The Prophecy

by Sakwa, Kim

  Alex ran from the keep, alerting James to ready the horses. Then he took off for the practice fields to find Hugh. He felt personally responsible as he was the last to speak with Lady Gwendolyn. Her smile and salute replaying in his mind as she assured him that she would, indeed, speak to Kevin.

  Fifteen search parties of ten set off in different directions, and fifty men stayed behind. Forty stood outside the keep’s closed gates while ten remained within.

  Kevin, Hugh, and Alex rode alone, taking the path they were sure their mistress ran that morning.

  “Mother, what on earth’s wrong?” Isabelle asked, coming into the nursery. “I’ve never heard him carry on so.”

  “Gwen hasn’t returned from her run, and the men just left to search for her.”

  Isabelle walked to her mother, rubbing her eyes. She was exhausted, too tired to display the alarm that she felt. “When was he last fed?” she asked, reaching for her nephew.

  “Anna thinks before dawn. Gwen left earlier than usual according to Alex.”

  “Shh, shh, shh, ’tis okay, Tristan. Mama will be home soon. Shh, shh, shh.” ’Twas no use, he was in a deep fit. “Well, what’s one more mouth to feed.” Isabelle sighed. “Come, sweet, we’ll have you asleep in no time.”

  “We could find a wet nurse, Isabelle.”

  “I’m the embodiment of a wet nurse,” Isabelle declared in exasperation. “I could probably feed every babe upon the holding if I had to.”

  “I’ll come fetch him in a while so you may rest.”

  “Please tell me of Gwen, Mother, as soon as you hear something.”

  “Of course, Isabelle.”

  By midafternoon, Alex’s, Kevin’s, and Hugh’s worst fears were confirmed. Their mistress had been taken, and from the evidence they found, by force. Her medallions hung from a tree trunk and fresh blood spotted the stream’s edge where she’d obviously been surrounded and knocked to the ground.

  They counted five sets of tracks and followed their path. She’d tried to outrun them. Torn brush revealed the signs of her struggle as she tried to make open land but yards away. They happened on the boulder where she’d lost her fight. ’Twas covered with blood and strands of her hair. Her wedding band was displayed atop.

  Kevin ordered Alex and Hugh to return. The search parties were to meet at dusk and they’d follow the trail after regrouping. Alex, however, refused to leave. “I’ll not go. I’m directly responsible for her.”

  “Alex, you were relieved,” Kevin reminded him again. “Had you been there the entire time and seen me return alone, what would you have done?”

  “I would have asked the whereabouts of Lady Gwendolyn, sir.”

  “Precisely,” Kevin ground out. “You ordered her to seek my regard, did you not?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Go with Hugh, Alex. Follow his instruction.”

  “Nay, sir.” Alex stood defiant.

  “Come then.” Kevin finally relented in frustration. “I’ll waste no more time.”

  “We’ll be but hours behind,” Hugh assured them as he turned back to the holding.

  Gwen regained consciousness surrounded by total darkness. She lay on a damp, soiled floor, confused and in pain. Unfortunately, her confusion didn’t last long. Her entire body started shaking as she relived each second that they had chased her. Every blow that Malcolm delivered—first with his fists and then with his boot after she’d been knocked to the ground.

  She tried to outrun them. She even tried to fight them. In the end, she was powerless. They even laughed at her. Fresh tears ran from her eyes and she reached for her medallions. She gasped when they weren’t there. Then she screamed. Her wedding band was gone too.

  She shuddered as she remembered Malcolm’s taunts. She had no doubt that he’d see them through. They were going to kill her. And when Greylen came to collect what was left of her, they would kill him as well.

  If that wasn’t enough to make her want to die right then and there, she had to live with the knowledge of why. Live with that for whatever time she had left.

  It was entirely her fault.

  She had let them take her, and now she had placed her men in danger. All because she wanted to run…all because she didn’t seek her guard. How could she have been so stupid? “Orders are given for a reason, wife.” Why hadn’t she listened? If only she had turned around.

  Her despair lasted for hours. Then she felt her dagger against her hip, and with it, the tiniest spark of hope. She knew what she had to do, and resolved that she would.

  She wiped away her tears and crawled along the damp surface. She had to be in the dungeons below Malcolm’s keep, in a cell no more than ten feet wide and ten feet deep. Thick wooden posts barred the opening, secured with a heavy metal lock.

  A strange calmness overcame her. The same that she had felt when she realized she had a weapon. It wasn’t enough to gain her freedom, but that wasn’t important anymore. She began humming as she pulled away the hair matted against the side of her face.

  She had a deep gash high on her forehead and a cut across her cheek, a gift from Malcolm’s ring as it ripped through the skin when he backhanded her. She didn’t have any broken bones, but her body was swollen and bruised from his kicks.

  After her clinical assessment, she hugged the material of Greylen’s shirt, the one that he’d worn to dinner the night before he left. His scent gave her courage.

  And she waited.

  To kill Malcolm herself.

  Greylen and Gavin were granted immediate entrance to Stirling Castle. They rode to the inner bailey where they dismounted and were promptly relieved of their mounts. It took some time before they reached the steps, greeted by men they’d not seen for months, and in the case of some, even years.

  Once inside they were ushered to a private chamber where they awaited their king. He entered a short time later, flanked by guards, and they were heartily embraced by the man whom they’d served valiantly over the years.

  They enjoyed brandy and discussed personal matters first: Greylen’s marriage and the birth of his son, and Gavin’s marriage and sons as well. The king’s joy for them couldn’t have been more apparent, and he congratulated them and gave his blessings. He did inform them that he’d already known, for news of the two most sought-after bachelors taking brides had quickly swept the land.

  Turning to his guards, he called for the prisoner. It took only minutes as they knew Laird MacGreggor’s reason for being present and, in fact, had already sent for him.

  Greylen and Gavin stood as the door opened. They turned in unison to condemn Malcolm and seek a quick end to his life. He was held by the shoulders, his head cast down. He was filthy, and the clothes he wore were torn. His hair was just as dirty, and blood clung in patches where he’d been beaten.

  Greylen walked to him, lifting his head by the chin. He stared into the distorted features, so similar to Gavin and Malcolm, but the eyes that pleaded mercy held no malice.

  Worse—they were brown.

  “Who are you?” Greylen demanded.

  “James MacIntyre, sir,” the man said weakly.

  “How did you come to be here, James?” Greylen asked.

  “I was overtaken by a group of men, and later found myself in a cell, accused of crimes, which I’d not committed.”

  “These men who overtook you, what know you of them?”

  “’Twas a group of five, and they remarked on my resemblance to their leader. They spoke of their plan as they began beating me. ’Twas the last thing I remember.”

  Their king spoke quickly, coming out of his chair to stand next to Greylen. “He was brought here by four men last week. They stated ’twas Malcolm, and I believed them, Greylen,” he said emphatically. “He does in fact resemble your man,” he added in justification, looking to Gavin.

  “What were they told of the
bounty on his head?” Greylen asked, hoping that their plan was to await him and Gavin.

  “I informed them you’d be notified,” their sovereign said quickly. “And when you arrived, they could collect their coin.”

  “James,” Greylen demanded again. “What of their plan? Have you any recall?”

  “Bits and pieces,” the man replied, shaking his head. “But they made no sense.”

  “Speak them, no matter how insignificant.”

  “They spoke of numbers,” James began. “The days ’twould take for ‘the bastard’ to reach…to reach Stirling.” He hesitated. “Then they spoke of a woman.”

  “What woman?” Greylen shouted, taking the man by the shoulders, shaking him as his face contorted in rage.

  James hesitated no more. “I mean no disrespect, sir. His exact words…were…‘MacGreggor’s bi—’”

  Greylen and Gavin were gone before he finished. They raced from the castle and straight to the stables. Their mounts gained quickly, their breakneck pace taking them with record speed to the pier.

  Most of the ship’s crew had been given the day to explore the port and spend their coins. And there, they would remain.

  Greylen and Gavin ran up the plank, each shouting orders to their captain and the few men still aboard. Duncan and Connell went for the anchor, their hands working in perfect symmetry as they pulled the length. Greylen and Gavin took to the main mast, climbing high into the air to untie the sail. They grabbed the ropes and jumped at the same time, the white sail dancing to life as they descended to the deck below. Greylen assumed command of his vessel, calling orders as he navigated their way to open waters.

  He was their captain now.

  He would take them home.

  Though the wind was in their favor, they had such a diminished crew that they worked endlessly for the two days it took to reach Seagrave. The entire time, barely a word was exchanged. By any of them. There was nothing to say. Their only need now was to arrive before Malcolm carried through with his plan.

  Greylen and Gavin stood at the bow, their legs braced apart, their arms crossed over their bare chests, as they entered the cove at Seagrave. Their swords rested within their scabbards and they stood ready. But they knew not for what.

  “They are but five, Greylen,” Gavin said, as if trying to offer a modicum of comfort.

  “Aye,” Greylen replied, turning to look at Gavin. “And she is but one.”

  “She knows to have her guard,” Gavin assured him.

  “I relaxed her watch, Gavin. She had need only to inform them of her movements.”

  Gavin said nothing else. Only one man would follow his wife. Against five if they’d somehow breeched the land, they’d have little chance.

  Their worst fears were confirmed as they dropped anchor. Their men were already moving for the narrow paths, riderless mounts behind them.

  Malcolm was back.

  Not wasting time to lower the dory, Greylen and Gavin removed their boots and climbed the railing. Daggers in hand, swords across their backs, they jumped to the water below. Ian, Connell, and Duncan followed but seconds behind.

  They reached the shore minutes later, where Hugh waited just beyond the water’s edge.

  Greylen stood before his man, fixing him a stare that demanded answers.

  Hugh began immediately. “Her medallions were found affixed to a tree by a dagger. ’Twas a struggle, Greylen. We found blood and strands of her hair, her wedding band as well,” he reported, holding out the items.

  Greylen grasped his wife’s possessions, his heart plummeting as he waited for Hugh to continue.

  “Kevin and Alex followed the tracks south. I’d just returned to gather the men when I saw the ship. The men wait in the bailey.”

  “Who had her watch?” Greylen demanded through clenched teeth.

  “She informed Alex that she would run the distance and was instructed to seek Kevin before leaving the area of the lake.” Hugh paused. “He never saw her, Greylen. Alex was relieved for a time, unaware she’d not returned until Lady Madelyn sought her to feed Tristan.”

  “When did she leave?”

  “Shortly after dawn.”

  “How. Long. Hugh?” Greylen asked, enunciating each word through his teeth.

  “Seven hours, Greylen. They’ve had her at least seven hours.”

  “Disband the men. We ride alone.”

  Greylen stormed through his chamber doors, allowing but a second of scrutiny as he took in its emptiness. He grabbed his boots, quickly pulling them in place before slipping his dagger inside. He reached within his wardrobe and removed a sealed jar atop the shelf. He opened it, spreading the blue paint across his forehead, cheeks, and more across his chest.

  He left his chamber at the same moment Gavin left his. Gavin’s image was an exact reflection, as he, too, chose war paint. Isabelle was holding Tristan and met him on the landing. His son began to cry, reaching out with his arms. Greylen took him immediately, hushing his cry as he hugged him. He brushed some of the paint on his son’s forehead and cheeks.

  “You’ve a wet nurse, Isabelle?” Greylen asked.

  “No one feeds your son but me,” she returned, clearly challenging him to argue.

  Greylen nodded his acknowledgment as he handed Tristan to her. Then he and Gavin took the stairs. Their men were waiting just below the steps. Within seconds they were racing through the night.

  It took four hours to reach their border and two more before the MacFale keep was in sight. Kevin waited just outside the gates, bare chested, his shirt clutched in his hand. His eyes held a look Greylen had never before seen.

  “Alex has been taken,” Kevin said immediately, stopping any questions that Greylen might have had. “He offered himself in return for his mistress. I’ve no idea where he is inside,” Kevin reported, shaking his head. “I was told if I entered the gates before you arrived, they would kill her.” For the first time since he began stating the facts as he knew them, Kevin hesitated. Worse, he looked down before meeting Greylen’s stare again. “Greylen, she’s…”

  “She’s what, Kevin?” Greylen demanded.

  “She’s in the courtyard.” As if unable to report her condition to his laird, he looked down again. But he handed his shirt to Gavin before he could pass.

  Greylen walked to the gates with Gavin. They stepped through with unwavering strides, no sound escaped their lips, no emotion showed upon their faces as the full moon revealed the condition Kevin could not himself divulge.

  The debasement of his wife! His wife!

  She’d been tied to a post, secured by ropes at her ankles and her wrists. She’d been stripped as well, and her body was covered with dark patches that he knew, even from such a distance, were bruises. Her face was cut and bleeding and her body shook visibly—not from the cool night air.

  He’d never felt more rage in his entire life.

  He walked through the courtyard, his eyes only on his wife. He heard his men ride through the gates and saw the doors of the keep open. But he didn’t glance their way. Nothing could deter his steps as he made his way to Gwen.

  He stopped in front of her and removed his dagger as he held her unseeing eyes. One so swollen, ’twas almost completely closed. She flinched as he reached out to touch her. She didn’t realize ’twas him. He whispered in Gaelic, words she would know could only come from him. He watched as she at last tried to focus her gaze. He took his dagger and moved the blade across his forehead, waiting until blood covered his face. He showed her first that she was no different than he. She seemed to understand, for a tear slid from the eye she could still see from.

  He stepped closer to her, molding his body to hers. She flinched in pain but made no sound. He knew it had to be excruciating but didn’t stop until his body was pressed completely against her. He reached behind her to cut the ropes that held her hands
as Gavin cut those around her ankles. Her weight fell forward immediately, but his body kept her upright. He would not let her topple before Malcolm. ’Twas the reason he’d stood so before cutting her loose.

  Greylen pulled her with him as he took a step back. Gavin stood behind her and slipped the shirt over her head. Then Gavin wrapped his arms around her waist, his elbows bracing her hips while his forearms held her torso upright against his chest. This allowed Greylen to give his wife another piece of dignity. He secured her medallions around her neck, then reached for her left hand, gently lifting it to his mouth. He placed her ravaged fingers inside and wet them so he could return her band. She made no move, no sound at all, as he slipped it on her finger. Her silence was more frightening than any hysterical outburst could have been.

  As God was his witness, he would have welcomed such a display.

  He pulled her against his side and turned to face MacFale’s keep as Gavin pushed his body to her other side for support. He knew his men would have easily gained entrance, and whatever struggle had occurred should be over. If their fury was even half of his, the task would’ve taken mere seconds. Malcolm would be the only man left when they were done. Purposely, as if on cue, his men came through the keep’s front doors, dragging Malcolm between them.

  Greylen waited as Duncan and Ian brought Malcolm before them. They threw him to the ground. Gwen started shaking uncontrollably as Malcolm fixed her with a sneer.

  At the same time, Greylen and Gavin kicked him in the face. They waited until he righted himself. “Look at her, Malcolm,” Greylen demanded. “Look at her!”

  Instead, Malcolm turned away. They lowered Gwen, then grabbed at Malcolm and sat him upright. Greylen clutched the back of his head, forcing him to look at his wife.

  “You shall die for what you’ve done to her. And your soul will rot in hell—FOREVER!”

  Greylen threw him to the ground again but feet away from Gwen, who continued to stare unseeingly before her. She sat upon the spot where they’d placed her and had not moved at all.