by Alisa Adams
“Sards,” he repeated her expletive, though quietly and harshly. No laughter this time.
Cenna looked at him, biting her full bottom lip.
“They’ll slow us down,” he bit out.
“Aye,” she said, her lips twitching.
“We’ll take a full day longer, most likely,” he said with annoyance.
“Aye,” she agreed, biting her lip to stop from laughing.
“The old people cannae travel fast,” he said sternly to her. “Ye look like ye are trying not to laugh. What is so funny about the old people not being able to travel as fast as us?” he asked as he glared at her.
“Aye,” she hurriedly answered. “I agree!”
“Weel then?” he demanded.
“Neither can the cows,” she said with a grin.
Tristan spun around in his saddle again.
He ran his hand through his hair. “Cows,” he said resignedly. “We have cows now too,” he groaned.
“We’ll have fresh milk?” she said, trying to sound positive and cheerful.
“And poor Loughlin is rounding up a bunch of piglets. And I imagine there will be chickens,” he said curtly.
“Which means there will be fresh eggs and meat, Tristan,” she said with a big grin.
“Ye had to keep the whole village, didnae ye?” he asked her with a rueful grin.
She nodded her head.
“Do ye have all yer dirks then?” he asked her with an eyebrow raised.
“I’ll not be putting me dirk in ye today,” Cenna said with a laugh.
“Och, no. Ye’ll be needing all yer dirks to help protect these people,” Tristan said seriously.
Cenna sat up straighter on Whins. “Do ye expect trouble then?”
“Oh aye, I most certainly do. Red Munroe was bold enough to try to push the Macallan clan out of that village. He’s probably tried other Macallan holdings as well while Warwick Macallen is who knows where. I am hoping that your friend Brigda finds him. And fast.”
“But those are Macallans, we are Ross’s,” Cenna stated. “He willnae bother us!”
“Dinnae ye see? He is attacking the villages that have no leader. Fionnaghall is leaderless right now and has been for months. He’ll be coming, I’m sure of it, and sooner rather than later.”
“And we are a walking target,” Cenna said with chagrin. “Arnae we?”
“I fear so,” Tristan said with his eyes narrowed.
“We could eat them?” Cenna said lightly.
“Who? The villagers? Yes, I suppose, but I dinnae think they will taste very good. They are old. And they look like they need fattening, and—”
“Tristan!” Cenna cried out. “That is a terrible thing to suggest!” she said, reaching over and punching him in the shoulder.
“Ow!” he said as he rubbed his arm while looking at her with a crooked smile.
“I was jesting,” Cenna said.
“I know, as was I,” Tristan retorted.
“I meant we could eat the children...” Cenna said, looking straight ahead with a serious look on her face, trying not to laugh.
Tristan reached over and punched her in her arm, albeit lighter than she had him.
“Ow!” she cried out in shock, holding her arm as she stared at him with narrowed eyes.
Tristan threw back his head and laughed. Then he sobered at the frown she was giving him.
“I was jesting too Cenna,” Tristan said matter of factly.
“I know, you said so yourself,” Cenna said, rubbing her shoulder. “Ye dinnae think I believed ye would eat the people? Silly mon!”
“No, I was jesting when I said ow. Ye dinnae hurt me one wee bit when ye punched me arm,” he said with a grin and a raised eyebrow.
“Och, ye gallus mon…” Cenna said with a laugh and a shake of her head.
They rode on in companionable silence through the afternoon. They kept a fairly leisurely pace, knowing they had extra travelers with them, and livestock as well. By nightfall they found a secluded place within the rolling hills of the Highlands. A dense copse of trees sat in a small indent of land near a clear loch.
Cenna looked around. The spot was lovely, with gently rolling hills covered in trees that folded down to the incredibly clear water of the loch. A little stream tumbled down the hills twisting and turning between pines and oaks before finally cascading over rocks into the lake. It’s falling waters lending the secluded spot a tranquil peace. The hills themselves climbed up, up, to barren peaks, typical here in the highlands. The green of the grasses and wildflowers and trees getting thinner and thinner the higher a person climbed. The beauty of it all made her heart swell in her chest.
Cenna took care of Whins and then followed the stream up the hill, away from the men of the Black Watch Army that were making their evening camp, away from the handful of villagers that had followed with their cows. Away from the noise.
She wanted a bath.
No, she needed a bath.
She climbed higher and higher up the hill, following the stream until she found a deeper pool in the shadow of some trees, their branches bowing gracefully over the pool like a curtain, where she could enjoy a private bath.
As she bathed in the cool stream-fed pool her mind was on little Cait and Effie making this trip. Then she thought of those villagers that had so quickly joined the group. They had so little clothing or other possessions that it hadn’t taken very long to pack. How very sad the little village had looked. Such wicked devastation to such innocents.
Then her mind wandered to Tristan. How commanding he had looked ordering Red Munroe’s men to leave the village. How strongly he fought the leader to prevent the villagers’ deaths.
How kind he was to Effie.
How accepting he was that she wanted to keep the whole, poor village.
How thoughtful he was to travel slower to accommodate those that had rushed to make the journey with them.
Then she frowned as she got out of the pool and dressed. He had said she had failed to protect her sister.
He was leading the journey back to her home, Fionnaghall. Did he think she couldnae lead the journey?
Was he planning on being the leader or even the laird of Fionnaghall?
He had kissed her while she had been tipsy from the whiskey. Well, only slightly tipsy, she reminded herself.
He laughed at her all the time it seemed.
He did not want her wearing her tartan, and I had refused, she thought to herself with a proud grin.
He did not believe she was adept with her weapons, the infuriating man.
He did not believe the big draft horses were a good choice in battle or to ride at all, but only good for pulling wagons. She grunted, thinking of the audacity of the man.
She was so deep in thought as she gathered her things from the pool to go back down the hillside that she was not aware of her surroundings.
The gurgling of the stream rushing down the hill over the rocks drowned out all sound.
She had climbed up the hill so far that she could no longer hear the sounds of the army down below as they made camp. They had been gathering in groups around small fires. Some had gone to fish in the clear loch and others were rollicking in the cool waters. She had been able to hear them splashing about at first, but now she heard nothing. Not even bird song. She stilled, trying to peer through the trees along the stream to the bottom of the hill. I must have gone farther than I had realized, she thought.
At a snap of a twig, Cenna stilled, frozen.
Like wisps of mist, soldiers stepped out from behind the trees and brush, surrounding her.
Cenna stood up straighter, looking from face to face.
She knew these men.
The faces of the other day flashed before her eyes. Bad men, evil men with torches. Taunting, screaming, pushing at the innocent people.
Cenna went to reach for her dirks, her breasts heaving as she stared at the men surrounding her.
They were the men that had tried to
herd the villagers over the cliff.
One of them stepped forward, smiling evilly at her.
Her hand stilled.
“Och, tis good to see ye again warrior woman,” he said, walking slowly up to her and leering down into her face. “Tis a lucky day fer us,” he said as he began to pace back and forth in front of her. “Ye see, I have been thinking. The men told me about the village and all about a certain woman who defended the crofters. It got me to remembering a certain woman with hair yer color and pale green eyes. A woman with the skill of a warrior who carried a lochaber axe. Where had I met ye before I asked meself? Twas at the meadow at Fionnaghall. Where me Uncle Mungan died.” He stopped then, staring hard at her. “I believe ye are Lady Cenna of Fionnaghall, arnae ye? How convenient. I see ye are wearing a tartan. Tis illegal.” He smiled eerily at her. “Ye will be coming with us,” he said with a triumphant sneer.
Cenna’s face went white. Her fingers clenched into fists at her sides. Her dirk hidden but forgotten in her hand. She knew who this man was.
Red Munroe.
6
Tristan moved between the small campfires and the groups of Black Watch men sitting around them. Several had caught fish from the loch and were cooking them over the fires. He talked quietly to several of his men and continued on. He realized he was looking for Cenna. He had last seen her following the stream up the hill to bathe, then lost sight of her. As he walked around the camp, seeing the villagers, his men, and the Black Watch, he found himself getting more and more anxious. It was getting dark. Where was she?
He headed up the hill alongside the stream as fast as his steps could take him in the waning light. The farther up he went, the faster he went, until he was running up the hill. His breath coming hard in his chest as his eyes scanned left and right. He had a bad feeling going through his skin, and the hairs on the back of his neck were prickling. Something was wrong or she would have returned. He dared not call out for her. Had Red Munroe’s soldiers from the village followed them? That was his fear, that was the niggling prick on the back of his neck. He ran faster, his eyes scanning the ground. He was able to make out the bent twigs on the bushes along the stream. She had surely come this way. A turned over rock, displaced in the dirt beside the stream. A small boot print, there in the mud. She had come this far. Am I all wrong and she is lying hurt somewhere? His breathing came harder, harsher. With each foot striking the ground as he ran, he cried her name in his mind and his heart.
Cenna! Where are you?
Cenna! Are you injured?
Cenna! Have you been taken?
Taken from me?
He spotted the little pool ahead with a grassy bank beside it. This is where she most likely would have stopped to bathe. It was the perfect size.
There, in the bushes, her tawny hair caught for he could see the silky strands floating off a branch.
He slowed down and like an animal scenting its prey, he walked the perimeter slowly. His eyes scanning the ground in the twilight; looking carefully, watching for every disturbed rock, blade of grass, or branch. He stopped when he had completed the perimeter of the area around the pool. He had seen what he had been afraid of. There had been several heavy footprints behind some of the trees, behind some bushes. He walked slowly to the center, dreading what he may find.
Sure enough, there were her small boot tracks, and another set of tracks, much larger, looking like they were moving back and forth in front of her. Cutting her off? He growled in his throat. And then, a twinkle of silver in the dimming light as the moon began to rise.
He reached down, pushing some leaves away from where he had seen the shiny object.
It was a dirk.
Cenna’s dirk.
Tristan tilted his head up to the sky as he roared out his anger. His fists were clenched as he let out a deep, guttural, long growl of rage.
It was a warning.
To those who took her.
They took his Cenna.
7
“Weel now, ye’ve got me,” Cenna said in frustration as she sat, tied to a tree. They had finally taken her blindfold off so she could glare at them. “What are ye planning to do with me ye skiver?” she asked Red Munroe with her best, most fearsome angry scowl. The man smelled. She thought it may be the vile grease he used to slick back his hair. It gave off a rotten odor.
Before he could answer her there came an unholy noise. A loud, prolonged howl that sounded as if it were full of anger and rage. It bounced and resonated between the peaks and valleys and off the rocks that towered over them.
Munroe and his men froze, listening.
One of the men whispered fearfully, “Tis one huge wolf we are hearing, I think.”
“Aye,” another man said. “Calling his pack, I’d say,” he said in a hushed voice.
Cenna looked at them all. She knew what the sound was.
Tristan had realized they had taken her. He had found her dirk. She smiled slightly.
“There be no wolves in these woods…” Cenna said with disgust.
The men stopped peering out into the darkness of the woods and stared at her.
“That sound you hear?” she asked. “That is the sound of one huge, angry Highlander.” She smiled a small smile, relishing their fear.
“Cease your blethering, woman!” Red Munroe hissed furiously at her as one of his greasy locks fell forward on his face. His hand was raised to strike her. She only raised her chin higher, daring him to hit her.
“Ye strike women then do ye? Women that are tied up and defenseless against ye?” she taunted him. “Och ye are the big sheriff of the region, hitting women that cannae hit ye back, herding innocent men, women, and children off of cliffs to their deaths!” she spat. “Ye are naught but a mangy, mungin, vile scunner!” She paused, her breasts heaving. “Why dinnae ye untie me and I’ll let ye try to hit me. If ye can, that is. But I get to hit ye back,” she said tauntingly to him.
Red Munroe stared at her with fury glaring in his eyes. He started to take a thrusting step towards her as if to strike at her but then stopped himself. He leered at her and threw back his head and laughed. When he stopped, he gave her a cursory glance and walked away, sitting down at a fire with his men and helping himself to a piece of the meat they were passing around.
Cenna’s stomach growled at the sight and smell of the meat. But she knew these men would not give her any food. They had not offered her water either. When she watched Red Munroe wipe the meat grease from his hands onto his slicked back hair, Cenna decided perhaps she was not so hungry after all. She leaned her head back against the tree and took a moment to think.
When Red Munroe and his men had found her they had tied her wrists and blindfolded her, and put her on one of their horses. They had come a good distance. She knew Tristan was far off from the sound of the echo of his voice. But where were they? From the direction of the sun setting it seemed they were heading further south and east of Fionnaghall. Where was Red going? Her mind was racing to all the sea villages south of Fionnaghall. They were still in the Highlands but following along the coast of the firth.
The towering, craggy, pointed rocks made an ominous shadow overhead. The rocks were sticking up like huge fingers, pointing to the moon as it rose. The ground was more barren here, mostly stone and some bits of lichen and scrub brush that clung to the dry, rocky soil with small groupings of pine trees scattered here and there.
Cenna wondered why Red had gone higher up into the mountains. Was he hiding in the rocks? Or was he using this unused route to avoid Tristan and the Black Watch Army? The ground was more open here, but treacherous and rocky for sure. Cenna shivered slightly in the high mountain air. The nights were cooler the higher you climbed. She needed morning to come. She knew the view would give her a better feeling for where they were, for she would be able to see far and wide, hopefully all the way to the coast and the sea. Maybe she would even be able to see the white stones of Fionnaghall. Cenna closed her eyes and prayed that sleep would come.
8
Tristan paced back and forth in front of the fires of his camp. There were several small fires lit with men sitting around each. They were scattered along the waterline of the loch. Some were nestled under cover of the pine trees. All were silent, watching their leader.
“How could they have taken her? How?” he railed at his men. “Did no one notice a group of that size trailing us?
“My Lord, our own group trails far back,” a warrior added quietly. “What with the cows and all.”
Tristan ran his hand through his hair. His soldier was correct. They were a slow moving and very easy to spot large group.
A Black Watch warrior came riding into camp. He jumped off his horse and jogged to Tristan.
“Ye were correct. They have been following us, though they have been up higher in the mountains. They are on the same route as we are. I’d say they are heading for the coast, just as we are.”
“How many?” Tristan asked sharply. I failed Cenna. Failed my brother. He was furious with himself.
“At least twelve,” the man said quietly. He had never seen Tristan so angry.
“Horses?” Tristan asked curtly.
“Aye. Twelve horses and a number of men walking. Something interesting I found. I am not sure what to make of it.”
Tristan looked up sharply at his warrior. “Aye?”
“Horseshoes,” the warrior said curiously.
“What do ye mean mon? The horses have lost a shoe here and there or what?” Tristan demanded in frustration.
“Och, no me Lord. They have pulled all their horses’ shoes off,” the warrior said as he scratched his ear, trying to think of a reason why they would do such a thing.
“The fools,” Tristan said with a grim smile. “Taking newly unshod horses into the mountains and riding on rough rocky ground is foolish. Their horses will be lame in no time.”
“But why would they do sich a thing?” the warrior asked.
“To silence their horses’ feet. Steel shod hooves ringing on rocks would carry down to the valley,” Tristan explained. “And as they have been just above us they need to move as quietly as possible.” Tristan paused, staring at the ground. “But now, now that they have Cenna they will be wanting to get far ahead of us, but their horses willnae make it…not in these highlands,” he said, trailing off with a slight smile on his face.