Laiden's Daughter

by Suzan Tisdale

  Peering into the gathering room from the bottom step she could see many men lying about. They were passed out from too much ale and wine. Some lay upon the massive tables while others slept upon the cold stone floor. A few of them snored heavily, while others ground their teeth or mumbled in their drunken sleep. If she took the route she knew best, she risked stumbling on one of the drunkards and waking them. If she went in the opposite direction, she risked getting lost in parts of the castle she did not know.

  She decided the best route to freedom was the one she knew. But before her bare foot could touch the cold stone floor she felt a hand suddenly clamp around her mouth as an arm grabbed her around her waist. With very little effort she was lifted off the ground and whisked down the hallway. Every muscle in her body seized with fear and unease. The blood rushing in her ears was nearly deafening. Her chest ached with terror and her stomach churned. Freedom would not be hers this night. She could only pray that they would be merciful and kill her quickly.

  ******

  A familiar voice whispered in her ear as he took her into the earl’s library. “Aishlinn! Please do not scream, do not let out a sound!” The voice was firm yet pleading. “I’m going to set you down but do not utter a word. If you scream out I’ll not be able to help you escape. Do you understand?” She thought she detected a slight note of fear in the man’s voice and nodded her head in agreement.

  Very slowly he sat her upon the floor of the library and loosened his grasp upon her. She flung around to see that it had been Baltair who had grabbed her. She was not certain yet if she should feel relieved to see him or fearful. She barely knew the man. Why would this man offer to help her?

  There was a good deal of sorrow in Baltair’s eyes when he saw her battered face. He held his finger to his lips to bid her be quiet. “I am so sorry for what he has done to you! I should never have taken you to him. It was fear for my own well being that made me do it!” The thought of what had happened to this sweet young girl sickened him. He felt guilty and ashamed for he knew all too well what the earl did to young women.

  Baltair had not expected the young woman to fight so! He had heard a good deal of what had taken place in the earl’s room for he had waited outside the chamber door. When he realized that the earl was beating her, he quickly made a plan to help her escape.

  He had gone to saddle a horse for her and was both surprised and relieved to see her standing on the stairs when he returned. He had worked many years in this castle and knew every inch of it by heart. He had grabbed her when he realized she was going to attempt to escape through the kitchens where people were still awake.

  “No one deserved what he did to you and it is my fault for it,” he told her. “I’ve a daughter about your age, Aishlinn. I’d never want her to go through what you did!”

  Aishlinn could see the guilt in the man’s eyes. She was about to thank him for helping her when he grabbed her hand and led her to the large fireplace. “We must move quickly before anyone wakes!” he whispered as he pulled back a large tapestry that hid a small narrow doorway.

  “Say nothing,” he told her. “The sounds carry here.”

  Aishlinn followed him through the hidden doorway and into darkness. She stayed close to him; one hand clung to his, the other grasped the back of his coat. The pain in her ribs and chest intensified with each step she took. There would be time to think of the pain later, for now she had to concentrate on escape.

  Baltair led the way through a maze of corridors and tunnels that seemed to snake along endlessly. Aishlinn had no idea where he was leading her. She hoped the sound of her pounding heart would not echo through the hidden corridors. An eternity seemed to pass before they came upon a very narrow passage. It led through the thick walls of the castle and spilled out into the courtyard.

  Creeping quietly in the darkness, Baltair held a firm grip on Aishlinn’s hand. She wondered how Baltair was able to see in the darkness, for she could barely see the back of his head.

  The night air was frigid and brought goose bumps to her bare skin for she still wore only her shift. She did not complain of the cold or the stones and sticks that her bare feet walked upon. Freedom was now within reach.

  They hugged the castle wall and walked silently a great distance before Baltair led her toward the large arched entranceway of Castle Firth. Soon they passed through a small wooden door hidden by heavy vines and before she knew it they were walking along the dirt road that led away from the castle.

  She could smell and hear the horse before she could see it. “Aishlinn” Baltair whispered, “this will be a good mare for you. Stay upon this road until the sun breaks at your back.” Before she realized what was happening Baltair grabbed her about the waist and set her upon the saddle. An unbelievable amount of pain shot through her ribs and back when he had lifted her. She nearly tumbled off the other side of the horse before taking a firm hold of the saddle. “When the sun breaks, leave the road and head north and west!” He tucked the reins into her hands.

  Aishlinn had planned to flee to London, which was to the south and east. “But London does not lie in that direction, Baltair!” she argued.

  “You’ll not want to go to London, Aishlinn!” he told her. “I’m sending you to Scotland. They won’t think to look for you there.” His voice was anxious as he led her down the road. “If you want freedom Aishlinn, you must go to the Highlands. Trust me!” He sounded desperate as well as fearful. “Remember! Stay on this road until the sun breaks at your back! Then head into the forests and keep going north and west. You’ll find your people there, Aishlinn!” he gave her no chance to respond before he slapped the mare’s rump hard with the palm of his hand.

  Aishlinn did not have time to ask Baltair what he meant by her people for the mare had taken off the moment his hand came down upon it. She was nearly tossed again from the saddle and clung on to it for dear life. She prayed that Baltair was right sending her to Scotland.

  A sudden surge of hope washed over her as she flew down the road and thought of Scotland. Her mother had died long ago when Aishlinn was but a bairn and there was very little she knew of her life. But she did know that her mother had come from the Highlands. Moirra had told her of it long ago, and had promised to tell Aishlinn more when she was older. But Moirra had died not long after and had taken her secrets to her grave.

  With no idea just how far away Scotland might be she kept the horse at a full run. She prayed for God’s speed and mercy. She’d need his divine intervention in finding her mother’s clan, for she hadn’t a clue how to do it on her own.

  Three

  Duncan McEwan and his men had been riding for days. They searched for the reivers who had taken some thirty head of cattle from their clan more than a sinnight ago. Duncan had been certain ‘twas a clan with which they feuded that had stolen the cattle. Their mission was simple; find the thieves, inflict a swift and befitting punishment and bring back that which belonged to them.

  However, the tracks Duncan and his men followed did not lead in the direction of the clan with which they feuded. They led instead towards land the English had taken from Scotland decades ago. Duncan could not imagine why reivers would travel such a distance to steal cattle. None of it made much sense.

  He and his men were stopped near a wide stream as they allowed their horses to drink and rest before heading out again to points yet uncertain. ‘Twas growing late in the day and the sun shone brightly as it cast dappled shadows across their bare chests. ‘Twas early spring now and Duncan was glad the days were growing longer and warmer.

  Duncan was dressed only in his leather trews and boots with his sword hanging at his side and his broadsword strapped to his back. ‘Twas warm for this time of year and he knew that the weather could change quickly and without notice. He thought back to something his father had been fond of saying: Welcome to Scotland lads! Don’t like the weather? Wait a few minutes. It’ll change.

  His father had been such a good and honorable man and his death,
even after these many years, still tore at Duncan’s heart. Someday Duncan hoped to exact his vengeance on the man who had killed not only his father but his entire family.

  Duncan looked around at the five men he traveled with. On or off the battlefield, these were men he could depend on. Hellions, aye, but fierce, loyal and honorable warriors each.

  He smiled as his cousin Rowan entertained them with the stories of lasses he had conquered. They’d all heard the same stories before, many more than once. A few of the events they had personally witnessed or had been a party to. But after these many days away from the clan and their families any story was better than none.

  Rowan was going on about one particular lass he had the fine pleasure of knowing in Inverness last fall. “Aye!” he said. “She was appeared to be a very fine bar wench! Her hair as soft as a new bairn’s bottom and her eyes were the brightest blue I’d ever seen!”

  Findley and Richard McKenna tried to hide their knowing smiles. Though three years separated them in age they looked very much like twins with their matching brown hair and eyes. They were of the same height and build, and whether frowning or smiling, it was often difficult to tell them apart. Though not quite as tall as Duncan or Rowan, what they lacked in height they well made up for in strength and agility.

  They had been with Rowan in Inverness and knew the story well. However, Tall Gowan and Manghus had not taken that particular trip having chosen instead to stay home with their wives.

  The two brothers let Rowan ramble on for a while longer about the pleasures the woman had brought him that night. Finally, Richard broke in. “Aye, Rowan! She did show ya a few things that night!” he said, trying to stifle his laughter.

  “Aye!” Findley chuckled. “You were certain she be the love of yer life. If memory serves me, ya demanded someone find a priest so ya could marry the fine lass that night!”

  Rowan was not happy about being interrupted. Before he could tell the brothers to shove sticks up their arses, Richard said, “But when ya woke the next day, no longer so into yer cups ya could no’ find yer arse with both hands, ya let out a bloody yell!” He could no longer contain his laughter. “Ran like yer arse was on fire! Out of the inn half naked! Ya swore that God had somehow replaced yer fine maiden with a very plump auld woman missing most of her teeth!”

  “And she had more hair upon her face than Rowan!” Findley was laughing so hard that tears gathered in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks.

  Everyone laughed, save for Rowan. He glared angrily at each of them. While his fierce scowl would make most men back down, his friends knew him too well to be worried of it. “I was getting to that part, Findley!”

  Duncan laughed with his men, as Rowan’s face had turned crimson. Duncan wasn’t quite sure if the red was from anger or embarrassment and decided it was probably a combination of both. He left his friends to needle each other while he went back to study the tracks they had been following.

  Something had been gnawing at Duncan’s thoughts throughout much of the day. These tracks they followed and the direction in which they led were troublesome. He could not imagine why reivers would travel so far to steal cattle. Duncan’s own clan MacDougall held decent enough relations with most of the neighboring clans. Still, there were others who they had been feuding with for as long as anyone could remember. However none of those feuding clans were this far to the east.

  Who could it be that would travel this far to steal their cattle? They had travelled by several glens filled with cattle that could have been easily taken. Were they being led on a wild goose chase for some yet unknown reason?

  He pondered the many possibilities for several minutes before sharing his opinion with the others. “Rowan,” he began. “Do ye think it odd we’ve ridden after the reivers for these many days now?”

  Rowan was working the knots out of his back and neck. He stretched his arms out wide and yawned before answering. “Aye, Duncan, I do.”

  Duncan’s eyes scanned their surroundings. The land before them was thick with trees and brush. Rocks and pebbles lined both sides of a wide, meandering stream. It made no sense to him why the reivers brought the cattle this way. “It be an odd route to bring cattle through, dunna ya think?”

  Tall Gowan agreed. “Who do ya suppose traveled so far to rev cattle?”

  Duncan could see the wheels turning in the minds of his men. Their faces told him that none of them thought they were dealing with simple-minded reivers. Something more was afoot but exactly what they were not certain.

  “Mayhap it be a trap by the English to draw us into battle,” Tall Gowan said. “Or, things are far worse to the southeast than we ken.”

  Neither option was good. Both meant trouble.

  Four

  Aishlinn could not begin to guess how far she had travelled, only that she had been riding nearly non-stop for two days. Or had it been three? She had no clue. She had remained hidden in the forests and trees, just as Baltair had told her to do. Occasionally she would be forced to travel across open fields and wide streams for there had been no alternative. Thus far, the only sign of life she had seen were birds, deer and the occasional tree frog. Had she a weapon with which to hunt she would have killed anyone of those things to eat.

  In the wee hours of yester morning she had come quite close to a small cottage. Not knowing if she was still on dreaded English soil or that of Scotland, she had been too afraid to stop and ask for help. Hungry, tired and in an ungodly amount of pain this day, she was beginning to regret that decision.

  The land before her had turned greener and more lush the further north and west she travelled. It was far different than the browns and grays of the English soil she had grown up on. Having never travelled more than a few miles from her home before, she knew not what to look for. She searched her memory for any description of Scottish lands that Moirra might have mentioned but none came to mind. All of Moirra’s stories had been about the Highlanders, not the Highlands.

  She wondered if she would she even recognize a Highlander if she saw one. Her only frame of reference on the matter came from Moirra’s faerie-tales. According to Moirra, they were all big, tall and quite hairy. She was not sure if she should risk her freedom or her life based on the stories told by an auld woman.

  Sometime late yesterday her saddle had become loose and fallen from the mare’s back, taking Aishlinn along with it. In too much pain, and exhausted from lack of sleep, she hadn’t the strength to lift it let alone enough to return it to the mare’s back. She abandoned it and now rode bareback.

  She had dismounted only long enough to relieve her bladder. Fearful that if she remained on foot too long the horse would wander away, she stayed upon the mare as much as possible. The thought of having to walk to wherever the good Lord was taking her was far too frightening. When the exhaustion became too much to bear, she slept slumped over with her head resting upon the mare’s neck. If ever she were forced again to make a decision between saving her own life and traveling alone, with no weapons, blankets or the means to start a fire, she might be tempted to choose death. It was becoming a far more amiable option the longer she rode.

  It was too late now to change her mind. Nay, death from exposure was more desirable than death at the hands of the earl’s soldiers. She trusted that Baltair would be able to buy her some amount of time, but how much she did not know. Exhausted, cold and hungry as she was, she could not give up. If the guards ever found her it would be a most certain and painful death.

  She was thankful that her stepfather had taught her to hunt and fish and to find her way about. Growing up she had resented the man for not allowing her to be like the other young girls in their nearby village. Many a time he had told her she was plain and no husband lay in her future so he taught her to take care of herself. Now that she was far from the only home she had ever known and in very unfamiliar territory, she was glad for what he had taught her.

  As she coaxed her mare along, images of her family kept flashing through he
r mind. Her mother had been gone so long that Aishlinn no longer remembered what she looked like. She could however, remember her mother’s gentle strength. Often she would hear Laiden’s voice as it offered words of encouragement that urged her on and begged her to not give up.

  She would catch glimpses of Moirra’s smiling auld face as well. Her heart ached from missing both women. There were a few times when she could have sworn she saw the two women riding along with her. It was those images from which she drew the strength to continue.

  More often than not however it would be images of her father’s face that would come crashing in. He always looked so disappointed. Aishlinn felt as though she had somehow let the man down. It was true that Broc had had never been much of a father to her. Aishlinn was certain her mother had married him only to save her child from being born a bastard.

  The man had not one redeeming quality that Aishlinn had ever witnessed. Cold and hard he was with never a kind word to say to her. Why he had chosen to keep and raise her, Aishlinn could never figure out. He had made it abundantly clear over the years that she had not been wanted.

  Visions of her brothers would come to visit her as well. Always they were mocking, taunting and laughing at her. They had never been particularly kind to her growing up. And their contempt of her grew greater after Broc’s death. It had gotten to the point where Aishlinn could do nothing right. No matter how hard she worked in the fields or in the home it was never good enough. They would always find something to chastise her for.

  Then nearly a month ago they came to her and informed her that she would leave that day for Castle Firth. Horace, the oldest brother, was going to marry a young woman from the village. He wanted the cottage they had grown up in for his own. He felt the home not big enough for all of them, especially two women. So it was done; Aishlinn was sent to Castle Firth.