by Laurin Wittig - Guardians Of The Targe 02 - Highlander Avenged
She looked back at him then, and he suddenly understood why a woman such as she, a healer dedicated to saving lives, would have attacked that English soldier so fearlessly. Vengeance was the strongest of motivators, even for a woman like Jeanette MacAlpin.
“I am surprised you did not slice that Sassenach bastard’s head off today,” he said, meaning every word.
“I would have, if I could have managed the sword better.”
His gaze snapped to hers and he could feel a rage that matched hers, rolling off of him like storm-driven waves on the loch. Here was something he could give her, something he was well schooled in after more than a year in the king’s army. Once his arm was fully healed, he could give her vengeance against her enemies.
“Next time, I shall do it for you,” he vowed.
CHAPTER THREE
AS THEY DREW closer to the castle, the nearest part of the curtain wall obscured the devastation Malcolm had seen from higher up on the ben. If not for the strong odor of burnt wood, far stronger than those caused by the usual fires kindled within a castle, he might doubt what he had seen. They veered around the castle to the west and still all looked well, until they neared the gate.
An old, grizzled guard yelled over his shoulder, back into the castle, “She is here!” Then he strode toward them, his eyes narrowed and his hand upon his dirk, Malcolm clearly the target of his gaze. “Who is this, mistress?” he demanded.
“I am Malcolm, son of John, chieftain of the MacKenzies of Blackmuir.”
The guard glared at him. “What business have you with us?”
“He is injured, Denis,” Jeanette said. “He is in need of my help. Let us pass.”
“How do you ken he is not an enemy to us? He could be another English spy.”
Jeanette looked over her shoulder and gave him the slightest shake of her head as if to say he should not react to such a question, but Malcolm would not let his honor be smeared with such an implication.
“I am a Highlander, a Scot. My home is west of Inverness and my clan is sworn to fight for King Robert. I fought with the king at Methven and Dalrigh and I shall fight with him again as soon as this kind lass mends my arm. I am no bedamned English spy!”
“I believe him,” Jeanette said to the guard, whose dirk was half-drawn now. She turned and glared at Malcolm. “You are not making this easy, Malcolm MacKenzie.”
“Aye, you are not,” the guard added.
“Denis,” she said to the old man, “there are English soldiers on the ben. At least one, maybe more. We did not linger to find out. I need to speak to the chief and I do not think it wise for any of us to stand about in the open like this.”
Denis looked from Malcolm to Jeanette and back several times, not budging from his spot between them and the gate.
“Denis?” Jeanette prodded. “ ’Tis of great import I speak to Nicholas immediately.” Malcolm could hear the strain threading through her words, though clearly she tried to hide it.
“Did you not understand her, man?” Malcolm said.
The old guard grumbled but turned and led them to the gate, then through the short passage. Just as they stepped into the bright bailey, a tall auburn-haired woman strode toward them.
“Oh, thank the heavens,” the woman said, “you are returned.”
“Aye, I am returned. Did you think I would not?” Jeanette asked.
Malcolm noted the tension that sprang to life between these two as they spoke. He had the urge to touch Jeanette again, as he had when they had entered the clearing by the burn. That time she had visibly relaxed. Would it happen again?
He reached forward and laid his hand upon her shoulder, but this time she shrugged it off and stepped quickly away.
“We were worried,” the woman said, stopping just in front of Jeanette.
“I needed some air, Rowan,” Jeanette said.
“Aye, is that not what I told you?” the guard said to Rowan.
“ ’Tis,” Rowan said, “but still, you were gone too long and though I made the men leave you be, I was worried.”
As if seeing Malcolm for the first time, she met his gaze. Jeanette quickly made the introductions to her cousin, this time stressing his experience in the king’s army.
“He is in need of a healer. We can offer him shelter, such as it is, while I care for him, can we not? And in exchange, he can give what assistance he can as we prepare to fight the English again.”
Rowan did not respond right away, nor did she give her thoughts away. After a long moment she nodded. “Denis, you shall wait with them while I find Nicholas.”
As they waited, Malcolm got a better look at the damages he had glimpsed from the trail. The length of curtain wall on his left was nothing but rubble, offering up a spectacular view of the loch and the distant mountains but leaving the castle vulnerable to any attack that might be launched against it. Men toiled there, clearing the rubble away. To his right he could now clearly see the source of the smoke stench.
The blackened and broken remains of a large building lay like a corpse rotting in the sun. The women and weans working to clear the remains were like insects cleaning the body. Scorch marks on the curtain wall surrounding the blackened heap gave testimony to the intensity of the fire.
Questions spun through him, but he set them aside for the moment, too intent on assessing the strategic impact of such destruction.
He glanced now at the outbuildings scattered along the edges of the bailey. All of them showed evidence of fire damage, too, though most suffered only blackened patches to their thatched roofs. The single stone tower he had seen from the trail stood across the way, the only defensible structure from the looks of the place, and it was not large. The devastation to this small castle hit him like a punch to the gut, as his mind spiraled through all the dangers such wreckage presented.
The only good thing he could see was that the English had left the castle in such ruins that there was no way they would want more from this place or these people, though he did wonder what the clan had done to merit such destruction. And then he remembered the English soldier skulking about in the wood not far from this very spot and his questions multiplied.
“There is no hospitality to offer,” the guard said just loud enough for Malcolm to hear. “You will have to earn your way if you intend to bide here.”
Malcolm nodded absently, for his mind was still busy solving the problem of how to defend such a broken castle. No matter how many ways he looked at the problem, there was only one conclusion he could reach: the castle could not be defended.
A rumble of men’s voices rose from the crowd working on the rubble heap and Malcolm saw several men separate from the workers and head toward him, Rowan leading, hand in hand with one of them.
He turned his attention back to Jeanette, who stood a few feet away from him, watching the approaching group. Her shoulders were lifted just enough to betray the tension she must have felt and that made him wonder exactly what her place was in this clan. Her cousin Rowan was clearly the chatelaine, but that said little about Jeanette’s position.
Three men arrived with Rowan, and Malcolm only noticed another woman when she stepped out from behind the youngest of the men. She was shorter than the willowy Rowan, with dark hair and eyes snapping with distrust.
“I am Nicholas, chief of the MacAlpins of Dunlairig,” the dark-haired man who had been holding Rowan’s hand said, that same hand now resting on his dirk.
Before he could continue, Jeanette spoke. “We encountered an English soldier on the trail to the wellspring, just at the big boulder. I do not think he is dead and we are not certain if there are more, but Malcolm heard voices and it seems unlikely one would be here alone.”
To his credit, the chief did not question any part of Jeanette’s statement. “Duncan, take a few men with you and see if you can pick up their tracks.” The yo
ungest of the two men standing just behind the chief nodded, then headed for the rubble pile again, shouting names as he went.
“You said you do not think he was dead?” Nicholas asked Jeanette. “Did you find him that way, or were you responsible for his injuries?”
“We are responsible for his injuries,” she said. “Malcolm engaged him and I hit him on the head.”
“She knocked him out cold,” Malcolm said. “You should have seen her.”
“You should have killed him,” the dark-haired woman said, her words like a snake’s hiss. “If he is English, he deserved to die.”
“She could not kill him, Scotia,” Rowan said to the lass. “Jeanette could never do that.”
“I could,” Scotia said.
“I doubt it not,” the chief said, shaking his head. “Perhaps one day soon you’ll have no choice but to prove you are so bloodthirsty.” He turned his attention back to Malcolm. “My wife says you are a warrior in King Robert’s army.”
“I was until I was injured.” He shrugged his right shoulder to indicate where. “I will be again when Mistress Jeanette has healed me.”
“As you can see,” Nicholas said, raising his hands to indicate their ruined surroundings, “there is little we can offer you for hospitality, but you are welcome to stay here and partake of what little we have in exchange for any information or insight you can give us about the English and their tactics.”
“I thank you,” Malcolm said formally, though he thought it odd that a chief would not be well versed in such things. “I will share what I can, though why they would return here when they have already done so much damage, I cannot fathom.”
There was a look that ran through all the people gathered around him but he could not tell what it meant.
“Suffice it to say that we are certain they intend to return and soon, given your meeting with one of their soldiers this day so close to the castle. Defending the clan is paramount.”
Malcolm felt his eyebrows rise. “Defend?” Was the man daft? Was the entire clan daft? “If what you believe is true, and the English are returning here soon, there is no defending this place.”
“If we were to defend this castle,” Nicholas said, “I would ask your opinion of how that might be done.”
“There is no defending. The curtain wall will trap you in an attack by anyone coming over the broken part of the wall. You have only the tower to retreat to, and it does not look big enough to keep many safe within.” He shook his head. “There is only one thing you can do if you wish your clan to survive another English attack.” He paused, knowing what he was about to say would not sit well with these proud Highlanders.
“If you stay here, you will all be caught like birds in a cage, easy prey for your hunters. I can see no other outcome. You must abandon this castle.”
EVEN THOUGH THEY had been preparing for the need to abandon their home for almost a fortnight, Jeanette knew she was not the only one who had been holding out hope that their efforts would not be necessary. But the English were back and the MacAlpins could not defend the castle without the curtain wall being repaired unless Rowan could call upon her gift to raise a barrier, as Jeanette’s mum, the previous Guardian, had done. Yet Rowan could not perform the simplest of blessings, as she’d demonstrated just this morn. She could not protect the entire castle.
“Denis, keep our guest company,” Nicholas said as he turned and headed for the tower, Rowan by his side and the older man in their wake. “Have Duncan join us when he can,” he said over his shoulder.
Malcolm started to argue but Jeanette pressed her hand to his arm.
“You are not wrong. It is just that we have been hoping it would not come to this,” she said to him.
“I thought you wished my assistance.”
“And you have given it.”
“Jeanette, Scotia!” Rowan called over her shoulder. “You, too!”
Scotia’s eyes went wide, then narrowed with suspicion.
“Why now?” she asked her sister.
Jeanette had no idea, but she would take advantage of the opportunity to press Rowan to take up her training again. Her cousin could not refuse in front of others, especially under these dire circumstances. She would not.
“I suspect we shall find that out anon, sister. Denis,” she said, turning her attention quickly to their guest’s comfort, “see that Malcolm gets something to eat and have Mary make up a sorrel tea for him.” She looked at Malcolm. “ ’Twon’t be much to eat, I’m afraid, but the tea will cool your fever.”
“No need, lass,” Malcolm replied. “I shall partake of my own rations until they are gone, and the fever will pass on its own, as it always does.”
“We are not so bad off that we cannot feed a guest and offer him a simple tea.” She cast a determined look at Denis. “I shall come find you when we are finished. I want to check your wound again,” she said to Malcolm, though she knew it was only an excuse to seek him out.
Jeanette and Scotia hurried after the others and when they were all standing in the confines of the chief’s small chamber, one floor up in the tower, silence settled over the five of them.
Nicholas sat in the only chair. He glanced at Uilliam, the black-haired, heavily bearded bear of a man who stood at the back of the room near the door. Nicholas said, “It would seem we can no longer stay in Dunlairig Castle.”
Uilliam’s voice rumbled over them: “Unless Rowan can raise a defense.”
Jeanette nodded at his assertion.
Rowan bristled, but Nicholas nodded. “She cannot yet, and we dare not allow ourselves to be—how did Malcolm put it?—‘caught like birds in a cage’? The time has come to evacuate the clan.”
He looked at each of the women, Rowan, Jeanette, and Scotia. “The caves are ready?”
“Ready enough,” Rowan said. “Peigi and her sisters returned from the Glen of Caves two days ago and reported that the necessities are in place, though it will not be a comfortable home and more work will be required once we arrive.”
The Glen of Caves was hidden away in a deep fold of the mountains, far enough from Glen Lairig to be safe, but close enough to get there in a few hours’ time on foot.
“Uilliam, you have sites chosen for the warriors to camp?”
“Aye. With only a score of us, and some of those needing to keep watch over the women and weans at the caves, it will be easy to move the camp as needed. And we shall be plenty close to keep watch in the glen for the English. Once we know how many, and where they are, we can plan our attack.”
“Duncan told me just this morning,” Nicholas said, “that almost all the livestock have been moved up into the mountains. We shall have to leave behind those that have not been moved yet, for now at least.”
“Good,” Uilliam said. “Shall I start sending word up and down the glen, carefully of course, for everyone to leave their homes tonight?”
“Aye, and we will begin sending out small groups from the castle as soon as ’tis dark,” Nicholas added. “With luck we shall all be away before dawn and before any English soldiers are the wiser.”
“Is there any word from my da?” Jeanette asked. Her father, the previous chief, had been sent to ask for help from their allies.
“Nay,” Uilliam said, moving from his spot by the door to her side. He frowned down at her, which might have scared some people, but he was like an uncle to her, her father’s best friend, and champion when her father had been chief. “But he would want to know why you left the castle this morn when you knew ’twas dangerous. I could have expected as much from Scotia”—a gasp burst from her sister—“but not from you. Your da would have my hide if anything happened to you while he was away.”
Jeanette looked at Rowan, the row between them this morning still humming in the air. “Rowan and I had been working and I needed to get some air. We had no reason to believe ther
e were any English vermin lurking so near.” ’Twas the truth.
“And where did you come to meet this Malcolm Mackenzie?” Nicholas took over the questions.
“I found Malcolm at the wellspring trying to heal a wound on his arm.”
The room filled with voices but Rowan, bless her, quieted them with a glare.
“Go on,” she said.
“I bathed his arm at the wellspring—”
Uilliam started to object but Rowan once more silenced him with a look.
“I am a healer. ’Twas nothing more than that. When that was done, we had started down the ben to return to the castle when Malcolm heard something. He handed me his claymore—he cannot wield it until his arm is better—and I went to hide in the trees. An English soldier stood in the trail. Malcolm started to fight him off with a branch, but ’twas clear he could not keep that up for long, so I came up behind the soldier—” More spluttering from Uilliam. Another glare from Rowan. “—I came up behind him and swung the sword handle at his head. I hit him so hard, he collapsed to the ground and moved no more.”
Scotia gave a raucous whoop but quickly quieted, folding her hands in front of her as if she were a demure young lass, but the feral look in her eye told the truth of her feelings.
“The rest I have told you. We returned to the castle as quickly as possible. And we dare not linger here any longer unless Rowan will let me teach her how to raise a barrier,” Jeanette said, looking her cousin square in the face now.
A heavy silence fell over the gathering.
“You ken well that I cannot do that yet,” Rowan said, her voice low and tight.
Nicholas reached out and touched Rowan’s elbow for just a moment. “You will, love, soon.”
“Or not,” Rowan said, her glare now targeted at Jeanette. “So far I can only reliably call upon my gift defensively.”
“Which is why, for now, we must move everyone to a safer place. I want Rowan and the Targe stone with the warriors. She is”—he made a point of looking at Jeanette—“our best weapon. Jeanette, you and Scotia will go with the rest of the women and the weans to the caves.”
