The Mark of Salvation

by Carol Umberger

  “Hello, Niece.”

  This must be the uncle who’d once been laird of Innishewan. Ceallach quickly counted—Angus Macnab had two dozen men with him. Ceallach’s half dozen soldiers and Morrigan’s score of fighters stood among the crofters and farmers gathered for the harvest celebration. The numbers were in their favor.

  Still fear tightened Ceallach’s stomach. Not for himself but for the women and children.

  Orelia. Fighting panic, Ceallach searched the crowd for her blond hair. With relief he saw that she had quietly moved with the other women close to the door of the keep. If fighting broke out, Ceallach hoped she would follow the women inside and bar the door.

  “Whose keep is this?” Macnab demanded.

  Ceallach stepped forward. “ ’Tis mine, Ceallach of Dunstruan.” Though he knew the answer, he asked anyway. “And who are you?”

  Angus smiled, but the smile lacked any warmth. “I am Angus Macnab, laird of Clan Macnab.”

  Asserting his right to lead the clan—a right Bruce had taken from him—didn’t sound like the words of a man who’d come on a social call. Morrigan took a step forward and Ceallach saw Fergus reach out a hand to hold her back. But she wasn’t seeking confrontation any more than Ceallach was. Ignoring the reference to his leadership of the clan, she said, “Will you join us for our harvest celebration? We are just about to set out the evening meal.”

  Though Ceallach would as soon send the man on his way, highland hospitality demanded such an offer. Morrigan had made the correct gesture, but was it prudent?

  “I thank ye for the hospitality, lass. But I’ll just take what I’ve come for and be gone.”

  Eveleen had been making her way to the front of the crowd and now she stood before Angus. “You can’t have what you came for Angus. ’Tis no longer your right to train him.”

  “And I say it is my right. The boy is my brother’s son—who better to foster him?”

  Keifer. Where was the boy? Ceallach did not dare seek him out for fear of giving away the child’s location. Had Keifer been with Orelia and the other women near the keep’s door? Ceallach didn’t remember seeing him there.

  Ceallach tried to catch Fergus’s attention, but the man’s gaze didn’t leave Angus and the threat he represented. Eveleen stood between opposing clans of armed men. Somehow Ceallach must get Eveleen behind him before a fight erupted. Again Ceallach stepped forward, placing himself between Eveleen and Angus. With his left hand he tugged on her skirt and after a moment’s hesitation, she backed away. Hopefully she took herself to safety.

  “While I’m sure Lady Eveleen appreciates your offer, Keifer is my fosterling,” Ceallach said as he moved closer to Morrigan, who was unarmed and thus also in danger. He didn’t have a weapon to give her and couldn’t have done so anyway without provoking Angus. But a tug on her skirt, and then a second, accomplished nothing. She did not back away as her mother had done; she stood firmly where she was. Now what? If she had a weapon, he knew she could hold her own and Ceallach wouldn’t worry. As it was, he wanted her out of harm’s way.

  A quick glance at Fergus—who was flexing his hand as if to grasp his sword hilt—confirmed that the situation might turn ugly at any moment.

  Angus took a step closer, now no more than a sword’s length in front of Ceallach. “Nice of ye to offer to foster him, but the boy is my kin. I’d appreciate it if ye’d turn Keifer over to me.” Though he spoke to Ceallach, Angus glared at Morrigan.

  Morrigan glared back. “No! Keifer stays here!”

  Angus looked away from her. He peered over Ceallach’s left shoulder toward the sound of children’s voices. Ceallach recognized Keifer and James—in their usual high spirits and unaware of the drama being played out in the front of the bailey. To Ceallach’s dismay, the voices grew louder.

  Eveleen stood at the corner of the keep, her expression one of panic. As the boys burst around the corner, she reached for Keifer but snagged James instead. Keifer dodged his mother’s outstretched hand and in his headlong rush to resist capture, came to a halt less than an arm’s length from his uncle. Keifer held a battered corn stalk that had obviously been used as a target for the boy’s swords. James backed away and ran off but Keifer stayed where he was, glancing up at Angus and back at Ceallach.

  They stood thus for barely a minute. In one swift move Angus unsheathed his sword while his man seized Keifer’s tunic. Macnab’s man handed the boy to Angus who now held Keifer in one hand and his sword in the other.

  Ceallach withdrew his sword but he couldn’t engage Angus’s blade in such close quarters without endangering Keifer.

  Angus held his blade so close to Keifer’s neck it drew a trickle of blood. Ceallach suspected Macnab had no real interest in training Keifer—he simply wanted the future laird of Clan Macnab in his control. To do with as he wished. Which meant Morrigan, the current laird, was probably in danger as well. Angus pressed his advantage, retreating toward his horse with the boy as his men guarded his back.

  As Morrigan lunged toward her brother, one of Angus’s men grabbed her arm.

  But Fergus thrust his blade and then his body between the woman and the scoundrel trying to harm her, breaking the man’s hold on her. The man’s blade must have cut Fergus because he cried out and clutched his arm, his weapon dropping to the ground.

  Morrigan picked up his fallen sword and, skirt or no, engaged the outlaw’s blade.

  The skirmish distracted Angus, and Ceallach saw his opportunity. Locking gazes with the frightened boy, Ceallach gave a quick nod and after a moment’s consideration, Keifer poked the cornstalk into his uncle’s eye.

  Angus howled and his grip loosened long enough for Keifer to wriggle free.

  Ceallach yelled, “Run to the keep, Keifer!”

  The boy hesitated for a moment before he remembered his training and obeyed his commander. Bellowing in rage, Angus, eye watering profusely, attacked Ceallach. Angus’s blade slid off of Ceallach’s and he stepped in, separating Macnab from his horse.

  Macnab must have realized what Ceallach had done and tried to work his way back toward the beast. But Ceallach continued to press him away from the horse and away from his men, isolating him. Macnab’s impaired vision made him no match for Ceallach. With a quick flick of his blade, Ceallach knocked his opponent’s sword to the ground.

  When his men saw that Angus had been disarmed, they attempted to come to his aid but Ceallach and Morrigan’s men drove them off. Seeing there was nothing they could do to free Angus, his men scrambled to mount their horses. To Ceallach’s dismay, no one had thought to close the gate, and all but five of the Macnab men managed to get away.

  The five were quickly subdued. Ceallach ordered his men to put the prisoners in Dunstruan’s dungeon. Satisfied that Macnab no longer posed a threat, Ceallach approached Fergus and Morrigan. Any triumph at capturing Angus disappeared when Ceallach saw Fergus sitting in the dirt.

  Morrigan kneeled beside Fergus, holding her bare hand over a bleeding wound on the man’s upper arm. “What were you thinking? You could have been killed!” she scolded.

  Blood oozed from under her fingers, and Ceallach knew they must get Fergus inside and stop the bleeding. “Fergus?”

  Fergus pushed at Morrigan. “Me? I could have been killed?”

  Ceallach tried again to get their attention. “Morrigan?”

  “Never mind that. Can you walk?”

  “Aye, just help me up and don’t be falling on me this time.”

  Ceallach hid a smile and offered his hand to help Morrigan to stand but she waved it aside. Still holding fast to Fergus’s wounded arm, she stood up, tripping on her skirt and muttering, “What was I thinking, wearing a skirt and trying to fight in it yet?”

  She helped Fergus up but he nearly swooned. Morrigan steadied him, and the two stared at each other, barely aware of Ceallach’s presence. Fergus said, “But ye look so lovely, lass.” And with that he passed out from the loss of blood.

  Ceallach caught him before he hit
the ground and carried him into the keep where Morrigan hovered over him and Suisan sewed up his wound. Suisan assured them Fergus would recover as long as the wound didn’t fester.

  Although he was weak from loss of blood, Fergus soon revived. “Stop fussing at me, Morrigan. I’m fine. Help me to my room, if ye must, and then let me be.”

  Morrigan had a pallet made up for Fergus in front of the fireplace in the main hall. “You’ll sleep right here where I can stay by you and see that you don’t bleed all over everything again.”

  Fergus protested but Morrigan stood firm. Seeing that Fergus was in good hands, Ceallach went to find Keifer. The boy and his mother sat at a small table in the kitchen. Eveleen made a place for Ceallach to sit on the bench beside her. “What will become of Angus?” she asked quietly.

  Keifer’s pale face surprised Ceallach—the encounter must have shaken the boy. Ceallach laid his hand on the lad’s shoulder. “I will turn Angus over to the king. ’Tis up to Bruce to decide Macnab’s punishment.”

  Keifer said, “Why’d he try to take me?”

  The boy’s gentle heart had learned the first painful lesson of combat. “Your uncle wanted to hurt you because you are to be laird of Clan Macnab. Angus forfeited his right to the Macnab lands when he chose not to support Scotland’s king.”

  Keifer studied his fingernails. “Will he try to hurt me again?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Keifer took a deep breath and released it. “I best learn how to fight just in case.”

  Keifer had just taken his first step toward manhood. “Aye, it’s not a game, Keifer. Your quick thinking today saved you and your sister, lad. You were brave and resourceful, and that is something no one can teach you to be.”

  Ceallach observed Eveleen, and the brightness of her eyes told him she realized the import of today’s events as well.

  Keifer stood up from his chair. “I’m going to see if Fergus is all right.”

  Ceallach nodded and the boy left. Ceallach stood to leave as well, but Eveleen took hold of his hand.

  “Thank you. Your training saved his life today.”

  Ceallach appreciated the praise, but was simply relieved that all had turned out well. “He’s a good lad—he’ll make you proud one day, Lady Eveleen.”

  “He already has.”

  The fight and Fergus’s injury dispelled the festive air and no one felt like continuing the celebration. Keifer stayed close to Fergus until Eveleen sent the boy off to bed.

  Ceallach urged the crofters who’d come for the holiday to remain at Dunstruan for the night. He feared Angus’s angry men might lie in wait for the unwary. As the night was warm, most of the people made themselves a bed in the hay of the stable.

  Late that night, when the castle had finally quieted, Ceallach found himself restless and not ready to sleep. He decided to check on Fergus. Firelight was the only illumination as he made his way across the main hall. Halfway to the fireplace he heard the murmur of voices and saw two silhouettes sitting on the pallet. Fergus and Morrigan.

  Afraid to move and give himself away, Ceallach stood still. He watched as Fergus leaned close and said something that made Morrigan throw back her head and laugh. They sat close to each other, and Morrigan reached up and touched the mark above the man’s eye.

  Nothing like a mysterious scar to draw the attention of the ladies. Ceallach reached up and touched his neck where the tip of his own disfigurement was visible. He’d never seen the damage to his back but from what he could see of the redness on his neck, he was better off not knowing.

  He brought his attention back to the couple in front of him, again thinking he should leave but afraid if he moved they would notice him. Perhaps they would turn their back at some point so he could leave them undisturbed.

  Fergus took Morrigan’s hand and spoke to her with obvious sincerity. That Morrigan allowed the man to hold her hand seemed like a good sign to Ceallach. Morrigan answered and as she leaned into Fergus’s arms, Ceallach saw his chance to leave unnoticed.

  He walked to his chamber wishing he could talk to Orelia in the privacy of a torch-lit room.

  A FEW DAYS AFTER THE HARVEST Ceallach sent Angus Macnab and his men to Bruce, accompanied by several of Morrigan’s warriors. Ceallach doubted Robert would give Angus a second chance and fully expected Bruce to imprison Macnab for life.

  The weather turned cold and wet and as he tramped through the rain to the weaver’s hut, Ceallach was glad they’d had such fine weather the week before to bring in the corn. He opened the door to the hut and warmth and light dispelled the gloom of the day. A kettle hung in the fireplace keeping water warm for tea, and a plate of sweet cakes sat on the stone mantelpiece.

  Orelia sat at one of the small looms, weaving a belt. “Good morning, Ceallach.”

  “Good morning, Orelia. Is Keifer here?”

  “No, he’s not.”

  “He should be along shortly. I told him to meet me to help us with the warp.” Ceallach walked across the room to the large loom. He’d strung the warp threads earlier, painstakingly counting out the threads and colors to produce the desired pattern. It would take the three of them working together to ensure that the warp threads were evenly wrapped about the release spindle. Ceallach was anxious to begin weaving the pattern he and Orelia had decided on.

  The door flung open and hit the wall, bouncing off it and banging shut behind Keifer. Ceallach suppressed a grin. The boy may have taken a step toward manhood, but there was still a long road ahead.

  Without stopping her work, Orelia calmly said, “Keifer, the door has a handle so it can be closed without such a bang.”

  Keifer walked over to her side, a mischievous grin on his face. “Aye, my lady. I’ll try to remember.”

  She reached out and playfully slapped the boy’s arm. “Ceallach and I need your help to make sure the warp threads are even.”

  The three of them worked together—Ceallach turning the spindle while Orelia and Keifer untangled and stretched the threads. When all the warp was on the proper spindle, Orelia patiently showed Keifer how to tie the knots at the other end. Ceallach watched—his big hands made such small work difficult, and he enjoyed seeing Orelia and Keifer work together.

  If a stranger happened upon them, they might think the three of them a family. Ceallach dismissed the fanciful thought.

  As he tied the knots, Keifer asked, “What will the king do to Uncle Angus?”

  Evidently the threat of his uncle bothered Keifer, and Ceallach wanted to put his mind at ease. “Angus will no doubt spend a long time in prison.”

  “I’m going to train as a knight and fight with Robert the Bruce,” Keifer informed them.

  “Aye, part of your training will be in warrior skills, Keifer. But you must also know how to lead your clan, which is what Adam Macintosh will teach you.”

  Keifer made a face of displeasure. “Why can’t I stay here and learn that?”

  “I wish you could—I’ll miss your door-opening method.”

  Keifer grinned. “May I go now? James and I want to practice.”

  Ceallach gave permission and Keifer didn’t disappoint. He flashed them a grin as he deliberately closed the door the same as when he’d come in.

  Ceallach set up the weft, aware of Orelia watching him. “I expect to hear from Robert any day about your return to England.”

  She handed him the shuttle. “Oh. Well, that’s good.”

  Thinking to distract her, he asked the first thing that came to his head. “How did you meet your husband?”

  He’d struck up the right conversation because she smiled. “My grandparents had a small cottage near Bolton Abbey, just a few miles north of Radbourne Hall. The waterfall and general wildness of the place reminded my grandmother of the Scottish highlands where she grew up.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Your grandmother was Scottish?”

  “Yes, from Lochaber.”

  “Well, that explains it then.” He was smiling.

&
nbsp; “Explains what?” she asked, following his lead.

  “Your fondness for brecan cloth.”

  She took the shuttle from him and took a turn at the weaving. In the glow of the fire and the ease of their hearts, neither one looked forward to her leaving.

  ELEVEN

  Brothers shall avoid rumor, envy, and slander.

  —from the Rule of the Templar Knights

  The days until Orelia must leave race by faster than a ship in full sail. The date for the prisoner exchange has been set and this time Robert will not allow anything to come between him and the return of his wife. Robert and Elizabeth have spent most of their marriage apart, and I do not envy them the difficulties that may lie ahead as they rebuild their relationship.My brother vacillates between joyful anticipation and fearful apprehension, and we are all avoiding his temper as much as possible.

  As for me, my dread of Orelia’s departure remains steadfast. I could almost selfishly wish that she did not carry her dead husband’s child, or better yet, that there was no inheritance for the child to claim. Then they could remain in Scotland. With me.

  MORRIGAN’S MEN delivered Angus to Dunfermline and returned with news. Bruce himself had led another raid into England. The raid made way for another round of negotiations, this time at Dumfries. Edward’s emissary agreed to the prisoner exchange, but talks broke down when Robert insisted on being recognized as Scotland’s king. Finally, they agreed that the prisoner exchange would take place the beginning of October, more than three months after the English defeat at Bannockburn.

  With a heavy heart, Ceallach made preparations to take Orelia to Dunfermline.

  The night before they would ride south to return Orelia to England, Ceallach thirsted for strong drink as he hadn’t since coming to Dunstruan. But he would not give in. He would not. The strange part was that the demons weren’t chasing him, at least not the demons of old. No, these were new ones, awakened with the touch of a woman’s hand.