by Fiona Faris
Freya went to walk away.
“Where are ye goin’, Freya?” Andrew asked.
She ignored him, so he grabbed her arm to stay her.
“Let go o’ me. If ye will no’ believe me, then I will find a way tae prove it,” she snapped.
“An’ whit dae ye plan on doin’ exactly?” he asked, his voice becoming fiercer in tone.
“Once the darkness settles, I will wait in the bush behind the cottage tae see who lives in it,” she said simply and strode away.
Under cover of night, Freya crept to the bush near the attackers’ cottage. She started to panic as her hands felt for the dirk she’d put there and came up empty. Either it had sunken further into the mud due to the earlier rainfall… or someone had found it.
A creaking sound alerted Freya, and she rose to peer towards the door of the cottage. Freya was taken off guard as a man dashed out. Seeing her opportunity, she darted out from the bush like a red fox and sleuthed behind the cottages to avoid detection. There was enough moonlight for her to see the man traverse into the woodland just outside the village.
Freya struggled to maintain her view of him until suddenly the man halted, forcing Freya to scurry behind an oak tree.
Then came the sound of new footsteps amongst the fallen yellow and orange leaves.
“Are ye alone?” the man she followed asked someone.
“Of course I am alone. Why wouldn’t I be?” a different voice answered, which raised Freya’s eyebrows.
That voice…
At that moment, Freya peered over her shoulder to see a figure right behind her. They yanked her up by her hair, and she screamed from the pain.
“Look whit we hae ‘ere. I thought ye said ye were alone, soldier?” the voice she’d recognized said.
It was Rory.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“I swear I had nae idea the lass was behind me,” the man who Freya pursued told Rory.
The man turned his face toward Freya, and she saw who he was in the pale moonlight. It was of the prison guards who taunted her back at Blair Castle.
“I knew ye were a traitor, Rory! Ye might fool Andrew, but no’ me!” Freya shouted at Rory as she fought to break free.
“Ye hae been a thorn in my side fer the last time, ye hoor,” Rory stated as he gripped Freya’s chin.
“Are ye an’ Donald in this together? Answer me!”
“Me in alliance with that fool? Of course no’! If there’s one thing that Andrew’s right aboot ‘tis that dunderheid Donald. He’s leadin’ oor clan straight tae hell,” Rory replied.
“Then why would ye betray Andrew?”
“Because I am the one who should be chief. I am older, wiser, an’ better suited. Everyone falls fer his size, strength, an’ charisma an’ it sickens me!”
“This is a’ o’er jealously and lust for power? Ye disgust me. Ye are ne’er goin’ tae get away with this.”
“That is where ye are wrang, Freya,” Rory stated and shoved a gag into her mouth. He then bound her to a tree. “Once Andrew kills Donald, he will taste the edge o’ my blade. The Murray clan will hae nae choice but tae make me the rightful chief.”
Freya watched as Rory and his fellow treacherous Murray trekked back towards the village. Tears streamed down her face; not out of sadness but of immense rage at such a betrayal. She fought with all her strength to loosen the rope which kept her prisoner against the tree, but it was futile.
As the sun rose, Freya knew Andrew was in grave danger, and there was nothing she could do to warn him. The invasion force was moments away from departing the village too, and she feared she would be too late to warn him of the impending danger to his life.
Meanwhile, Andrew was elated when a few more reinforcements arrived at the last minute ready to fight to the death. The news of his miraculous recovery spread to neighboring villages, and one of them was inspired enough to send four warriors to battle alongside him during his quest.
“It is an honor an’ a privilege tae fight amongst such a noble band o’ fighters. I am indebted tae yer bravery fer a’ eternity,” Andrew proclaimed with his army as his collective witnesses.
Andrew spoke with passionate elegance to inspire the unique mixture of men under his command.
“Ye are makin’ history in this journey fer the Murray clan, who will be remembered fer generations tae come. Ye will a’ treasure the moment when the tyrant falls tae his knees an’ these lands are brimmin’ with peace as far as the eye can see,” Andrew went on.
Andrew surveyed his assortment of soldiers and realized his right-hand man Rory was nowhere to be found. His heart raced as he attempted to track down where Rory had ventured off to at the moment of their departure. Moments later, Rory and his two henchmen strolled into formation as Andrew puffed out his chest in pride.
“It is because o’ skilled men that this mission was possible fer a’ o’ us,” Andrew rejoiced to his soldiers about the character of his most trusted ally.
Rory did not utter a word to respond to Andrew’s remarks and simply beamed a dashing smile at his fellow soldiers. Andrew approached him and placed both hands on his shoulders and personally thanked him for everything he’d done.
“My brither, I want tae express my sincerest gratitude as we depart on this harrowin’ journey tae take oor clan back. Ye hae fought valiantly since we were wee lads an’ fer that I thank ye,” Andrew said.
“Let’s take oor clan back, old frien’,” Rory stated, much to Andrew’s approval.
“Ye heard Rory everyone! Let us commence the invasion an’ march onwards tae the Highlands,” Andrew shouted as he raised a closed fist in the air to lead the warriors in a march.
Andrew stood at the head of the battalion’s formation with Rory positioned to his rear, only a few steps on his right side. He maintained the belief that every single one of them would die for his cause if need be. This feeling was stronger for Rory than any other warrior in Andrew’s mind. He held Rory on the highest pedestal of all the soldiers, and there was no one else he would seek for military advice.
Despite the near-death experience which kept him bedridden, Andrew remained the designated captain of the army he engineered out of pure will and determination. There was a certain allure he possessed which captivated the masses.
One by one the collection of Murrays and lads amongst the neighboring villages mounted their horses to prepare their journey into the Highlands. The stable which housed the horses was emptied, with the exception of two colts that were not believed to be mature enough in stature to transport any of the warriors the entirety of the journey. A fear of abandonment was observed in one colt which instigated a ruckus no one dared to attempt to resolve.
“Shall we depart already? The wee colt will settle down once we are oot o’ sight,” Rory said, impatient to leave.
“Wait, I know this colt. This is the one Freya has an unfathomable bond with. My bonnie can calm him while the rest o’ us can be on oor way,” Andrew commented in jubilation as he was confident of the solution to settle the animal’s nerves and anxieties of being left almost completely alone in the stable.
“Andrew, where are ye aff tae?” Rory questioned with a sharp tone as Andrew leaped off his horse in search of Freya.
“I will fetch Freya tae calm the colt. The lass is the only one who can comprehend him.”
Rory stuttered and brainstormed a ploy to distract Andrew’s search for Freya. Andrew could not know of her true whereabouts or else Rory’s scheme would meet a violent demise before their departure to Blair Castle.
“Freya is no’ present in the village. She is away with Sorcha tae gather food fer the impending winter,” Rory told Andrew.
Andrew stopped his pace instantly and pondered Rory’s explanation. The pounding of Rory’s chest intensified due to the puzzled expression written on Andrew’s face.
“How dae ye know she is with Sorcha? She told me nae such thing,” Andrew commented.
Rory was speechless and just shrug
ged his shoulders.
“Weel, the lass and I did hae a wee argument last night. I reckon she is still fumin’. I will let it simmer an’ she can tend tae to me when she returns. We dae no’ see eye tae eye with oor lassies a’ the time now, dae we?” Andrew chuckled.
Rory went to mount his horse and glanced at his two accomplices who both winced at him.
Andrew panned the expressions on his warriors’ faces and observed over two dozen somber and lackluster appearances. He was concerned with the lack of energy and enthusiasm of what he deemed to be the most important mission for centuries in this region along the boundary of the Highlands.
“Whit is wrang with ye a’? We are aboot tae change the lives o’ every lad, lass, and child through the valley an’ beyond. Yet, ye drag yer arses as if ye’re a bunch o’ bogles! I will no’ stand fer this!” Andrew exclaimed as he halted the warriors in their tracks.
“Ye dae no’ want us tae remain stoic an’ emotionless? We were told signs o’ emotion were indicators o’ weakness in battle,” one of the lads responded.
Andrew stared him in the eyes, perplexed by this philosophy he deemed idiotic.
“Who would tell ye such a foolish thing, laddie?” Andrew laughed.
“Rory commanded that from us while ye were unconscious. He preached tae be free from emotion tae enable precision an’ accuracy with each thrust o’ the broadsword on the battlefield.”
Andrew looked to Rory before peering back at the lad. “There is nothin’ wrang with a little excitement fer the cause ye are fightin’ fer, lads. Yes, showin’ fear is no’ ideal, but ye can illicit fear in the enemy with yer voice. Trust me, nothin’ is more intimidatin’ than the sounds of a powerful enemy’s war chant in addition tae the thunderous roars o’ the approaching horses,” he explained as the younger of the soldiers stared in admiration.
Andrew whipped the reigns of his horse with a slight jerk to instruct it to move forward without entering a gallop. His and Rory’s horses stood beside one another as Andrew attempted to glance at Rory for an explanation of the lad’s comments. Rory, with a slightly pale complexion, cowered at the seriousness of Andrew’s expression. Andrew was visibly annoyed by the scowl written on his face and Rory wanted nothing else but to finally leave.
“Rory, are ye purposely sabotagin’ my mission?”
“I, uh…” Rory stuttered.
Suddenly, Andrew burst out with laughter, and Rory raised his eyebrows in bewilderment. He remained silent despite his animosity.
“I am jokin’, Rory.” Andrew snickered. “In a’ seriousness, my friend, ye know that is how I approach the battle an’ that is how I want the lads tae as well. It is the only way they can possibly escape with their limbs intact.”
The two Murrays stared at one another. Despite Andrew’s humor and wit, a wave of seriousness overcame him, and Rory noted it. The remaining soldiers were enthralled at this odd interaction between the highly-regarded Murray warriors, but then shrugged off the peculiar exchange, and Andrew signaled their exodus from the quaint village they temporarily called home.
“Onwards tae Blair Castle!” Andrew shouted while he shook the reigns of his horse.
The horse broke into a gallop, and all the soldiers followed suit.
Andrew turned over his shoulder and was energized by his soldiers who rode their magnificent horses directly behind him. He bellowed a furious war cry which was returned by all his warriors… with the exception of Rory, who stared at Andrew in contempt.
However, Andrew remained blind to this penetrating stare of disdain, as the battalion set off under gray clouds which began to eclipse the sun.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Freya remained bound to the tree deep within the woodlands. On top of the burns from the rope which pierced her skin, the wretched taste of the gag nearly made her vomit on numerous occasions.
Her head sprung up at the sound of thunderous hooves became louder and louder. The vibrations from the rapid gaits shook the ground. There was no doubt in her mind this was the invasion force under Andrew’s leadership.
Freya’s fear was no longer about the battle; it was the betrayal unbeknownst to Andrew. No one with the capacity to stop Rory from fulfilling his devious plans had insight into his plot. She had to devise an escape strategy since Andrew’s life hung in the balance. Her life was in jeopardy in addition if the remaining inhabitants were blind to her location outside of the village.
Only Freya’s mother, Sorcha, and the remaining women and children remained in the village as she was certain every last man had departed with Andrew. Initially, Freya assumed Sorcha would come to her rescue, but it dawned on her that Sorcha had no idea where she might be. Freya’s hopes for escape and possibly survival took a devastating turn for the worst within her mind.
The roar of the horses had passed, and the worst possible outcomes encompassed her mind. She drifted into an unconscious state, but gruesome visions of the impending battle invaded her dreams.
She envisioned multiple violent outcomes of Andrew meeting his demise at the hands of either Donald or Rory on the battlefield. One gruesome image included Rory thrusting his broadsword deep into Andrew’s back and the scream of her love’s pain made her collapse into a pool of her own tears. The details of Donald’s hideous face had been repressed for the longest time, but they resurfaced during her nightmares. Freya imagined him maniacally laughing as he sliced Andrew with his blade over and over again. The slashes never killed Andrew to end his suffering, but only exacerbated the physical pain.
Her body shivered as the crisp wind picked up speed and the dreary clouds had hidden any shimmer of sunlight to warm her. Freya awoke from her dreadful daydream to the appalling aroma of warm urine in the air around her. The power of the odor overtook her senses, and she could barely breathe through her gag. She glanced down towards her feet and spotted the remnants of the foul-smelling urine on her ankles. Freya sobbed uncontrollably.
Her body mirrored that of a ragdoll or perhaps someone possessed by a wicked spirit the way her Freya contorted herself in yet another attempt to escape. Her teeth clenched the gag so violently that the threads started to become unbound.
As the tears streamed down Freya’s cheeks, she detected the sound of soft footsteps amongst the fallen leaves. She closed her eyes and prayed it was not a forest creature but someone who could be of assistance to free her.
The ruffle against the leaves became further audible as Freya focused her senses on the sound. She thought it was no use, but she unleashed her muffled screams through her torn gag. After she wailed with as much intensity as she could muster, two incoherent voices started to ramble.
“Who are ye? Are ye playin’ tricks on my mind?” a frail man’s voice asked.
“It is the spirit o’ this forest. We mustn’t disturb it, my dear. We must escape at once!” an elderly woman’s voice responded.
Freya failed to discern the voices, but they were voices nonetheless, and she screamed at the top of her lungs through her gag.
“Listen tae that, bonnie! The forest is callin’ us. Whit dae ye think the forest is tryin’ tae tell us?” the man questioned.
“Shh! Hush yersel’. I am trying tae listen tae the spirits!” the woman responded in a sharp tone.
“This blustery wind is makin’ me cold. I want tae leave this Godforsaken forest at once,” the woman shrieked.
“Ye always want tae complain when we travel,” the man replied.
The elderly couple trekked in the direction of the tree Freya was tied to, and their jaws dropped when they discovered her.
“The spirits o’ the forest hae taken a prisoner. We must rescue her at once,” the man said.
The couple shuffled their feet as quickly as they could. The man and woman approached Freya with their backs hunched over unable to stand up straight due to their old age.
Freya attempted to speak, but the gag made her voice inaudible, and the elderly man hopelessly struggled to discern her remarks.
&nbs
p; She studied the elderly couple and had an epiphany. This was the same delirious couple she and Andrew attempted to help some time ago.
The man stroked his short, white beard and fixated his eyes on the gag inserted in Freya’s mouth. He reached out to touch the gag and Freya’s eyes lit up as she was moments away from freedom.
But then the woman smacked the man’s wrinkled hand away.
“Whit is the matter with ye? If ye free her, then we might be in danger. The spirits ‘ere in the forest will surely cast their revenge against us fer freein’ their prisoner,” the woman screeched at him.
“Daen’t be daffy, woman. The lass clearly needs help,” the man snapped and took off Freya’s gag.
