back if ye see anything.”

  The young mercenary mounted his horse and rode off. At least while they waited for water, the scout could find out more information about the enemy.

  An hour later, the two warriors returned with water from the burn. A fire was already burning and they were able to quickly put the dried herbs and roots into a pot of water. As soon as the water boiled, she used a stick to fish out the floating matter. Then when the potion was sufficiently cooled, the sick men drank the brew. The color began to return to their faces a short while later.

  “We cannae stay here in the open like this,” Donnell said. “Are ye all well enough tae ride?”

  “As well as I’ll ever be,” Blane said, pushing himself with effort from the ground.

  “Aye, I nay longer feel like I’m about tae die,” Coinneach added.

  “All right, let’s clear out,” Donnell said.

  “Wait,” Alisha said. “Before we go, we should gather some more tormentil.”

  “Guid idea. We should all help.” Donnell gestured for the other men to assist them in obtaining more of the plants.

  The men ripped out several bushes and brought them over to her.

  “I think we have enough,” she said, laughing. “If we gather any more, we willnae have room tae carry the rest of our supplies.”

  The medicinal brew worked quickly and soon the sick men regained their strength. After that, they were once again able to pick up their pace. Donnell had to admit that having Alisha with them proved to be beneficial after all. The men were masterful fighters, but they didn’t know or consider remedies for every ailment. A tincture made from tormentil would have never crossed his mind even though the hardy plant grew abundantly.

  Now that he no longer needed to be concerned about his peers, his thoughts turned elsewhere. He was well aware that the opposing forces were headed in their direction. And as a precaution, they made sure to stay off the main route though they managed to travel parallel to it. With a group of twenty men, they would be easily spotted.

  The troop continued to travel. Then as their second day of travel started to close, and they were about to set up their camp, the scout returned with news.

  “The enemy camp is two hours from here,” Erik informed them.

  Donnell considered his words. “We’ll continue tae ride. By the time we reach their campsite, we’ll catch them unawares.”

  A streak of anticipation went through the group. “Finally, we have a chance tae cause damage tae those bastards,” Will said. The other men nodded and voiced their agreement.

  Donnell called the warriors to gather around him. “Tell us the layout of the site,” he said to the scout.

  Erik nodded and pointed to the various landmarks. There was a remote chance Eadwig Gorbidshire could be in this small troop. And if he was, then Donnell could finally confront him. He studied the diagram closely, and when he was done, he spoke up.

  “The first thing we need tae do is tae take away their mounts,” he tapped the area where they corralled the beasts. “The horses are their link tae survival. If they lose them, then they cannae travel or initiate a raid on the village.”

  “We can take their provisions,” Will suggested.

  “And their valuables as well,” someone else added.

  “What should I do?” Alisha asked, interrupting them.

  Donnell glanced at her, startled that he had forgotten about her presence. “Ye will remain here with Seamus,” he said.

  “But I want tae go on the raid,” Seamus protested.

  Will stepped forward. “I’ll stay with the lass,” he said.

  Seamus looked gratefully at the older man.

  “All right, fine,” he said impatiently and gestured for the others to follow. “We head out now.”

  A couple of hours later they reached the English camp. There was still light out, and he studied the men as hope flared in his chest. If the commander was present, Donnell’s quest could end today. But no matter how hard he looked, there was no sign of Eadwig Gorbidshire. His spirits started to sink.

  Donnell tried his best to shove aside his disappointment and focus on the task at hand. At least there was a positive side to this. From the careless way the English set up their campsite, it was clear that the small troop had let down their defenses. It was obvious too that they were tired. Now it was just a matter of allowing them fall asleep, and when they awoke, they would find themselves in the middle of a nightmare.

  Chapter 10

  When it was dark enough, their troop emerged from the shadows and attacked. All at once the enemy camp became a flurry of violent activity as the English woke up from their slumber. There were grunts and screams as men fell to the ground, yet Donnell and his friends continued fighting as if the Black Donald were at their backs, egging them on.

  No matter how competent, the English were cut down in a matter of minutes. The Scottish warriors secured the valuables and returned to their camp. A few of the English had scattered into the woods, but the mercenaries were unconcerned. It was unlikely that they would be able to persevere. Without their mounts and equipment, the knights were vulnerable to the wild animals and otherworldly creatures that resided in the forest. And Donnell knew that if that didn’t kill them, Mother Nature would.

  As Donnell entered the forest on his way back to camp, he stopped to rest by a pine tree. The puff of air he released became visible in the cold. He could still feel the rush of blood pumping through his veins. It was a successful raid, but the victory was marred somewhat by the fact that Eadwig Gorbidshire wasn’t at the enemy camp.

  When Donnell finally arrived at the campsite, he found that most of the men were already there. He came off his horse, and one of the men took it to join with the others.

  “Ye made it back!” Calum said cheerfully as he clapped Donnell on the back. He pushed a flask into his hand. “Have some whisky.”

  “’Tis just what I need.” Donnell laughed and took the offering, determined to forget about his disappointment for now. He placed the container to his lips and took a long swallow. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he handed it back.

  Everyone was in high spirits as a result of the well-executed raid. Their party had acquired fifty new horses, which were corralled at the far side of the campsite. A pile of swords, helms and various other pieces of armor were heaped near the firepit. For a small raid, they were able to capture an impressive amount of bounty. Even when Donnell worked for the other mercenary company, they had never been this fortunate. Once the animals and weaponry were sold, the generous profit would be evenly divided among them.

  Calum offered him another swig of the firewater but Donnell lost interest in the drink when he noticed Blane speaking with an unfamiliar man.

  “Who’s that?” he asked.

  His friend peered over to where Donnell indicated, noticing the newcomer for the first time. “From the pattern on his tartan, I would guess he’s a MacGregon. I recall they have one of the best trackers in Scotland. This is probably the man since he found us. But why is he here?”

  Why indeed. Donnell felt curiosity well up inside him, and he made his way over to the two men.

  At his approach, the men looked over. Blane’s expression seemed guarded.

  “Is something amiss?” Donnell asked.

  “Aye, there’s something amiss,” the stranger said.

  Donnell raised a questioning eye at his friend.

  “This is Duncan MacGregon,” Blane said. “He was sent here by the Commander-in-Chief. Apparently we’re tae return immediately tae the mouth of Bracken Ridge.”

  “Those are his orders,” Duncan confirmed.

  “And if we stay here?” Donnell asked cautiously. He felt a sense of resistance rising to his chest. He had come this far, and until his goal was completed, he had no desire to turn back.

  The messenger frowned at him. “Then ye will all face dir
e consequences for your disobedience.”

  Coinneach, who had overheard them, came over. The earlier gaiety on his countenance was gone. “What disobedience are ye talking about?” he demanded. “We’re doing everyone a favor by eliminating the enemy, even if this was a wee party.”

  Seeing that everyone’s attention was placed on him, Duncan addressed the group. “The commander is furious, and believes your interference will hinder our efforts in war. If ye leave now, he’ll grant ye clemency. But if ye choose tae continue tae flaunt his authority then he’ll declare ye as outlaws.”

  “I’ll go back,” a man said, stepping forward.

  “Me too,” a second man said. “We captured a fair amount of spoils from the raid, and being declared an outlaw willnae help me or my family.”

  “It willnae help if we’re captured and executed for what Rosstone considers disobedience,” still another soldier added.

  “Fine, every one of ye is free tae leave,” Blane said, although he didn’t appear happy about his pronouncement.

  “Aye,” Donnell agree. “Nay one is being held here against his will.”

  By the end of it, half the men agreed to return with the tracker. Donnell couldn’t blame them since confronting the main English troop was a dangerous affair. He was reminded that these men had families, and they wanted to return to them. This rogue campaign could go either way, and they didn’t want to risk being killed before the real clash began.

  “Consider what I said, Blane,” Duncan said, staring at the other man.

  “I’ll take my chances with Rosstone,” Blane said.

  The warriors took their share of the spoils. And with Duncan leading the way, they rode toward the woods.

  “Fine,” Seamus shouted just before the shadows engulfed them. “We dinnae need ye anyway. We can squash the enemy on our own, and when we help win the war, the commander will be groveling on his knees, thanking us.”

  But Seamus’s words fell upon deaf ears. In times of struggle, self-preservation was the priority for combatants. For now the troop was satisfied with their personal gains, but the small bounty they obtained would mean nothing if King Harold took control of the Scottish crown.

  Calum tipped the whisky flask to his mouth. “The lad’s right. We dinnae need them.”

  Buoyed by his words, several of the men said, “Aye, aye.”

  And while they outwardly voiced their confidence, Donnell sensed that deep down they were a little more concerned.

  ***

  After a few minutes the whisky passed among them and as the firewater flowed, the deserters were forgotten, and the gaiety continued at full force.

  Alisha sent a censorious glare at her brother when the others gave him the flask of firewater, but Seamus was deliberately ignoring her. Her earlier relief of finding him unharmed was replaced by worry and a little anger too.

  “We decimated them all,” Seamus said, his voice slurring a bit. He pretended to wield a claymore and began to parry with a phantom opponent. Letting out a loud yell, he placed a fist at his hip and swayed slightly as he faced the men. “If I had more time, I would have had all the English knights piled at my feet.”

  The men laughed at the unlikely scenario, but Seamus grinned at them in the mistaken belief that they approved of his boast. For a brief moment, Father Cormac entered Alisha’s consciousness, and she felt guilt washing over her. He was likely beside himself with worry. If the priest knew of her brother’s drunken behavior, he would disapprove of it. And if he knew of her presence among these rough men...

  “Here,” Will thrust the container in her hand. “It looks like ye could use a drink.”

  Alisha stared doubtfully at the vessel. “I dinnae ken if this will help me.” She glanced at Seamus who had gone back to telling his tall tales.

  “Ye worry too much about your brother. He’s his own person and needs tae grow. Ye, on the other hand, should let down your guard for once. When was the last time ye had a wee bit of fun?”

  Aye, a voice inside her head agreed. When was the last time?

  “I cannae say,” she admitted.

  “Well indulge yourself, lass,” he said, giving her a friendly pat on her shoulder. “Life can sometimes end too soon.”

  She frowned at the truth of his words. Will was the only warrior that took his time to befriend her, and he liked to give her sound, fatherly advice.

  “All right, I’ll take some whisky,” she said.

  The alcoholic beverage wasn’t unknown to her. She knew that Father Cormac had a canister stashed somewhere behind his bookshelf. And her own father and mother used to enjoy the drink on occasion.

  Just as she brought the vessel to her mouth, she caught the pungent and smoky scent of oak and peat. The aroma was surprisingly warm and appealing. Putting aside any trepidation she had, she tipped the vessel to her lips. She gasped and sputtered as the spiciness hit her all at once. The powerful trail of heat raced down her throat. A second later the heat faded and she took another swallow of the alcoholic drink. The liquid fire immediately filled her mouth, burning another trail down her gullet.

  “Enough,” she said, extending her arm for her friend to take the container away.

  Will grabbed the flask and chuckled. “They dinnae call this firewater for nothing,” he said.

  “I need tae sit down,” she said, searching for a suitable seat. Although she didn’t consume much of the powerful liquid, the alcohol still managed to go to her head, leaving her feeling lightheaded.

  “Will,” Calum called. “We need some entertainment here. Why dinnae ye perform the sword dance for us?”

  “I dinnae ken my auld bones can take it,” he said.

  Calum pointed at the flask in Will’s hand. “Take another swill of the spirit, and that should help ye.”

  The older man laughed and did what his friend suggested. Then grabbing two swords from the pile near the fire, he crossed them on the ground.

  Alisha gave up finding a rock to sit on and simply brushed aside the pebbles, sticks, and snow. She felt relaxed and content. Oddly everything seemed more colorful, lively, and fun. It was no wonder that everyone liked to drink so much.

  Leaning back on her hands, she surveyed the men who had clearly forgotten that a scout from Bracken Ridge had visited only hours before.

  As the fire burned brightly, Will began to perform his dance. It was as if time melted from his body and he was no longer an aged fighter. He seemed a man ten years younger, a man who was agile and athletic. The hem of his kilt swayed and the hand that he held over his head was rigid and strong. As the other men clapped and cheered, Will had a look of concentration on his face. Following music that only he could hear, his feet stepped to the rhythm, hopping from one precise point to another. His movements around the swords became faster and faster until finally the dance was finished. He gave a bow as his friends whistled and shouted.

  “More, more,” they shouted.

  But Will shook his head. “That’s enough for this auld man,” he said. Spotting her, he walked over and sat down next to her.

  “Ye dance verra well,” she said.

  “I havenae done those steps in a long while,” he said. “I’m sure ‘twas the whisky spurring me on.” He picked up the vessel that lay beside her and resumed his drinking.

  The men began to dance a reel and more shouting and cheers filled the area. After a while, Calum called out for Hamish, a man known for his storytelling.

  “We need a story from ye, Hamish,” he called.

  The other men started chanting his name. Hamish let out an exaggerated sigh and stood up. “All right, all right,” he said, holding his hands in the air.

  When the warrior stood in front of the group, the faces turned toward him with anticipation. Hamish began the retelling of the raid that had just occurred. As he told the tale, Alisha’s thoughts melted away, and all she could hear was his voice and the vivid pictures that he formed with his words. His recount took her to the encounter, and she found
herself in the middle of the pandemonium. She could taste the salty sweat that poured down the soldier’s face, and could smell the metallic scent of blood lingering in the brisk morning air. She could hear the screams and cries of the opposing forces as they writhed in agony. Hamish described Donnell and Blane as they fought with lethal strength, magnificently cutting down the knights.

  Alisha took in a shallow breath. This was likely the closest she would ever get to an actual raid. She was at once horrified and enthralled by the details that Hamish revealed. It was obvious that the knights sent to raid the village weren’t the most experienced warriors. Their sole purpose was to terrorize innocent and vulnerable people. She frowned at the thought. What kind of fighting skills were required for that?

  As Alisha continued to listen to the retelling, the tale became more dark and gruesome. She wasn’t used to hearing about so much blood, death, and gore, and she suddenly felt flushed and queasy.

  And when the story ended, Hamish pumped his fist in the sky. “And we were victorious!” he yelled.

  As if spurred by his triumphant yell, everyone jumped up and began clamoring and stomping their feet in memory of their conquest.

  “Is that what really happened?” she asked Will who sat beside her.

  “Aye, ‘tis mostly what happened.”

  Alisha nodded, and glanced over at her brother. The recount had sobered her, but it had the opposite effect on Seamus. His face was red and he was yelling as much as the next man.

  “I need tae go for a walk around the campsite,” she said, clutching her stomach. The others were egging Hamish to tell a second war story, and she didn’t think she could stomach another gory narrative.

  “Do ye want me tae come with ye, lass?” Will asked. There was concern in his voice, but his eyes skirted toward the bard, and she could tell that he wanted to hear more accounts of bloodshed.

  “Nay, I’ll be all right,” she told him, waving her hand to indicate that he should stay seated. “’Tis the talk of blood and carnage that makes me nauseous.”