“I would fight if I were asked to fight, aye. I have skill enough with a sword. ye dinnae make as many as I have and nae be able to use them,” he replied, smiling at her, “but ye are right, yer father wouldnae allow me to fight for him. Though why that is, I dinnae know,” Fraser replied, shaking his head.
“He is foolish then,” she replied, as they stepped out of the ruins and looked up at the grey skies above. “He should be willin’ to allow any man who wishes to dae so to fight and forget about his silly prejudices. I am going to speak with him again and demand to know why I am nae allowed to speak with ye or spend time with ye. ‘Tis ludicrous.”
“‘Tis, but we must obey yer father. He is the Laird, and he is yer guardian. I dinnae wish to come between the two of ye,” Fraser said.
“Ye won’t, but I must be able to choose my own happiness. I was denied a family, except for my father, of course. I won’t be denied this happiness too,” she said, and she placed her arms around his shoulders and kissed him.
“When will I see ye again?” he asked, “I have so much enjoyed our time together today. I am already thinkin’ of the next time we can be together.”
“As am I. I will send Sweeney with a message for ye,” she said, smiling. “He is easy enough to persuade, and besides, I know he steals my father’s whiskey, so the two of us are in this together.”
“Then, I will wait for Sweeney’s message. But now, ye must be goin’ else ye shall be missed,” he said, and kissing her once more, he ran off across the heathers and back towards the village.
Isla remained a while outside the castle. The wind had blown away the clouds, and the sun was now shining down. If it had not been for the memories which that place held, the scene would have been one of delight, but now that she had been there with Fraser at her side, it felt at least as though those old stones now held new feelings for her. No longer was this a place of sorrow but a place where she had shared a kiss with the man she was already falling deeply in love with.
She turned and watched him disappear over the brow of the hill, his strong, athletic frame carrying him quickly away from her. How delightful their time together had been, and she plucked flowers from the ground, bringing the fragrant blossoms to her face and breathing in the sweet scent. For a few hours she had forgotten the cares of the world and the troubles which lay at home, but like clouds gathering on the horizon they remained and as she walked home a sense of foreboding lay across the marshes, her father’s standard raised above Kirklinton as the clans prepared for war.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Isla, get inside, quickly now,” Sweeney called, as she came up the track towards the castle.
“What’s happened? What’s goin’ on?” she asked, looking puzzled at the worried look across his face.
“The scouts have found one of the soldiers dead upon the road. He had been shot by English arrows. Yer father is at counsel now. They say the attack is comin’ tonight, and we must be prepared,” Sweeney said, taking her arm and hurrying her towards home.
“Tonight? But …” she began, but Sweeney only pulled her on more quickly, and as they entered the stable yard, all manner of men, along with their horses, were milling around.
“Inside, and stay there, ye hear me,” Sweeney said, glancing around nervously at the other men.
“Are ye … are ye to fight?” she asked, looking at him with a worried expression upon her face.
“Aye, lass, I am ready to defend the clan against these vicious men,” he said, and without thinking, she flung her arms about him and embraced him.
“Be careful, Sweeney, please,” she said, and he blushed as she released her grip on him.
“I will be; now take care of yerself, and get inside. Else it will be yer father and nae the English from whom I am runnin’, ye hear me,” he said, regaining his usual gruffness and pointing towards the castle.
Isla pushed her way through the gathered soldiers and went inside, climbing the stairs to the hall, where her father and the other Lairds sat before the fire.
“Isla, thank the Lord, I was getting’ worried about ye, especially after my complacency of yesterday. Sweeney has told ye the news, has he?” Alistair asked, taking her hand and leading her to the fireside.
“Aye, about a soldier killed by an English arrow,” she replied, “but that doesnae mean an attack is imminent, does it?”
“It makes it more likely, and we must be ready. Tonight, we ride out in force to face whatever enemy comes across our borders. We will nae be caught unprepared, and we will nae be slaughtered in our beds like innocent children,” he said, shaking his head sadly.
“With such forces as ye have, ye will surely be a match for any English army,” Isla said, looking around her at the other Lairds, sitting noble and proud, awaiting the promised war.
“Aye, perhaps, but if the Musgraves have received reinforcements from the south, then there is nae way of tellin’ what treachery they might perform. We need to be ready,” Alistair said, his face white, his hand shaking as he placed a protective arm around her.
She had never seen her father in such a way before, he was scared. The bravado of the night before replaced by anxiety and fear. For this first time in her life, she saw him as an old man, one who had seen too many winters and had fewer summers before him than behind. He sighed deeply and hung his head, glancing around him to where the dogs lay sleeping peacefully by the fire.
“Ye will be safe here, I will make sure of it,” he said, but Isla could not be convinced of his words.
She knew that if the Scottish line were broken, then the castle would be the first place that the English troops would head to. She could not sit idly by and wait for Kirklinton to be burned to the ground, fleeing for her life, just as she had done as a child. There and then she resolved to fight, and, as her father and the others prepared to ride out, she knew she must overcome her fears and be brave, just as her family had been brave on that fateful night all those years ago.
* * *
The afternoon soon gave way to evening, and as darkness fell upon the castle, the soldiers made ready to ride out. It had been decided to prepare an ambush upon the road above the village. The English were bound to come that way for the next road lay many miles west and would cross treacherous ground before reaching Lochrutton.
Alistair and the others ate a meager supper of bread and cheese and fortified themselves with whiskey, as they prepared to ride out. Isla watched quietly with the dogs by the fire, listening to the preparations and the bravado of the men.
“I shall claim a dozen English heads,” the Laird of the Wilsons said, raising his glass of whiskey.
“And I, two dozen,” the Johnstone’s Laird said, laying down a bet with his noble counterpart.
“Come now, lads, we must find the enemy first, before we can rout them,” Alistair Elliott said, wrapping his sword belt around himself, as they prepared to depart.
“The English will flee back across the border, and we shall have nae more trouble from them. A Scottish lad is worth five English soldiers, ye shall see,” the Wilson Laird said, as the others laughed and toasted once again.
But Alistair looked worried, and he came across to his daughter and seated himself next to her and the dogs by the fire.
“Be safe lass and … and if I dinnae come back, then ye must be brave. It will be alright, I promise ye,” he said, placing his arm around her.
“Ye will come back, father, and ye will be victorious, but whatever happens, know that I love ye and I will always love ye,” she said, and she placed her head upon his shoulder, a tear in her eye.
“Come now, Alistair, ‘tis time we rode out against these fiends and wreaked our vengeance upon them,” the Wilson Laird said, standing before Alistair and Isla.
“Aye, come now men,” Alistair said, his demeanor changing all of a sudden, “tis time we rode to war,” and a cheer went up from the men.
Isla watched as her father marshaled his troops and led them out into t
he stable yard where the others were waiting. She crossed to the window and looked down. She could see Sweeney standing among the soldiers, and he looked different somehow. No longer a stable hand but a warrior, with his sword at his side and a helmet pressed down over his head. He glanced up, and she smiled at him as he nodded to her before joining the others.
Now, the clan marched out to war, and Isla watched them go, disappearing into the darkness of the marshes. What would they face? Would they be outnumbered, and would they be able to defend the borders against the coming English onslaught? As she watched, Isla could not help but think that they were marching to their deaths. She shed a tear at the thought of her father, the man who had rescued her from the English all those years ago, now going to his fate.
“Ye will nae be alone, father,” she said, and turning, she hurried down the stairs to the stables.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The air was chilly as she snuck out into the yard. There was no one about, even the kitchen boy had been put into chain mail and handed a sword. She crossed over to the stables, where several horses remained, and opening one of the doors, she pulled at the reins of one of the animals, which let out a loud neighing as she led him into the yard.
“Quiet now, boy,” she whispered, patting his nose.
She had dressed in one of her father’s cloaks and strapped a sword about her waist, placing a helmet on her head and a coat of chain mail over her body. In the darkness, it would be easy to mistake her for one of the soldiers, and, as she mounted the horse, she felt every bit a clansman riding out to war.
The castle was dark, but the moon shone down, providing enough light by which to see, and as she rode the horse out of the yard and along the track, Isla knew she was riding to her fate. But she would not stand idly by and watch as her father and the others rode off to war. She was determined to help, and unlike last time, it would not be on such disastrous terms. She was as strong and agile as any man, and she would show that she could be brave and fight for her clan, avenging her parents’ deaths.
As she rode across the marshes, she wondered if it had been a night like this all those years ago. Had her fathers ridden out together to fight? Had they shared whiskey and song beforehand and then ridden to the field of battle, and what had occurred there? She had so many unanswered questions, but the thought of her parents gave her new resolve, and bravely, she rode on across the marshes, following the track above the village.
She thought of Fraser down below, was he safe? There was no telling what the English might do to the village if they broke through the Scottish lines. Surely, they would give no thought at all to burning it to the ground, and with that thought in mind, she urged on the horse, determined to play her part in defending her father’s clan.
The road was quiet, and she assumed that the battle must not yet have started or that perhaps her father’s men were lying in ambush along the road. She reined in the horse and listened for any sounds, but the night was quiet, a gentle breeze blowing through the trees to the left and right. It was a lonely spot, not far from the fork in the track where she had met Fraser the other night. How wonderful their meetings had been, and she was struck by the thought of how quickly she had fallen for him.
He was quite unlike any man she had ever met before, far removed from the rough and ready clansmen whom her father had so often suggested would suit her. She wondered that perhaps when all this was over, she and Fraser might speak with her father alone and explain the feelings they had for one another. Surely, he could not be angry at the thought of two young people in love, and when he realized how kind and gentle Fraser had been towards her, then he was bound to allow their union.
Her thoughts were suddenly cut short by the sound of a great cry up ahead and the noise of metal clashing against metal. It seemed the battle had begun, an ambush perhaps, but upon whom by whom? Urging the horse on, she rode down the track towards the cries and shouts of the fight, drawing her sword and readying herself for the fray.
* * *
The battle was already pitched when she arrived, and many of the men had fallen on both sides. It appeared that the Scots had caught the English by surprise as they crossed the border, but with a vastly larger force, the clansmen were already struggling to hold them back.
Isla had never seen such a sight before as the English soldiers charged amidst the Scots with such merciless ferocity as to be beyond belief. She reined in the horse, hesitating for a moment before charging among them. It was not as she had imagined. This was bloody and dreadful, and she watched as there before her, the men she had long known and counted as friends fought for their lives.
There was no sign of Sweeney, and she could not see her father either, but his voice came loud and clear upon the air, rallying his men to the fight. Some distance off, on a hilltop, close to the rocks where she and Fraser had hidden just a few nights previously, sat Sir Percy Musgrave and his son. Clearly, they were too cowardly to charge into the fray, and from their vantage point, she could see them directing the charge below.
How she despised that man, the man who, since she was a mere child, she had known to be responsible for her father’s death. If she could have ridden straight to him and run him through, then she would have gladly done so, but between her and them lay the battle, pitched and ferocious.
“Come now, Isla, ye are the daughter of Lairds,” she said to herself, her sword raised, as she prepared to charge.
It would be the first time that she had raised a sword in anger, or taken another person in the cause of right. But Isla knew she was ready, and with a cry, she rushed forward, the horse charging her into a battle, as with a loud cry she joined the fight.
The Scots were being pushed back by the English, and in the dark, it was hard to tell who was who. The English fought in rows, and they were highly disciplined and trained. Their swords and pikes cutting down Scot after Scot, as they advanced as one. Isla found herself next to several of her father’s archers, but their skills were of no use at such close quarters, and in the confusion, they were retreating.
“Dinnae retreat,” she cried, urging them on. “Stand and fight. Draw yer swords,” and leaping from the horse, she clashed with an English soldier, ducking as he aimed a blow to her head.
In the confusion, she stumbled, and screaming, she landed on the body of a Scot, his eyes wide, an arrow in his chest. Above her, the English soldier was cut down, and he landed on top of her as she rolled over and staggered to her feet. This was nothing like she had imagined, and she tried to get back to the horse, which was nowhere to be seen.
Turning, she found herself face to face with an English soldier, but as she stepped back, she tripped and fell, her helmet sent clattering to the ground. As it fell, her hair cascaded down her back, and the English soldier cried out in shock, grabbing her arm and pulling her towards him.
“Let me go,” she cried, and she feebly swung the sword towards him, as another soldier caught her arm.
“What do we have here? A girl, a mere girl, well, you are a feisty one. Stop struggling,” the soldier said, as he pulled the sword from her hand and tossed it aside.
Isla was powerless, and they dragged her from the battlefield towards the hill, on which Sir Percy Musgrave and his son were seated on horseback. Isla looked helplessly back towards the battle and saw her father in the midst of the fray. As she watched in horror, an arrow tore through the air, impaling itself into his leg, and he let out a cry, almost falling from his horse.
“Father,” she cried, but through the noise of the battle, he could not hear her, and the soldier placed a grubby hand across her mouth, dragging her up the hill.
“And what have we here?” Sir Percy said as the soldiers threw Isla down before him.
“A girl who fancies herself as something of a soldier, I think,” one of the men said. “She was about to give us quite a nasty blow, weren’t you girl?” and he pulled Isla up by her tunic.
“And what is a girl like you doing fighting o
n the battlefield? I thought even the Scots weren’t so barbaric, though when last … wait a moment, you’re the same girl who fled from the raid, aren’t you? I’ve seen you before,” Howard Musgrave said, climbing down from his horse and stooping down to catch Isla’s face in his hand, forcing her to look at him.
“A seasoned warrior,” Sir Percy said, laughing.
“The daughter of the Laird,” Howard replied, turning to his father and smiling, “I do believe we have won ourselves quite the prize, father, quite the prize indeed.”
Isla was shaking, and feebly she struggled against his grip as he looked again at her and cocked his head to one side.
“Let me go,” she said, “it will be the worse for ye if ye dinnae. My fa…” She stopped herself, but the damage had been done.
A Highlander Forged In Fire (Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance) Page 12