Timeless Tales of Honor

by Suzan Tisdale

  Then she saw her mum, beautiful, strong Laiden, and she held such a curious look upon her face. ’Twas her mum who said “Nay! Do not give in!”

  Aishlinn’s heart sank when she felt the earl pulling her shift down, his hot hands upon her small breasts, squeezing them forcefully. ’Twas then that Aishlinn realized he had made his first mistake. He had both hands upon her breasts. Where was the dagger? She turned her head and saw it lying upon the mattress and realized it was within her reach. She could still fight! Perhaps if she could grab the knife, she could threaten him with it. She could threaten to cut off his manly parts or stab him in the heart if he did not stop.

  Slowly, she reached for the dagger. She would pretend for a moment, repulsive as the thought was, to enjoy what the earl was doing. Pretend just long enough to grab the dagger. When she feigned a soft moan of pleasure the earl mushed his face into her neck and bit her. She could feel his manhood growing as she carefully wrapped her fingers around the hilt of the knife.

  ’Twas then that the earl made is second mistake; he believed she was truly enjoying his hands and mouth upon her. With his face still buried in her neck he said, “I told you that you would enjoy this.” ’Twas then that he moved his mouth to her breast and bit.

  The pain was unbearable. A low growl escaped her throat and without thinking, she plunged the dagger into his back, pulled it out and thrust it in a second time. She had not intended to harm him but she could take no more. The earl lifted his head and looked at her. The victorious grin had been replaced with a look of complete bewilderment.

  “You whore!” he muttered as he let out a long, slow breath then collapsed upon her.

  Chapter Two

  It took every ounce of strength Aishlinn had left to wriggle out from under the earl. Blood oozed from his back and soaked into his shirt. Her stomach churned violently as the coppery smell of blood and sweat assaulted her senses. Her hands trembled while her mind raced, fighting hard to regain her wits. She needed to flee this room and this castle and she needed to flee it quickly.

  With trembling fingers she unbarred the door as quietly as she could. Taking a deep breath, she pulled it open just a crack, enough to peer into the hallway. ’Twas empty and dark, save for the few lit torches that lined the walls. She tried not to look at the dead man in the bed as she grabbed her dress and hurried out of the room. Blood rushed in her ears and her heart pounded as she tiptoed down the dark hallway.

  As she rounded a corner, she caught sight of a guard slumped over in a chair. She prayed for him to be either passed out from too much drink or a sound sleeper, she cared not which. A jolt of pain shot through her chest as she took a deep breath. Clutching her dress to her chest as if it were a shield, she dared not breathe as she held herself close to the wall and tiptoed past the guard. She prayed God would show her some mercy and would not let her encounter anyone else this night.

  Through the semi-darkness, she crept quietly down the three levels of stairs as quickly as she could. She paused at the last step to listen for sounds of life and tried to think the best way of escape. To her left was the large gathering room that led to the kitchens. She knew that area well, for that had been the portion of the castle where she had worked since arriving less than a month ago. To her right was the earl’s library and an area of the castle she was not at all familiar with.

  The gathering room was filled with sleeping men, passed out from drinking too much wine consumed throughout the night. Some of the men lay upon the massive tables while others slept on 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 over 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 foot could touch the floor, a large hand suddenly clamped around her mouth while an arm grabbed her around her waist. She was lifted off the ground and whisked down the hallway.

  Besieged with fear and pain, she could not cry out or struggle against the firm hold he had on her body. She could hear nothing but the blood rushing in her ears and the pounding of her heart. Freedom would not be hers this night. She could only pray that the person who held her would be merciful and kill her quickly.

  * * *

  It was a familiar voice whispering in her ear as she was taken 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. She nodded her head in agreement as she tried to tamp down the wave of fear that was all consuming.

  Very slowly he set her on the floor and loosened his hold. She spun around to see who had grabbed her, but it was far too dark to see anything more than the black shadow. Aishlinn heard him step across the room and a moment later the sound of a candle being lit. Moments later the room was bathed in the soft light.

  It was Baltair who stood before her. But why? Why had he brought her here and why was he helping her? Uncertain if she should be fearful or relieved to see him, she stood still, holding her dress to her bosom, as she searched his eyes for any sign as to what his intentions might be.

  He looked clearly sorrowful, but Aishlinn could not begin to fathom why.

  “I am so sorry for what he has done to you,” he whispered. “I should never have taken you to him. It was fear for my own well-being that made me do it.”

  Baltair had not expected Aishlinn to fight as fiercely as she had. Baltair had remained outside the earl’s chamber room door after he had brought Aishlinn to him. He had worked for the earl for many years and knew all too well how he treated young women. When he realized that Aishlinn was not going to give in to the earl’s demands, no matter how harshly the earl made them, Baltair knew in his heart what he must do. He could not bear the thought of another young girl being killed.

  As fast as he could, he had left Aishlinn alone with the earl long enough to saddle a horse for her potential escape. He was both surprised and relieved to see her standing on the stairs when he returned. Baltair 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, his voice solemn. “I’ve a daughter about your age, Aishlinn. I’d never want her to go through what you did.”

  Seeing the guilt and sorrow in Baltair’s eyes, Aishlinn was fully prepared to thank him for helping her. He grabbed her hand and led her to the large fireplace before she could utter a word.

  “We must move quickly before anyone wakes,” he whispered. He drew back a large tapestry that hung on the wall next to the fireplace.

  “Say nothing,” he told her as he pulled her through a hidden doorway. “The sounds carry here.”

  Aishlinn had no choice but to follow him into the darkness. She stayed close, with one hand clinging to his, the other grasping firmly to the back of his coat.

  With each step, the pain in her ribs seemed to intensify, making it quite difficult to breathe. She pushed through the pain, for now she must 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 h
er bare skin for she still wore only her shift. She did not complain of the cold or the stones and sticks that pricked at her bare feet. Freedom was too close at hand for complaint.

  They hugged the castle wall and walked a good 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 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.” He sounded anxious as he led her and her horse down the road. “If you want freedom Aishlinn, you must go to the Highlands. Trust me!” There was more than a hint of fear and desperation in his voice.

  “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. Why on earth he was sending her to Scotland, she had no clear idea. She could only pray that Baltair was right in his decision.

  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 she was just a little girl. Aishlinn knew very little of her mother’s life before she had married Broc, but she did know that her mother had come from the Highlands. It had been Moirra who had told her. She had promised to tell Aishlinn more when she was older. Unfortunately, Moirra had died before she could keep her word.

  If Moirra was correct, then there was a small chance that Aishlinn could find her mother’s clan. Perhaps she could even learn who her blood father had been. Perhaps her mother’s family or her father’s might be willing to take her in, offer her a home.

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

  Chapter Three

  Duncan McEwan and his men had been riding for days, searching for the reivers who had taken some thirty head of cattle from their clan more than a sennight ago. Their mission was simple; find the thieves, inflict a swift and befitting punishment and bring back that which belonged to them.

  Duncan had been convinced the thieves had belonged to a clan with which his own feuded. However, the tracks they had been following, did not lead in the direction of the Buchannans. Instead, they led away and toward 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 uncertain. ’Twas growing late in the day and the sun shone brightly as it cast dappled shadows across their bare chests and the cold ground. ’Twas early spring now and he 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 all too well 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 fer it will surely 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 every man and woman, and nearly every child from his village.

  Duncan looked around at the six 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 had the fine pleasure of knowing in Inverness last fall.

  “Aye!” he said with a mischievous grin. “She appeared to be a very fine bar wench! Her hair as soft as a new bairn’s bottom and her eyes 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 he now told very well. However, Tall Thomas, Gowan and Manghus had not taken that particular trip. They had been at 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 ye 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, ye demanded someone find a priest so ye 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 ye woke the next day, no longer so into yer cups ye could no’ find yer arse with both hands, ye 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! Ye 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 formed and filled his eyes.

  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. “I was getting to that part, Findley!”

  Duncan laughed with his men, as Rowan’s face had turned crimson. Duncan wasn’t sure if Rowan was more embarrassed than angry. Laughing, he left his friends to needle each other while he went back to study the tracks that had led them to their current location.

  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 would travel this far to steal their cattle? They had traveled by several glens filled with cattle that were more easily taken than Clan MacDougall cattle. Were they b
eing led on a wild goose chase for some 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, do ye no’ think?”

  Gowan agreed. “Who do ye suppose traveled so far to reive 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,” Gowan said. “Or, things are far worse to the southeast than we ken.”

  Neither option was good. Both meant trouble.

  Chapter Four

  Aishlinn could not begin to guess how far she had traveled, only that she had been riding nearly non-stop for two days. Or had it been three? She had no clear idea.

  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 signs 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 any one of them in order to eat.