The Prophecy

by Sakwa, Kim

  God willing, his heir would have his land. And he’d bring it back to its former glory.

  He took the stairs slowly, each step harder on his weakening body as he went to the great hall. ’Twas long minutes before he recovered from his exertion, for in truth, he had little time left. But with each breath that remained, he would seek his son’s forgiveness.

  Lord, it had been so very good to see him again.

  Greylen and his men turned east through the forest as they approached their border. Greylen, consumed with thoughts of the confrontation he’d had with the old man, kept replaying the scene in his mind. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d missed something. There was a message in MacFale’s words, suggestive but directed not at him.

  His first-in-command had him worried as well. Gavin wasn’t at all himself. He seemed haunted almost from the moment they’d entered the keep. In truth, that concerned him more than not finding Malcolm.

  They were so silent and so deep in thought, they heard the sounds of arrows being rent as soon as they were released. Gavin brought his horse to Greylen’s, protecting his back as the attack began. The men formed a tight circle around their laird while returning fire of their own. Two men fell from the trees, but at least four more remained. Kevin took an arrow in the leg, ripping it out as their horses danced in fright.

  “Fight like men, you cowards,” Greylen bellowed as their attackers remained silent above.

  “I’ve waited years for this, MacGreggor, to see the look upon your face when you crumble.”

  “Then come, MacFale. See the look upon my face now.” Greylen’s voice was chilling, contained fury simmering through his entire body as he taunted Malcolm to confront him.

  Greylen felt Gavin tense at his words but didn’t have time to glance at his first-in-command to understand his apprehension. They’d never shied from a fight. Gavin had never shown anything other than dauntless strength during battle. But then they’d never confronted MacFale before.

  Malcolm was never called on by their king, nor had he ever been present at their council meetings. Only the elder had attended. Greylen hadn’t seen Malcolm since they were boys and he didn’t like him even then. Malcolm was always jealous of Greylen’s skills, and rather than work to achieve the same, he became spiteful instead.

  ’Twas hard to admit, even to himself, but Greylen took pleasure in humiliating him, time and time again, at swordplay and fisticuffs. And ever since, Malcolm’s father kept him far away, paying for his transgressions with coin and promises to leash his son’s behavior.

  “I’ve arrows aimed upon your back, MacGreggor. But I’d not miss this for anything,” Malcolm taunted as he came down from his perch.

  Greylen’s men awaited his command as they watched the form approach. Gavin remained to Greylen’s right, Kevin and Hugh behind them, and Duncan to Greylen’s left.

  “If you move, they’ll release their weapons,” Malcolm told them. But what he didn’t know was that they weren’t in the least threatened by another attack. With one word from Greylen, they would all be dead, and though they might suffer a wound or two, such was the price of fighting. But Malcolm had obviously piqued Greylen’s curiosity. ’Twas the only reason he still lived.

  “I wish only to give you a glimpse of what you’ve been too blind to see,” Malcolm continued, not realizing his precarious circumstance. “What say you, Gavin the Brave?” he hissed as he stepped from the shadows but feet away. “Your downfall shall be even more rewarding.”

  At that moment it all became so clear—the old man’s words and Gavin’s behavior. Greylen looked upon Malcolm for the first time in years. Really looked upon him. He shook his head in disbelief, for the similarities were so close and the eyes—good God—the eyes were identical.

  Greylen turned to Gavin, his look so bleak, so barren and filled with despair. The betrayal was nothing short of crushing. His sworn enemy—the man who almost killed his wife and brought destruction to his land—was the brother of his first-in-command.

  His friend.

  The brother of his soul for years.

  Greylen’s judgment flashed through his mind as he held Gavin’s stare, his choice made in mere seconds. ’Twas the only choice he could make. But just as Greylen was about to speak, Malcolm gave his ominous order.

  “Now!”

  Taken by surprise again, though this time by the shock of what they witnessed, the sound of arrows rent the air as Malcolm released his dagger. Gavin jumped from his horse, placing his body between Greylen and the dagger meant for his heart. It embedded in Gavin’s shoulder, but as if unfazed in his state of fury, Gavin ran for Malcolm.

  Compelled by an internal sense of dread, Gavin turned as his commander fell to the ground.

  “Noooo!”

  “Your own betrayal killed your laird, brother,” Malcolm boasted. He turned to flee, then with a sickening chuckle, added, “Your look is almost as priceless as when I murdered our mother.”

  Gavin ran to Greylen as Duncan gave chase to Malcolm and his men. He lifted Greylen’s head to his lap, a blow to the back of his head leaving him unconscious. Blood seeped from the jagged wound and two arrows had found their marks, one in his thigh and another in his back. Kevin and Hugh began to circle him, their swords still drawn.

  “I’m still your first-in-command,” Gavin hissed. “Kill me if you must but get him home!”

  ’Twas a call they could not make. Gavin was in agony, and they knew he only meant to protect Greylen. Duncan was back only minutes later, sure that Malcolm and his men were gone, and he knelt beside Gavin to help tend Greylen’s wounds.

  Gavin had already sliced through the arrows’ shafts, cutting them close to the point of entrance. He ripped his shirt, tying the material around Greylen’s leg. The arrow that pierced his back had somehow deflected, and its tip rested just beneath the surface of his shoulder. Though it bled profusely, ’twas the blow to his thigh that worried him most. The blood pulsed from it and Gavin tied it again before gaining his saddle. He pulled up Greylen’s body in front of him as his men lifted him from below.

  They left the forest quickly, silent the entire way back. All of them with pained expressions, yet none as fierce as Gavin’s. He held tight to his commander, his own wound draining with each stride his mount took, but he never loosened his hold. The strength it took to keep Greylen upright before him was nothing compared to the sickness he felt. The look Greylen had given him before they were set upon again replayed in his mind.

  He could only imagine what Greylen’s words would have been, had he spoken them.

  He sent Kevin and Hugh ahead as they reached the first of their border patrols. And with each group of men they passed throughout the holding, their numbers increased as men joined their procession.

  Gavin’s pace was so determined, however, Kevin and Hugh remained in his sight as they passed through the gates.

  “Gwendolyn, you must tell me what you’re making,” Isabelle called over her work for the second time.

  “I’ve told you it’s a surprise, Isabelle,” Gwen chastised. “I’ll make one for you, too, but I have something entirely different in mind,” she teased with a smile. They were sitting in the library with Lady Madelyn. It was still an hour or so before dinner and she had just begun to work on a garment for Greylen. A Christmas present.

  Gwen had told them only a week before of how she celebrated the holiday and she’d cautiously asked Greylen if they might have a tree and exchange gifts. She was rewarded with one of his incredible smiles, and his assurance that he’d like nothing more than to begin such a tradition with her. Now, thanks to her big mouth, she had four months to make seven shirts, something naughty for Isabelle, and things for Lady Madelyn and Anna too.

  Thank God she was good with needles.

  They were startled as shouts rang from the courtyard and what had to be a stampede as horses and men
raced toward the steps. Ian and Connell were already through the front doors by the time the ladies reached them and Gwen raced outside. Isabelle started screaming immediately and Lady Madelyn began calling instructions for the table to be cleared in the great hall.

  Gwen ran straight to Greylen. She had no time for fear and immediately began a clinical assessment. He was covered with blood, unconscious, and suffered two apparent wounds.

  Her assessment continued as Gavin confirmed each of her observations.

  “He’s been unconscious for hours,” Gavin said, looking only at her. “Two arrows found their marks, one in his shoulder, the other his leg. There’s a gash behind his head, but the blood flow has stopped.”

  She took one deep breath, then Dr. Reynolds began calling orders. “Kevin, fetch the board against the stables. Ian, there’s a satchel in the trunk at the end of my bed. It’s locked—break it. Isabelle, stop screaming and fetch a clean sheet—now, move. Lady Madelyn, Anna—clean the table in the great hall with antiseptic and lay your instruments on the buffet.” She never took her eyes from Gavin as she rattled off each instruction. She knew he was keeping something from her. “What? Tell me, Gavin, now.”

  “His leg wound—I think ’tis mortal.”

  “Just—hold—tight—Gavin,” she ground out between her teeth. She didn’t come back almost five hundred frigging years to lose. She was the best. And right now, she was the best this world had to offer.

  Kevin returned with Alex in tow, the new soldier Greylen had taken under his wing. Just as Duncan helped them brace the board for Greylen’s weight, Isabelle ran outside. She was less hysterical now and helped Gwen drape the sheet over the board while Connell and Hugh took Greylen from Gavin’s arms. They placed him on the board and started for the steps, listening to her instructions as they hurried.

  “Carry him to the great hall, but don’t remove him. Isabelle,” she called without turning, “see to Gavin’s and Kevin’s wounds.”

  Lady Madelyn and Anna were still placing items on the buffet when Ian ran into the room with her satchel. Kevin, Duncan, and Alex held Greylen on the board and she instructed Ian, Hugh, and Connell to grab the corners of the sheet as she reached for the other, but Gavin was already there, and they all lifted Greylen onto the table.

  “Let Isabelle see to your wounds,” she instructed Gavin and Kevin. “He’ll need to be moved again.” Gwen started washing her hands, shouting for everyone to do the same. She grabbed her instruments.

  She started with the wound on his thigh, knowing if she didn’t stop the bleeding, Gavin would be right with his prediction. “Mother, take my stethoscope and check his heartbeat. Anna, thread the needle, the one on the left side, and hand it to me when I ask.” She began probing the gash in Greylen’s thigh, what was left of his blood, which couldn’t be much, barely pulsing from the wound when she removed the bindings. The arrowhead was embedded close to the bone and her fingers kept slipping. She forgot to breathe. Focus, Gwen!

  She felt a strong hand on her shoulder, Gavin squeezing it reassuringly. “Gavin, stand at the head of the table, keep his neck straight so the passage stays clear to his lungs, and make sure you can feel his breath.”

  Gwen finally felt metal and carefully removed the arrowhead. “Anna, douse it with the antiseptic, then hand me the needle. You have to keep the wound open so I can repair it inside. Now, Anna.”

  Anna used the liquid that Lady Madelyn assured her prevented infection, and then held the wound open as instructed. Her hands were shaking so badly they continued to slip. Duncan pushed her out of the way and used two linen strips to keep his fingers firmly in place.

  Gwen began the first layers of sutures, working from the inside out. Her hair began falling, covering her eyes. “Anna, for God’s sake, tie her hair back,” Gavin shouted from over Greylen’s head.

  The tension in the room was oppressive. But Anna hurried to the task as Gwen began sealing the top layer of tissue. It was a wound that could still cause serious repercussions, especially with the amount of blood he’d lost. After what felt like hours, his worst wound was finally closed, and Gwen breathed her first sigh of relief. Then she went for his shoulder.

  “’Tis too faint. I can’t hear it anymore.”

  “I feel no breath, Gwen. ’Tis stopped.” Gavin and Lady Madelyn had both spoken at the same time.

  “No!” Gwen grabbed the stethoscope and listened. Come on, Greylen!

  Nothing.

  She jumped on the table and began compressions, counting under her breath. “Gavin,”—two, three—“when I tell you, give him two short breaths,”—eight, nine—“pinch his nose and make sure his tongue hasn’t dropped,”—twelve, thirteen—“hold it with your fingers if you have to. Mother, check the vein in his neck, tell me when you feel something.” She continued to count, her palms pressing Greylen’s rib cage. “Again, Gavin.”

  Oh God, help me, please!

  Where was the frigging ER!

  Lady Madelyn shook her head again. Still nothing. Duncan, Kevin, and Hugh moved closer to Greylen. She could feel them behind her as she continued to lean over his body. Ian and Connell, who were on the other side next to Greylen’s mother, began moving closer as well. They were chanting, all of them, and she could hear the same incantation from the courtyard outside.

  Their prayers were deafening, but what Greylen needed was a shock. The thought taunted her with each compression. “Again, Gavin.” Lady Madelyn continued to shake her head.

  Noooo!

  Her voice filled with anger and her fury unleashed. “You, stupid, pigheaded”—two fingers over the sternum—“sorry as all get-out”—close fist over thumb—“damn you to hell”—twelve inches above…six…eight…ten…perfect—“STAND BACK.”

  They all watched in stunned silence as Gwen released her blow. The sound as she made contact could be heard through her agonized cry. Then they watched as she readied for another.

  “Don’t you leave me,” she shouted, hitting her mark again. Her fingers were numb from the impact, and she readied to start compressions again.

  “I feel it,” Lady Madelyn called, stopping Gwen’s hands midair as she threw herself back, lest her ministrations affect the beat. Duncan caught her before she fell from the table. Then she hurried to check Greylen’s breathing for herself. The sound of his heartbeat grounded her precarious balance between insane fear and utter elation.

  The wound to his shoulder was repaired in minutes, the tip of the arrow easily removed. Lady Madelyn kept a count of Greylen’s pulse, which remained steady, though weak, as Gwen poured antiseptic over the gash behind his head. The wound wasn’t deep, but it was wide and took almost twenty painstaking stitches to close. It was another hour before she was done.

  Then her head hit the table next to Greylen’s. It was minutes before she finally lifted it and looked at everyone staring at her. Their expressions the same as her own. Relief. Fear. Exhaustion.

  She stood slowly, and Gavin held her shoulders as she began to sway. Then he whispered for her ears only, “I’ve never loved you more than I do at this very moment.” She covered his hand, squeezing her acknowledgment as she began with her orders again.

  “We can’t move him yet,” she said. “Anna, prepare my chamber. Lady Madelyn, I need fresh linens and water. Alex and Hugh, scrub the board with antiseptic.”

  Gwen washed Greylen, each part of his body cleansed to her satisfaction before laying him against clean sheets. Then she covered him with another clean sheet. It was another hour before she finally agreed to move him.

  Though his pulse was steady, she was terrified he wouldn’t wake up. He could easily lapse into a coma, and there was no way to know if he’d suffered any lasting damage. She kept reminding herself that he was strong, he was conditioned. That she was here to fix him, not to watch him die. But uncertainty still consumed her.

  In a somber procession,
Greylen’s men carried him to their chamber on the board they used to bring him inside. The trunk that had been at the end of their bed lay in pieces outside the chamber doors. Ian had, in fact, destroyed it when he retrieved her satchel.

  With the same care used below stairs, they grabbed the corners of the sheet and placed him on the bed. Lady Madelyn stood by the bedside looking at her son. “You saved his life, Gwendolyn.”

  “I kept him alive, Lady Madelyn,” Gwen said gravely. “It’s not over yet.”

  “He has much to fight for,” Lady Madelyn whispered, touching her shoulder before leaving the room.

  Gwen was left to care for her husband and sat in the chair Ian placed next to their bed. Duncan and Connell stood just outside her chamber doors while Gavin, Kevin, Ian, and Hugh called their men to arms.

  They would search for Malcolm.

  ’Twas well past midnight when Gavin found Isabelle in the chapel. She sat in front of the altar, tears streaming from her eyes. He knew she’d dismissed Father Michael earlier, for Gavin had spoken with him briefly in the great hall as he sat with Lady Madelyn. He told Gavin he’d already been to his laird’s chamber and prayed with Lady Gwendolyn before she, too, had dismissed him.

  Gavin walked to Isabelle and knelt on the floor beside her. The look she gave him nearly broke his heart. He took her in his arms and rocked her against his body.

  “Does he live, Gavin?” she asked, clutching him.

  “Aye, Bella. Greylen’s strong. He’ll not die by the hand of a coward.”

  “Mother wouldn’t tell me what happened. It must have been horrible, Gavin. The chants of our people still ring in my head.”

  “I must go, Bella.”

  “You’ll find him, and you must kill him, Gavin,” Isabelle demanded as she grabbed his shoulders.

  “Aye, Isabelle, I will.”

  “Come back to me, Gavin. I’ll stay away no more.”