“I cannae help how I feel,” she said, “and I am sorry if it hurts ye.”
“It dinna hurt me, lass. I want ye to be happy and our marriage was to be one of duty, but it is my father who will nae hear of us endin’ our betrothal. I am nae ready to marry yet, I want to see a bit of the world and have some adventures. Not be tied to this place for the rest of my days,” he said, sighing.
“Ye are a good man, Alistair Campbell, it is yer father who is the black sheep of this family and make nay mistake. But what has he done with Duncan? I am so worried for him—what if he is lyin’ out in the forest somewhere alone? What if he has hurt him somehow? It dae nae bear thinkin’ about,” she said.
“We’ll find him, dae nae worry lass,” Alistair said, and the two bid one another goodnight.
***
The next morning there was still no sign of Duncan and Fraser Campbell seemed in a better mood than ever. The decorations for the Christmas feast were being placed in the Great Hall, with great branches of holly and spruce having been cut in the forest.
“A magnificent feast we shall have this year, and make nay mistake,” Fraser said as Arabel and Alistair arrived for breakfast, “I am lookin’ forward to Christmas this year and that is for certain.”
“A Christmas which should be celebratin’ the return of the true Laird,” Arabel replied, turning away from him.
“Shut yer whining ye miserable wee wench,” Fraser said, rounding on her and catching her arm. “I have told ye to stop this nonsense over Duncan Campbell. He is gone and ye are marryin’ Alistair, dae I make myself clear?”
“Father, let go of her,” Alistair said, catching hold of his father’s arm.
But Fraser turned and struck him across the face, sending him reeling across the floor.
“Ye would defend the lass for askin’ miserable questions about a miserable man, be gone the pair of ye. Get out,” he cried, pointing to the door.
Arabel and Alistair needed no further prompting, and they left Fraser, who cursed after them, rushing from the hall and out into the corridor.
“He would strike his own son, heaven kens what he would dae to his own nephew,” Arabel said, placing her hand gently to Alistair’s face, a bruise forming on his cheek.
“He is becomin’ more wicked with ever passin’ day,” Alistair said, sighing and placing his arm around Arabel. “Come now, let us stay out of the way, I fear the days to come are only goin’ to be more miserable.”
“I think I will take a walk outside, will ye be alright?” Arabel said, turning to him, “I need to get away from this accursed place.”
“I’ll be fine, I shall retire to my chambers and try to forget this whole sorry business for a few hours,” he replied.
Arabel took her leave of him and collecting a shawl from her chambers she made her way out into the courtyard. More snow had fallen, and she crossed the pristine ground towards the gates just as Donald McGowan stepped out in front of her.
“Oh, ye startled me, Donald,” she said, her mind on Duncan rather than where she was going, but the old soldier took hold of her arm and without saying a word he pulled her into the gatehouse.
There was no one there, the fire in the grate burning low and he looked around furtively before speaking in a low whisper.
“I know where Duncan is,” he said, “or at least I know what happened to him.”
Arabel looked amazed, and she clutched at Donald’s arm, as once more he looked around him as though Fraser Campbell were about to spring out upon them.
“What … where?” she stammered, but he raised a finger to his lips.
“I overheard some soldiers talkin’ here late last night, the ones we saw returnin’ from the forest yesterday mornin’ dae ye remember?” he said, and she nodded. “It was the Laird who ordered them. Late in the night they snatched him from his bed, bound him and carried him off into the forest. Fraser had told them to kill him and to bring back the evidence.”
At these words Arabel burst into tears, clutching at Donald who urged her to be quiet.
“Tis’ alright though, lass, the men dinna kill him—they couldnae bring themselves to. They found a rabbit in one of the snares and bloodied their swords with its blood to make it look like they had done the wicked deed they were ordered to. Duncan was left in a clearin’ some miles away from here. The last time they saw him he was alive,” Donald said, shaking his head.
“So … so … he is, but what if he has died from the cold, we must go to him, Donald,” she said, turning as if to run immediately out into the forest in search of him.
“But we dinna know which way he has gone, or where they took him. It could have been in any direction and if ye rush out in search of him ye may get lost. The skies are heavy with snow and the mountains are wreathed in cloud. We are to have another storm soon,” Donald said, but Arabel would not hear his pleas.
She rushed from the guardhouse and straight out of the gates into the forest, Donald calling in vain after her. If there was any chance that Duncan was still alive then she knew she must search for him at all costs. She knew the forest well, and she had long known the delights of tracking the animals that lived there. It did not take long for her to find the trail left by the men who had taken him, and it was clear that Duncan had put up something of a struggle.
Fresh snow covered it over in various places, but the marks ran deep. She could tell they had dragged him by his arms, the impression of his heels trailing a path which she could follow. They had taken him on a route high up into the forest north of the castle. It was a lonely place, and she glanced around her nervously as the trees became thicker. She wanted to call out his name, but she feared for it echoing in the trees and summoning whatever beasts may be lurking there.
She was not usually afraid, but the menacing shadow of Fraser Campbell was upon her and she knew that if he was capable of such a wicked act, then he was capable of anything. On she walked, following the trail which gradually began to level off. The snow was thinner here, the thick canopy above catching much of it before it could find its way to the forest floor. She had walked for about three miles, or so she reckoned, and as she came into a clearing, she found the spot where the trail ended.
“Duncan?” she whispered, looking around her. The snow lay thicker here, and she looked up at the gray, leaden skies above which were threatening a further fall. Around here the pristine whiteness was disturbed by ruby red stains running through it. Some act of savagery had been carried out there and she remembered Donald’s words about the rabbit. How terrible to think that Fraser Campbell had wanted this to be Duncan’s blood, his own nephew, the young lad whom his brother had charged him with protecting and who now he had sought to do away with.
She looked around her for any signs of a fresh trail, anything that might lead her to him. But there was nothing, and she was about to turn back when the sound of a breaking twig startled her. Springing around she came face to face with a peasant out collecting firewood. He was a young lad, no older than eight or ten, and he had a bundle of sticks under one arm, his cloak wrapped tightly around him against the cold.
“Hello there,” she said, as the young boy backed away from her. “It’s alright, I will nae hurt ye, I am lookin’ for my friend, perhaps ye have seen him. His name is Duncan Campbell, he is yer Laird.”
The boy nodded, his eyes wide and nervous as he looked at her and pointed over his shoulder.
“Ye have seen him? Was he here? Is he well?” she said, her excitement building.
“He is, aye,” the boy said, “he is safe, I have seen him, I saw him here and told my father.”
“Oh, thank heavens,” she cried, clasping her hands together, “can ye take me to him?”
But, as she uttered these words there came the sound of hooves on the path behind and turning, she was horrified to see Fraser Campbell and a party of soldiers approaching. They were the same men whom she and Donald had seen returning from the forest the day before, their swords bloodied fro
m the kill. The peasant boy wasted no time and ran off through the trees, leaving Arabel standing alone in the clearing.
“Well now, who have we here if it isn’t wee Arabel,” Fraser said, climbing down from his horse and approaching her. “And what would ye be doin’ out in the woods this day? Tis’ cold and more snow is on its way. The warmth of the castle’s hearths would be a better place for thee than out here in the cold dae ye nae think, lass?”
Arabel looked at him defiantly, her fists grasped tightly together. She had nothing but hatred and contempt for this evil man. He was no Laird, nothing but a tyrant and a coward. But at least she knew that Duncan was safe, a secret she must keep at all costs from Fraser if there was any hope of restoring him to his rightful place.
“I took a walk, I enjoy the woods in wintertime,” she replied, not meeting his eye as he prowled around her.
“Dae ye think I am stupid, Arabel?” he said, turning to the men and laughing. “When have ye ever taken a walk into the woods like this? What tall tales ye tell and expect to be believed. Go home, ye silly lass, go back to the man who is to be yer husband.”
“I will nae be held a prisoner in my own home. I will walk where I wish,” she said, but Fraser just laughed again and dismissed her with a wave of his hand.
He was looking around him for something, evidently pleased with the blood marks upon the ground. Arabel knew just what he was doing, seeking out traces of Duncan’s unhappy ending as proof the soldiers had done their duty. But thanks to the peasant boy, Arabel walked home with a lighter step than that which she had set out with. Duncan was alive and if he was alive, then that meant revenge could be his and more importantly, so could Arabel.
Chapter 7
An Opening to Revenge
“Wait, Hamish, catch yer breath first and then speak,” Christina Macintyre said, as the door to the cottage in the cave burst open and her son stood before them.
He was carrying only a little of the firewood expected of him and his father looked at him in annoyance, as he tried to talk and breathe at the same time. Duncan raised himself from his bed and watched as Hamish bent double and drew in deep breaths, his mother handing him a cup of water.
“I … I have …” he wheezed.
“Have neglected to gather any wood for the fire, lad. Ye have been gone half the afternoon and all ye return with are a few twigs. Those will nae be enough to warm yer sister’s wee hands on,” his father said, shaking his head.
“A woman, I saw a woman in the clearing where I found Duncan. I’ve seen her before in the woods, the noblewoman from the castle and she … she was askin’ where Duncan was,” Hamish said, finally catching his breath enough to form coherent sentences.
At these words, Duncan sat bolt upright, his eyes wide. Surely it was Arabel that Hamish had seen, it could be none other, and his heart leapt at the thought that soon they might be reunited. How brave of her to come searching for him and to risk her own safety out of care for him.
“Did ye speak with her?” he asked, wincing as he tried to move too quickly.
“Only for a moment. She asked if I knew anythin’ of ye and I nodded and said I did. At first I was scared of her but she was nothin’ like the soldiers who sometimes walk up here. They are nasty men and …” Hamish began, but Duncan interrupted him.
“But why did ye nae bring her here? Ye should have brought her here, Hamish,” he said, his anger only thinly veiled to think that Arabel had been so close.
“Ye are nae lettin’ me finish, sir,” Hamish replied. “She is nae here because as I was about to bring her here the Laird … I mean, Fraser Campbell, rode up with the soldiers. I did nae want to remain a moment longer. They are cruel men when they are under his charge and they might have had me whipped for talkin’ to the lass.”
A look of abject disappointment fell upon Duncan’s face and he let out a long sigh and shook his head.
“So, she is gone? And what of the others? Why was my uncle there?” he said, looking at Brodie Macintyre who shook his head.
“Tis’ obvious enough, lad. The Laird comes lookin’ for proof of yer death. He wouldnae trust his own guards and so he must see for himself. Let us hope the blood stains of the rabbits in the snow are enough to convince him.”
“But with nae body he will surely be suspicious?” Duncan said, looking around uneasily, as though he imagined that the door was about to burst open and Fraser Campbell and a posse of men burst in to finish what they started.
“It is in the best interests of his men to convince him they killed ye. Otherwise he will see they are punished too, and with great severity,” Brodie said, casting the meager pile of wood which Hamish had brought onto the fire. “Yer uncle is a cruel man, and he makes nay discrimination when it comes to punishment. I have kent many a man felt his wrath these years past.”
“Then he must nae find me until the time is right,” Duncan said, and pulling up his blanket over himself he lay down to rest, his mind filled with thoughts of Arabel and just how close she had been.
***
“Blood, but nay body,” Fraser said, looking up at his men, with a questioning look upon his face. “Blood, but nay body,” and he repeated the words, as though toying with what they might mean.
Arabel had wasted no time in hurrying off into the trees and back to the castle, but the soldiers were now gathered around the Laird, shifting nervously from foot to foot in silence. Fraser inspected the clearing meticulously. The streaks of blood in the virgin snow seemed genuine enough, but where was the body? He wanted proof of his nephew’s demise and would not rest easily until he knew that Duncan Campbell was dead.
“It is here that we left him and in a sorry state he was,” one of the soldiers ventured, stepping forward as Fraser turned a questioning glance to him.
“Aye, and I say again, where is the body? If ye killed him here, then where has his body gone?” Fraser said, his eyes falling with suspicion upon each in turn, their faces set blankly staring ahead of them and avoiding his eyes.
“Please, Laird. The woods are teeming with hungry animals. His body has probably been carried off by the wolf packs and up into the mountains, food for hungry mouths,” the man said, and the others nodded their heads.
“There’s more than a morsel there. But ye are certain that he was dead? If I find I have been lied to then it shall be the worst for each of ye. And the same if anyone mentions anything other than the account ye were so handsomely rewarded to keep,” he said, his hand upon the hilt of his sword.
But none would change their account and with a final glance around him, Fraser mounted his horse, the soldiers following quietly behind. Snow was beginning to fall once again and soon the traces of blood in that lonely clearing would be covered over. He was certain that there was more to this story than his men were letting on, but without proof what could he do? Fraser was simply glad that his nephew was gone, and the celebrations of Christmas could begin without his shadow casting itself over them all.
He had no intention of relinquishing his hold on the Lairdship, and by the time they had returned to the castle he had begun to convince himself that Duncan’s body had been taken by the wolf packs. Even if the men had not succeeded in killing him, he must have been severely injured to have spilled so much blood. And with the harshness of the winter upon them, Fraser was in no doubt that his nephew had perished one way or the other.
“Ah Donald McGowan,” Fraser said, clambering down from his horse as he and the soldiers arrived back into the courtyard, “I have some sorry news for ye. It seems that poor Duncan dae nae get very far in his departure from the castle. We came upon a most sorry scene, some terrible accident in the clearing up yonder. It seems someone fought a terrible fight there. There was blood everywhere, splattered upon the snow. I fear for my nephew, though we discovered nay body.”
Donald McGowan just looked at him with thinly veiled contempt and sighed deeply.
“Duncan can take care of himself, sir,” he replied, and he tur
ned and walked back into the gatehouse.
Fraser spat upon the snow and grimaced, striding off towards the keep, whilst the soldiers milled around the courtyard. He wanted to know for certain that Fraser was dead, but for now he would put it about that the wolves had taken him. It was not unusual for packs to roam in these parts and in the depths of winter, when food was scarce, they would think nothing of setting to upon a man.
Inside, he found Arabel and Alistair sitting together beside the fire in the Great Hall, deep in conversation. They fell silent as he approached, each greeting him with only a curt nod.
“Ye see, lass. The fireside is a far better place for ye than wandering out in the woods like that, is it nae?” Fraser said, warming his hands above the embers.
“Either may have its attractions, dependin’ upon one’s task,” Arabel replied curtly.
“If ye were lookin’ for Duncan, which I am certain ye were, then ye should know that he is dead. What else would he be but dead? The wolves have had him. He was a fool to set off so ill-prepared in wintertime. I begged him to stay, but the lad simply wouldnae listen to reason,” Fraser said, seating himself opposite them. “Tis’ a tragedy so close to Christmas, but then we must accept that he made his decision to leave.”
Arabel suddenly leaped up and brought her hand down hard on the arm of the chair.
“Ye would have seen him dead, murderer,” she cried, and stormed out of the room.
“Ate ye sure ye wish to marry such a lass, Alistair?” Fraser said, turning to his son, who fixed his father with an incredulous look. “She has spirit in her and that is for certain.”
“What have ye done with him, Father?” Alistair said, shaking his head. “He is my cousin and I ken he has nae just disappeared.”
Now Fraser fixed his son with an angry stare and rising he crossed before the hearth and stood above him. Towering over the boy who stared defiantly up at him.
The Castle Courtyard on a Snowy Christmas Eve Page 5