by Johanna Maas
Lizbeth acknowledged he was a cruel man and always had taken a pleasure upon the distress of others. Oftentimes, he inflicted agony wherever he went for just the sport of it. She watched as she saw him move near to one of the young lads within the courtyard below. The small child was diligently doing his duty as he tidied the square and was currently bent over a large pile of dung.
Unbeknownst to the boy, Garret moved quietly behind him and lifted his heavily booted foot into the air. With a sneer upon his face, he placed it upon the young one's backend and pushed him violently. He laughed coarsely as the boy sprawled forward while effectively landing face first upon the ground and into the smelly pile. The Highlander's body shook as he continued to chortle hideously as he took pleasure in his own actions and the poor child's now pitiful state.
Lizbeth was truly saddened and shivered as she watched yet another one be subjected to his malicious behavior. She understood the soul of this man for he continually took pleasure upon another's misfortune and never showed any mercy.
Memories flashed through her mind of some of his most recent and horrid actions and she shuddered for just the thought of it. One evening and just a few weeks past, Garret drew his knife from his belt during the evening meal and cut the end of a finger from one of the servants right before all. The only sin the man had committed was he made the simple mistake of removing the food platter before the clansman had completely finished his meal. The vision of the poor servant standing wide-eyed before the Highlander as he held his bloodied finger brought misery to Lizbeth's heart.
But it was the most recent and revolting act that had Lizbeth most saddened and afraid for her new life. It was just three days prior and in the middle of the evening sup when Garret thought one of the serving girls had looked at him with an evil to her eye. So in front of the chamber and before all of his men and upon his very dinner table, he took her and violated the poor lass.
Lizbeth closed her eyes as the bile rose within her throat for the remembrance of that horrid night. She sickened once again as the whole scene played out within her mind. A dark anger grew within her breast for she could do nothing but watch as he assaulted her young body. She had tried to intervene but the Scotsman's brother Paton had grasped her arms forcefully behind her back. He held her securely and made her watch the entire crude act while the rest of the men in the hall glared hungrily and cheered their clansman on.
Lizbeth's wretchedness grew while the tears filled her eyes as they threatened to spill over for what this horrible man meant to her. And what he was going to become to her in the very near future. She stood as she had often done recently with her chest constricting and a sure fear permeating her body as she looked forlornly out onto the courtyard knowing that day was fast approaching. The day when her life was to change eternally and the day when her fate was to be sealed forever as the wife of this horrid man. She was to be wed to Garret, eldest son of the chieftain and to whom her greatest fears were born. With misery, she noted the blessed day was only two weeks away and was to be transpiring upon her birthday.
In her mind, Lizbeth knew her eighteenth birthday would be a miserable one. Not that her life was anything to be joyful about for true happiness had eluded her ever since she had been stolen away from her clan and was brought here those seven years ago. But she knew her sorry existence would take a most pitiful turn upon that very day.
Lizbeth removed her eyes from the Highlander who sent a sure fear through her to gaze out beyond the keep's foreboding stone walls to the great trees upon the horizon. With a heavy sigh, she wondered where the rest of her family was at that very moment. Her father, the laird and the chieftain of his own clan Stewart and her two brothers, Macay and Burk.
She thought back, and while the details of her remembrances were somewhat faded, she knew they each held a special place within her heart. Her father, when he was not heavily burdened with the affairs of the clan, had his own particular way with her. The simple smile he afforded her when they had but a moment alone made her feel so treasured and so exceptional. She remembered vividly how he made the corners of his eyes crinkle when he truly smiled in his heartfelt way.
She next tried to picture her brother Burk, the one who was the closest to her own age. As of this very moment, he would be just nearing his twenty first year and must now be quite a man. She wondered at how he had changed and how he had matured for when she last saw him, he was no taller than she. But he was sure to be a fierce one for he had an intense determination and an ever stronger desire to achieve.
But it was the eldest brother Macay she missed the most and her heart warmed and a slight smile came to her lips just at the thought of him. She remembered fondly how she would go to the stables in the late afternoons where she would find him all alone. He would set her upon his shoulder and allow her to help him groom the horses as he would teach her of their ways. Together they cared for the large lot and shared their love of the beasts.
Lizbeth grinned as she thought of the special secret they had shared and something no one else had ever known. For on very special occasions he would take her to the edge of the trees and away from the rest of the clan, unbeknownst to any of the others. When they were away, he would allow her to practice throwing his slight blade as he mentored her in that skill. Over and over she practiced until the sun would fall deeply into the horizon and the darkness obscured her view. Although Lizbeth was but a girl, Macay wanted her to be trained and prepared. Oftentimes when they were together he would look seriously into her eyes and would say, "Every Highlander must do their duty and know how to protect." Her heart warmed for just the remembrance of it.
A smile came to her lips as she thought of what her mother would have thought of his teachings. Everyone knew the Lady Stewart was a gentle one and who strived hard to ensure Lizbeth was taught to be a refined lady, too. She spent endless hours training her to be a worthy mistress of the keep, a fair seamstress and educated her in the art of healing. Lizbeth smiled forlornly realizing she would never have had her schooled in the art of throwing a blade and would have been entirely horrified had she known.
She missed all of her family desperately thinking fondly of each one of them as visions of their faces flashed within her mind. With sadness, she wondered desperately yet again, why had they never come? Why had they not found and rescued them from this place of loneliness and this place of pain? Lizbeth had always hoped and dreamed they would come some day and storm the castle, rescuing her and her mother from their despicable existence. And even though it had been seven long years, somehow, she had to believe they would eventually come. Even now, when it was too late for her mother, surely they would someday come…
Lizbeth closed her eyes in misery and remembered that fateful day when both she and her mother were taken and the guilt that lay upon her heart. She understood if she had not insisted, if she had not held her mother to her word on that hot summer's day, they never would have left the safety of the keep for the woods and the refreshing water beyond.
Lizbeth groaned inwardly as the pain resurfaced and the tears stung within her eyes for the remembrance of another fateful day in her young life. It was her most miserable day when she went to wake her mother from the night and discovered she was no longer. The Lady Stewart who had been her strength, her only link to her past and the only voice of reason and of hope, had gone to heaven in her sleep. That very miserable and fateful day had been just two years past.
And for the last two years Lizbeth's life had been a solitary one. She spent most of her days within the castle while being watched and continually guarded. With no one to speak to and certainly no one to confide, she was always lonely. She looked sadly out onto the horizon before her and knew in the entire time she had resided within the Macnab estates, she had never been allowed to venture out beyond the high stone walls. Not even once. She spent her days in a small room upon the third floor as she sewed and embroidered or here within her rooms alone.
That was of course, unless th
ere was someone that needed tending. The Macnab had learned early on of her mother's mending ways and had ensured she passed that knowledge and her proficiency with a needle down to her daughter. So whenever the need arose, she was summoned.
Lizbeth gazed back down towards the stables, the place where Garret had previously stood in the growing darkness and the area long since vacated. She had to truthfully acknowledge the Macnab stables were well taken care of, but regretfully noted the fine beasts within received more care and attention than what she had. Lizbeth understood no one was mindful of her wellbeing and no one had conversed with her over these last seven years she was in residence. Except, of course, for her mother.
She had not realized those many years ago when she was but a child of ten that her plight would be so grim and she would lead such a solitary life. Lizbeth was protected and always locked within her rooms at night. Either one of the servants or the great laird himself would come to her doorway and lock her in fully. When they arrived each evening, Lizbeth would gaze at them from her place just two paces inside the door and would nod and say politely, "Yes, I am ready." She did this because that is what her mother had instructed her to do. And she always obeyed her mother. She would never argue and never question for she had just known it would be best to agree. So she had, each and every day of her existence.
A slight knock came to her door bringing Lizbeth out of her deep thoughts, a signal the evening meal was upon them and it was her time to join the family in the great chamber below. She took a deep breath as she pushed her miserable feelings and distressing memories aside. She moved slowly across the room as she heard a heavy key grating within the lock.
The great hall was already filled with the family and clansmen of the Macnab when Lizbeth arrived upon the landing above the room. From her place upon the stair, she could hear clearly the boisterous laughter and crude talk throughout the great chamber. She made her way as she always had, unnoticed and down the great stairway and across the hall to her place at the head table. Since the announcement of her engagement those few weeks back, she was now expected to reside next to her intended and dutifully take her place at the family table.
As she quietly took her appointed chair, she was not acknowledged as the men around her continued with their own conversations. And Lizbeth was very content with that. Garret sat to her left and laughed heartily with his father as he downed his glass of ale. Lizbeth watched as he set the now empty tankard down heavily upon the table splashing slight droplets about. His large bulky form smelled highly of sweat and horse dung and effectively turned Lizbeth's stomach and soured any hope she may have had for a tolerable meal.
Garret's brother Paton sat directly to her right oblivious of her presence while completely engaged with another clansman. He also made her uncomfortable and was so much like his brother and so much like the entire hardened lot of them. His callous outbursts and the way he often looked at her made her entirely ill at ease as she felt a sickening within her stomach.
Lizbeth was content to be left alone to her own faculties given her dark alternatives. This state was much more preferred then being under the heavy scrutiny of these ruthless men. Whenever she was under their watchful eye, she always felt fearful of her plight. So when she had the opportunity, she sat silently by and said nothing and gladly inspired no one.
The food was served and platters of greasy fowl with dark breads were laid out before them. Garret greedily grabbed at the cooked meat as he hungrily ripped it from the bone with his blackened teeth. Small pieces of the chicken fell from his open mouth as he laughed harshly as he wiped his greasy hands across the wooden table and dropped the bones crudely wherever they fell.
When the evening meal was over, and it was over early on this particular evening, the male inhabitants of the chamber stood to quickly ready themselves to depart. For this was the annual evening of mourning that came to this house each year on this, the fifth day of September. For tonight was the anniversary of the great Laird Gerard Macnab's death.
This past ferocious warrior was deemed to be the greatest laird of the Macnab clan ever to have walked the earth. The castle they now called home once belonged to a different clan. Just thirty years prior, the celebrated Laird Gerard had raided, a near massacre it was called and was able to brashly claim these holdings for his own. Within just five year's time, he had effectively doubled the size of their lands.
This celebrated great laird was also the father of the current chieftain, Gerald and was grandfather to Garret and Paton Macnab. On this day of every year, the men of the clan paid their deep respects to the memory of this great chieftain. By special ceremony, they carried out an elite procession to the cemetery as they paid homage to the now fallen warrior.
Once the hall had completely emptied of all of the men and the remaining servants, save one, Lizbeth made her way slowly up to her room. Once inside and beyond the threshold, she turned and looked at the elderly woman as she did each night and with a slight nod to her head as she simply said, "Yes, I am ready."
As was customary, the door was closed tightly and a key was heard grating heavily within the lock. She shut Lizbeth into her room for the entirety of the night, slowly and assuredly sealing the door to her heart.
CHAPTER TWO
Blake of the Campbell clan sat upon his massive black steed in the early evening darkness. He was composed and primed for this night and was fully prepared as he had spent endless hours planning this event during the last several months. On this very evening was the appointed time when he would pay his respects to the man he had despised for years. It was the Highlander and the clan he and his own had vowed to gain revenge upon.
In preparation for this night, the Campbell's very first victory had occurred just two years ago when he and his father were able to place one of their ever loyal servants within the walls of the great Macnab castle. Little by little, small pieces of information flowed to their estates of the Macnab ways, of their traditions and of their habits, including information surrounding the annual ceremony of this one night. He smiled slightly at this sure success for had the great Macnab laird known of their spy who was residing within his walls, 'twould have been holy hell to pay.
Blake acknowledged this night's raid was not going to be a massacre for there was no plan to make contact with any of the Macnab clansmen and they were not even going to rob the hold of their beasts. This was a different kind of a mission and he and his few men had come for one simple reason. They wished to leave subtle and obvious signs the great Macnab clan was not impenetrable, was not unbeatable and with the hope of gaining a little bit of insight. And, yes, he acknowledged, ever hopeful they would instill a tiny bit of fear.
A grave devastation is what the Macnab accomplished those many years ago upon the Campbell and destruction would never be forgotten and never be forgiven. Blake understood much of the burden fell upon his fallen brother for the acts he had performed but the Macnab had shown no mercy and they had executed the gravest cruelty of all.
He sighed heavily as he thought of that dreadful night those five years ago that had changed his family forever. His younger brother Ian had just reached his seventeenth summer and was more headstrong and willful than he had any right to be. He and three of his friends had been on a small spree and caused what they had thought was just boyhood mischief upon a few of the neighboring clans. They had gone about the countryside letting goats and chickens out of their pens, chasing horses about and when they happened upon a comely lass, would even attempt to steal a kiss. These acts were kinds of things that would cause a simple annoyance but never should have been grounds for death.
During the young men's recklessness, they had unknowingly crossed the borders into the Macnab lands. They were chasing their great steeds one dark night and when they were discovered they were immediately attacked by the ferocious clansmen. No mercy was shown and he and two of his friends were struck down from where they stood. The fourth was injured badly but managed to escape and ma
de the journey back to the Campbell keep to tell of the gruesome tale.
Blake sat upon his horse, an anger in his heart for the senseless loss of his brother. It still pained him much even these many years later. He and his brother had been close, not only in age for Ian had been but two years younger, but they had shared much together in their lives. They lessoned together and trained together every day, always pushing the other to be strong and striving to be capable and skilled at each of their endeavors.
But his devastation did not stop there for the loss of his brother also robbed the family of their gentle mother. When the Lady Campbell was apprised of her son's death, it broke her poor heart and sent her into a desolate state. For weeks after she could not rise from her own bed as she essentially closed herself off from his father and the rest of the family until finally she could take no more. She peaceably left the world forever. His family and especially his father whose heart had now forever hardened, were never to be the same.
Blake closed his eyes against the pained memories of the past as he now opened the door to his rage within his heart. He was now anxious and quite ready for the planned activities of this night to begin.
When the Macnab abandoned their castle for the ceremonial tract, for he understood they would on this one special night as had been foretold by his planted spy, the small Campbell clan would raid and leave signs of their presence. It was not even to be their signs, for they wanted to keep the ever powerful Macnab guessing as to the identity of these silent invaders. He wanted to send a signal their castle was not infallible. This was to be the first of several planned attacks, those to be carried out for many months to come. Blake smiled wryly for just the insightfulness of it.
