by Sky Winters
“What do you think of our game, my love?” He asked loudly, to put on a show.
Catriona suppressed a curl of her lip and raised her chin. “It is very grand, my Lord.”
The Lord laughed, barked, in amusement. “This mangy cur?” He spat on the ground, “first time he’s ever been called grand, I’m sure.”
The other men joined in with their own thick laughter. Jeering at the man they held captive - though the prisoner’s face remained still, distant. Catriona bowed her head, quitting the conversation without further comment. Her husband spurred his horse and returned to his task. Looking up, Catriona took a brief glance at the stranger. Mangy cur was not the phrase she would choose to describe him. The man held his head high, and his shoulders straight - despite the harsh pull of the rope around his wrists. His body was well toned, muscles taught - there was an animal-like quality about him to be sure. But not one of weakness or frenzy. He was strong and lean - and his presence couldn’t help but remind Catriona of what her life might have been, had Hector not chosen her as a bride.
The captive turned his head, meeting Catriona’s gaze before he was dragged from her sight. His eyes were piercing even from a distance - and they made Catriona shiver. Before she could blink, he was already gone - spirited away to another part of camp, to be bound and ridiculed. Her husband out of sight, Catriona did little to hide the disgust on her face. Life had turned out so much differently than she had once expected as a young girl. Marriage to Lord Hector seemed the only practical choice at the time - he would provide security and wealth in a time when the Scottish lands were in uncertain upheaval. The Highlanders were fighting back against the Englishmen who continuously stole their land and enforced their rule. In truth, Catriona had been lucky to catch Hector’s eye. Instead of leaving her to be taken by the men of his camp, he instead took her aside to woo for himself. With this, Catriona ensured the safety of her own family - if not those of her former village.
The first year or so was easy - she was still in Hector’s good favor. He doted upon her and showed her off as frequently as possible. But soon the question of a child became an issue. Hector hadn’t the gall to force himself upon her, but the few times Catriona did allow him into her bed, it was cold and unpleasant. His sweet words quickly turned into admonishments and strings of hateful whispers into her ear. She had never suspected Hector a kind man, but the strength of his cruelty was sharp. While he still played the part around his men, or men and women of the court, Catriona dreaded being left alone by his side. Over the course of a few years, Catriona had become attuned to her husband’s moods, his movements. She knew when a strike would come, when he was merely yelling, or when he would destroy the room to intimidate her. To confront Lord Hector directly…Catriona couldn’t be truly sure of the outcome. That is why she decided to make a fool of him behind his back. To make him small in the eyes of his men. She would free the Highland rebel that night.
The camp was subdued, muted, as the moon’s wavering light drifted through the clouds. Catriona had feigned illness to her husband - claiming the constant travel was doing her no good.
Hector had scoffed, “and I thought you Scottish women were supposed to be hardy. Should have chosen a girl with better constitution.” But he let her be, more inclined to join the men in their drinking and rabble-rousing than interrogate his wife.
When the sounds of their revels died down, Catriona crept carefully and silently from the back of her tent. Her long black hair was held back in a tight bun as she snuck through the darkness - she didn’t want it hindering her in any way. In her boot was a small knife - it once belonged to her father, mainly used to gut fish. But tonight she would use it to cut the stranger’s restraints…and perhaps bequeath it to him. Catriona realized the man would have been stripped of his own weapons, and if she were going to give him half a chance, this was the best she could do. She comforted herself in the loss of such a dear item with the thought that her father would have done the same. Across the camp sat a small tent, separated from the others and guarded by a single man. Judging by his absent stare and poorly stifled yawns, he would be easy enough to creep by. As long as the captive inside let up no alarm as she entered.
Crouching, balancing on the balls of her feet and her fingertips, Catriona couldn’t help but smirk. Crawling about in the mud. This certainly wasn’t the image Lord Hector had in mind for his bride, she was sure. Taking a long arc around to the back of the prisoner’s tent, Catriona sliced herself an entrance with the small knife. It was duller than she expected and took a few moments to truly cut a hole big enough for her. She hoped the rebel captive would remain quiet until she was finished.
Poking her head in at last, she came face to face with the man. He was sitting, hands tied to the wooden pole behind his back. He wore a ragged shirt, with no sign of buttons or string, and a heavy kilt tied about his waist. His boots were leather, battered by unknown years of mud and travel. The man’s head was tilted, his amber eyes sparkling with bewildered amusement.
“Hello,” he whispered, “is this meant to be a rescue - or are you simply redecorating?”
Catriona blinked, taken aback by the unexpected quip. Her cheeks flushed, a slight indignation brewing beneath her skin.
“I beg your pardon?” She uttered as quietly as possible, while still maintaining an air of offended dignity.
The man chuckled under his breath. “Forgive me. I was trying to think of something clever to say all that while, and that was the best I could muster - under the circumstances.”
He shrugged, tugging lightly at his restraints. Catriona hesitated only a moment more, bemused by the stranger’s odd nature. She shuffled into the tent and knelt on the other side of the pole.
“Well, you’ll have more time to think of something better,” she slipped the knife between the man’s hands and began to saw at the rope. “I still need to cut through these.”
“Saints preserve us, let’s pray you finish before sun up.” His voice was light, joking more than disparaging.
Catriona shook her head silently. She had envisioned their first encounter many times before nightfall - expecting the man to be stoic, noble, and certainly more grateful than this. But here he was teasing her, jesting. It was odd, however…somehow this did not feel out of place. It was as if the two of them had known each other long before this moment. As if two good friends were finally reuniting.
“What’s your name?” The man broke into her thoughts. He turned his head, looking over his shoulder to get a glimpse of his savior.
“Lady Catriona,” she replied quickly. “And you?”
“My name is Conall,” he began - then a thought seemed to strike him, “wait a moment…Lady?”
He attempted to twist himself around even more, but Catriona kept her focus on the ropes and the movement of her knife.
“Lady?” Conall repeated, keeping his voice low despite the curiosity in him.
“Yes.” Catriona said simply.
“As in the Lady married to our lovely Lord Hector out there?”
Catriona could feel her cheeks growing hot again. She had also envisioned leaving her husband unmentioned that night - but so accustomed to Hector’s own flaunting of the title, she let Lady slip. Her eyes flitted up for a moment to look at Conall’s face. Instead of the resentful scowl she had expected, his face sat in a playful grin.
“I fail to see the humor of the situation,” Catriona muttered. The ropes were finally beginning to fray. A few minutes more and the man would be free.
Conall laughed out loud involuntarily - but quickly caught himself, turning the laugh into an awkward cough before trailing off. The two of them sat frozen for a moment, listening for the sounds of the guard outside - he appeared to be unperturbed by the noise. Catriona cut with more ferocity.
“It’s brilliant though, isn’t it? The man’s own wife freeing a Highland rebel? I only wish I were his wife so I could pull off something so dastardly.”
Catriona choked, o
nly just managing to hide her own laughter. “Excuse me?” She asked through stifled giggles.
“Well, I mean,” Conall shrugged, “not literally of course…”
Finally, the last of the rope gave way and Conall’s wrists were free. He stretched his arms, bringing them around and massaging the life back into his hands. Catriona sat back on her heels, watching him - his hands were rough, broad. And yet she imagined they were much warmer than her husband’s.
“Shall we be off?” Once again, Conall interrupted her thoughts.
Catriona looked up, startled. “We?”
Conall nodded. “I can’t imagine you entered this tent and freed me because you like your husband.”
Catriona didn’t reply right away. Despite the hatred she held for her husband, despite the risk she had decided to take, despite everything, she hadn’t, in fact, imagined herself leaving. In Catriona’s mind, it wasn’t even possible - how could it be? When he had held her with such a deadly grip all these years. But now, on this quiet night, suddenly freedom was before her - staring at her with earnest, amber eyes.
“I’m afraid the longer we delay -.”
“Yes.” Catriona answered abruptly, causing Conall’s face to break into another grin.
He took her hand. “Then off we go, my Lady. And I promise, since you have done me the honor of saving my own life, I will do everything in my power to protect yours.”
Now this was the sort of noble behavior Catriona had hoped for. And she was right, the man’s hands were incredibly warm, and softer than they looked. Another moment and the tent was empty, save for the tattered ropes - and Catriona’s knife. She had not noticed it slip from her hands before they disappeared.
Morning was grasping its way up the horizon as Catriona and Conall rode towards his home. When they had snuck their way out of Hector’s camp, Conall suggested they would have better luck on horseback. In truth, Catriona didn’t believe they would be able to get one away without raising suspicion and alarm - but as she watched from the shadows, Conall treaded the ground so lightly, that she began to wonder if he were more specter than man. As the two of them rode together, however, Catriona felt the weight of Conall’s arms around her, holding the reigns. Perhaps it was the cold wind, or the dawning realization that soon Hector may be nothing more than a bitter memory - but Catriona’s heart hammered in her chest like a war drum, dizzying her senses. In the distance, the mountains loomed and grew taller as they approached.
Conall gestured. “We should be there within another hour or so, my people reside within the mountains - to keep out of sight.”
He added this last comment, as if he already sensed the question on Catriona’s lips. Catriona only nodded. Within the mountains…Conall and his people must have once lived in a village of their own, on land of their own. Her expression hardened - it was men like Hector who were driving these people out, bending them to English rule or otherwise erasing them from the countryside. A sharp ire grew in the back of her throat. She had traded her countrymen for her own safety, sitting idle for years as Hector lead her from encampment to encampment to drive out the Highland rebels. She shook her head - but this was the last of it. The sun was rising on a new day for Catriona and she refused to turn back now.
Conall pulled up on the reigns gently and guided the horse to a slow trot. They had reached the base of the mountains. Here, Conall slid from the saddle.
“I’ll lead us towards the caves - it will be easier to lead the horse on foot.”
“Then I’ll join you, there’s no reason I should ride up here like some sort of noblewoman anymore,” Catriona offered, already moving to jump down.
But Conall stopped her with a quick hand on her calf. The movement startled Catriona, making her flinch - her body was still trained to guard itself against the touch of men. Conall seemed to notice her stiffen and quickly removed his hand apologetically.
“No,” he said a little awkwardly, then recovered himself. “No, you ought to remain saddled. The path is uneven and unkind to delicate feet.”
His mouth curled into an impish smile. Teasing again. Catriona pursed her lips but didn’t argue. “Very well, then. Lead the way, sir.”
Conall gave a mock bow, then took the reigns in one hand and began the final stretch of their journey. They fell silent as Conall concentrated, and Catriona took the opportunity to absorb her new surroundings. The mist was thicker here, leaving a fine layer of dew on the rocks and the dull grass. Casting a look over her shoulder, it appeared they had already climbed a fair distance. Catriona could see the vast fields behind her - hazy curtains of rain obscuring a portion of them, while other areas remained still untouched. Ahead of them, an invisible path drew them towards a dip between the slopes, disappearing around curves and mossy rocks. Conall stepped with certainty, however, clearly familiar to each step. Catriona shivered, whether due to the cold or the growing sense of anxiety in this strange territory, she wasn’t sure. Gradually, the fields fell away and soon Catriona and Conall were enveloped by the mountains on either side. It became a world in of itself - the many peaks and ledges offering different forms of shelter and pathways. Catriona wondered just how many people could live here without ever being detected, as she quickly realized there were also a series of cave openings along the way. Many were deceptively hidden by rocks or plants, but soon she was able to pick up on a pattern and spot some of the less concealed entrances. A quick flutter of movement disturbed the moss hanging down in front of one of the caves. Catriona strained her eyes to see what sort of animal it might have been, but whatever had been there a moment ago was gone. Conall, meanwhile, paid no mind.
“Are we very close?” Catriona asked uneasily. Her voice felt foreign in the unworldly silence.
“Very nearly, my Lady, have no fear,” Conall replied without turning his head.
Catriona muttered quietly, “I am not afraid.”
Conall halted abruptly, cupping his hands around his mouth. He then let out a ghostly howl that echoed off the rocks. As it faded, he waited, ears pricked. Just a moment later, another howl came in return - somewhat faint, still a distance off. The sound of it cheered Conall immediately - Catriona could see a marked bounce in his step as he continued leading the horse once more. They turned a final corner and came upon a large cave mouth, no longer discreetly hidden. It led into the mountain - how deep, Catriona could only guess. At the entrance stood a few men - guards armed with spears or swords. Their reaction to Catriona and Conall’s appearance was mixed. One young man - thin, wiry, and bright-eyed, left his post immediately and ran to Conall’s side. They embraced happily, the young man exclaiming in excitement - as if he hadn’t even noticed Catriona. The two remaining men did gaze upon her. The older man of the group appeared skeptical. He stood casually, weight balanced on one leg, a hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His face was etched with lines that added authority to his character. The remaining man must have been roughly Conall’s age. His dark brown hair fell close to his shoulders in smooth waves. His expression was one of suspicion that leered at Catriona without any pretense of manners. He stood upright, a spear in his hand - which he methodically turned as he stared at the woman on horseback.
“I can’t believe it!” The young man was still speaking to Conall. “Back in one day, and with a woman as well! You had a better night than we did, didn’t you?”
He laughed and punched Conall in the arm playfully. Conall grabbed the young man and kept him in a headlock while he ruffled the other’s hair with vigor.
“Now don’t be rude, Arran. This woman saved my life and freed me, which is plenty more than I can say for you lot, eh?”
Arran squirmed out of Conall’s grip and bounced back a few feet, still grinning. Catriona hardly knew how to read the situation. Thus far, she hadn’t even been acknowledged directly - only about spoken as if she were simply an accessory Conall had brought home. Meanwhile the two men by the entrance clearly held doubts about her presence. She cleared her throat and spoke
up.
“My name is Lady Catriona,” - Catriona stopped short. She had let the Lady slip once again. And judging by the sharp looks on all three of the new mens’ faces, she could tell it didn’t sit as well with them as it did Conall. But she soldiered on. “I have come with Conall by invitation, in exchange for freeing him from Lord Hector’s encampment.”
“Aye,” Conall joined in, “I owe her my life.”
The brown haired man snorted derisively. Conall was about to call him out, when Catriona cut in instead.
“Excuse me,” she said firmly, locking eyes with the surly man. “It is no simple task sneaking through an entire camp, into a prisoner’s tent, and then out again without raising a single alarm - and I won’t have it snorted it at.”
The older man cracked a smile. “Well said, my Lady.”
He stepped down from his post and approached Catriona at last. Holding out his hand, Catriona allowed him to take hers, and he touched his lips to it briefly.
“My name is Eamon, and this unpleasant gentleman is Lenox.”
Lenox diverted his gaze self-consciously, but also lowered his guarded stance. After that moment, it seemed the tension had been broken and Catriona was welcomed into their dwelling. Arran took the horse and let it away while Conall and Eamon showed her inside. The following days were certainly an adjustment - from Lord’s wife, to hide-away rebel. While Catriona was glad to be free of the grip of her husband, she was still unaccustomed to sleeping on the ground, without luxuries or niceties. But there were other aspects of her new life that outweighed some of the less appealing changes. For the first time in many years, Catriona was in the company of women again, friendly and warm, without the mask of court hiding their true natures or intentions. To pay her keep, Catriona had volunteered to help the other women in Conall’s clan. Without hesitation, they had welcomed her into their fold - cheeks bright, smiles broad. They treated her like a new sister-in-law.