by Alisa Adams
Swan studied Kaithria. Stunned. “But why?” she whispered.
Kaithria spoke again, her head low. “They were looking for something,” she said gently. “If they havenae found what they are looking for, they will be back milady.”
“But there is nothing left here. Nothing,” Swan asserted with a sad frown as she looked around at the destruction of the small village.
Swan turned back to look at Beak’s face as he came to stand with them. His dear old face. She had known him since she was a tiny girl. He had put her up on her first horse. Taught her to ride. Tended to her skinned knees. Stayed when all the others in her life had left, including her brother Greysteil. Steil had gone off to fight with the Black Watch Army and protect the Highlands from the cruelties of the Clearances Act. The very thing that his army was sworn to not let happen had happened to his own home. And she had no way of getting word to him of what happened here. There was no one left. They were either dead or had fled. Only Beak had remained. And now he was her responsibility, instead of it being the other way around.
Neely spoke up where she was standing beside Swan. “If only me dear, dead da, or your brother Lord Greysteil were here milady,” she said with a sigh, echoing Swan’s thoughts.
Swan did not look at her. “Steil would most likely be dead like the other men,” she said quietly as she watched the children playing happily with the sticks and balls as Beak had taught them. “He would have insisted on fighting no matter the number against him.”
Neely sighed again. “Och, me da would have this all sorted out. And your brother, he could have defeated them, I am sure milady. I have niver seen a mon fight such as he. All those muscles…”
“Neilina,” Swan said with a huff of breath.
“Begging your pardon milady,” Neely said as she curtsied, her light green skirts clutched in her hands as she bowed her head to Swan. Swan saw that Neely at least had accepted some of Swan’s skirts and gowns. The green skirt she currently had on was one of Swan’s.
“Neely no, do not bow to me, there is no need…” Swan started to say more but her attention was caught by Kaithria, who placed her elegant hand on Swan’s arm.
“Lady Swan, we should go,” Kaithria said quietly again.
Beak nodded his head in agreement, looking solemnly into Swan’s face. His long, thin, bent neck did not look substantial enough to hold up his own head. He had lots of greying hair for a man of his age; it all stood straight upwards as if always being blown by the wind. His gentle eyes stared blankly at her from above his long, thin, sharply bent nose.
“Tis time to abandon the old place,” he said sadly. “You have done what ye could and proud of ye I am, Lady Swan.”
Swan took Beak’s hand and held it gently between her own. “How, dear Beak? Perhaps it may be best to wait. What if some of our people return and then we can rebuild?” She looked at the children. “Besides, how am I to get these children to a safe place? We have only the four old destriers and one newly broke, young mare to carry us. The only horses left that the soldiers didnae want and for good reason.”
Neely said with a deep frown, “I really dinnae want to leave. But tis clear that ye cannae defend this place anymore, not that ye ever could that is, not like me poor, dead da and the other men. We will just end up dead like them and the rest of our people,” she groused. Then she looked at Swan’s stricken face. “Och, forgive me. That wasnae well spoken in front of the wee ones.”
Swan looked at Neely. She took a breath and tried to smile, but Beak’s gentle touch on her arm stopped her from what she was about to say to Neely.
Beak looked steadfastly into Swan’s eyes. His old, watery, pale blue eyes holding hers. “Tis always been a hard land to eek out a living from milady. The ocean is too wild for most boats to fish and the land of the peninsula is always battered by winds. The bogs and peatlands are dangerous. No one would return here milady. Even the soldiers who attacked would not stay…” Beak’s watery old eyes darted to Neely and back to Swan. “Ye have done a brave thing here, trying to protect the people of Brough and defend it all yourself with the few men who stayed. Proud of you, I am. No mon coulda done better Lady Swan.”
Swan looked from Beak to Kaithria to Neely, and then down to the six children. “Let me think on this. I am going scouting.” Swan quickly turned and started walking away, before anyone could stop her.
She was going to do this.
She was going to find a safe place for the people of Brough. Even if those people were six orphans, two women, and one very old man.
2
Swan did not waste any time. She quickly put a saddle on the young black mare she had named Peigi. The silly mare would not stand still and was forever playful. Swan ran her hand over the sleek, glossy, black coat, calming the mare instantly. She will be beautiful when she is fully mature, Swan thought. She was already very tall and well muscled. The mare’s long neck arched gracefully towards Swan’s hips, looking for a treat in the pocket within her skirts. She already had a long, black forelock that hung well past her eyes. Her black mane fell past her shoulders and she had black feathers above her hooves. All traits of her breed. These black horses were known to be fearless, loyal, and heavily muscled. Perfect for battle. They were all totally black, tall, broad, very strong, and intimidating.
“Come, me young Peigi,” Swan murmured to her as she readied her to be ridden. “I need your help. Be serious now, you’ll have to grow up a bit more quickly I’m afraid, for I need you,” she said calmly but firmly. She quickly mounted on to the tall mare’s back and gathered up the reins. The mare instantly danced around. Instead of trying to settle her, Swan lightly squeezed her sides, asking her to trot away from Brough. The four old horses made a rusty neighing sound at the absence of the young mare. Swan was happy to see that Peigi did not scream and call back to her old friends. Swan knew that Peigi could be a flirty mare and the old horses were all male. The old men, Beak called them.
Swan took Peigi down the old dirt track leading out of Brough, keeping her on the path, steadying the rambunctious mare who wanted to run. Swan held her firmly with small checks of her hands on the reins and her legs staying relaxed in the trot on the mare’s sides. She sat astride the mare as she always did, her skirts bunched up. It wasn’t exactly ladylike but Swan did not care. For a young horse, Peigi needed to learn the aids of the legs and the seat pushing into the rider’s hands. And Swan needed to stay balanced. She did not want Peigi to be able to take off into a gallop, leaving the dirt track and end up caught in one of the watery bogs.
Those peat bogs were one of the things that kept the people of Brough fairly protected in this part of Caithness. If you did not know the land, you may find yourself stepping on what looked like firm ground but underneath was water, and sometimes moving water. You would sink to your death, unable to grab anything firm enough to pull yourself out. The peat moss would cover you and you would be lost forever. The children of Caithness had been raised to not only understand the bogs but to respect and fear them as well.
Swan was looking for signs. She could see by all the hoofprints on the heavily trodden track that the soldiers had left this way. She wanted to see where they were headed. If she knew this, she would know which way would be best to take the children, Beak, Kaithria, and Neely...and leave Brough.
Swan rode south of the Peninsula. The sea wind was no longer at her back. The land was flat here in the Highlands, which put her at a disadvantage. She could not see far ahead of her.
But she smelled smoke.
Cooking smoke.
Were the soldiers camped out ahead?
Swan could not see and could not risk getting close enough to see. She needed high ground or something that gave her a long view of the land. She halted Peigi and looked all around her. The only thing she could see on the horizon was what was left of the tower of Brough. Could she climb up what was left of the walls to the tower to see what this smoke was?
She turned Peigi around and pr
essed her heels firmly into the mare’s sides and let her gallop back down the track. She had to know where that smoke was coming from and who.
Swan dismounted before Peigi had even stopped in front of the castle. She walked hurriedly up to what was left of the huge, thick, wooden doors to the castle. They were black and charred, leaning dangerously with some roof timbers having fallen against them. Swan used all her weight to push the roof timbers away. Instantly one of the doors gave a loud creaking noise and fell to the ground with a resounding crash and splintering of wood.
Swan stared inside the door. The inside of the round tower castle was open to the sky. She could see the devastation wrought to her home. There was nothing left but piles of burnt rubble. She stepped gingerly over the door, weaving around fallen stones and timbers as she looked up, studying the walls to see if she could climb to what was left of the single tower.
The stairs were gone, but there were some broken steps—still somewhat attached—that were enough to get her up to some of the stones that she could climb.
Swan took a breath and carefully climbed to the top of what was left of the tower. She looked down when she heard a noise below.
Peigi had followed her inside the castle. The silly horse. She was sniffing around, pawing in the ashes. Probably looking for something to eat, thought Swan as her stomach rumbled. After all, that is what she would be doing. She needed to see if there was anything left behind in the castle’s store room. She doubted it. The soldiers had taken everything.
Swan turned away from watching her horse down below and looked out to the horizon. Sure enough, there were multiple small fires. It was an army, making camp. However, this army was not camped along the track of the soldiers who had recently laid siege to Brough, the track and hoofprints that she had followed earlier. These men were east, near the coastline.
It was another group of soldiers.
One of their banners flew high. She could not make out anything but a bright red color.
It was not the color of the soldiers’ banners who had just laid siege to Brough.
It was not the color of the Black Watch Army that her brother Steil belonged to.
Swan’s heart started racing.
Were they coming towards Brough? Or away from Brough? There were other villages up and down the coastline. Surely they were not here to attack Brough?
Either way, whether they even knew Brough existed, they were too close and as yet Swan did not know what these attacks were for—because they certainly were not about clearing the land for sheep in the name of the Clearances Act. Brough had been attacked three different times, by different men. And according to mysterious Kaithria, the last group had mentioned looking for the children, or the child.
They must leave.
And quickly.
Swan hastily came back down the wall and jumped past the last few steps to the ground.
She was met with a soft whining noise.
Swan whirled to look over at Peigi. The horse was sniffing gently at a heap on the ground. Swan walked slowly and carefully over to see what the whining noise was that had caught her horse’s attention.
She looked down and stopped abruptly.
There was a huge dog laying on the ash-covered rock floor of the castle. Its rough fur coat was singed in many places and it looked starved. The dog tried to lift its head. Weakly, it managed to lift it just enough, just barely off the floor to look at her with whisky-colored eyes that were sad, mournful. Filled with pain.
It was this dog that she had been hearing. It had not been a wolf that had so frightened her each time she had approached the castle.
It was this dog, mournfully calling for help.
Had it been injured and left to die?
She tiptoed closer, peering over some debris at the dog. It saw her and whined again, barely able to lift its head. Her horse, Peigi, nudged the dog’s body gently and the dog licked Peigi’s inquisitive nose in return.
Swan stepped over the fallen burnt roof timbers and reached up to Peigi’s saddle. She had stuffed a hunk of bread into a pack attached to the saddle, along with a waterskin of cool water. She turned around with the items and studied the dog. It was caught under another fallen roof timber. She set down her things and slowly, carefully lifted the burnt beam off the dog, talking softly to it all the while. When the beam was safely put to the side, she offered the dog a crumb of bread. The dog hesitantly sniffed her hand and whined. She nudged her hand slowly closer until the dog slowly reached out and took it with a soft mouth, eyeing her the whole time. It whined again and she gave it another bit of bread. Then Swan poured some water from the skin into her hand. The dog eagerly lapped up every bit of the water in her palm. She did this repeatedly.
Swan studied the dog's body. He was an Irish wolfhound, if she had to guess. Massive, tall, grey, rough short fur. Thin face with soulful eyes. She saw terribly singed fur, but no other serious injuries. In fact, what she saw was old injuries, old scars all over the animal’s body. Her eyes strayed to the overly tight metal collar on its neck. It still had some links of chain hanging from it. The metal had worn the fur on the dog’s neck down to red, raw, irritated skin. Swan reached out slowly, whispering to the dog as she reached for the metal collar. She unclasped it and tossed it to the side. The dog’s soft, golden-brown eyes watched her the entire time.
Then Swan stood up slowly and backed away, looking at the metal collar and chain. This was the dog who had accompanied the last attack. The leader of the men had kept this dog at his side on a chain and had ordered it to attack fleeing or fallen men. Gleefully, the leader had watched as this dog took down a full-grown man.
“Ye are free now.” Swan waved her arms at the dog, taking another step back as she did so. “Off with ye dog! Off with ye!” she repeated.
The dog shrank back to its belly, cowering at her loud voice and waving arms. It started whining again. Swan stared at the animal. She felt sorry for the poor beast, but she would not trust a dog that was trained to attack a man.
She grabbed Peigi’s reins as she quickly led the mare out of the castle.
It was time to gather what they could and leave.
As she walked down the path from the castle to the village she was deep in thought. They would head to the Ross lands and Castle Fionnaghal. Her brother Greysteil had told her stories of the Ross sisters. The Laird of Clan Ross had taken in an entire village—men, women, children—even their chickens and cows. The Laird of Castle Fionnaghal was Ceena Ross, a woman. The Ross sisters were known to be warriors and had fought off many a soldier claiming land and murdering people in the name of the Clearances Act. The Ross sisters had the support of the Black Watch Army as well. That is where she would go. That is where she would take the children. To Castle Fionnaghal and the Ross’s.
Peigi nickered and tried to look behind them as they walked. Swan turned to see what had caught her mare’s attention and saw the dog following them. She waved her arm at the dog and yelled. The dog stopped and stared at her, hesitantly wagging its tail. She grabbed a stick and hurled it at the animal, yelling again. This time the animal dropped into a cower and whined. When Swan stopped yelling and waving her arms to stare at it, the dog wagged its tail meekly as it looked at her, its eyes hopeful as it lay on its belly.
Swan studied the huge, shaggy thing for a moment. The dog slowly stood up, its tongue lolling out of its mouth, tail wagging excitedly now. As if it knew she was wavering. She shooed it away again. The dog whined and backed away from her, studying her with its head cocked sideways and letting out a soft whine.
Swan heaved out a sigh and turned to continue walking back to the cottage. She knew by Peigi’s pulling on the reins in her hand that the horse was trying to look back at the wolfhound who was once again following them.
“We are going to head towards the western coast. Away from those soldiers I saw,” Swan explained to Kaithria, Neely, and Beak.
Neely stared at Swan with her mouth hanging open. “I thought ye
said we would wait Lady Swan. Me poor dead da would wait.” She paused, taking a breath. “I know he would,” she added in a mumble.
Swan sighed and took a few breaths. “I did not say we would wait, I asked Beak about waiting.” Swan looked at Neely as she took another breath. “I said I needed to think on it. I told you all I rode out and saw another army. Do you want to chance that they may be headed this way?”
“Och nay! We leave,” Beak said in a croak around the thin wooden pipe he had stuck in the corner of his thin lips.
“We leave,” Kaithria said, nodding her head in agreement at Swan.
“But me dear, dead da—” Neely started to say with a frown on her face.
“Is not dead Neely!” Swan said firmly. Enough was enough. Anything she had done wrong in the last few days Neely would bring up what her poor, dear, dead da would have done. “Your father did not die. He ran. He and his men ran.” She stared at Neely, her chest heaving. “He and the few men that were still here at Brough left us.”
There was a still, shocked pause.
Beak let out a cackle. “Ayup, that he did,” he said as he puffed out some smoke from his pipe and shuffled his feet a bit at Neely’s glare. He ran a bony, long-fingered hand through the hair standing straight up on his head. The pipe from his tobacco rose up and formed a billowy, cloudy ring above his head. “Now, he may have gotten himself kilt after he ran. Or during his running. Who knows? But the mon was alive at the time of his running, that he was.”
Swan turned to Beak and arched an eyebrow at him. His thin lips turned up in a small, apologetic smile under his long, thin nose at her look.
“Tis true,” Beak said, shrugging. “He wasn't dead when he left, but he may be dead now.” He puffed out another cloud of smoke.
“That may well be the case,” Swan said quietly. “But we must hold out hope that it is not so.”