Medieval Mistletoe - One Magical Christmas Season

by Laurel O'Donnell

  Magnus would take it as a sign.

  The opening in the wall was small and the men had to squeeze through, lining up against the stones until the last of them was through. The secret door brought them into the orchard. Being night and nearly winter, there were no clanswomen or men picking fruit from the barren trees. No scent of apples.

  Magnus nodded to his men, and they continued on, unseen as they hurried through the orchard and into the herbal garden, scents of garlic and onions dimmed in the night frost. A shadow crossed to the left. Magnus held up his hand and the men stilled. A guard was always posted at the gate—and said guard was on high alert.

  “Stop,” he said in a low growl. He held his sword out, his fingers going to his lips prepared to whistle a warning.

  “Wait!” Magnus hissed. “’Tis I, your laird, Blane, and our men.”

  The guard’s fingers stilled near his lips, but he made no move to lower his sword. In the dark it was hard to make out his expression, and Magnus was certain he’d find it hard to see him. But he was almost certain who it was.

  Magnus pointed his own sword at the ground and stepped out of the shadows. “Sans peur,” he said, their family motto meaning without fear. “Stand down, Calum.”

  Even in the dark, Magnus saw the tension slip from his shoulders. “Och, my laird, ye scared me. We’ve had a lot of noise tonight.”

  Immediately he was on alert. The Ross clan had yet to make their attack, but it was certainly imminent. “Noise?”

  “Aye. A horse with no rider flew toward the main gate afore supper, and all the guards have been talking of strange noises and the silence of the birds ever since.” Magnus made out the subtle shake of his head. “Scouts were sent out, but found nothing save an empty campsite with a fire still lit. Not sure if it were supposed to be a raid on our cattle, or if just a miscreant passing through. Maybe his horse spooked and tossed him. Dinna know.”

  Magnus glanced at Blane who’s furrowed brow was just visible. “I’m almost certain we’ll be under attack soon,” Magnus said. “’Tis why we’ve returned.”

  The guard nodded. “I’ll be certain to stay alert, my laird.”

  “Aye. I’ve got to warn Gavin and the rest of the men.” Magnus scanned the top of the wall, half expecting to see the ghost of the Ross himself walking like a shimmering specter.

  “Gavin’s doubled the men up on the battlements, my laird. He’s taking watch up on the main gate now.”

  “Good. I’ll send another down here to ye.”

  Magnus turned to his brother and warriors. “Ye men, fan out and check the perimeters, make sure nothing’s been breached. Blane, go and wake the rest of the warriors. Tell them to prepare. I’ll go find Gavin.” Once he was certain the necessary fortifications were in place, he’d make certain all his children were nestled safely in their beds.

  Magnus found Gavin looking out over the moors atop the gatehouse tower. A dozen other warriors stood poised and ready, their gazes on the horizon.

  “My laird.” His face tightened with fear as he glanced over Magnus’ shoulder and found no one. “What’s happened to her ladyship, Master Blane and Lady Aliah?”

  “Arbella is safe with her sister. Blane is waking the guards.”

  Gavin nodded, back rigid. He scanned the moors before turning his attention back to Magnus. “The children are safe. In addition to their nurse, Cook and two other maids are sleeping with them in the nursery. Also posted guards outside their door. But we fear something is amiss. More so than just a bad premonition.”

  Magnus leaned up against the wall, scanning the land beyond, his eyes playing tricks with every slight sway of trees on the horizon. “Aye. When we arrived at a croft on the border of our lands we found out there were three messengers, and not simply the one.”

  Gavin blew out a breath. “Think it has something to do with Padrig?”

  “Almost positive.”

  “Then the Ross’ will be behind it.” Gavin coughed. “I meant, his daughter. The new Ross Chief.”

  A shift of something in the trees a half mile away caught his attention, but the more he stared the stiller it became. “Aye. And Marmaduke with the backing of the English.”

  “Traitors,” Gavin said under his breath.

  Magnus grunted with disgust. “Marmaduke is a blasted Sassenach. We never should have trusted him, nor the Ross clan for having sided with the English.”

  Just then, a ping and a whiz skimmed through the air, and one of the guard’s shouted as an arrow pierced his shoulder. He fell backward. The rest of the warriors put up their shields, and the archers behind them readied their bows. The trees he’d stared so hard at came to life—the enemy had finally shown themselves.

  Magnus rushed toward the felled man and gripped the arrow, blanching at what he saw. Tied just beneath the feathers was a strip of bloodied fabric. A message?

  “Are ye all right?” Magnus asked.

  The warrior nodded, teeth gritting.

  “Brace yourself, lad.” Magnus broke off the end of the arrow. “Can ye fight with it in ye? We’ll get ye to the healer when all’s said and done.”

  The guard nodded. “Aye, my laird. ’Tis not so bad.”

  Magnus nodded, then stood, holding the fabric up to the nearest torch, hoping it would give away who was after them.

  But what he saw made his blood run cold. His heart ceased to beat, and his knees grew weak.

  The fabric was a piece of Arbella’s underskirt. He’d recognize it anywhere, for he’d sat beside her while she embroidered the thistles along the hem, intertwined with scrolling A’s.

  Blood smeared the thistles and letters in a gruesome line.

  “MEN are so predictable, dinna ye think it?” Ina asked, her eyes sparkling with cruel happiness in the torchlight. A smile played on her lips that made Arbella’s heart lurch with hatred.

  She refused to answer, but instead kept her gaze on the evil woman. Certain not to show any emotion or reaction, Arbella studied her captor. Ina had wanted to hurt Magnus, that much was evident because she’d not wanted to take Aliah along, and only did so when the two of them clinging together proved more of a nuisance than forcing them apart.

  They waited on horseback, just inside the woods just beyond Dunrobin. She recognized their path almost immediately. But why would Ina take her back to Dunrobin? It was a mystery. Magnus should be there by now with his guards, and would have doubled the fortifications. From what Arbella could tell, Ina did not have the manpower to attack. Unless she hoped to extort coin from Magnus in exchange for Arbella’s return. But Ina didn’t seem like the type. Nay, Ina would want to hurt Arbella just to hurt Magnus.

  Ina flicked her hand in the air, dismissing anything Arbella may have said—as if she felt like speaking to the wench. “Ye dinna have to answer that,” Ina said. “I know ye’ll agree with me. All men are the same. Even my Sassenach,” she flicked her nasty gaze on the man who sat his horse behind her. “He was almost yours.” Ina sneered, her eyes going to slits as she looked at Arbella.

  ’Twas the truth. Marmaduke Stewart was Arbella’s betrothed before she’d married Magnus. The man still dressed according to his noble English birth, though he wore a strip of Ross plaid from one side of his waist to the opposite shoulder. The wild, ravenous look in his eyes only made her even more grateful to Magnus, if that was even possible, for saving her. She would have been utterly miserable with that fool. As if in answer, his eyes locked on hers and the curl of his lip was half snarl, half bite. Marmaduke and Ina were perfect for each other.

  Inside, she cringed, but on the outside, she kept her face as diplomatic as she could. And she was an expert at it. From an early age she’d been taught to never show her true feelings to both friend and foe alike. And these were definitely not her friends.

  “He’ll come for ye,” Ina said, a hungry curl to her lips. “And then, he’ll be answering to us.”

  Arbella took the opportunity to test her acting skills. She looked down at the horse’s
withers, where her hands were tied to the saddle and shook her head. “I’m afraid on that score, you’re mistaken, Ina.” Pride rippled through her at how easy it was, how cool and reserved her voice came out. “You must know, given your astute observations of the male mind, that Magnus was using me as a breeder. I’ve given him plenty of children. What more use could I be to him?”

  Ina looked startled for a moment, her head jerking backward as the words sank in. She studied Arbella, eyes squinting in the dim torchlight to read her. Arbella leaned back in the saddle enough to hide most of her face from Ina’s view in case there were any telltale signs she was lying.

  “Are ye saying that the great Earl of Sutherland, the one who so romantically ripped ye away from your betrothed, could in fact, be just as much of a brute as the rest of those Scots bastards?” Ina’s voice was filled with scorn.

  Arbella nodded gravely, her voice coming out forlorn and lost. “Exactly that.”

  “Well, then,” Ina huffed, the cruel spark in her eyes only seeming to grow brighter. “I guess we’ve no use for ye.”

  “None at all,” Arbella said with a sad sigh. Inside she was giddy with pleasure that her ruse appeared to be working. She only prayed her sister remained silent beside her. Though they were not twins, since childhood they’d had a keen intuition when it came to each other’s thoughts.

  “Then, we’d best get on with your execution, seeing as how your husband has no need of ye either.” A short, bitter laugh pushed past Ina’s lips. “If only ye’d never come into Scotland.”

  Arbella’s breath caught, her heart pounding hard. Execution? That was not the way she wanted this to go. Not at all.

  “But…” She tried to speak, but the words came out sounding strangled. Beside her, she heard a gasp from her sister, but refused to look.

  “Best be killing off your sister, too. Dinna need the bitch screeching back to her blubbering husband either. Should of let her stay behind. Keep to her sewing and breeding. Now ye’ll be the death of her.” Ina brushed her hands together than flicked her hand in an order to her men. “Get them off the horses.”

  Arbella cried out as men circled her horse, cutting at the ties where they’d strapped her to the saddle. She glanced at her sister who’s eyes were wide with panic. The men grappled with her arms and Arbella kicked at someone’s hands, trying desperately to yank her arms free.

  “Wait!” she called out. The men stilled, holding her halfway off her horse. “Please don’t do this. I have children. They need me.”

  But that was the wrong thing to say to Ina. Not when her father had been cut down. Her face turned wicked, cruel and she pushed her horse viciously forward, her hand snaking out to grab Arbella’s hair at the nape of her neck and jerking backward.

  Pain ricocheted down her neck and over her scalp. She jerked her head, trying to get loose. Yanked her arms, but they didn’t budge in the strong grip of the warriors. She was suspended in the air, her legs only draped over the saddle. If the men let go of her, she’d fall.

  Ina pressed a cold blade to her neck, the tip piercing her skin just enough to cause a warm droplet of blood to trickle down and over her collarbone.

  “Ye want to talk to me of children?” Ina’s voice was low, full of rage. “Of parents being taken away? Well, fair is fair, sweet Arbella. Your people killed my father. Hell, I might as well blame them for my mother’s death while we’re at it.” She drew closer, her breath fanning over Arbella’s ear. “Tonight, when your blood sinks deep into the dirt of your shallow grave, I’m going to take the life of each one of your precious bairns. I’ll bring them out here and lay them in the grave with ye. Magnus will be mine, and the only bairns to fill his nursery will come from my loins.”

  A hoard of barbarians rode over the darkened field before stopping at the tightly closed front gate of Dunrobin Castle. At first they’d looked like a blackened mass quickly enshrouding the castle, but the thunder of hooves was enough of a clue that they were real and not unearthly.

  “Where’s my wife?” Magnus bellowed over the top of the wall as the heathen warriors dared to line up below, their faces glowing in the torches that hung on either side of the gatehouse towers.

  The men who sat their horses below grumbled, but one in the center spoke—with a very familiar English accent. “I’m afraid she’s rather indisposed at the moment.”

  The way he said indisposed caused Magnus’ blood to boil. He curled his fingers around the bloodied fabric in his palm. Every muscle tensed, and if he were certain he’d not be injured leaping over the wall to face down this man, he’d have done it in a heartbeat. God’s bones but his desire to see the man beaten was nearly overpowering.

  “If any harm comes to her, ye’ll pay dearly,” Magnus ground out.

  Marmaduke Stewart laughed. Laughed.

  Magnus gritted his teeth. Fists clenched tight. He turned to Gavin. “Ready the archers. I want them to burn.”

  Gavin signaled the archers who dipped their arrows in the torches. He’d kill them all and then go in search of his wife. Good riddance!

  Having seen the archers make ready, Marmaduke raised up his hand. “Ah-ah-ah, not so fast, my laird. You’ll not want to send us to our deaths without first finding out the whereabouts of your wife.”

  “Ye canna steal a man’s wife and not expect death.” Magnus gave the signal for the archers to let their arrows fly. They landed in a row behind the warriors, creating a wall of fire, trapping them between the flames and the castle wall. “I’ll ask again, Stewart, where is my wife?”

  “She’s safe, anon, albeit she will not be if I die here today.” The sniveling bastard’s voice had elevated several octaves as he eyed the flames licking at the ground behind him.

  “And what of the rest of your limp-cocked warriors?” Magnus asked. “Will she die if they die?”

  Marmaduke shrugged. A true Sassenach at heart. He might have married a traitorous Scots woman, but what did he really care about the men who stood around him, ready to do battle for him? Nothing.

  Magnus was going to use that knowledge to his advantage. To the men below he said, “Looks as though your leader could care less whether or not ye live or die. What say ye to that? Is that the type of leader ye wish to die for? Is that the type of man ye wish to rule our good Scottish country? For if ye side with him, and he will see ye die, just as his blasted king would.”

  There were a few grumblings among the Ross men, but before they could act upon anything, Marmaduke urged his horse forward a couple of feet. He swiped with his sword at the heat the fire below was starting to cause. Several horses were growing antsy.

  “A rather fine speech you have given my men, but I assure you that they will not budge. You see, their families are at stake and so is a lot of coin they’ve been promised in their help to quell your rebellions.”

  “This is nay about a rebellion, Sassenach, tell me what it really is. Has your precious wife gone off her head? Has she so sickened of ye that she wishes to steal my wife to warm her bed?”

  Marmaduke visibly gritted his teeth. “Dinna speak of Ina that way, she’s a laird and deserves your respect.”

  Magnus let out a grating laugh. “My respect? Aye, for duping me, mayhap. But the moment she laid hands on my wife, she signed her own death warrant.”

  Marmaduke turned his horse in a circle, perhaps trying to quell the fearful animal, but it wasn’t working. “Ina has the protection of the king. Your king.”

  Magnus almost laughed. Almost. Instead, he let out a bellow of rage.

  “Longshanks is nay my king.”

  The Sassenach managed to still his horse for a moment as he pointed up at Magnus. “’Tis treason you speak.”

  “Ye can threaten me with talk of treason all ye like, Sassenach, but I’ll nay be swearing allegiance to a man that has condemned this country to years of rape, murder, pillaging and depravity. The man ye call king is a bastard and the very devil himself.”

  Marmaduke opened his mouth to speak, b
ut as he did so, one of the horses in the back reared, the flames having gotten too close to his legs. Chaos broke out, the horses all kicking, rearing, running. In the confusion, Marmaduke was tossed from his horse, rolling just in time before his own mount trampled him.

  And he wasn’t the only man to fall.

  Magnus and his warriors watched as the Ross men disbanded or were crushed.

  “Ina will not have gone far with Arbella. She wants something and her fool husband was too arrogant to spit out her demands.” Magnus scanned the horizon, wondering if he’d again see the shifting in the trees he’d caught sight of when Marmaduke and the other warriors had melted from the shadows.

  “What will ye do, my laird?” Gavin asked.

  “I’m going after her.” What he would do was never in question. He had to bring his wife home.

  “I’m coming with ye.”

  Magnus shook his head. “Blane will want to join me.”

  “Join ye where?” At that moment his brother climbed the steps, the same frown on his face he’d worn since they left the croft. “Walls have been tripled, bairns are all safe. But I see I’ve missed the fun.”

  Magnus realized Blane still didn’t know that his wife was now in the hands of Ina Ross. He nodded at his brother and pushed the strip of bloodied gown into his sporran. “That ye have. We need to go get our wives.”

  THEY stood in a circle, surrounding Arbella and Aliah, though their backs were to them. Instead of facing out of the woods toward the castle, Ina faced inside the loop, her sneering gaze tight on the two sisters.

  Thusly situated, Arbella had a first hand view of the castle beyond the moors, and the excitement that had just erupted. Literally. “You’re missing all the action,” Arbella said, careful to keep her words clipped and cool.