by Ria Cantrell
“Just making certain.”
“You are still a cad. Okay, so men in my time work out. What that means is that they do certain things to build their strength.”
“Like me working in the lists?”
“Very much so. Only they don’t practice killing one another. There is less of that, really. The only people who do that are criminals. But people do things to get strong. Like pushups.”
“Pushups? What are pushups?” That word sounded strange to say.
Sinead tossed her head back and laughed. Jamie was enchanted. She was so beautiful and if the men in her time did something called pushups and Sinead thought it made them sexy, he would learn to do them, too.
Sinead looked around and saw that people had gone back to their meal now that the commotion in the kitchen had ended. There in the hall, she dropped down onto all fours and despite the pain in her healing leg; she got into position to do a couple of pushups. After doing about five, Sinead figured Jamie had gotten the idea and since her leg was on fire, she got back to her feet and smiled at him. He had a perplexed look on his face and he said, “Lass, I dunna’ see how that makes the men in yer’ time sexy, as ye’ have said. It looks rather ridiculous, actually.”
Sinead shrugged and said, “Suit yourself, but I am telling the truth that this is one of the ways men and some women, get strong.”
As he crossed his arms over his chest looking like he absolutely did not believe her, Jamie said, “Ye’ would nay be jestin’ with me, lass would ye’? Ye’ dunna’ wish to make me look foolish, now do ye’?”
Sinead shook her head and said, “I swear it! I would never want you to look foolish. It’s just something that guys…I mean men do at the gym…oh hell, I mean where they go to strengthen themselves.”
Jamie still was not convinced and he grumbled, “T’is a wonder the men have less need to kill one another in yer’ time. Doing silly things like those pushups, indeed! Surely, they would not last a day in this time.”
“I would not be so smug about that, Jamie. Lots of men are in pretty good shape. Just saying.” But as she said the words, Sinead had to agree. It was hard for her to be here in this time and she had studied the past for most of her life. She was certain that most people would be hard pressed to thrive in the Middle Ages.
Jamie thought about those men and he was not too thrilled about some of them being more ‘sexy’ than he was in Sinead’s eyes so he would try the mad little pushup practice and see how he fared. Giving Sinead another quick kiss, he said, “Alright then. Ye’ will have to show me how to do it again. For now, I must return to my duties. Can I walk ye’ anywhere?”
“No, I think I will finish my lunch and go up to find Morag. I so enjoy talking to that old lady. If I can’t find her, perhaps your Bronwyn would like to spend time telling me more about your clan.”
With a fake sternness, Jamie said, “Just stay away from my brother Shawn! He is a seducer of lassies and I’ll nay have ye’ fallin’ fer’ his charms.”
Sinead looked up into Jamie’s eyes and said, “I already told you. One MacCollum brother is enough for me.”
“Bold and saucy wench!”
Sinead pressed into his arms and with her head tilted back so she could look up at him, she said, “Are you complaining?”
Jamie had to admit, he was not. He did not know where this could go, but suddenly he liked thinking about Sinead being his woman. He most definitely was not complaining.
Chapter 28
When the keep was settling in for the night, Hugh MacCollum shuffled through the doors out into the cold. Walking through the frozen bailey was difficult and he had to make it appear that he was checking on his old nag being stabled in one of the outer buildings. It would be easy to track him, what with his leg that dragged in the snow and the staff he used to support himself. He approached the guard at the gate and he gave a halfway believable story that he had just wanted to take some air before retiring. The gate had been well guarded but remained open to allow for some of the locals to enter, should they find their abodes unable to withstand the bitter cold. Hugh was pretty sure that many of the old wattle and daub structures would be drafty and no amount of fire would keep the cold at bay. He wondered about a man who cared so much for his people to allow the Keep’s security to be modified to accommodate mere peasants.
Caleb MacCollum had turned into quite an enigma, to say the least. One minute he was lethal and stern and the next, he opened his own doors to ease the suffering of those lesser villagers during the winter storm. Besides that, there were preparations under way for the Yule and Christmas celebrations, so that would again have the keep’s safety compromised, in Hugh’s opinion. Better for him, he supposed, because his comings and goings would be looked upon as nothing more than mere wandering in and out of the fortress.
He swore an oath under his breath as his cursed leg did more than trouble him especially in the frigid night air. He had promised to make contact with the MacKenzie as soon as he could and he had much to impart that Hugh was sure Dubh would be interested to learn. Most especially, Dubh would like the part about the woman who was now staying within Jamie MacCollum’s bedchamber. He saw the lad leaving so it appeared that for now, he was not spending the night with the woman, but Hugh had no doubt that they were lovers. Their less than innocent kissing told him all he needed to know about the two of them.
Now, if only he could get to the Black MacKenzie before his leg gave out completely. He muttered another curse as the bitter frost cut its way into his very bones like shards of splintered glass. With each step, Hugh felt the ache deepening in his leg to the point that he almost cried out from the agony of it. For a split second, Hugh had his doubts that the pocket full of gold was not worth the pain and suffering he was enduring. He also did not want the MacKenzie to find him sprawled on his face so Hugh fought through the pain and he pulled his leg alongside him as he looked for signs of Dubh.
When it seemed Hugh could drag his leg no further and he was at risk at falling into the icy froth that lined the road, he spotted the slightest movement of a shadow amid the trees. It could have just been a play of light now that the snow had stopped and the moon shone on the glistening whiteness. Any branch would cause a shadow, but Hugh got the feeling he was being watched. He had long slipped from view of the guarded walls of MacCollum, so it must be that the MacKenzie was close at hand. Once again Hugh was reminded of the sheer evil that seemed to fuse itself to the likes of Dubh MacKenzie. It radiated off the man like his life force itself. Hugh had learned early in order to survive as a mercenary, to be able to sense such things. It had kept him alive more than a time or two. Sometimes, though, the malevolence of a man was too great to thwart, even when one could instinctively discern it.
As these thoughts corroded into Hugh’s mind, the man himself stepped out of the shadows. A sinister sneer was ever present on the ugly face of Dubh MacKenzie. His voice was like the dusty gravel of death as he spoke, “So, ye’ have been in these cursed MacCollum’s midst for the past three days. Have ye’ learned anything about the eldest one?”
Hugh blew into his wrapped hands to bring some warmth back into them. They had practically gone blue with the cold and he needed to be able to grasp the handle of the staff he used to aid in his walking. Meeting the dark eyes that glistened like obsidian in the stark beams of the moon, Hugh noticed how the light never seemed to reach them. It was like looking into the eyes of snake; lethal and soulless.
He said, “There is a woman with him. I dunna’ know if it was the one who yer’ men claimed that had come out of nowhere.”
Hugh could not help himself from tossing that dig concerning the great and powerful Mackenzie’s men who were scared off by the appearance of one wee woman. Hugh realized he was truly treading on thin ice because the Black MacKenzie seemed ready to strike at the mention of the failed attempt on Jamie MacCollum’s life. He would have to be more careful to keep his barbs in check in the future.
“Tell me m
ore,” MacKenzie ground out; his voice seemingly as deadly as the viperous stare he had cast upon Hugh MacCollum.
“From what I could learn, the lass is a MacDougal, though none can understand how she came to seek quarter with MacCollum. Everyone knows that MacDougal and MacCollum are far from allies, but there seems to be a certain respect and kindness shown to this woman. In fact, she appears to be the lover of the one ye’ seek to destroy. “
“Hmm, so the MacCollum are in league with the MacDougal scum. They pretend to be at war but they are abetting one of the MacDougal whores. This is an interesting development. I had thought that perhaps I could somehow persuade the MacDougal to join me in the barter with the English for our land. I had thought that they had no great love for those dogs, but now this sheds new light on the matter. In finishing the daughter of one, I will gain the life of the son of the other. This is better than I had planned, really. Now, I only need to set the trap to take the woman, if she truly is a MacDougal. What an excellent bargaining chip ye’ have tendered to me.”
Hugh smirked at his good fortune. He could tell the Black MacKenzie was pleased with the information and he set himself to stand a bit straighter, despite the pain and the cold. He dared, “I can assure ye’ she is a MacDougal. I have yet to learn how she came to be within the walls of the keep, but I suspect it is because she is the leman of the eldest son. Perhaps there is a truce struck between MacDougal and MacCollum, for I know not. I have only seen the woman a time or two and one of those was when she was in a clandestine embrace with Jamie MacCollum, but as it is in places such as this, people love a good piece of gossip. It was easy to learn her name and her ties to MacDougal. She is known only as Sinead MacDougal, more than that I dunna’ know. “
“Excellent.”
Grinning like a self-satisfied simpleton, Hugh held out his hand for payment on the information given to Dubh. He immediately felt those cold black eyes boring into him and he started to feel like a mouse in a trap as a snake moved in for the kill. He actually took a step back and lowered his hand. Dubh’s grating voice growled, “Ye’ will have yer’ reward after ye’ help lure the girl into my clutches.”
“B-but how will I do that? She will nay ever follow the likes of a beggar from the safety of the MacCollum bosom. I doubt Jamie will let her wander far without his strong arm of protection. Besides, they are all wary now, because of your foiled attack.”
Hugh regretted the last words as soon as they had slipped from his mouth and it was verified when he felt blinding pain as the solid fist of Dubh MacKenzie landed square in the center of it. He sprawled in the snow and saw the dark droplets of blood mar the pristine white. He spit out blood and two teeth as well. Hugh struggled to rise but he felt his walking staff being kicked out from under his grasping fingers, causing him to land face down with a thud against the frozen ground. He was pretty sure his nose would join his broken teeth and the proof was the sudden warm stream that poured over his throbbing lips. While he tried to right himself, Dubh kicked Hugh in the ribs. Dubh leaned down, coiling himself like a snake ready to strike and when his face was inches from Hugh’s, he seemed to hiss, “Bring me the girl and maybe I will let ye’ yet live.”
With a final punch landed to Hugh’s middle, the Black MacKenzie seemed to spring up as Hugh tried to focus through the pain; feeling as if Dubh had practically vanished into thin air. As the cold seeped into his throbbing bones, and pain wracked him from head to toe, blackness swallowed him and his last thought was it would not matter, now for surely he was going to die.
⌘⌘⌘⌘⌘⌘
When he next woke, Hugh was not even sure he truly lived. Images blurred in and out of his consciousness and he could barely discern if they were living or ethereal beings. His eyesight had been sorely compromised and he tried to remember what had happened to him. As he struggled to move, pain enveloped him and Hugh realized he surely was still alive. It seemed like agony to just even take a breath. His eyes could not focus properly, but they felt stuck shut and even opening them a hair was hard work.
He heard the voice of the one he had remembered loathing for a good part of his life. Could it be that she had been the one to save him from the certain death that had awaited him? As the memory of what had happened started to creep into the fog of his mind, the hag spoke again.
“What evil have ye’ bought now, Hugh MacCollum?”
Prying his swollen eyelids open with every fiber of his will, he saw her more clearly through the slits of his eyes. It was her, alright; Morag MacCollum, crone and witch to the clan. He tried to speak, but felt his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth and all he could verbalize was one word, “Water.”
No sooner had he said it, then he felt the rim of a mug pressed to his lips and he tried to swallow the liquid he so desperately needed. Only, it was not water. It was some vile concoction that the witch had brewed and Hugh sputtered, dribbling it on the bedclothes. Choking as if he had been poisoned, he heard the hag address him again. “Ye’ best drink it, Hugh. It will aid ye’ in the pain later. Ye’ve taken quite a beatin’. Who did ye’ tangle with for he left ye’ to die in the snow.”
Hugh thought about who his assailant had been and he did not dare give the identity up; especially to the likes of the crone.
“I dunna’ know,” he croaked. “I was set upon in the dark.” It was a lie, but Hugh knew better than to pin the Black MacKenzie with the deed. Talking was more of an effort than he had imagined but seeing was even harder. What the hell happened to his face? It felt distorted and even working his jaw sent pain spiraling into him. Hugh tried to remember the last moments he had spent in the company of Dubh and as the memory gnawed its way back into his consciousness; Hugh was reminded of the beating he took at the hands of the dangerous man he had aligned himself with.
Through his swollen eyelids, Hugh could see the silver eyes of the one who always seemed to know all of his misdeeds. This night was no different from the times in the past. He felt her gnarled fingers pressing a cooling cloth over his face and she murmured things quietly that Hugh was certain were unholy incantations. He never liked the witch and he certainly had not changed his opinion of her even as she tended him in his injured predicament.
“What are ye’ mumblin’, old woman? Dunna’ think to curse me with yer’ unholy tongue.” Hugh’s own tongue felt thick and it was obvious that his speech was impaired from his recent loss of teeth.
“Ye’ need no cursin’ from me, Hugh MacCollum. T’would seem ye’ are good at bringing misfortune to yerself. I only speak my prayers when I am healin’.”
As if Morag was undaunted by the unkind and ungrateful nature of the man she was working over, she continued applying the healing salves she had mixed to the bruises under his eye. There was naught she could do about the missing teeth but she had wrapped his ribs after he had been found in the snow, half frozen to death and beaten nearly there, as well. She knew this man for his own trouble of his past. He seemed to draw it to himself so easily. When Donal had banished him, Morag had not thought she would ever see him again. Thievery was one thing, but abuse to his poor wife would never be tolerated.
Lara passed from this world some time ago, and Morag had often thought that she never got over the humiliation and shame she had suffered at Hugh’s hands. The clan had embraced her as best it could, but the woman was damaged where it could nay heal; her soul and heart. When the wave of winter ills fell upon the clan, Lara MacCollum had not the will to fight and she passed as the cold settled upon the earth. Morag had been with her that night. It was not unlike this night, where the wind whistled through the land like the call of the banshee herself. Morag did not like nights like this. It reminded her of the night her beautiful Ian was taken by the MacKenzie murderers hell bent on dastardly mayhem. There was evil about it then and so too, was it now. Ach, she could feel it even before Hugh was found beaten under the moon’s shadow.
Shaking the thoughts of the past away, Morag dabbed at the eye swollen mostly shut and she
asked again, “What were ye’ doin’ out past the gates? Who were ye’ meetin’?”
“No one. I merely went to check on my nag and wandered out to take some air. A man like me does nay do well being cooped up inside verra’ long. T’is been so, since I last laid my head here.”
“And ye’ know no one who sought to harm ye’?”
“Nay,” he said quickly; the lie coming so easily to his lips. Yet even as he said it, he once again felt that the old woman knew him for the fraud he was. He’d never have to admit anything, for Morag always knew what truth or lie was told. Well, he did not care if she did know. It meant nothing to him, not even when she was treating his wounds from his night of deception.
Finally when Morag had finished with her ministrations for all Hugh’s injuries, she silently encouraged him to drink her brew of special healing herbs again. He pushed her hand away, slogging some of the potion onto his clothes. “No more, woman,” he slurred as his lips felt thick and numbed from the swelling. Morag packed up her basket full of remedies and she rose to leave.
“Wait,” he called and Morag stopped, not turning back to look at him. “Why have ye’ not mentioned Lara?”
“Why have ye’ not asked?”
“I gathered ye’ would have made mention of her if she yet still lived. I assume she has gone to her great reward?”
Morag nodded silently.
“T’was nay by my hand, old woman.”
It was all Morag could do to not pummel Hugh MacCollum’s already battered face herself.
“Nay, but she lost her will after yer’ selfish abuse. It cost her dearly and when the winter agues fell upon her, not even my healin’ could save her. T’is been near eight years that she is gone, not that ye’ even care. May her soul be blessed as she rests now.”
“Aye,” was all he could answer. It was for the best, Hugh thought. He would again be lying if he pretended to be saddened over much at the learning of her passing. He had actually given his wife little thought when he fought as a mercenary. T’was only being back in this place that forced him to remember her, for he was gone much longer than the time he had spent being married to her.
