by Alisa Adams
Her sisters stared aghast at their tiny, little angelic sister.
“I dinnae pretend to know what all that was that ye said but Ina, really?” Flori admonished her gently.
“The evil, sleekit man killed our parents or are ye forgetting that?” Ina reminded them. “And wouldn’t we do the same to him to get our beloved Fionnaghall back?” she demanded defensively.
“’Tis true, I know I would run my sword through his dirty, sly, shirker, foul black heart and not think thrice on it!” Ceena stated matter-of-factly. At her sister's looks, she added, “What? That is basically what Ina called him! Just be glad he is dead…” Ceena waved her hands impatiently.
“I dinnae know that he is dead to be sure,” Godet corrected her. “It is just odd that he hasnae been around, especially when Flori was caught. We’ve seen naught of him! Where was he when those Munroe and MacKenzie warriors were waiting for us when we came out of the Bogle wood? And Brigda said that her father would think nothing of killing Mungan to get Fionnaghall.”
The girls were discussing different plans to get back into Fionnaghall when the door to Godet’s bedroom opened and Brigda came in with Aunt Hextilda. “Weel noo,” Aunt Hextilda exclaimed as she walked directly into the middle of the girls. “Are ye gaunnie tell me what the plan is or no?”
Brigda and Godet and the girls all started talking at once while Aunt Hextilda looked on with her eyes wide and her mouth open, looking back and forth and trying to follow the conversation. Her sparse gray hair was flying every which way as her head darted back and forth trying to listen to one person and then another.
“Keep yer heid!” Aunt Hextilda called out in the chaos. “Calm doon I said!” As the girls all quieted down, she continued, “Heid doon now and arse up!” When they just stared at her, Aunt Hextilda clarified, “I said, get on with it!”
“We are going back to Fionnaghall,” Godet said calmly, “to take it back.”
“All by yerselves, I gather? Ye five women?” Aunt Hexy asked, stunned. She turned and looked at the five women in the room with her, her mouth was gaping open. Godet reached out a finger and pushed Aunt Hextilda’s chin up to close her mouth.
“Well, we have the Ross warriors here now. They are with us,” Godet said firmly.
“Are they though? Or have they pledged themselves to Laird MacDonell?” Aunt Hextilda asked peering up at Godet.
“They are Fionnaghall’s warriors,” Ceena stated emphatically. “They will stand with us.” She smacked her fist into her hand.
“I think Loughlin and his brother Liam would help us,” Flori added softly. “Maybe Tristan and some others as well?”
“Och, niver! Tristan isnae coming! I willnae even ask him too,” Ceena said with her arms crossed across her chest. “He crowds me he does! Treats me like a babe, or a young girl. Besides, he’ll be telling Gordon anyway!”
“We must depend on the Ross men,” Godet said as she looked at her sisters and Brigda.
“I think I could sway some of the MacKenzie men that came here with me to help us. There are many that feel that my father has lost his head,” Bridga added. There was a hint of shame in her voice.
“Aye,” Godet said with excitement. “When the other MacKenzies see that our warriors are wearing the plaids of the MacKenzie, the MacDonell, and Ross they may see that we are three clans to their one,” she continued, “that is if Mungan is dead and we are only dealing with MacKenzies and only a very few straggling Munroes…”
“And if Brigda fights with us!” Ceena added with a clap on Brigda’s back.
Brigda had to stop herself from wincing or going flailing across the room. She rubbed the back of her shoulder where Ceena had slapped her.
“Brigda?” Aunt Hextilda cried with alarm. “She told me about her father,” she said with worry. “But, dear me lass, can ye fight at all? And keep up with these wild females?” she asked turning to Brigda.
“Aunt Hexy, we all will fight together!” Ina told her. “Brigda too, we will be stronger together. Many a mickle maks a muckle, after all. Her da’s a bad mon and needs fighting!”
“Och, oh well then, that is fine. I can fight too,” Aunt Hextilda said.
“No, Aunt Hexy, ye must stay here and cover for us,” Godet explained. “If anyone asks, tell them we are out sightseeing... or visiting distilleries or... something.”
Aunt Hextilda shook her head with importance.
“I can fight,” Brigda said into the ensuing silence as all eyes were still on their aunt.
“What is yer specialty?” asked Ceena, turning rapidly to her. “Swords, dirks, musket... bow and arrow perhaps?”
“Lochaber ax,” Brigda replied firmly.
The sisters stared quietly at her. “They’re very heavy…” Ceena said slowly with doubt in her voice.
“Yes, but no one can get close to me when I have one of those,” Brigda declared.
“But are ye any good with it?” Ceena asked, again very doubtfully. Godet nudged her, hard. Ceena stumbled sideways, looking at Godet accusingly. “What? I’m just asking. It’s a difficult thing to wield a Lochaber axe. She could cut her foot off,” Ceena exclaimed. “Or one of our feet or an arm... or a hand!”
“I can manage my ax,” Brigda said firmly.
“Are ye sure, Brigda?” Godet pursed her lips, studying the redhead.
“I am, yes,” Brigda said again firmly.
The girls began chattering on about the merits of various weapons over other weapons. At a slight tap on her shoulder, Brigda looked beside her to see Aunt Hextilda holding out a Lochaber ax to her. Ceena grabbed it before Brigda could say a word. She studied it, then hefted it from hand to hand. She tossed it to Godet who caught it handily and did the same.
“It’s very light,” Godet said admiringly. “The shaft is shorter too, sized and weighted for a woman I would say,” she acknowledged as she continued to look it over. “And there are lovely carvings on it. These scrolls, they are beautiful, they look like hearts...”
Brigda held out her hand and Godet instantly handed it to her. “It was made for me,” Brigda said as she caressed the shaft of the ax, tracing her fingers over the hearts.
Godet looked at Aunt Hextilda with a question in her eyes. “It was in her room,” Aunt Hextilda said, shrugging her shoulders.
“How did ye know that?” Godet asked her.
Aunt Hextilda shrugged again. “I know what is in everyone’s room,” she said with another shrug and an air of total innocence as her gray hair bobbled around her head.
“Goodness,” whispered Flori.
Godet laughed softly. Aunt Hextilda was quite the unique lady in her own way. She meant well. Godet looked over when she heard Brigda say, “Step back.”
Brigda took some steps away from the group, repositioning her ax in her hands, and getting the balance of the long thin shaft just so in her hands. The long, wide blade with a hook on the opposite side glistened in the firelight. Godet and her sisters backed away and spread out. In the right hands, this weapon served as an ax or a sword, one that could inflict horrible damage on the withdrawal with that wicked hook.
Brigda deftly swung the shaft between her hands, spinning it about and turning and thrusting at an imaginary foe in front of her. Then she was spinning rapidly again, twisting the shaft in her hands again to stab at a foe behind her. Then again in a blur, Bridga aimed at an imaginary foe above her on horseback. Ceena clapped loudly.
“Brigda!” Godet cried. “Well done! I would say ye can fight!” she added with a lopsided grin as she looked at the red-haired woman in front of her. Gone was the unhappy, malicious female that had been taunting them since they had arrived. Here instead was a stunning redheaded warrior woman whose face was flushed with energy as she confidently swung her weapon like it was an extension of her own arm. In that moment, Godet knew that the woman they had met was actually a very special woman indeed. Brigda had just been dealing with the life she had been dealt, very much the same way she and her sisters h
ad been.
“May I?” asked Ceena reverently. When Brigda handed the weapon to her, Ceena rebalanced the long shaft in her hands. Then she experimented with spinning it between both hands as Brigda had, swapping it back and forth to thrust to the left or the right. Brigda stepped in to show her how to quickly adjust the length of the shaft between her hands to get more thrusting power if an upward thrust was needed or a downward thrust. She used the feel of the different scrolls to place her hands for a longer shaft as well as to feel for a shorter shaft to thrust or jab. Then she bounced it up in one hand to hold the very back to use it in a chopping motion. Ceena watched her quietly in rapt fascination.
“I must learn this and become skilled at this weapon. It is very useful,” Ceena said in awe.
Godet laughed, for Ceena was always looking for new weapons to master. And master them she always did. “Girls,” called out Godet, “we have plans to make. Let’s focus on getting out of Castle Conall and back into Fionnaghall shall we?”
“Och,” said Ina, “we must figure out a way to escape the safe place and steal back into the place we ran away from... ‘Tis a lang road that’s no goat a turnin,” she said dramatically. When her sisters and Brigda just stared at her, she translated, “There’s no other way: back into the belly of the beast we go…”
21
“They’re teaching her to ride ye know,” Tristan said without taking his eyes off of the girls riding at the far end of the neighboring field.
Gordon grunted, tossing an ax to one of his men who rode past. “Keep yer eyes up, Amos, guide that horse with yer seat, not by pulling his mouth around with yer reins. Ye need yer hands for yer weapons, mon!” he called out. He barely looked at Tristan as he kept his eyes on his men who were training in the field in front of them. “Aye, I know. They’ve been at it for three days now.”
“But Brigda? Why are they teaching her to ride?” Tristan mused.
“Perhaps they are bored Tristan, what does it matter to ye?” Gordon said irritably. It had been bothering him as well. He did not want to admit that to his brother, however. Godet was keeping her distance. All the sisters were. And they were being nice to Brigda and she to them. They were up to something, he knew it.
“I think they are planning something, Gordon,” Tristan continued, voicing Gordon’s own thoughts and not aware of Gordon’s irritation at the previous question.
“What could they be planning, brother?” Gordon said with even more irritation in his voice.
Tristan scratched at the stubble growing on his chin. “Och, I dinnae know, ‘tis bothersome though. Something is going on with them...” He continued to think about it.
“Perhaps they are just teaching her to ride. She is a terrible rider after all,” Gordon suggested as he continued to watch his men train. “I haven’t paid them any attention and nor should ye. Our job is to train the men, not the women.”
“Teaching her to ride? Or playing another trick on her of some kind?” Tristan said, ignoring his brother’s admonition of him. He was too busy watching the girls as best he could from their distance. “Has she fallen off or been knocked off by one of them, I wonder?”
“No,” Gordon answered.
“No? I thought ye hadn’t been watching brother?” Tristan teased with a grin at his brother.
“No, not that I have heard,” Gordon corrected tersely.
“Aye, I suppose we would have noticed her limping around if she had fallen off,” Tristan said more to himself than to his brother. “They are mischief makers these sisters. I wouldn’t put it past them to be playing a trick on Brigda for how she treats them. Or maybe something she has done to them recently that we dinnae know about,” he said deep in thought. “They’ve done it before. Ceena and Ina would dae something…” Tristan stood up straighter, his attention caught. “Och, now what is this? They are putting her on one of their big Clydesdales, where’d this big boy come from I wonder?”
Gordon looked sharply over at that. Yes, now there were five of the giant draft horses. Brigda is riding one of the big horses that she had admitted to being afraid of? Gordon thought, perplexed. “It must be one of the horses that was pulling their traveling coach,” he said and turned away from watching the women.
“Interesting. Definitely up to something…” Tristan muttered, watching the redhead trying to handle the big draft horse.
“What are ye, a nosey, gossipy woman? Leave it be,” Gordon chastised firmly. “See to yer men’s training, forget the females,” he said curtly.
When Tristan huffed and walked away toward the men, Gordon looked down the fields to where the women were. Indeed, what are they up to? he wondered to himself.
“I cannot walk,” Brigda groaned. “Avens is too wide for me to sit astride. Perhaps I should go back to sitting side saddle,” she suggested with another groan. “Or just ride my own horse? She is narrow.” She rubbed her backside. “Avens has been pulling carts and plows for so long, it’s made him even wider than the others I think,” she groaned.
“Brigda, the draft’s size is a canny help in fighting and Avens is a big draft,” Godet told her for what seemed like the hundredth time. “Yes, maybe pulling the coaches and such has made him more muscular than the mares, but as women, we need all the advantages we can get. The draft horses’ superior height and strength become our own strengths. Ye cannot ride side saddle and control a horse with just yer seat and legs. Ye’ll be off balance if ye get hit and with all the quick movements in battle, ye’ll need both yer legs on. Ye need yer hands free to wield that Lochaber axe of yours, dinnae ye?”
Brigda’s answer was a groan as she walked the last steps down the bank and into the cool lake water. She sank down into the water with the other girls. The cool water of the lake felt heavenly against her sore legs and buttocks. She looked around the small lake with wonder. How had I not seen this beautiful place? It was Ceena that had found it on one of her rides.
The lake was in a small glen. Surrounded by a little rise of grass and trees that looked out over the clear water. Around them, the colorful fields rolled higher and higher, twisting and turning throughout gentle swells of green grasses and yellow gorse and bright seas of pink and purple heather and dancing bluebells. Like happy, dancing children in bright clothing they were. The hills became higher and higher until they turned into the bare, craggy peaks watching over them like old and very wise gray-haired men.
Brigda sighed with pleasure. She had never had this kind of freedom. Indeed, she had never had the freedom that gave her a chance to even have any friends. And now she had four amazing, wonderful friends. These Ross sisters, they were the most fascinating women she had ever met. And they were accepting her into their circle, training her to fight and defend herself like them. And Brigda was thrilled.
She didn’t feel like a weak and resentful female any longer with no hope except to be used as a puppet in her father’s evil plans. Now, she was taking action—action that would help her. And these wonderful, strong, funny, and loving women were by her side, helping her, just as she was helping them. Godet was right: together they were stronger, a force to be reckoned with. What a freeing, powerful feeling. She was filled with hope, for the first time in so many, many years. She had friends! Actually, she had sisters!
Brigda walked out of the water, squeezing her hair out as she walked up the grassy bank. She bent down and pulled her dress back on over her chemise. Godet came out of the water behind her and did the same. Together they sat down on the grassy hill and watched the other girls splashing in the water.
“Ye are lucky, Godet,” Brigda said quietly.
Godet looked over at Brigda. The other woman’s bright red hair was shining wet in the sun. “I know,” Godet replied simply, looking back at her sisters.
Brigda looked at her in surprise. She had a questioning look on her face.
Godet shrugged her shoulders. “I am lucky. Ye have had to go through yer trials and tribulations, yer frustrations and fears, and yer worry and
sorrow alone. I cannae imagine that,” Godet confided very quietly. “I have been lucky to have me sisters.” She paused. “As well as Aunt Hexy,” she added with a soft laugh. “Always, I have had me sisters beside me. I have gone on because of them, for them, with them.” Godet looked over at Brigda and reached for her hand, holding it within her own. She gave her a soft smile. “I cannae imagine going through all we did without them. It terrifies me to even think of it. Ye are a strong woman, Brigda.”
Brigda stared back at the lovely black-haired woman beside her. Brigda had been so jealous of her from the moment she had seen her. Those silvery eyes, those full, berry-colored lips, and all that jet-black hair curling and falling to her hips. She was a woman that made anyone catch their breath. But what a life she had had. What sadness and horrors she had been through. She was humble and yet fierce and she understood Brigda so well. Brigda smiled back and squeezed her hand gently.
“Thank ye,” she whispered to Godet.
Godet laughed quietly, “Dinnae thank me yet, I may still get us all killed…” she said softly, as she looked out into the water at her sisters.
Brigda shrugged. “Then we died trying, didn’t we?”
Godet whispered, “Then I will have failed all of ye. I cannae let that happen.” She drew her knees up to her chin and wrapping her arms around them. “No one will die,” she vowed.
Brigda looked over at her new friend. Perhaps Godet wasn’t so lucky after all. Brigda had to worry only about herself, to try to survive just for herself. She suddenly realized that yes, Godet may never have been alone as she always had because she had her sisters around her, but also Godet, as the oldest, was solely responsible for her sisters. Since the day her parents had died, it had fallen to Godet to keep her sisters safe. Everything had landed on Godets’ shoulders from a very young age. Indeed, Brigda thought, Godet is the strong one, not me.
