by Tommie Lyn
Aodh and Ailean devoured the bannocks, which only whetted Ailean’s appetite.
“Da, I’ve never been this hungry. Not even that year we had a bad crop,” he said.
“Me either, son.”
Ailean sat on the cold ground, hungry and miserable. He did not undress, but pulled the upper folds of his féileadh-mòr over his head for warmth. The longer he thought about their situation, the angrier he became.
“What’s wrong with the chief? Does he not care about us anymore? Or has he lost his senses!”
“Ailean! You know better than to speak of your chief so disrespectfully. I won’t have my son saying—”
“I think the way he’s treating us is disrespectful,” Ailean said bitterly. “I wonder if he’s going hungry, too. Or if he and the other chiefs are having plenty to eat while we starve.”
Aodh said nothing more. He stared through the deepening dusk at Ailean as though his son was a stranger.
____________
The sun had set when the chief came from the council of war with Prionnsa Teàrlach. He told his tacksmen to form their men into a column and be ready to march when the order came.
“March? Where to? And how are these men going to march when they’re half-starved?” Ruairidh asked.
“It’s Prionnsa Teàrlach’s decision, not mine,” the chief said. “Just be ready.”
____________
Not long after sunset, the order came, and the columns started to move. Ailean slogged along, grumbling quietly to himself, wondering what could be the purpose of this march in the darkness. At last, the column stopped. He lowered himself to the ground with a groan, exhausted but grateful for the chance to rest.
After a brief respite, the men were ordered to move again, and Ailean struggled to his feet. After several hours of marching through the rough countryside in darkness, half-asleep on his feet, Ailean heard a distant drum roll ahead and became alert.
“What do you suppose that is, Da?” he asked.
“Could be Cumberland’s forces. I suspect we’ve been marching toward his encampment all night.”
They halted again, but this time Ailean didn’t sit to rest. He sensed something was wrong. When the men were ordered to move again, the column veered sharply to the left and was soon marching in the direction of Inverness. Ailean looked over his shoulder and saw small dots of fires in the distance behind them.
About an hour before sunup, in the gray, pre-dawn light, they were back where they had started from, on the grounds of Culloden House. When they stopped, Ailean sank to the ground where he stood and immediately fell asleep.
He was awakened mid-morning under a gray and cloudy sky. Niall shook his shoulder again. “Wake up! The Sasunnach are coming!”
Ailean rubbed his eyes and looked up at Niall.
“I thought you and Coinneach went back to Inverness.” He rolled over and pulled the woolen fabric of his clothing closer over his shoulder and closed his eyes.
“We did. We found some food and came back during the night and everyone was gone. But you’ve got to get up now. Ruairidh just told us that they’ll be sounding the call to arms. He wants us formed up and ready to move.”
The MacLachlainn clansmen gathered round their banner when the chief’s piper began to play. In spite of his hunger and exhaustion, Ailean felt the now-familiar stirring at the sound of the pipes, the eagerness to meet the enemy. He took several slow, deep breaths, trying to gather strength for what lay ahead.
Lachlainn MacLachlainn sat astride his dun horse near his piper, surveying his clansmen as they assembled around him. Another man, whom Ailean didn’t recognize, sat a horse beside the chief.
“Look lively, there, lads! We’ll soon give Cumberland a taste of Highland steel!” The chief shouted words of encouragement to enliven the weary, hungry men. “Come along, men!”
The chief turned to the men assembled alongside the MacLachlainns, around the banner of Clan Mac’Ill’Eathainn.
“And you Mac’Ill’Eathainns will stand beside us! The two clans with the fiercest fighting men in all the Highlands joined as one! We’ll be fighting side by side, in the center of the front line!” He gestured to the man on the horse at his side. “Teàrlach Mac’Ill’Eathainn, of your brave clan, is my second-in-command. He will be your lieutenant-colonel in this fight.”
Teàrlach Mac’Ill’Eathainn swept his gaze over the assembled men before speaking.
“Men of Clan Mac’Ill’Eathainn. Today we will join together with the brave men of Clan MacLachlainn. We will fight as one to avenge the outrages Cumberland’s Cambeuls visited upon our families while we have been away from home, serving Prionnsa Teàrlach. They burned our homes, stole our cattle, stripped our women of their clothing. We will avenge ourselves and our families!”
Mac’Ill’Eathainn’s riveting words aroused Ailean, and his weariness lifted a little when they advanced to take their positions on Drummossie Moor.
Ruairidh and the other officers arranged the men three deep. Lachlainn MacLachlainn rode to his rightful place in front of his clan, an attendant on either side and his piper standing nearby.
Aodh and his sons were in the front line behind the chief. Boisil MacLachlainn and his sons Raghnall and Seumas moved into place to their left. Gabhran MacEòghainn and his son Gòrdan were in position on the other side of the MacLachlainns.
Ailean glanced at the MacEòghainns, saw the spot where Faolan should have been standing. He noticed Niall was looking at the MacEòghainns, too.
“Do you miss Faolan, little brother?” he asked Niall. “Are you thinking about how he should be here with the rest of us?”
“No. I was just wishing I had listened to him and gone to the colonies with him.” Niall’s face, which usually bore a veiled and otherworldly expression, seemed stripped of its protective façade. He directed a sharp, tormented gaze at his older brother.
Ailean’s eyes widened, and he stared at Niall for a brief moment in shocked silence. Ailean turned his face away, shaken by his brother’s response. Why would Niall say such a thing? Surely he wasn’t a coward, couldn’t be a coward.
He turned his attention to the Sasunnach forces, trying to distance himself from the words that still echoed through his thoughts. The enemy soldiers were more than a mile distant. Ailean watched as they formed their battle line far away over the moor, then reformed their columns and marched closer. The delay was draining what little energy he had marshaled, and he wanted the battle to begin while he still had the strength to fight.
“I wish they’d hurry. I’m tired of waiting,” he told Niall.
There was no reply. Ailean glanced at Niall. He was watching the approach of the enemy with an odd expression of resignation that caused apprehension to skitter through Ailean’s gut.
“What is it, brother?” Ailean asked.
Niall faced his older brother. “Ailean, if anything happens, if I…” he paused and took a deep breath. “If I don’t survive this, I want you to know—”
Ailean interrupted him. “Don’t talk like that! You will survive! And so will I. You—”
“Let me finish, please. I have to say this,” Niall said, a shining glaze forming in his blue eyes. “I want you to know that I love you. You’ve been a good brother to me. Always remember that. Thank you for everything.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to you. I won’t let anything happen to you. I couldn’t—” Ailean’s voice clogged, and he couldn’t continue. He turned away to focus his attention on the approaching enemy, his breaths coming shallow and rapid. Dread wormed through his middle, spread upward to his chest.
TWENTY-FOUR
A cold wind, laced with intermittent rain, buffeted Ailean. He pulled the upper folds of his féileadh-mòr over his shoulders and head, seeking protection from the icy fingers that plucked at his bonnet and snatched up the loose fabric of his clothing. Some of the men wore triubhas and brògan, which kept their legs and feet warm, but Ailean and his father and brothers were poor and alw
ays went barefoot and clad only in their long-sleeved tunics and féileadh-mòr .
Ailean’s impatience built as the armies maneuvered to outflank each other. He stood on one foot and the other, huffed steamy breaths on his fingers to warm himself. But he was almost grateful for the discomfort of the cold. It served to distract him from the chilling distress Niall’s words had birthed within him.
He felt a slight sting on his face, then another. The rain blowing out of the northeast was becoming sleet, and he pulled his féileadh-mòr closer around his head in an attempt to shut out the frigid wetness.
Why wouldn’t the Sasunnach come closer so the fight could begin? Ailean worried that if it didn’t start soon, his hands would be too stiff to grip his sword. He touched the hilt with his left hand. And the longer the battle was delayed, the harder it became to push away his growing unease.
A commotion to his left drew his attention. Prionnsa Teàrlach Stiùbhart rode down the line on a gray horse, exhorting and encouraging the men. When he drew near, Ailean got a close look at him.
Ailean had never seen anyone dressed in such fine clothing. And he, a poor crofter of a small clan, was in the ranks of service to this noble-looking man. Ailean stood a little straighter, pulled his shoulders back and listened closely to Prionnsa Teàrlach’s words. And he took them to heart.
“Be strong! Remember how you put the Sasunnach to flight at Gladsmuir! Remember how you defeated them at Falkirk! This will be another in the long line of victories over the usurper!”
Ailean watched Prionnsa Teàrlach until he could no longer see him, and he gathered what strength he could for the coming combat. He would fight with all he had, for Scotland and for Prionnsa Teàrlach Stiùbhart.
The Sasunnach forces claimed Ailean’s attention again when they formed their line of battle. A lone man rode nonchalantly from the enemy line to within a hundred yards, surveyed the Highlanders, turned his back on them and rode, unhurried, back to his own line. The rider’s action seemed an insult, as though he deemed the Highland army unworthy of concern.
The Highlanders raised a shout up and down the line, and an answering shout resounded from the enemy lines. A cannon to Ailean’s right fired at the enemy, and followed by fire from a cannon on his left. And the Sasunnach cannon opened fire. The first shot flew over the heads of those in the front line and toward the dragoons arrayed behind them.
Ailean wanted to begin the fight but no order came for the charge to commence. He stamped his feet and gritted his teeth as the enemy fire increased and the shots hit men along the front line of the Highlanders. His anger built as he saw men fall to the right and to the left, cut down by artillery fire before they had a chance to fight.
“We’ve got to charge!” Coinneach shouted to Ruairidh. “They’ll kill us all where we stand!”
“We have to wait for the order!” Ruairidh yelled.
“We can’t wait!” Ailean said and drew his sword.
At that moment, a Sasunnach shell exploded behind the front line, spraying some of the men on both sides of Ailean with jagged pieces of metal. Gabhran MacEòghainn fell dead, his throat torn away by shrapnel from the shell.
The MacAntoisch clansmen arrayed to the right of the MacLachlainns began their charge, yelling and brandishing their broadswords. A war cry burst from Ailean’s throat, and he bolted toward the enemy, followed by Niall and other MacLachlainns and Mac’Ill’Eathainns. Energy from a source outside himself flooded his body, and he raced across the moor, veering to the right to avoid a boggy area directly ahead.
Lachlainn MacLachlainn’s dun horse thundered past Ailean. The chief raced to get in front of his men to lead the wild charge of his clan toward the Sasunnach front line. The chief had not advanced far when a cannon ball struck him and knocked him from his horse. The dun reared when his rider fell from the saddle, wheeled and ran back the way he’d come.
Ailean knew before he reached the chief that his leader lay dead. He stopped at his chief’s side, his fierce, headlong charge interrupted by a cold desolation, and he stared, unbelieving, at the mangled body.
Aodh paused beside Ailean, and a groan escaped his lips when he saw the chief. After a moment, Aodh ran forward again, taking up the cry that his clansmen were shouting, “Life or death! Life or death!” Ailean started after him, was a few paces behind his father when a piece of grapeshot tore into Aodh’s thigh. He toppled, a stream of blood spouting from his leg. Ailean fell to his knees beside his father.
“No, son. Don’t mind me,” Aodh gasped. “You have to fight. Fight them! Kill them all! Avenge your chief!”
A keening howl burst from Ailean’s throat, and he jumped to his feet. He ran screaming toward the front lines of the Sasunnach, enveloped in the cloud of choking black smoke belching from the cannons ahead, unable to see where he was going.
Other men were hit by grapeshot and fell on either side of Ailean, but some reached the enemy line when he did. They wielded their broadswords, brought down the redcoats in the front line at that spot and continued on to the second line of soldiers.
A sudden jarring pain in his side caused Ailean to look down. Blood was spreading from a tear on the left side of his tunic. He raised his head and caught a glimpse of his younger brother as Niall brought down a redcoat with one stroke of his sword. Ailean swung his own sword around to cut down another redcoat and saw a soldier aim his firearm at Niall’s back.
“NOOOOOOO!!” he shouted as he saw the gun fire and Niall crumple. Ailean leaped over the bodies at his feet, ran to the soldier who had shot Niall and plunged his sword into the man’s body. He pulled his sword out as the redcoat fell and hacked at the man with a mindless fury.
Then Ailean turned to Niall, who was lying on the ground, still and quiet.
Ailean groaned as he dropped to his knees at his brother’s side, and he laid down his sword. He turned Niall onto his back, and blood poured from the corner of Niall’s mouth. Ailean cradled his brother’s head on his left arm while he closed the lifeless eyes with his right hand.
A sudden pain exploded in his head, accompanied by a flash of light. Blackness descended upon him.
TWENTY-FIVE
“Don’t waste the powder. That one’s dead already.”
A sharp nudge to his ribs brought Ailean further into awareness. Someone turned him onto his side, and he felt his dirk slide from its sheath.
“You took the last one. This one’s mine.”
Vision returned to his one slitted eye that was still open, and he saw two pairs of legs move away, both clad in triubhas of blue Cambeul tartan. He closed his eye as pain thrust a jagged spear through his head. Darkness descended and brought relief.
____________
When awareness returned and he opened his eyes, night had fallen. He tried to move his head, but its weight fastened it to the ground. He sank into oblivion again.
His next perception was of redness; his existence, the world, all was red. He opened his eyes but closed them tight against the bright light shining on his face. And then the red faded to black once more.
Ailean’s consciousness ebbed and flowed until at last he awoke enough to raise his head. The movement launched a sharp throbbing that pierced his head and made him retch. The heaving stopped, and the pain receded to an unending, monotonous ache. Ailean took a few deep breaths and looked up into the night sky.
Where was everyone? What had happened? His body was so cold and stiff it was hard to move, but with supreme effort, he managed to raise himself onto an elbow.
He almost cried out when he saw Niall’s lifeless form lying next to him. His memory flooded back, and he saw Niall fall, saw blood pour from his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut to push the horrible vision away, but the memory remained seared into his mind.
A sob built in his chest, but he pushed it down, down. He couldn’t allow it to come out. Ailean lay back, his breath coming quick and shallow as he struggled against an almost overwhelming need to weep. The pounding pain in his head served as
a welcome distraction from the excruciating ache in his heart.
When he’d contained his emotions in a small inner vault, buried and locked tight, he rolled onto his side facing Niall. Ailean reached out, touched his brother’s icy cheek and his restraint gave way, allowed his anguish to intensify. He clamped his teeth together and swallowed, squeezed his eyes shut, regained control. He took a breath, allowed his fingers brush over Niall’s hair.
“I’m sorry, little brother,” Ailean whispered. “I told you I’d protect you, but I didn’t—”
In a sudden flash, he remembered his father, and desperation, mingled with pain and misery and sorrow, choked him, and he couldn’t breathe. Where was Da? And where was Coinneach? He had to find them. What if…NO! He wouldn’t think that. He wouldn’t believe that. They were…somewhere. He just had to find them. Da was hurt, Ailean remembered. Da had been hit by grapeshot. Maybe he was somewhere and a doctor was taking care of him. Yes, that had to be it.
He had to find Da and Coinneach, had to.
Ailean tried to rise to his feet, but his head spun and forced him to lie back. When the dizziness subsided, he raised himself and propped on an elbow again. He peered into the darkness at the pinpoints of fires around the perimeter of the moor. Vague shapes of objects close by became visible at times when the clouds parted and allowed light from the sliver of moon to penetrate the black night.
Ailean tried to get his bearings on the unfamiliar ground. He remembered that past the park, the ground slanted downhill toward the River Nairn. Thoughts of the river brought an overwhelming desire for water; he had to have water, felt as if he would die if he didn’t get water at this moment.
He inched toward the river, pulled himself along on his belly. In front of him was a mound of tartan-clad bodies. He turned his head away, veered around it. He couldn’t look at those bodies, afraid of what he might see.