by Fiona Faris
“Nae!” Freya protested. “Ye cannae!”
“I must,” Malcolm argued. “Bar the door after me,” he ordered, then opened the door and moved out into the corridor. Off to the side he saw Fergus fighting one of Rory’s warriors and managed to slip past unnoticed. He listened to the sounds of battle to see if he could hear Finlay’s voice commanding their men. Flames leapt from the walls where a lantern had been knocked over in the fray. Malcolm moved forward. Blood was spattered everywhere and the sound of clashing swords rose from the stairs below. Through the din he could make out Finlay’s voice talking to another man. It sounded as if it were coming from the drawing room.
Malcolm continued down the corridor until he could see into the room. The sight that greeted him left him speechless. There through the smoke, he found Finlay embracing a red-haired man whose features were the mirror masculine image of Alana. Ross Murray!
“Yer service tae our cause will nae go unrewarded,” Ross was saying to Finlay.
“I did nae do it for ye or yer faither. I did it for my own parents,” Finlay answered, extricating himself. “I owed ye a debt for tellin’ me the truth about their deaths at the hand of Andrew Murray. I cannae believe I spent all these years lovin’ him as a faither only tae discover he killed mine.”
Ross patted Finlay on the back in commiseration. “Andrew Murray has been responsible for both of our family’s sufferings.”
“Nae for much longer,” Finlay grinned maliciously.
“What did ye do?” Ross asked.
“Henbane,” Finlay answered with pride.
“Ye poisoned our faither!?” Malcolm roared.
Finlay turned and met Malcolm’s eyes through the ever-increasing wall of smoke. The hatred he saw in his eyes was unlike anything he ever could have imagined. “Aye.”
“Should I stay?” Ross asked Finlay.
“Nae this is between me and my brother,” Finlay answered, moving his body to face Malcolm.
Ross slipped out the door at the opposite end of the drawing room and disappeared below stairs.
“Why? Why would ye do such a thing?” Malcolm asked. Tears clouded his vision and he was not sure if it was the smoke or his brother’s betrayal that caused them more.
“Yer faither killed my parents. They were the only love I had in the world and he took them from me,” Finlay answered. “And now I will take from him everything he holds dear, including ye.”
Malcolm let out a roar of pain and anger that rattled the window panes. Finlay leveled his sword at Malcolm and stepped forward to attack.
* * *
Alana had managed to make her way down the mountain in relatively short time, considering the pain she was in. When she reached the forest’s edge, she found Blair Castle was already under attack and smoke was pouring out of the upper floor windows. The scene was absolute chaos. Alana stood watching in fear and horror as her father’s men slew anything that moved. She looked about her for another way to enter the castle, but found none that were not in the thick of the battle. Unable to do anything else, Alana urged her horse forward as fast as it would go, dodging her father’s men and riding over those she could not.
When she reached the castle, she slipped through the back kitchen garden door and up the servant’s staircase. It was hard to climb with her swollen knee and she bit the inside of her cheeks in an effort not to cry out in pain. She knew the plan had been to gather in the laird’s room if anything were to happen and she hoped that Malcolm had not been too late to save them. She remembered her brother’s words about her father wishing her dead, but she could not let Malcolm and his family face her father’s fury alone.
When she reached the top of the stair, she entered the corridor and found the walls to be in flames. Fergus was fighting on one side of the hall while she could make out the sounds of Malcolm and Finlay shouting on the other. She decided to follow Malcolm’s voice and moved towards the drawing room. What she found there shocked her to her core.
Malcolm and Finlay were locked in fierce combat. Alana could not imagine what would have caused the brothers to turn on one another in such a way, but the look in their eyes said that they were out for blood. “He loved ye like a son,” Malcolm roared as his sword arched through the air and clashed with Finlay’s just above his head, “and ye poisoned him!”
Alana gasped in horror at his words. It was Finlay?! Of all the people she had thought, he was not among them.
“He deserved that and so much more,” Finlay barked back.
“He did nae kill yer parents,” Malcolm tried to make his brother see reason. “Rory lied tae ye.”
My faither got tae Finlay? Alana could hardly believe what she was hearing. Never in all of their planning to bring down Andrew Murray had he ever once mentioned to her using Finlay Erskine as a spy, let alone an assassin. Nor had she ever heard his claims that Andrew had killed Finlay’s parents. In fact, she was fairly certain that he could never have done such a thing now that she knew him.
Finlay tackled Malcolm to the floor, knocking his sword from his hand. “Ye will nae defeat me, wee brother. I am the one that taught ye how tae fight, after all.”
Malcolm punched Finlay in the jaw in an attempt to get him off of him. The two rolled around on the floor until Finlay got the upper hand and knocked Malcolm’s head against the floor so hard that it echoed through the room. Dazed, Malcolm was left unable to defend himself. Finlay pulled his dirk from his belt and placed the blade to Malcolm’s throat. “Goodbye, brother,” Finlay stated as he drew back to plunge the blade into Malcolm’s neck.
Nae! Alana’s mind screamed as her eyes searched for anything she could use to save him. She remembered the sgian dubh that Fergus had given her and pulled it from her belt, launching herself onto Finlay’s back. Fergus’ order to stab her enemy in the neck or kidneys sprang to her mind and she thrust the knife into the thick muscle of his neck. Hot blood spurted out, spraying the room and Alana with crimson. Finlay gurgled as he rolled off of Malcolm and landed on the floor. His mouth gaped like a fish as he gasped for air. His hands went to his neck in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood, but instead it leaked out through his fingers and down his arms to the rug upon the floor.
“Malcolm!” Alana cried out, attempting to revive him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Malcolm emerged from the darkness as if he had been underwater for too long. He could just make out the sounds of Alana calling his name in frantic tones and vaguely wondered how she had gotten there. When his nose registered the coppery sent of blood mingled with the acrid smell of smoke, his mind cleared instantly, screaming that danger was afoot. He looked about himself and found Finlay lying next to him on the floor, blood spurting from his neck, his face contorted in pain. Malcolm rolled over and attempted to aid his brother in staunching the flow of blood by applying pressure to the wound.
“Why?” he asked, staring down at Finlay’s ashen face. “Why did ye believe the lies?”
“I missed my family,” Finlay gasped, struggling to breathe.
“We are yer family,” Malcolm reminded him.
“I missed my real family,” Finlay stated, his chest heaving with the effort. “And now I will be with them.”
“Dinnae die on me, brother! Nae like this!” Try as he may, Malcolm could not stop the blood.
“I am sorry, brother,” Finlay replied. “I missed my family so much I needed someone to blame and I was angry o’er yer choosin’ to place yer trust in a total stranger o’er me. I needed revenge for what was taken from me, and Rory Murray seemed tae have all the answers. I found him when I went lookin’ for answers tae Alana’s past. True enough, I found the village first, but I was next sent up to the fortress. Rory told me that it was yer faither who killed mine and it was easier to have someone tae blame than tae accept that I would ne’er be able tae seek justice on their behalf.”
“Faither killed the man who killed yer parents. He sought justice on yer behalf and took ye in as his own son. I will
ne’er understand how ye could have done such a thing. Ye have betrayed us all. Ye cannae die and leave such a stain upon our friendship. Ye are my brother.” Malcolm begged Finlay not to die even though he could see the life draining from his face as he spoke the words. “Dinnae leave this way!”
“I am sorry,” Finlay whispered and then was gone. The last vestiges of life fled with his apology.
“Nae!” Malcolm roared. He pulled Finlay’s body into his arms as tears of rage and sorrow made tracks in the dirt upon his cheeks.
“Malcolm?” Alana urged. “We must go.”
Malcolm looked up, barely registering the words she was saying. He shook his head not wanting to leave his brother. “Nae!”
“Malcolm, we must. Ye cannae leave yer family to suffer at the hands o’ my faither,” Alana insisted.
The mention of his family brought Malcolm back to the danger of the present moment and he gently laid Finlay’s body back upon the floor. Standing, Malcolm took Alana by the hand and pulled her along behind him as he exited the room and made his way down the hall. A man shouted orders upon the stairs and Alana pulled on his arm urgently. “Faither is coming!”
Malcolm and Alana ran down to the laird’s room where Fergus had dispatched several of Rory’s men. “We need time tae get the family out.” Malcolm met his eyes, earnestly knowing all too well what he was asking of his godfather.
“Ye will have it,” Fergus swore, embracing his godson. He then turned to Alana and drew her into his arms. “I could nae have asked for a better daughter than ye. Ye may nae be the daughter o’ my blood, but ye are the daughter o’ my heart. In as much as the good Lord will allow, I will watch o’er ye from the great beyond.” Fergus placed a kiss on her forehead and squeezed her one last time before releasing her to go with Malcolm.
“Nae! Ye cannae die! Ye must come with us!” Alana sobbed, fighting against Malcolm’s pull in an effort to grab ahold of Fergus and make him come with them.
“Malcolm, I loved ye as if ye were my own son. Take care o’ her. Now go!” Fergus turned his back on the closest thing he had ever had to children and readied to take on Rory Murray.
Malcolm pulled Alana inside the laird’s bedchamber and barred the door shut. “We must hurry!” He urged his sisters and nephew to enter the secret panel in the wall while he, Bruce, Freya, and Alana each grabbed a side of Andrew’s blanket and pulled him up off of the bed. They carried him as quickly and carefully as they could through the hidden door and then closed it behind them. The moment the panel fell back into place, all went dark. Malcolm instructed his sisters to light the torches that awaited them on a shelf upon the wall and then they descended the stairs down into the tunnel as swiftly as they could. As they moved further down the tunnel, the sounds of battle began to fade and Malcolm prayed that Rory did not find the secret opening that had allowed their escape.
“Where will we go?” Freya asked her son, uncertain how far they could possibly get on foot carrying a bed ridden man.
“We will hide in the mountains. If Rory Murray can manage tae hide from us for o’er twenty years, then we can manage it for a time until we gather our strength tae take back the castle.” Malcolm could not hide the rage from his voice. He was angrier than he had ever been in his life and he wanted nothing more than to turn around and slit Rory Murray’s throat, but his first duty was to his laird and family. Their safety mattered above all else. He would simply have to wait to seek his revenge.
When they reached the end of the tunnel, they lowered Andrew to the ground and Malcolm poked his head above ground to ensure that it was safe to continue on. He found his highland pony where he had left it and breathed a sigh of relief. He scanned the terrain, and seeing no one, crawled out of the hole and walked stealthily toward his steed. Untying it from the tree, he moved it to the hole’s entrance, then reached in to help pull his father above ground. Bruce crawled out after and assisted Malcolm in lifting his father up onto the pony’s back. They used the blanket and his tartan to tie him to the pony so he would not fall off, then assisted Mary in mounting behind him with the wee babe tied against her body in her arisaid. The rest of the family set out on foot with Malcolm leading the pony.
They moved over the rough ground with as much speed as it would allow. Malcolm and Freya assisted the younger girls, while Bruce walked beside Mary and the bairn on the pony. Malcolm and Bruce kept a weather eye upon their surroundings to ensure they would see any threats long before they reached them. Each member of the family was armed with a knife, but that would not do much if they were forced to face any of Rory Murray’s men. Malcolm and Bruce carried larger weapons, and were they set upon, it would fall to them to defend the family or die in the attempt. The thought of such a death caused Fergus’ face to flash through his mind and his heart constricted at the pain of his loss. He knew from the bereft look upon Alana’s face that she was having similar thoughts. He prayed that he was wrong and that Fergus had somehow found a way to survive, but he knew the likelihood of such an escape was quite low. Fergus would have fought to his last breath to ensure his laird and godchildren lived.
I will avenge ye, Fergus Murray. Ye have my word, Malcolm swore to the heavens.
When they reached a reasonably safe distance from the castle, they stopped to allow the girls to rest. Bruce and Malcolm guarded the perimeter while the women foraged for edible plants, nuts, berries, anything they could find. They had escaped with the clothes on their backs and nothing more. Alana, having been raised in the mountains, knew better than most where things grew and what to look for. As they searched, she taught the younger girls which plants were edible and which could be used medicinally. Malcolm could not help but feel proud of her knowledge and resourcefulness. If they were able to survive the mountains, it would be in great part due to her.
When the women had gathered enough, they sat down to eat, each taking a handful of greens, fungi, and berries. Alana brought Malcolm over his share, while Mary took Bruce his. Malcolm took Alana into his arms and held her close. They had come close to losing one another and had lost many friends and clansmen in the fight. Nothing would ever be the same. Their home had been bathed in blood and burned with fire. Malcolm hoped that Rory had had the good sense to at least put out the flames before they grew too out of hand. Even a monster such as Rory Murray would not be so daft as to let the castle burn down around his head.
“I miss him already,” Alana whispered. “Fergus.”
“As do I, lass,” Malcolm admitted kissing the top of her head. “Life will nae be the same without him. I could sorely use his council.”
“His reassurin’ presence would certainly nae go amiss,” Alana agreed.
“Ye ken these mountains better than any o’ us. Where do ye believe we should go?” Malcolm inquired, surveying the landscape before them. “I wish tae see ye all tae safety, then gather a force of what clansmen remain to take back the castle.”
“Ye will need time tae rest and recover. Ye will be nae good in a fight until ye do. Yer barely standin’ as it is with that bump ye took tae yer head. Faither’s men are strong and have trained my entire life for this moment. They will nae surrender it easily.” Alana pleaded with her eyes for him to see reason.
“Nor will I,” Malcolm replied. He knew she was right. His head pained him greatly from the fight with Finlay. Remembering Alana’s leg, he looked down at her and asked, “How is yer leg farin’? In the heat o’ battle I completely forgot about yer wounds.”
“It is swollen and pains me somethin’ terrible, but I can walk,” she answered, lifting her skirts to show him the offending limb.
Malcolm whistled low at the sight of it. Her leg had swelled to an angry blackish-purple color. He did not know how she had managed to walk at all. “Perhaps ye should take a turn with Faither.”
“Nae, Mary and the bairn need it more. I will be fine,” Alana refused.
Malcolm felt his heart swell with pride at her strength, but he worried that she was being too brave for
her own good. “If ye change yer mind…”
“I will nae,” she refused once more.
“Ye are the strongest most stubborn lass I have e’er kenned, with the possible exception o’ my maither,” Malcolm informed her.
Alana smiled. “I will take that as a compliment.”
“I meant it as one,” Malcolm murmured against her hair. He looked back toward the castle and watched the smoke curl above the trees. It was not as thick and black as it would have been had the castle burned to the ground. He thought of all their fellow clansmen and women that had been in the castle at the time of the attack. How many of them lay dead or wounded? He feared the answer might be all of them, but he prayed it was not so. “Ye were right about yer faither,” he admitted.
“Aye, and sorrowful I am o’er it,” Alana replied, following his gaze. “He will set up his household within the castle and allow his men free rein o’ the village. The women and children o’ his men will come down the mountain to take up residence with their men folk now that the deed is done. Very little, if anyone, will remain upon the mountain in the village or the fortress. From the look o’ the fortress, they will nae be returnin’ once their woman and children are gone. It would be the last place they would think to look for any o’ us.”