The Memory of Her Kiss

by Rebecca Ruger

  “Doesn’t that terrify you?” She considered this sturdy though very small and simple vessel, pictured it out upon the great big sea.

  “You canna be rowing but on calm sea days.”

  The sea was tranquil today but still Anice saw that the rowing took considerable effort. Kinnon seemed quite adept at it, and Fergus was happy to idle away, his eyes upon the sky. They rowed out past the rocks that separated the castle beach and Left Beach and even beyond that, past a great cliff wall that met the water until, nearly twenty minutes later, they found the next beach. It was much larger than Left Beach but with a similar grove of reeds and trees at the back end of it.

  Fergus picked himself up and waited until Kinnon had steered them closer, then jumped from the boat and held one hand on the bow, walking it up into the sand. Kinnon hopped over the side and gave it a good shove into the surf. He appeared at the side and offered his hand to Anice.

  While they cut and collected the straw reeds, Anice asked Fergus, “Does anyone else in your family still weave, Fergus? I’d like to learn how to weave willow.”

  “Nae,” he answered, hacking away near the roots, his had wrapped around a thick bunch. “Gram only passed a few years back, but she was all the female we had, so it went with her. Fiona in Stoney weaves a bit, enough to show you how, I ken.”

  “You have to soak the willow, I ken,” Kinnon said. “I remember that from when I lived down south.”

  “You weren’t born here, Kinnon?”

  “Nae, sister. The Kincaid found me, near half dead from reivers, down near Berwick. Five years now.”

  “Your family?”

  “All gone, sister,” he answered without emotion. “Gone for good.”

  They picked and plucked and hacked for nearly thirty minutes, filling the entire basket that Fergus had supplied and having another entire bundle, which they bound with some scragglier reeds. Kinnon tossed the bundle onto his shoulder and Fergus showed Anice the strap on the basket that slid over his shoulder and across his chest, so the basket hung beneath the opposite arm.

  “I’m going to make a basket like that,” she said, with more determination than knowhow, tucking her new knife, now stained with green, back into her belt.

  Back into the boat then, and out to sea, past the cliffs and the other beaches and once again upon the shore of the castle beach. Anice thanked the lads for their time and the threesome made their way through the sand and up the slope and around the path. Anice gave a small smile to the tree at which Gregor had kissed her into such glorious oblivion just yesterday.

  “I should get my shoes, I think,” she said, and they agreed to meet at the stables in a few minutes to ride into Stoney.

  Inside the stables, Anice’s mostly dry shoes returned to her feet, they learned that only two steeds remained. Anice would ride with Kinnon and Fergus would transport the reeds, it was decided. The lads spent only a few minutes securing the bundle and the basket to each side of the horse Fergus saddled.

  They walked the horses slowly toward Stoney, Anice up behind Kinnon, one arm around his lean waist. Fergus belted out a raunchy tune, which had both Anice and Kinnon laughing at the same time their cheeks did pinken.

  Lasses, lasses, all day lasses

  Some be good and some be lewd

  Some be fair and some be shrewd

  Go there where they go.

  Lasses, lasses, loving lasses

  Some be sweet and some be fond

  Some be tame, you understand

  Go there where they go.

  Some of they be true to love

  Peasants on top and ladies below

  Lasses, lasses, bonny lasses

  Go there where they go.

  Some can whistle and some will cry

  Some they kiss you and others they blow

  But when the lass is bonny sweet,

  Go then when she goes.

  FROM THE PEAK OF THE newly erected rooftop of ol’ Binney’s barn, Gregor’s hand stilled in the act of hammering tinned nails to wood. He listened and realized a distinct dread, picking out the unmistakable sound of hoofbeats charging, risen above the noise of the very busy Stoney. The men of Stonehaven and Stoney, scattered about the village, assigned to different tasks, stilled just as he had. He didn’t wait to see what the sound might bring, but started lowering himself immediately, using the rafters and beams for footing to bring himself to the ground. He raced to where lay his arms. Earlier, he’d stripped himself of his plaid and tunic, as had many of his men, the unusually bright sun having proved almost tormenting. Now, he only grabbed up his long sword, dismissing his tunic for lack of time, and headed toward the high street, from where the sound came. Dozens of his men fell into place, or came from other parts of the village, swords and axes poised, meeting on the high street just in time to see a party of riders spread out at the mouth of the street. Duncans, Gregor thought angrily, knowing they would stretch themselves to surround the village and then close in. The only advantage he had right now was his position, as he was at the highest point of the main street and thus could see all below. Thankfully, the women and children and the kitchens had been set up in the middle of the village. Gregor was at the far end of the village, the length of the winding main street separating him from the army of at least fifty as they swarmed around the church and the lane to Stonehaven at the opposite end.

  “Fibh! Arik! Take the rear, as they come around,” he ordered those two, who had come running with a handful of soldiers. Fibh nodded and signaled the men nearest to follow him. They turned away from Gregor, facing the opposite direction, awaiting the Duncans that might skirt the entire village to plunder from this end.

  “Get inside!” Gregor started yelling, running down the street, toward the invaders, waving his sword as he did, watching the women disperse, ducking into the cottages. At least twenty Kincaid soldiers were running down the street with him, straight at the red tartan-ed army. His eyes efficiently scanned all the village, noticing everything as it happened. One woman emerged from her hut at the far end of the village, likely to see what the fracas was, and was swiftly cut down by a charging Duncan derelict. He saw the short and squat castle cook pushing several of the kitchen lads into another hut, appearing safe for the moment. Two huts at the beginning of the lane were set afire, and quickly engulfed in flames.

  Gregor and those nearest him were just about to clash with the lead of Duncan’s army, somewhere in the middle of the of the village when he saw what he would later recall would stay with, and haunt him, forever. A flash of blonde, in a sea of dark helmed Duncans caught his gaze, there, just coming around from the back of the church. Behind all the Duncans, having undoubtedly come from Stonehaven, he spied Kinnon and Anice racing in at an alarming speed, one lanky arm raised with sword in hand, another skinnier and bare arm brandishing a long knife.

  It appeared so fantastical that Gregor almost lost his head, unfocused as he was on the nearest assailant. He dropped to the ground with only a half-second to spare, taking out the horse’s front legs with one slice of his sword. He quickly dispatched its fallen rider with a sword through the face. He turned, searching frantically for Anice in the now boisterous and smoky attack. He saw her, still seated behind Kinnon, watched her spear the shoulder of a now horseless raider as they moved further into the fighting.

  Gregor kept moving, keeping half an eye on Anice, his heart constricted painfully within his chest, knowing he would kill Kinnon when this was through. He met up with a man about his size, their swords meeting, crossed between them as they came chest to chest. Gregor pushed, his strength greater, though the man remained on his feet. They parried, but only for a moment before Gregor ducked when the man lunged, somersaulting on the ground to come up behind the man and pierce him with the length of his sword. He used his foot to kick the body off his sword and turned just in time to see Anice—he would never believe this if he hadn’t witnessed it firsthand—leap from the moving horse onto a nearby raider’s back. Leap was not act
ually what she did. She rather fell onto him, as if only falling off the horse. But her blade sunk instantly into his neck.

  Gregor kept moving, stunned, aware that Kinnon had turned, realizing Anice was no longer seated behind him. The boy was knocked from his horse by the flat of a bandit’s blade, falling to the ground. Anice screamed and rushed to him—the pair was behind enemy lines, so to speak—holding her knife pointed outward against Kinnon’s attacker until the lad gained his feet. Kinnon pushed Anice behind him and quite efficiently dealt with the offender. Words would never completely convey the range of emotions that seized Gregor, though fear was decidedly at the forefront, as he continued to make his way toward Anice, through the marauding throng of Duncans. The more of the street his feet and fighting ate up, the more Kincaid bodies he noted along the path. He was charged again by two more men, aware that Torren was once again beside him and had just put down an attack on his person.

  “Anice!” Gregor shouted above the din of battle, wasting little time dancing with the first man, but putting his sword through his eye, simultaneously pulling his knife from his waistband to thrust it into the heart to the second man when he was almost upon him.

  Torren was pushing off his next opponent, and called out, “Aye!” He stomped on the man’s arm as he fell, caught it before he would’ve raised it and his sword. Torren used two hands to thrust his own blade down into the man.

  And they continued forward.

  More fires sprouted as the Duncans tossed torches into the huts. People who’d taken cover began to rush from the burning homes, immediately cut down by the invaders. Gregor pushed harder, running at top speed while no one confronted him. In one second, he saw Anice and Kinnon moving further into the village, unscathed as of yet, and the next second he lost them in the smoke and brazier-red blood spurting across the air above their heads.

  Gregor kept running, meeting and taking down any man who challenged him, the blood from a dozen men staining his blade. Anice was ahead, within fifty meters of him. Gregor swiped his blade across the belly of an assailant, using only a second to watch him fall before searching out Anice again. He kept moving. Just then, Kinnon took a sword to the shoulder and fell to one knee. Anice screamed and fell beside Kinnon, as the attacker still approached.

  Gregor’s chest exploded with fright as the man drew back his sword to deliver the death blow to Anice, her head his target while her back was to him. Gregor saw her hands fumbling at the ground, near Kinnon’s hand. Just as the man drew near enough and lifted his arm, Anice clumsily lifted Kinnon’s sword, turning the upper half of her body.

  “Nooooo!” Gregor roared, his voice a cannon above the sounds of death and destruction.

  Kinnon’s blade, in Anice’ hand, impaled the scraggly haired man before his own sword could reach her. But she’d heard Gregor, he knew, her eyes turning to find him, still more than twenty meters away. Their eyes met, hers terrified. One hand still held the hilt of the sword that she’d pushed through the Duncan soldier. Even from the distance, Gregor saw that it trembled brutally.

  He fended off another attack and continued toward Anice. Gregor almost stumbled now, watching one of the few remaining Duncan men sneak up behind Anice and grab a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back at his waist, while she again kneeled beside Kinnon. Her hands tangled with the man’s hands in her hair. Her eyes had left Gregor with the surprise attack but found him quickly enough again, beseeching, and then with calm acceptance as she watched Gregor shift to draw back his dagger, point between his fingers, and hurl it forward. The bandit never saw it coming, only glanced down at it, little brown eyes registering disbelief as Gregor’s blade penetrated his neck. He fell back, taking Anice with him, as he dropped.

  Gregor found three bodies on the ground when he finally reached her. Kinnon, Anice and her last aggressor, all lying side by side, Anice actually half on top of Kinnon.

  “Anice!” he shouted and reached for her, knowing Torren was beside him, and had his back.

  She said nothing, her face a frozen mien of terror. Gregor lifted her up in his arms, was infused immediately with her tremors, and cradled her against his chest. Beside him, Torren helped the wounded Kinnon to his feet. They turned as one, surveying the carnage, seeing not much more than a wobbly path of destruction all the way to the far end of the street.

  Here and there, several similarly shirtless villagers and dozens of Kincaid soldiers finished off any remaining Duncans. Gregor saw a handful of red tartan-ed men riding away from the carnage, away from the village. And then all was still. And silent.

  Everyone stood motionless, measuring the slaughter just as Gregor did. The only sound now was the crackling of the still-burning fires, and then a cry, somewhere away from the main street, as a woman shrieked. Soon, the cries of many women and children could be heard.

  But not a single Duncan man remained mounted or standing.

  Gregor closed his eyes at the horror, at the very senselessness of it.

  He loosened his grip on Anice and dropped to his knee. He breathed slowly, closed his eyes. And quickly opened them again, to lose that picture of her hair held in that man’s hand, her life so close to done. He felt Anice’s hand at his shoulder.

  He wanted nothing more than to take her back to Stonehaven, lay her in a bed, lock the door, and assure himself she was unharmed. And then he would whip her within an inch of her life for what she had done, for exactly how terribly she had scared him. But the little village of Stonehaven was in ruins, and its people frightened and traumatized.

  One thing at a time. He stood and looked at Anice. “You are unharmed, lass?” He couldn’t touch her now, his emotions so tightly wound, his mind so fraught with the what-ifs. He truly thought he might do her harm if he touched her.

  She nodded, though her lips still quivered.

  In a very low and very dangerous voice, he warned her, “If you ever do something so wild, so goddamn reckless, again, you’ll no sit for a year when I’m through with you. Do you understand me?” She did not answer quick enough to suit him. His voice chilled. “Do you understand me?”

  Her eyes widened, but she did nod.

  He took a moment to lay upon Kinnon the most ferocious scowl, promising great retribution for having put her in harm’s way. The boy blanched but held onto and walked away with Fibh.

  Soldiers gathered around, waiting instructions. “Tamsin, gather some others and round up the village carts. Every man, woman, and child goes to Stonehaven. Now.” He turned around until he found Arik. “Take the lass back to the keep, you and Sim and Donald—straight to the keep.”

  Arik nodded and put his hand to Anice’s elbow, to lead her away. She hesitated only a moment before complying.

  He paused only for a second to see Anice mounted behind Arik, surrounded by Sim and Donald, winding their way out of Stoney. Only then did Gregor’s heart begin to beat normally. She was safe.

  Gregor called out to several of the men of the village and waved a hand indicating they should walk with him. Grimly, they followed, wading through the debris and destruction and wasted life, strewn upon the ground about the village so carelessly as leaves in the fall.

  THE GREAT HALL OF STONEHAVEN resembled a tomb that evening. Families sat huddled around tables, mourning their loved ones. Some groups stayed quiet, thankful they’d lost no one, staring sadly at the tables of weeping persons. Gregor sat at the family table and considered the souls before him. It had been many years since a battle was brought to his home and the people within.

  They’d lost fourteen people from the village and four of his army. Two of the dead were children. Tomorrow they would give proper burial to their dead. And the next day, they would make sure not one Duncan remained to ever again cause such ruin and anguish.

  Not for the first time, Gregor considered his own culpability in the tragic events of today. Hugh Duncan sat even now in the ground beneath the west tower. If he’d followed some other course of action, would those who had died today be
alive still? While the answer might well be yes, and despite the pain this caused him, he could not imagine a circumstance or a proposition that would have permitted or convinced him to free Hugh. True, he felt now unmitigated sorrow for those lost today, and for those who cried even now for their slain kin, but he was not so soft of mind to know that guilt should lay solely with him, or that having released Hugh might have prevented this. But aye, the ache was all the same. Truth be told, the greater part of his guilt—and it was extreme—rested solely with the knowledge that he had not sufficiently protected his people, hadn’t prepared properly for the possibility of such an assault. This might be harder still to live with.

  Torren came and sat next to him at the head table, eschewing using their regular table as so many more people were in the hall today. They’d brought benches and tables in from the storerooms in the east tower so that now almost twenty tables were crammed into the room.

  “The lass?” Torren asked.

  “Asleep.” He’d found her that way, when he’d finally returned to Stonehaven, and hadn’t the heart to wake her, though he’d been of a mind to reprimand her yet more for her foolishness this morning.

  “Makes you wonder,” Torren mused, his big paw around his horn of ale, “all those years, the Lady Kincaid lives here, making lives miserable. Then one day she decides to leave and boom, Stoney is attacked.”

  With all that had happened, and dwelling so much on how awful it was, Gregor had not thought about this. His eyes narrowed, as this begged the question, “Why didn’t Duncan attack the keep, while so much of the army was in Stoney? Why not just storm what few we’d left to guard the castle and free Hugh, assuming that was his intent?”

  “Maybe it was no his intent?” Torren offered.

  “Then what?” Gregor wondered, drumming his fingers on the table. “Those on the wall said no Duncan came anywhere near Stonehaven today. Am I the target, and he thought his chances greater with us outside the keep?”