by Fiona Faris
It took four hours for the two of them to dig a roughly six by six-foot hole in the rocky soil. As they sat back on the grass panting from their exertions, Alana caught sight of Malcolm’s face. He had been weeping as well. Alana moved over and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his head to her chest in comfort. His shoulders shook as he gave way to the pain and anger and sobbed against her breasts as tears streamed down her own cheeks. She cried as much for his pain as her own. His anguish broke her heart and she would have given anything to take his grief away.
When his tears ceased, Malcolm arose and walked over to the rock wall above the grave. He lifted his dirk and began carving letters into the stone. Scraping sounds filled the air as he scratched away at the rock. When he was finished, he stepped back to reveal an inscription. ‘Andrew Murray, Laird of the Clan Murray, Tout Prest.’
“Tout Prest?” Alana asked.
“It is Latin for ‘Quite Ready.’ It was the Murray motto my faither preferred. He ne’er cared for the other as it reminded him tae much o’ what happened tae my maither, her bein’ taken and all,” Malcolm explained.
“My faither quoted the Murray motto to us from the day we were born. I ne’er cared for it either,” she answered. “I much prefer this one.”
“As do I,” he agreed, stepping back and admiring his work. “There is so much more tae say o’ his life that would nae fit on these walls even if we were tae cover the entire expanse o’ stone.” Staring at the dirk in his hand, a murderous rage took over his features and he growled low in his throat. “My blade should be buried deep in the heart of Rory Murray nae etching my faither’s name in stone o’er a grave unbefitting a laird o’ his ilk. He will be forgotten with no one left tae remember the man he was.”
“His life will live on through ye, yer sisters, even wee Andrew. Ye will remember him and live tae tell his stories tae others so that they might learn o’ the man he was. Nae rock could e’er express the brave, noble, lovin’ man that was Andrew Murray, but ye can. I have nae doubt that ye are exactly the man he wished ye tae be. He believed that ye would make a great laird o’ the clan. Now it is time tae prove that he was right. Dinnae rush in tae battle and get yerself killed. Ye must take the time tae grieve yer faither properly, then build a force strong enough tae defeat my faither without putting any more of yer family’s lives at risk,” Alana admonished him to caution. “’Tis what yer faither would have wanted and ye ken it well.”
Malcolm stood staring down at her in the darkness. Alana could not read his face, but feared she had made him angry with her chastising words. A flash of metal followed by a thumping sound told her that he had dropped his dirk to the ground. In one swift motion he was in front of her, pinning her to the wall with his body. His hands encircled her wrists and pulled them up above her head. “I need tae feel something other than the pain,” he whispered, staring down into her eyes questioningly. Alana nodded her consent and Malcolm bent his head down, crushing her lips in a kiss with all the ferocity of his feelings. Alana, desiring to render comfort, returned his kiss with equal fervor.
In desperate passionate agony, Malcolm ran his hands over Alana’s body, down her thigh, pulling her skirts up around her hips. Lifting his kilt, he found her moist heat with his shaft and plunged himself to the hilt deep inside her with one swift powerful stroke. Alana bit down on her lower lip to keep from crying out. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he began to move inside her withdrawing, slowly only to plunge back inside of her just as swift and hard as before. Alana moved her hips in time to his desire, meeting him thrust for thrust. His hands grasped her buttocks as he drove his caber home over and over again. He tore at the laces of her shirt with his teeth, tearing the fabric and exposing her breasts to the cool night air. Her nipples hardened instantly as his mouth came down to suckle each one in a fevered passion. His teeth raked across her tender buds, causing sensation to course through her body in crashing waves. Malcolm continued his assault on her breasts as he drove himself harder and faster inside her hot wet sheath. The sound of their bodies colliding into one another over and over again echoed along the stone wall.
Malcolm growled low in his throat, causing shivers to travel up and down Alana’s spine. There was a wild desperation to his love making that had not been there before. Alana clung to him, willing him all the love and passion in her heart. When she felt as if she could not take the ecstasy of their mating another moment or perish from the pleasure of it, her entire body exploded with such intensity she was forced to bite down hard on her own hand to keep from screaming as she climaxed, throbbing around his member as it filled her with his seed. Malcolm, apparently not caring who heard him, roared like a wild beast.
Malcolm held her firmly against the rock wall remaining inside of her, his head pressed to her exposed breasts breathing heavily. He did not make any effort to move as Alana’s sheath continued to throb around him, milking every last bit of pleasure from him. His breath tickled her nipples, causing them to harden once more. Malcolm having noticed their arousal took each of them in his mouth, suckling and nuzzling them until Alana began to moan and squirm against him. Her movements caused him to harden inside of her and he began to move again, this time more slowly. When they climaxed together for the second time, Malcolm released her, allowing her skirts and his kilt to fall back into place, then picked her up and carried her to their bed in the stables. He laid her down, wrapping her in her arisaid, and placed a kiss on her lips. “Stay here and sleep,” he whispered. “I must go and see tae Faither’s body.” He caressed her face with his palm, gazed tenderly into her eyes for a brief moment, then turned and left the stables for the croft.
Alana determined that she would remain awake so that she could be there for Malcolm when he needed her, but she was more exhausted than she realized and her body eventually gave out surrendering to sleep without her consent. Sometime later, Alana was awakened by a kiss. Malcolm had returned. “It is time,” he whispered and helped Alana to stand up repositioning her arisaid around her head and shoulders. He tied her shirt tight to hide the tear caused by their love making, then guided her toward the gravesite.
Where once there had been naught but an empty hole on the ground now lay the body of Andrew Murray wrapped in his tartan for a shroud. Freya, her daughters, Bruce, and wee Andrew all waited gathered at the graveside. There was not a dry eye to be found among them with the exception of the bairn who slept contentedly in his mother’s arms. Each family member said a few words and threw a fist full of dirt into the grave. When they had said their peace, Malcolm and Bruce filled the grave. When the last bit of earth fell into place, Andrew Murray was laid to rest as the first light of dawn peaked over the crest of the ravine. “Farewell, Faither,” Malcolm whispered as everyone returned to the croft, causing Alana to pause and listen. “I will avenge ye if it is the last thing I do on this earth.”
Alana observed the determined expression on his face and knew without a doubt that he meant every word. Her heart cried out as a quiet voice inside her warned, It verra well may be.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Cairngorm Mountains, Scotland
The next morning, Malcolm awoke more determined than ever to seek revenge for his father’s death and the loss of their family home. No matter how hard Alana tried to make him see reason, he would not hear it. He had made up his mind to descend the mountain and attempt to recruit men from the Murray and Erskine villages. Leaving Bruce to protect the women in the croft, Malcolm set out to seek his fellow clansmen. He prayed that they remained alive and loyal to his father. As he made his way down the mountain, he kept a weather eye out for any signs of Rory’s men. The last thing he wanted to do was get captured or killed before he could exact his revenge. Rory and Ross Murray would pay for their treachery with their lives.
He rode his highland pony toward the nearest village and attempted to sort out what he would say. The news of the laird’s death was sure to cause chaos and disquiet among the clan. Rory had
been a strong fierce warrior in his day and was sure to be an intimidating force for many. Malcolm hoped that they would not be too afraid to stand up and fight. It would not be of help to his cause that Rory had struck at the heart of the clan lands and won. In the eyes of many, he would be considered the rightful laird by combat. Malcolm planned to dissuade any who might hold that notion. His father had left the lairdship to him, and though he did not feel ready or worthy of the title, it was his by right and it had been his father’s last dying wish. He would take back Blair Castle and serve as laird in his father’s sted or die and be buried with him upon the mountain.
Stopping at the edge of the forest, Malcolm surveyed the village from the cover of the trees. He wasn’t sure what kind of a welcome he would receive as Rory might have sent out men to subdue the villages. If he hadn’t, Malcolm would have been quite surprised. Pulling his tartan up over his head, he rode around the outskirts of the village, stopping at the blacksmith’s shop. David James Murray had been a loyal supporter of his father since the beginning. If anyone would come to his aid and know what was afoot, it would be David. Malcolm slipped through the back door of David’s shop and stopped to listen. Hearing nothing but the hammer upon metal, Malcolm continued moving forward toward the sound.
He found David, alone, hammering a piece of metal into submission. Malcolm moved around to the side and saw the makings of a fine blade forming beneath his skilled hands. When David paused in his hammering, Malcolm stepped forward. “David James Murray.”
David turned and visibly relaxed in relief at the sight of Malcolm’s face. “Yer alive! Thank God and all the saints in heaven! Where have ye been? Nae, dinnae tell me. I dinnae want tae be a risk tae ye. Yer family? Did they make it out as well?”
“Aye, we made it out, but Faither did nae make it past the second night,” Malcolm informed him.
“The laird is dead?” David sat down on the edge of his workbench, his face a mask of grief. “When we did nae hear from ye, we feared the worst. The men fought for as long as they could, but anyone who entered the castle did nae come back out alive. We have nae been paid a visit yet, but it is only a matter o’ time. It will be the age auld story o’ submit tae Rory Murray’s authority or die by the sword. I dinnae fancy either.”
“Nor do I,” Malcolm admitted. “But there are some things worth dyin’ for.”
“Aye, that there are,” David agreed, nodding his head thoughtfully. “What is the plan? I ken well enough that ye will be havin’ one tae take back the castle by now.”
“Aye, that is the plan, but the exacution o’ how exactly is nae clear,” Malcolm replied. “I was hopin’ ye would be able tae help me with that.”
“Aye, anythin’ I can do, but ye should ken that nae everyone will be so willin’ with the laird gone. ‘Twas he and yer maither that held the alliance together. I cannae promise that they will risk their lives and families for ye alone. Word has spread about Finlay’s betrayal. Rory made sure o’ that. He wanted everyone to ken that the laird’s family was nae worthy o’ the people’s loyalty with them turnin’ on their own like that. As if he can talk o’ loyalty. He put a price out on his own daughter’s head along with the rest o’ ye. We assumed his huntsmen had found ye and left yer bodies in the woods by now,” David warned.
“Are ye sayin’ that the men will nae follow me as their laird?” Malcolm asked indignant.
“Aye, I fear that may be, but nae all will feel that way. There will be some who will follow ye tae their graves given’ half a chance,” David replied. “I can feel about for ye quietly. Ye cannae show yer face about any o’ the villages or at the castle. If ye do, it will be yer death.”
Malcolm shook his head in disappointment. He knew it would not be easy, but he had hoped to be able to count on the loyalty of his fellow clansmen. The idea that so few would be willing to follow him into battle was devastating to his plans. He could nae take the castle alone. Nodding his head, he agreed to let David speak to the men on his behalf. “Be careful. I cannae have ye turnin’ up dead as well. I am dependin’ on ye tae convince the men tae fight with me. I will need ye at my side when the time comes. Next tae Fergus, ye were my faither’s most trusted friend.”
“Aye, I was sorry tae hear about Fergus. He was a good man. I will nae let ye down, Malcolm. We will find a way tae take back the castle, for Fergus and yer faither,” David promised. “I dinnae ken how, but we will.”
Malcolm left the blacksmith’s shop feeling even more discouraged than he had when he arrived. If his own clansmen would not stand with him, then his cause was doomed. He made his way back up the mountain, careful that no one followed him. He covered his tracks as best he could and arrived back at the croft just before nightfall. Bruce greeted him at the entrance to the ravine.
“How did it go?” he asked as Malcolm dismounted.
“Nae as we would have liked,” Malcolm admitted. “David James Murray is goin’ tae speak with the men on our behalf, seein’ as how none o’ us can show our faces without bringin’ down the wrath of our enemies. We cannae risk the lassies bein’ taken by the likes o’ Rory Murray.”
Bruce nodded his head in agreement. “David is a good man. He will see ye right.”
“Aye, that he is, but he also had a wee bit tae say about our fellow clansmen. It seems they are afraid for their lives. He is nae convinced that a number o’ the men will join us with faither dead,” Malcolm informed him.
“But without the men…” Bruce began.
“We are lost. Aye, I ken it well,” Malcolm finished.
“The lasses are up at the croft waitin’ tae hear what ye have tae say. They will worry until they see ye have returned safe with their own eyes,” Bruce stated.
“Ye have stood guard all day. Ye’ll be wantin’ tae see Mary and the bairn, will ye nae?” Malcolm pointed out. “Why dinnae ye come with me tae the house? I was careful nae tae be followed and did nae see any signs o’ any one havin’ been anywhere near here. A wee moment away will nae do any harm.”
Bruce nodded his head and they walked together to the croft. Alana met them at the door. “How was it?” she asked moving out of the way so that Bruce could pass into the house. Bruce scooped up wee Andrew and kissed Mary. Malcolm pulled Alana into his arms and led her out to the stables.
“Nae as good as we hoped,” he admitted. He brushed his highland pony down with a bunch of grass and allowed it to graze as it wished. He came over to sit with Alana upon their bed and took her into his arms. “I dinnae want tae talk about it just now though. Only time will tell how it truly went.” He kissed her, then kissed her again. He knew he should have gone into the croft and spoke with his mother and sisters, but he could not face his own pain reflected back to him in their eyes. Instead, he chose to lose himself in the sweet embrace of the woman he loved.
He made love to her slowly, taking his time, relishing in every sensation. He drove away his pain and loss with the pleasure her body brought him. When they had finished, they fell asleep in each other’s arms. That night, Malcolm dreamt of the attack on Blair Castle. The dream was so real he could feel the heat of the fire, hear the crackle of the flames as it burned along the wall. The sound of a horse’s cry broke through the inferno. “There were nae horses in the attack on the castle,” his mind registered. Another equine cry pierced through his dream and he awoke to find the stable was on fire. A dark figure loomed over him and he caught sight of a blade flashing in the fire’s light.
Malcolm sprang into action, kicking the figure’s feet out from underneath him. The intruder fell and cried out as the blade slipped from his fingers. Malcolm and the man both reached for the weapon at the same time, grappling and wrestling with one another for the blade. The man’s foot lashed out and kicked at Malcolm, hitting Alana instead. She awoke, taking in the scene before her, and screamed in terror. The sound of her cries rushed through Malcolm’s body, giving him a surge of strength he did know he possessed. The idea of the man he fought hurting her was more than he
could bear. The man grabbed hold of the knife and brought it up to stab Malcolm in the ribs. Malcolm twisted his body away grabbing the man’s arm and turning the knife on his attacker. He bore down with all of his weight sending the blade through the man’s chest. The assailant’s body spasmed, then coughed up blood spattering it across Malcolm’s face filling his nostrils with its hot coppery spray. The moment the life left his eyes, Malcolm grabbed Alana and pulled her from the stables just before the roof collapsed.
“They have found us!”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Blair Castle, Scotland
Ross awoke to the sound of his father roaring in a terrible rage. He leapt from his bed and ran from his room toward the sound in nothing but his shirt, sword in hand. “I want their heads and I want them now!” Ross exited the castle through the kitchen and found the burnt corpse of one of his father’s men.
“Angus,” Ross murmured recognizing the hilt of the dirk in his chest. “He found them.”
Ross had searched every place he knew to look within the range he thought a wounded man, a wee bairn, and a group of lassies could travel on foot, but had not found them. How had Angus done it? Where had he found them? He prayed Alana was safe.