by Fiona Faris
“Let every of yer shots count, let every strike fell a man. Tis a battle fer our advancement in life. Dae nae ruin it. I repeat dae nae ruin it,” George whispered almost silently as his other group members converged in front of him.
Callum stood at the cave’s entrance and stared into the darkness. As he stared at the various tracks of men, horses, and wagons, he knew at once that some criminals had chosen the place to make their evil plans, sketches, and perpetrations. He knew well what might come after should he wait for it. There was something about the cave that made him feel uneasy, something beyond the fact that it might be an enclave for crooks. Nevertheless, he would not hesitate to check for himself precisely what was inside.
“Well, this might be the most dangerous war ye have ever fought. Ye dae nae know yer enemy. Ye dae nae know if yer enemy sees ye. Ye dae nae know if an arrow comes across from the bushes. Make yer eyes and yer ears yer guards make every wielding yer saving grace. Make every shot count, should ye need tae wield and fire,” Callum ordered his men and started forward.
The cave seemed to open before him. The air from the cave seemed to reach out to him in a velvet touch that trailed moisture against his skin. The others must have felt the same. He proceeded as they found some stones and a torch. In a quick time, they lit the cave. They walked steadily, purposefully, warrior-like and with all courage mustered, letting their eyes wander right and left, seeing nothing yet. Then as they proceeded, they noticed the ground of the cave had a spongy feel to it, giving with the weight of their boots.
As they took a step further, they saw dark limbs twining about the walls and ceiling that locked away all but faint light. They began to see evidence of habitation: a pile of unwashed plates and the scattered bones of roasted animals. In the western part of the room, they saw a big table with three chairs surrounding it and a strategy map laid on it.
Callum approached the table and glanced at the strategy map. The first word he saw highlighted on the map, written boldly with red ink, scared him considerably. PLANS. Quickly, he motioned for Sir Gregory and the other four warriors to have a look. Reading through what was there, they confirmed that the scrolls, the envoys, and the pleas for help had all been fake. It dawned on them that not even Laird MacKenzie knew that they were on a trip to his land, much less any of his warriors or people.
“The plan is fer us. We were meant tae be ambushed but have slipped out of our enemies’ hands. We have tae be watchful now. Tis their enclave fer their evil acts. God save us from this, we shall ride back tae our Glenbogle and return with more men to destroy this place,” Callum said, glancing at each and every member of his group.
“Yes, Sir,” they all chorused.
Callum and his crew now gripped their weapons as they had walked back to the entrance of the cave. As they neared the entrance, they heard something (someone?) creeping toward the cave, but the noise faded immediately. Then it came again, from closer, this time. Callum blinked and stared ahead.
“The enemy is coming; they are nae one, nor two. Hide yer heads,” Sir Gregory whispered as he ducked behind some rocks. Callum and the others found a nearby wall suitable for a cover, too, and hid behind it. They waited some minutes for a figure to appear, but it was not happening. They gazed at themselves and signaled with their hands. Sir Gregory beckoned to one of the other warriors to check the entrance.
The man arose and glanced at the entrance, but there was nothing there. Then, from out of nowhere, an arrow flew and hit his chest. The warrior glanced at the arrow that had almost pierced his armor and glanced back at the entrance. Before he could dive for cover, three more arrows came flying toward him. Two struck his chest, and another one pierced his neck, spattering the cave wall behind him with blood. As he made to speak, blood spluttered from his mouth, and he fell to the ground, dead.
Callum and the others stared at the man’s dead body. Callum was the first to close his eyes as rage vied with sadness and grief inside him. He had lost one of his veteran warriors in this forest where there was nobody to help. What scared him most beyond his imagination was that he still didn’t know his enemy. But his enemy knew him and had something wicked planned for him.
He had to think of a plan to lure the enemy out of their hideout so that they could take them out. He thought momentarily to break from the pathway and force his way to the entrance of the cave, but he thought of the arrows again and took another glance at the man’s dead body lying in the center of a pool of blood. As he continued staring, a thought crossed his mind.
How could the enemy hae seen them so clearly to have fired a killing shot without revealing themselves?
Then, he glanced at the torch that hung at a corner of the room. The torch had given them away to their enemy. He took another quick glance at the torch. Now was the time to turn the damned torch off, or else they’d be completely wiped out. He stood and peered into the entrance of the cave, and immediately, he saw two arrows flying swiftly toward him. He dodged, crouching in another corner of the cave.
He signaled with his eyes to one of his men carrying a crossbow and arrows to shoot at the entrance for cover. The man obeyed and fired two shots at the middle of the entrance. The arrow flew right and landed, hitting a bark of a tree where Justine was resting his head. As the arrows landed, Justine raised his eyebrows in a contradictory mixture of surprise and excitement.
He quickly moved away from the entrance to another spot, but he never saw the other two arrows coming. Before he could crouch, the two arrows pierced his brain. Justine dropped to the floor, dead.
The arrows fired had bought Callum enough time to quickly snatch the torch and put it out. All was now in darkness. Maybe their enemy could not see them, or perhaps the arrow had hit the enemy. He was not sure, but he risked a glance again at the entrance of the cave and noticed a silence sweeping all about.
“Let’s go silently. Any odd movement from the entrance, fire!” he said quietly, creeping toward the entrance.
As they got to the entrance of the cave, they noticed three riders appear suddenly at the edge of the cliff ahead.
George, Scoffield, and their horses were soiled and unkempt. Frederick came galloping forward, clutching at his crossbow and directing it toward Callum, ready to make a shot. Their appearances were as unfriendly as their acts. They all rode fiercely toward Callum and his group.
Sir Gregory was the first to launch himself toward George’s horse; he had calculated the odds of beating George’s huge figure and swords and had resolved to attack his horse first. He swung his sword as the horse lunged forward and swept the blade across the horse’s legs. The horse screamed and fell, sending George’s back to the ground. Sir Gregory hurriedly moved toward George and sliced deep into his neck. That was the end of George.
Frederick had never stopped firing arrows at Callum who had found a good spot for cover. He didn’t notice that Sir Gregory had defeated George whom they had all credited as being the most skillful sword wielder in their group. Frederick wanted the credit for killing the Laird, for it would confer respect upon him in the gang. As he fired another shot at Callum, he noticed an arrow had pierced his armor and he, too, met his end.
Scoffield looked around, dismayed to find that he was the only man from his gang left alive. They had underestimated the power of the warriors and had failed. Too late, he realized that he’d been surrounded by Callum and his men. Knowing he was as good as dead, he charged at Callum. Before he could reach him, two arrows pierced his heart, and he died before his body hit the ground.
Sir Dunkin, Orwell, and Owen watched in disbelief from the clover meadow where they were hiding. It all happened fast. George, Scoffield, Frederick, and Justine had all been killed like ordinary people with no military training. Dunkin knew if he didn’t leave now, he will soon be fished out and killed the same way. Or perhaps he would be arrested and charged with treason for the attempted murder of the Laird. He weighed the consequences of being cut and quickly mounted his horse. Owen and Orwell mou
nted their horses and followed Dunkin as he rode hell-bent-for-leather away from the scene of his supposed victory.
Callum, Sir Gregory, and the remaining two warriors saw three other horses hurrying away, but there was nothing they could do; they had left their horses some distance away and couldn’t chase them. Callum quickly picked the crossbow that lay beside Frederick’s corpse, notched an arrow, and fired a shot at one of the riders.
“Aah!” Sir Dunkin groaned in pain as he rode away. The arrow had hit his shoulder and almost knocked him off the horse. He couldn’t look back; he just clung tightly to his mount and rode fiercely as the pain burned through his bones.
Moonlight seeped through rifts in a clouded sky, bathing the meadows with shafts of light. Callum blinked and squinted through its brightness. The trying time was over for now. He knew the ones that had escaped would come for him again, and all he could do was get ready for them. He rode slowly with Sir Gregory beside him, glancing at the village gates. He missed the sight of Gretchen, her beautiful smiles and meals, the company of little Ava and the constant rebukes of his mother about his busy excuses.
“Praise be tae God we are still alive. Henceforth, we be careful with scrolls and everything. Tomorrow, we shall discharge guards tae the forest tae break up the hoodlums’ lair and strengthen our gates. Nae one comes in without thorough scrutiny. Prepare a noble funeral for Jorah who fought well for us,” Callum said and parted ways with the other members toward the direction of the keep.
Questions kept his mind busy. Why someone would want him dead, enough to go through the trouble to make such elaborate plans. The first thing he would do when he got home would be to summon the council members and inform them of what had happened. He thought for one last time how he might have been killed and what would have happened to Gretchen and his mother with a look of determination on his face, he urged his white horse into a gallop and rode quickly to his keep.
Chapter Nine
Approximately some hours after Callum had left for the trip and come back, Gretchen spent an afternoon outside with Merriam. Unfortunately, these kinds of walks were never the kind of regulated outing that Merriam preferred. Merriam, after her sickness, found walking a terrible exercise; she would have most preferred exploring via wagon or on horseback. She liked to go deep into the forest via wagon, investigating the plants and animals that lived there. Nothing after her talks with Gretchen delighted the old woman so much as the discovery of a rabbit warren or hunting for wild pigs. Such is why there were piglets, bunnies, and even a baby deer wandering around the great hall, and or hopping past the dinner table.
Pleasantly tired after the long walk with Merriam, Gretchen sat at her dressing table and took down her hair. She scrubbed her fingers over her scalp and through the loose brown waves, soothing the little aches left from tight braids and hairpins. A happy chatter came from her back, and she turned to see one of Merriam’s pets wagging its tail at her. Its long, sinuous body arched gracefully as it loped toward her with a cloth in its teeth. To her amazement, this rabbit loved her possessions, and most times, she would have to go around searching for her things.
“Ye so lovely rabbit,” Gretchen admired as it stood tall and braced its tiny paws on the edge of her chair. She stretched out her hands to pet its sleek fur, tickled the top of its head, and carefully took away the cloth from its teeth.
“Where did ye get this?” she asked, setting the cloth on the table. The rabbit twitched its whiskers and appeared to laugh at her, displaying its tiny pointed teeth and wriggling invitingly. Smiling in utmost admiration, Gretchen picked up a hairbrush and drew it through the rabbit’s soft fur. “I dae nae have time tae play with ye. I am getting ready fer dinner,” she said softly, tickling the rabbit with the brush.
Quickly, the rabbit leaped into her lap and snatched the brush from her hand and streaked away from the room. “Come back here! I need that brush!” Gretchen exclaimed, dashing after the creature. She went out into the hallway, where maids were rushing to and fro with unusual haste. The rabbit disappeared around the corner.
As she walked down the corridor, she caught a maid scampering toward another door with folded linen grasped in her hand. “Why is everyone sae hasty?” she asked in a slightly flustered tone.
“The Laird has just returned from a journey. Journey we never knew, too,” the maid replied glancing at Gretchen.
“Journey? I dae nae know, either,” Gretchen said, her cheeks turning pink. “He didn’t send a word about his trip. I shall gae welcome him.” She dismissed the maid, who hurried away with an armload of folded linen. Gretchen put a hand on her midriff, where nerves were leaping, and turned to head down the corridor in the other direction.
Why hadn’t he told her that he was traveling, why hadn’t he told anyone? Perhaps he found a lady whom he loved and had gone to visit? She inhaled deeply and tried to take charge of the chaos of her thoughts. Was she getting jealous? Her cheeks were still burning. The last time she’d felt that way was when Fraser had given her a flower. Lost in her thoughts and looking down as she made her way to the keep’s entrance, she collided with something soft and hard at the same time. Gretchen nearly choked on her heartbeat when she noticed that she’d ran into, quite literally into Callum’s well-muscled chest.
Callum turned to face her, his blue gaze roving over her. He was travel-rumpled and a bit dusty. His hair was curly and dusty, the blond locks disheveled and falling over his forehead. Gretchen noticed he didn’t look like he was coming from a lady’s house, but from a fight. His knuckles were bruised, and his fingernails were stained rust, as if from old blood.
Every word Gretchen had intended to say to Callum vanished and she was struggling to catch with her own breathing. As his eyes continued to roam over her face and form, her heart pounded with a dizzying mixture of confusion and excitement.
He raised his hands to her shoulders, his eyes never leaving hers, the strength of his touch calming and arousing at the same time. He was too close, his masculine scent surrounding her. He smelled like autumn, of burning leaves and freshly thrashed wheat, of dust and horses, and a scent that was singular to him. As he made to speak, one of his knees pressed gently into the mass of her skirts.
“I’m sorry, my lady. I never sent a word about my trip. Nae tae ye, nae tae my Mama or anyone,” he said gently, his deep voice rumbling up from his chest and resonating within her like the ringing of the bell above the village kirk after Sunday mass.
“Why?” she asked weakly.
“It was meant tae be a secret journey. I will explain more if ye will let me come in and have a bath. I must stink,” Callum said, chuckling as he released her shoulders.
“Oh! My laird, ye need a thorough washing, ye smell of sweat and dust. It must have been a long journey,” Gretchen said, fighting to keep her voice steady. Her nerves fired with conflicting impulses; her skin was craving his touch again, yet her instincts told her to move away from him or else she might do something that she would regret in future. So, she joined in his laughter and stepped aside so that he could pass.
She smiled as she watched him walk in majestic elegance until he disappeared around the corner, on the way to his rooms. Noting the time was far spent; she hurried toward the kitchen to make dinner and would later decide to talk to Merriam about her feelings. “May God help me,” she sighed wearily, hurrying to the kitchen door and banged it closed.
After the dinner was done and food had been appropriately consumed, Callum smiled with murmured thanks and headed to his bedroom for a rest. Gretchen watched as he left the room, her eyes following his broad back. Merriam was still seated at the dining table and saw for herself how they had both exchanged glances and laughed at each other’s jokes. She was ecstatic to have witnessed the scenes. Unknown to Callum and Gretchen, she had secretly wished these two would get married and produce offspring. She saw how Gretchen gazed at him affectionately. Having been a young lady once herself, she knew what that kind of look could mean.
> “Gretchen,” Merriam called as Gretchen entered the main hall again after she had packed the plates. “Dae sit down my child… I have seen things happen from a long time ago. I know when a lady is quite fond of someone. I have been in such shoes. Dae tell me, dae ye think ye might be fond of someone in this keep? Someone who ye just might love tae see every day and smile at? Someone like Callum?” She resumed with a cheeky grin on her face.
Gretchen gave her a feigned warning glance. Merriam knew better than to start a conversation on love affairs with her so late. She would prefer she ease her way into the night with just fairy tales.
“Why did ye say that, Mama?” she said with a soft smile. She was perched on a small chair, candlelight glinting in the golden highlights in her luxurious brown hair.
“I have eyes, and I see how ye both have been looking at each other. It reminds me of myself when I was so yeng and tender like ye,” Merriam said, flashing a smile across to Gretchen who stood and came closer to Merriam, interested in the tales she would be telling.
“Tell me, Mama!” Gretchen said, sitting beside Merriam.
