by Fiona Faris
“Aye, my lady,” the woman answered. “He had me spy on ye and yer man here,” she stated, gesturing towards Malcolm.
“What did ye tell him?” Alana demanded to know.
“Everythin’, I told him everythin’,” the woman admitted. “And now he plans tae kill ye.”
Alana frowned. It was worse than she thought. Her father had gone from selling her into marriage to murderous rage. “Ye cannae mean it,” Malcolm answered incredulously. “Nae faither would wish tae kill his daughter.”
“Ye dinnae ken my faither,” Alana replied. “If he has ordered my death, then there is verra little that can be done tae stop it.”
“I have always been loyal tae yer family, my lady, but I could nae let ye leave without tellin’ ye yer faither’s plan tae see ye dead.” The maidservant looked absolutely terrified.
Alana stepped forward and took the woman’s hand in hers. “I will nae betray ye tae him. He will ne’er ken that we spoke.”
“I thank ye, my lady. I am so verra sorry for my part in it all.” The woman sobbed tears streaming down her cheeks. “Now it is tae late. Ye should run, my lady. Run as far and as fast as ye can. Go tae France where he would nae think tae look for ye. Take yer man and go now.”
“We cannae just leave my family tae the mercy o’ Rory Murray.” Malcolm rejected the idea to run. “I dinnae believe that he will kill ye, but he will kill my family. We dinnae have time tae waste with this. Where is Rory’s army? When did they depart?”
“The laird and his men left yesterday morning,” the woman answered, shrinking back in fear of the intensity in Malcolm’s eyes.
“We are tae late,” Alana whispered, dread tinging her voice.
“We leave now and we dinnae stop until we reach the castle. We have ponies and they are on foot, so we can move faster than they can. They have a head start on us, but if we move quickly we might get there in time tae warn my family,” Malcolm demanded, turning to leave the croft. “We dinnae have time tae waste.”
Alana followed Malcolm out and they continued their descent. Malcolm remained silent as they rode and Alana chose not to break the silence. She knew he was afraid for his family and feeling helpless that he was too far away to aid them. A fresh wave of guilt for her part in the entire thing washed over her, making her feel sick to her stomach. She knew Malcolm had forgiven her, but that might all change if they did not make it in time to save his family. He will hate me if anythin’ were tae happen to them by my family’s hand and I will hate myself for believin’ my faither’s lies. An image of Mary’s bairn, wee Andrew, flashed through her mind and she swallowed back the bile in her throat at the idea of harm befalling him.
She remembered her father ranting and raving about how he would kill every last person who stood in the way of what was rightfully his. She had grown up so afraid of the stories her father had told her about the way the Clan Murray treated women that it had never occurred to her to find his threats disturbing. In her mind, the men who had kidnapped and killed the women of the Erskine Clan deserved their fate, but that was before she had met them and learned the truth. Now the idea of a single member of the Murray family being hurt upset her beyond words.
Fear caused her to urge her mount to go faster than was wise, but even with as fast as she was going, Malcolm was still a good distance ahead of her. She did not want to slow him down nor did she wish to be left behind. Against her better judgement, she kicked her highland pony into going as fast as was possible, completely disregarding the rough terrain. As they approached a difficult incline, Alana felt her mount begin to slip, jostling her about to the point that she began to lose her seating. As she felt herself falling, she cried out for Malcolm to help her, but he was too far ahead. She slipped from the pony’s back and hit the ground hard, bounced, then hit again, rolling down the incline. Her mount stood at the top, staring down at her.
“Alana!” Malcolm shouted her name as she hit the ground hard at the bottom. Her entire body screamed at her in pain. Blood ran down her face from a cut above her eyebrow. She attempted to stand and collapsed back down upon the ground, unable to put any weight on her leg. She lifted her skirt and found her knee was already swelling from where she had twisted it in the fall. Blood ran down her leg from a scrape on her shin. Her hands were covered in dirt and abrasions. Rocks crumbled down around her and she looked up to find Malcolm sliding down the incline to help her. She had slowed him down after all. Alana was angry at herself for being so foolish. She had grown up in these mountains. She had known exactly how dangerous it was and yet she had done it anyway.
“Malcolm, go. Leave me behind and go,” Alana told him as he came to kneel beside her.
“I will nae leave ye here alone, lass,” he refused.
“Ye dinnae have a choice. Yer family needs ye. I will only slow ye down and I cannae bear any more responsibility if something were tae befall them,” Alana argued.
“It is nae yer fault, lass. I ken that now. Dinnae blame yerself for the actions o’ yer faither. They are nae yer own,” Malcolm informed her, examining the cut on her forehead. “Can ye stand?”
“With help,” she nodded her head. “I hurt my leg in the fall.”
Malcolm ran his hand up Alana’s leg to her swollen knee. It was beginning to turn a purple-black color and the slightest pressure from his hand made her gasp in pain. “It looks bad, lass.”
“I will be fine. ‘Tis a result o’ my own foolishness. I should nae have been movin’ so,” Alana admitted. “I was so concerned about bein’ there for ye and yer family that I did nae use good sense.”
“Put yer arms around my neck and I will lift ye up,” Malcolm instructed her. Alana obeyed and felt his strong arms encircle her. He picked her up off of the ground, but instead of setting her back on her feet, he carried her around the edge of the embankment to his horse. Placing her on its back, he climbed up to retrieve hers. When he rejoined her, he lifted her back onto her own pony. “Can ye travel?”
“Aye,” she nodded her head. The act sent sharp pain running through her skull, but she hid it as best she could. She would not be responsible for keeping him from his family no matter the pain she was in.
Malcolm urged his horse forward, but this time kept in stride with her own. The jostle of every step pulsed through her head and knee, causing her to feel as though she might vomit at any moment. Malcolm looked over at her often to make sure she would not fall again. She could tell he was torn between helping her and warning his family. “Malcolm, go,” Alana begged him. “I will be fine, but yer family may nae be. I could nae bear the guilt. Please just go.”
“I will nae leave ye,” Malcolm refused for a second time.
“These mountains are my home. I can survive them better than ye e’er could. Dinnae doubt me on that,” Alana reminded him. “Now go.”
Malcolm met her eyes and stared into them for several moments before he took her face in his hands, pulled her close, and kissed her deeply. “I will return for ye. I swear it,” he promised.
“I will follow behind and meet ye as soon as I can,” Alana promised.
“I love ye, Alana Murray,” Malcolm murmured against her lips, then kicked his pony and moved down the mountain as quickly as possible.
“And I love ye,” she whispered into the empty space between them as she watched him disappear.
Chapter Twenty
Blair Castle, Scotland
Rory Murray waited in the shadows of the forest near Blair Castle in anticipation of the battle to come. He had spent so many years in preparation of taking back his rightful home and place as laird. He could just picture Andrew Murray lying in his bed dying. He was happy that Andrew had lived long enough to face his defeat. It was so much more satisfying to know that Andrew’s demise would come at his own hands.
Rory smiled with anticipatory glee. Ye will meet yer end at last.
As dawn peaked over the horizon, Rory gave the signal to move forward. His men left the cover of the trees and raced
across the open expanse to the castle. One of his spies had left the doors unlocked. By the time the alarm sounded, it was too late. They were already inside. His men moved through the castle killing anything that moved. Rory looked about him for his son, Ross, but did not see him. He is probably with the first inside. Rory smiled with pride at the thought. His son and heir would do his duty to restore their family honor.
Rory made his way through the castle, stepping over bodies to get to the laird’s room. He wanted to find Andrew before anyone else. His men knew if they encountered him, they were to wait for Rory. He had given orders for Freya to not be harmed, but to be taken captive. He had described her with such detail that they would not make any mistakes. She would be his or she would die with the others.
Screams filled the air and the sound of metal on metal as the Murray-Erskine warriors fought to save their home. Blood ran down the stairs, making them slick with crimson stain. Its thick tangy copper filled the air. Rory reveled in every last sight, sound, and smell of it. Rory and his men fought their way forward into the castle room by room and floor by floor. When he reached the laird’s bed chamber, he found Fergus Murray barring his path, sword in hand dripping with blood. Several of Rory’s men lay dead at his feet. “Move out o’ my way,” Rory commanded.
“Nae likely, Rory Murray. Ye want the laird, ye will have tae go through me,” Fergus replied, denying Rory’s request.
“Gladly,” Rory growled and advanced on Fergus, delivering the first blow. Fergus blocked it and countered the blow. “I see we are still well matched.”
“Dinnae forget all o’ the times I beat yer arse afore ye turned traitor and attacked yer own people,” Fergus reminded as the men circled each other, fielding blows.
Over and over their swords clashed. Fergus blocked another blow and brought the hilt of his sword up, punching Rory straight in the nose, causing blood to gush profusely down his shirt and onto the floor at his feet. Rory staggered back, slamming against the wall. Fergus advanced, bringing his sword down on Rory, hoping to catch him off balance, but it didn’t work. Rory drove his sword upward as he dropped to the floor, catching Fergus on the thigh. Fergus’ blood sprayed across Rory’s face, its hot coppery taste landing on his tongue.
Rory laughed. “I have drunk the blood o’ my enemies and it is sweet!”
Fergus attempted to fight back, but was losing blood at a rapid rate. The more blood he lost, the weaker he became until he was barely able to stand. He swung his sword again, but Rory knocked it from his hand, slicing his arm. Fergus pulled his dirk from his belt and staggered forward, cutting across Rory’s abdomen. The swipe should have disemboweled Rory, but the dirk became tangled in his tartan and only resulted in a mere scratch. Fergus stumbled forward and Rory brought his sword hilt down hard on Fergus’ head. Fergus grunted and dropped like a stone to the floor. Blood seeped from his leg wound, creating a pool beneath him on the floor.
Rory stepped over the body and pushed on the laird’s bedchamber door. It wouldn’t budge. “Blocked,” he grumbled, then pushed harder. Nothing. Two of his men came charging past and Rory stopped them to assist him in breaking down the door. One of the men carried a battle axe and began hacking away at the wooden surface. A hole formed before them and Rory looked through it, but could not see anything in the darkened interior.
The men continued to hack down the door until nothing remained but splinters. Rory pushed through the portal into the room and walked over to the bed. “At last ye will meet yer end, Andrew Murray.” Rory raised his sword and brought it down.
* * *
Ross charged ahead of his father’s men making sure to be the first man through the door. He slipped quietly through the house, hiding anytime someone came running to defend against the attack. He would not be able to save Alana if he were dead or locked in combat. He was not sure how he managed it, but he made it to the tower where he had been told Alana slept. The only entry was through the expansive drawing room on the upper level and Ross hoped he would find it empty.
Slipping around the corner into the ornate interior, he scanned the room to ensure that he was alone, then crossed over to the door on the opposite side. He pushed it open and entered. Dawn light speckled the room revealing that it too was empty. Where are ye, Alana? We are runnin’ out o’ time. The sounds of battle met his ears as women screamed, warriors roared, and swords clashed. He prayed that none of the screams were Alana. Where else would she be?
Ross stood in front of the windows and looked out over the grounds. Women and children were running in fear and men were fighting in an attempt to allow them to escape. Ross watched as they were cut down one by one. His father’s men showed no mercy. A sound at the door turned him away from the grisly scene as a warrior he didn’t recognize crashed backwards into the room. One of his father’s men leapt through the door to finish him off. “Halt,” Ross ordered. The man stopped mid swing. “This one is mine,” Ross informed him.
“Aye,” his father’s man nodded in acceptance and moved on to find another enemy to defeat. Ross bent down and grabbed the man by the front of his shirt and held his blade to the man’s throat. “Where is the lass who sleeps in this room? Where is Alana Murray?”
“She is nae here,” the man bit out in anger. “Yer spy turned against ye. She is one o’ us now.”
“Where did she go?” Ross demanded.
“She went with Malcolm Murray tae find a way tae defeat ye,” the man gloated. “Ye may kill me, but they will find a way tae end the lot a ye.”
“She went home,” Ross murmured, relieved that she was not in the castle, but concerned that he would not be able to find her to warn her that their father wanted her dead. “I thank ye for tellin’ me,” Ross stated, then ran his blade across the man’s throat, slitting it from ear to ear. “Ye have made me verra happy.” Ross wiped his blade clean on the man’s shirt and stood stepping over the body to look out the window once more. She had gone home. He was sure of it. He looked toward the mountains and willed her to be safe. Turning from the windows, he left his sister’s room to join the fray. As he stepped out of the tower into the drawing room, he came face to face with Finlay Erskine.
Chapter Twenty-One
Blair Castle, Scotland
Malcolm emerged from the forest to find the castle under attack. Rory’s men streamed across the grounds, fighting their way through the back door. I am tae late. His heart raced in fear for his family. He skimmed around the edge of the forest until he came to the spot he was looking for. He bent down and removed the tree limbs and other debris until a dark hole emerged in the ground before him. His father had discovered the opening one day when he was out for a ride in the forest many years before. His horse had nearly fallen and broken its leg in it. Andrew had decided to crawl into the hole and see how far it went. The opening led to a cave that ran beneath the castle grounds right up under its walls.
Andrew had decided to keep his discovery a secret and only told Malcolm and Freya about it. The two of them had made a secret entrance from the cave into the castle, using a pre-existing back staircase that had been bricked over long ago that led to the laird’s bedchamber. Apparently, former lairds had had a similar notion to protect themselves in the past. They had covered the opening and had sworn they would only use it if they were left with no other recourse but to escape. They had agreed that if the castle fell under attack, the entire family was to gather in their father’s bedchamber, though the rest of the family were not told why. Malcolm prayed that they had followed their father’s orders and would be waiting for him on the other side.
Father will nae be easy to move. He hoped himself, Finlay, and Bruce would be enough to carry him out. If they are still alive.
Malcolm crawled down into the hole and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. The earth at the opening slipped down around him, making him cough. He edged forward into the darkness, never stopping for fear any moment of delay would result in the loss of his family. He fumbled around until he foun
d the torches his father had lain near the entrance along with the flint to light them. He struck a flame and lit one. Now that he had light he was able to move much faster. When he reached the castle walls, he climbed the staircase to his father’s room and pushed on the wall panel. The thin layer of plaster gave way under the force of his body’s weight.
He emerged from behind a tapestry and paused to make sure he would not be attacked when he emerged. “Malcolm!” Freya exclaimed, running over to embrace her son.
“We must go,” Malcolm stated, looking around the room counting faces. “Where is Finlay?”
“He has nae come,” Bruce informed him, holding his wife and bairn in his arms. “He went to fight as I would have had Fergus nae ordered me tae remain here tae defend yer faither should he fail tae do so himself.”
“We cannae move Faither without him. It will take all three o’ us tae carry him through the tunnel,” Malcolm informed them, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I will have tae go after him.”