by Aileen Adams
Her eyes filled with tears and her lips trembled, again wrapping her arms around herself.
Maccay glanced uncertainly between the women and then toward the slope. He needed to go after Ceana, but didn’t want to leave the women here, unprotected. Not that he had done much protecting. He cursed his stupidity.
“I’m all right,” Sarah said. “Go to Ceana. She may be hurt.”
He glanced at Alis, also slowly rising from the ground, grimacing in pain. He reached out an arm to give her extra support and she glanced at him and nodded in appreciation. When she stood, he slowly straightened.
“I’m all right too,” Alis said.
Maccay released his grip on her arm and quickly stepped to the edge of the slope. He saw Ceana lying still at the bottom, her kirtle twisted around her legs, lying on her stomach, arms flung outward.
“Wait here,” he said.
He quickly made his way down the slope, sidestepping, arms out to his sides to maintain his balance. His head hurt, but he ignored the pain. He deserved it.
Ceana had tumbled quite a way down. She would be lucky if she escaped any broken bones.
His anger surged. He should’ve known the woman would not give up her revenge, not based on her past history. He should’ve been more careful and paid more attention. But the woods had been so quiet, nothing to indicate her presence.
She must’ve been already hiding among the shrubs and trees inside the edges of the forest, had likely been there for some time, watching, waiting for her chance.
How long had she been hiding there? Watching the manor house, the comings and goings of Phillip, Jake, and the others? The presence of the birds and the chattering of squirrels had indicated no alarm at her presence, making him believe that she had been there most of the day, if not longer.
He reached Ceana’s side and rolled her over, and none too carefully. She didn’t deserve his pity. He didn’t care if he hurt her. He didn’t care if she—as she rolled onto her back, he noticed the odd angle of her head.
Her neck was broken.
Ceana was dead.
Good riddance.
Maccay quickly glanced at the slope over his shoulder, glad that Heather wasn’t watching. He headed back up the slope, determined to get the women back to the manor house and under protection before he sent men back here to retrieve Ceana’s body. After that, he would send someone to relay the news to Phillip. He would be relieved, one worry put to rest.
He tried to ignore his own discomfort and the shame he felt at his failure. He deserved whatever Phillip saw fit as punishment for his carelessness. He had been charged with the women’s protection and he had let them all down. Even Alis, still weak and recovering from her own injuries, had come to Sarah’s defense.
He topped the rise.
“How badly is she hurt?” Sarah asked, her voice now calm, and arm wrapped around her sister’s shoulders.
“She’s dead,” he said simply.
Heather uttered a loud gasp and clasped a hand over her mouth as her eyes flooded with tears.
He shook his head. “Don’t weep for her, Heather. If it wasn’t for you and Alis, Sarah and her baby might be dead right now.”
He was sure Heather understood that, but she had taken a life.
He remembered the first time he had killed, but it was on the battlefield. He scowled.
Sarah should not have had to endure yet another attack by Ceana. Heather should not have been the one to kill Ceana.
He felt a surge of self-loathing rise within him and stood still, arms by his sides, mentally berating himself over his failure. He would face the consequences, but his heart ached.
He glanced between Sarah and Alis. Which one to carry down to the manor house first? Sarah seem to read his thoughts.
“I’m fine, Maccay,” she said, shoulders back, nodding with self-assurance.
Heather wrapped her arm around her sister’s waist and the two of them began to slowly make their way through the field toward the path that led back to the manor house.
Without waiting or even saying anything to her, Maccay swept Alis into his arms, gritting his teeth against the pain that throbbed on the back of his head. Warm blood still dribbled down along the back of his neck and beneath his shirt.
“Maccay, you’re hurt. I can walk.”
Alis’ voice prompted a sarcastic chuckle to erupt from his throat. “Nae, lass. My pride is more than a bit wounded, but I’m fine.”
“Who was she?”
At first Maccay thought not to answer, but the young woman had done her best to help defend Sarah against Ceana’s attack. The least she deserved was an explanation.
As he followed Sarah and Heather from a short distance slowly down the slope, all of them stepping carefully, he quietly told his Alis about Ceana’s treachery.
“Well then, maybe that’s best,” Alis mumbled, arms wrapped around Maccay’s neck. “Oh, I’m not a cold-blooded, bloodthirsty woman,” she said softly in self-defense. “At least I don’t think I am, but it sounds to me as if the woman brought this down on herself. I’m glad Heather killed her.”
Maccay said nothing, wearing his guilt and humiliation like a heavy shroud. He felt numb, disengaged, and his tight chest and the thickness in his throat was hard to ignore.
By the time they returned to the manor house, Agnes and several of the other staff emerged, all of them talking at once.
Maccay slowly lowered Alis to her feet while Agnes’ daughter helped her inside, followed by a weeping Heather while Sarah tried to comfort her.
The women were pelted with questions.
So too was Maccay, but he waved them off and headed for the armory where he knew he would find several clansmen. He pulled two of them aside and directed them up the slope, telling them where they would find Ceana.
He wanted her brought back and put in the small shed behind the stables where grain and hay was stored for the horses.
The two men quickly moved off, exchanging curious glances as Maccay hailed another clansman. He told him that Ceana was dead and to ride for Phillip and give him the news. He didn’t offer any explanation and no details. Enough time for that later.
Those tasks completed, he returned to the manor house and stopped Agnes as she quickly hurried downstairs toward the kitchen.
“Are they all right?”
“Aye, other than some jangled nerves and some bruises, they’re all fine. I’m drawing water for baths.” She looked up at Maccay. “Is it really true? Ceana is dead?”
He nodded.
“Good riddance,” she huffed.
Maccay said nothing as Agnes touched his arm.
Did she already know what happened? Had she been given the dirty details? That he had failed to protect the women? That the three women, one of them heavy with child and the other injured and weak, had defended themselves against yet another attack by Ceana? That Heather had been the one to kill her and not himself?
If he had done his job, Heather wouldn’t have had to defend herself or her sister and the baby against Ceana’s attack.
He briefly closed his eyes and sighed, trying to ease the tension building in his shoulders.
“Let me get water heating for their baths, and I’ll take care of your head,” Agnes said with a kind smile.
“Never mind, it’s all right,” Maccay grumbled.
He turned and left the manor house, a myriad of feelings rushing through his mind all at once. He headed for the livery, saddled his horse, and rode away from the manor house and back up hillside behind the house.
As he reached the top, he saw his clansmen emerging over the top of the slope, dragging Ceana by her arms up over the top. He stared for several moments and then turned toward the woods.
Maybe she had been alone, maybe not. He was going to find out.
Armed with both dirk and axe, he was out for blood, if for no other reason than to redeem himself in his own eyes for his utter and complete incompetence.
8
Her heart pounded, so fast that she feared she would drop dead right then and there. She pressed her face against the trunk of the tree, so hard that she felt the rough surface of the park digging into the flesh of her cheek.
She wanted to disappear, to blend into the background, the pines, the shrubs, the very dirt itself. She’d survived this long, please, more time! She needed more time.
She closed her eyes for the briefest of moments, to relish the scent of pine and sap, hoping it would not be her last memory. She hoped that the tree was large enough to prevent her from being seen. They couldn’t find her. They couldn’t! They mustn’t.
Alis jolted upright with a gasp, eyes wide, fingers clutching the sheet and blanket that covered her. At first, confusion reigned.
Where was she? This wasn’t the forest! She no longer smelled the pines nor heard the breeze rustling through branches, nor the sound of a hawk soaring far overhead in the distance.
Her chest heaved with her frantic breathing, her heart still pounding fast, so hard she felt the pulse throbbing in her neck.
She stared wide-eyed around her.
Darkness.
Only the dying embers in the fireplace gave her a sense of calm, reassured her that she was not in the forest, hiding from them. She sat up in a bed, in the bedchamber in the Duncan manor house.
Not the forest. Not the forest.
Gradually her heart slowed, as did her breathing. Still, she trembled. This was the aftermath of the nightmare that made her angry and frightened at the same time.
Why couldn’t she remember?
They had been after her. But who were they?
Every night, she had a similar nightmare. Every night she woke like this, skin damp with sweat, pulse pounding, hands trembling. This night, she had to desperately blink back her tears. She could not succumb to her fear. Her unknown fear.
Different images, different sensations, smells, and emotions. They raced through her mind so fast, fleeting images that she couldn’t grab onto. She knew that it was her memory trying to reemerge, but the images were so disjointed and so confusing that nothing was clear.
She sighed and threw the covers back, and then swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her feet made contact with the worn wooden planks of the floor, cool and comforting in their solid strength.
Slowly, she stood and walked to the window and peered outside. She hugged herself against the night chill as she gazed outward, saw that it was still dark, most likely the middle of the night.
The Duncan house was quiet. Outside, she heard the steady chirp of a cricket, and down by the shores of that pond in front of the manor house, frogs croaking.
Moonlight shone on the surface of the water. Overhead, stars dotted the sky. The glow of the half-moon separated the darkness of the grounds surrounding the manor house from the shadows of the water; but beyond, the darker and inky blackness of the forest hovered, as if watching, sending a shiver down her spine.
Would the nightmares ever end? Would they continue to torment her on a nightly basis until her memory returned?
What if it didn’t? Was she doomed to start her life over, literally rebirth as an adult with no memories or reliance on who she had been before? How old was she? Did she have family somewhere worrying about her?
Which she forever be Alis?
Two days had passed since the wild, red-haired woman had been killed. Earlier today, just before dusk, the laird had returned with a small group of clansmen.
From her window, she had watched them ride into the yard in front of the manor house. The laird and another man had quickly dismounted and rushed inside.
She’d tiptoed to her door and pressed her ear to it, listening to the sound of male voices interspersed with those of the house staff, one of them calling for Sarah, the other calling for Heather.
She felt bad about eavesdropping, but curiosity got the better of her. The man with the laird must be Jake, his younger brother. They had worn expressions that warred with anger and worry.
Both were large men, handsome in their own rugged ways, but truth be told, the expressions on their faces as they had entered the manor house had sent a shiver down her spine.
At that moment, she worried about Maccay. Would the laird blame him for what had happened?
She hoped not and resolved, if given the opportunity, she would speak up in Maccay’s defense. After all, he had only been doing Sarah’s bidding.
Alis was beginning to learn from her short-lived experience that when Sarah asked for something, she was never refused. It seemed everyone wanted to please Sarah.
Alis liked Sarah and her sister. They were both kind, compassionate, and even-tempered women. They didn’t order people about, or look down on others. Neither made unreasonable demands. They were pleasant to be around.
In her own experience, she felt that both sisters had offered her a sense of camaraderie and acceptance. Maybe that’s why everyone in the household, and even the warriors, were pleased to do Sarah’s bidding.
She had moved to sit on her bed, contemplating her future as the sound of voices drifted upward. Laughter. Everyone talking at once. Despite the noise, the number of voices in the hall below, she felt isolated. Lonely. Homesick for she knew not what.
Alis knew she couldn’t stay at the manor house much longer. She was healing, feeling stronger every day. She didn’t belong here.
Unsettled, aware that she was an outsider, she had, for the first time, given thought to her next steps. She had to try to decide what to do. She had no idea where she belonged or where she came from.
Should she return to the forest? Was the answer there? She instinctively knew that she shouldn’t, but she obviously had the skills to survive there.
She couldn’t sit still. She started pacing her room, absentmindedly nibbling on a fingernail when suddenly, a loud and heavy knock on her door startled her.
She spun around, hand clapped to her mouth to prevent a scream before she counted to three and then spoke.
“Come in.” She cringed at the fear in her voice.
Much to her dismay, the laird and his brother entered the room, looking even larger than they had appeared from outside. Both stared at her, unblinking.
The laird’s presence was intimidating, his brother’s even more so. The laird stood slightly in front of his brother, broad-shouldered with dark, unruly hair, his brooding frown provoking her heart to skip a beat. Dark eyebrows over dark brown eyes stared at her as if he could see into the depths of her soul. His expression shifted slightly as one eyebrow lifted ever so slightly.
The man standing behind him seemed even more imposing, if that were possible. He looked a lot rougher than his brother. Jake, the one who had gone off to war and been wounded. He was the reason why Phillip had ventured south to the coast to kidnap Sarah. Their features were similar, yet Jake’s hair was lighter than that of his brother, his face slightly wider, his jaw line squarer.
She feigned calm as she clasped her hands in front of her so they wouldn’t see her trembling as she stared wide-eyed at both of them. She made an attempt to swallow as she curtsied, and then changed her mind, afraid that she would choke because her mouth was so dry.
“Laird Duncan,” she choked out, her voice hovering just above a whisper.
She turned to his brother. What was she supposed to call him?
“You’re Alis.”
“That’s what they call me,” she gave a nod, accompanied by a slight shrug. “I don’t remember…”
“My wife tells me that even though you are still recovering from your injuries, that though you barely have the strength to walk, you tried to protect her against Ceana’s attack.”
What could she say to that? She offered a slight nod.
“And Heather tells me you even heaved a rock in Ceana’s direction,” Jake said. “Distracting her enough so that my wife was able to tackle her and throw her misbegotten hide over the side of the slope.”
Again, she didn’t know what to
say, so once more, simply nodded.
“You still have not regained any of your memory?”
She turned to the laird and shook her head. “No, Laird Duncan.”
The two men exchanged a look. She wasn’t sure she was supposed to hear it, but she heard the laird whisper to his younger brother. “She looks vaguely familiar, don’t you think?”
Jake Duncan stared at her for several moments, then frowned and shook his head.
The laird turned back to her. “I came to thank you for helping my wife and Heather. You showed great bravery. If you wish, after you have healed, you are free to remain with our clan.”
Alis felt a surge of relief at his words, but it was tinged with something else. Fear? She wasn’t sure.
She offered a slight curtsy and thanked the laird and that was that.
They turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind them.
Now, standing in front of the window, even the memory of the brief interaction left her feeling a myriad of emotions. She stood looking out into the night, not sure what to do. Where did she belong? Was someone out there looking for her? Or had someone abandoned her in the forest, hoping that she would die there?
What could—
She saw movement. It looked to be a man walking slowly along the shore of the pond.
She watched.
He stood for several minutes, unmoving, staring out onto the water’s surface. He turned to look at something near the field nearby, and in the moonlight she recognized Maccay’s profile. She hoped he hadn’t been punished for what had happened with the wild woman.
Ceana.
Knowing that she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep with her mind spinning with questions and uncertainties, she quickly removed her nightgown and donned the boy’s clothing that Maccay had found her wearing in the forest.
Though she had been given an old undergown and kirtle to wear, she sensed she’d feel more comfortable in the boy’s clothing. She wondered why.
Not sure what compelled her to do so, she quietly left her room and made her way slowly down the hallway, stepping quietly, so as not to wake anyone before moving down the stairs and toward the front door of the manor. When she reached the entrance, she opened the door and slipped through, closing it softly behind her.
