The Outcast Highlander

by R. L. Syme

  Fiona stood in the doorway, chuckling to herself and watching as everyone wriggled around, making fools of themselves. She looked back into the house, quickly, wondering where Kensey was.

  “I’m so glad you’ve returned to us,” Fiona smiled as Broccin kissed her cheek, finally emerging from the dog pile on the ground. “Kensey will be so happy to see you.”

  “Where is Kensey?” Broccin asked, looking around.

  “Probably sleeping.” Robert hung onto Broc as if he might vanish at any second. “She could sleep through the storming of the castle.” Broccin smiled at the boy, bursting to tell him the news about his father. But he must tell Kensey first.

  She would be so ecstatic with joy. Her father alive, and while not fully well yet, on his way to wellness. He would collect his wife and her brother and be off for Avoch the very next morning if he could manage it. Kensey had been such a healer to him when he was injured, and every day of his own recovery at Avoch, he’d thought of her. Surely she could be the angel that healed her father as well.

  “You should go and see her,” urged Duncan. “The lass has been so anxious to see you since I’ve come home.” The look in Duncan’s eyes spoke volumes to his brother. “She will be happy to see you.”

  Broccin strode through the doors and was immediately greeted by Brigid’s fierce hug and Alec’s bustling him on the shoulders with greetings and glad tidings.

  “What has been happening around here?” Broccin asked, laughingly congratulating his sister. “I must be the only member of this family without a bairn on the way.”

  The silence that followed was pervasive and mirthless, and Broccin realized he’d misspoken immediately, but could not think of a way to disqualify his statement.

  “I do not have a bairn,” insisted Morainn, sticking her lip out in defiance. “And neither does Robert. Nor Alana.”

  “Thank you, lass.” Broc laughed nervously, kneeling to embrace his little sister once again. “You always know just what to say.” Morainn looked confused, but simply smiled and hugged her brother fiercely.

  “We must leave you now,” Duncan insisted. “You’ll want to get up to see your wife, and we do not wish to keep you from her. It’s been far too long.” Giving his brother a knowing look, Duncan led the rest of the family up the stairs. “We’re just glad you’re home. We’ll have all your news in the morning, after you’ve talked to Kensey and Robert.”

  “But it is morning, Duncan,” Morainn pointed out as Duncan took her by the hand. Refusing to abate his laughter, Duncan merely smiled and continued to lead her away.

  “Not for those of us who need to go back to sleep,” he said, laughter in his voice. “But we must leave Broccin alone to see his wife again.”

  My wife, Broccin thought to himself. It had been so long since he’d seen her, he’d almost forgotten how wonderful he’d felt when they’d been married and when he’d slept beside her. My wife.

  Broccin ascended the stairs with a quiet somberness. He brooded as he approached his room over what he would say to Kensey and how he would waken her when he did finally see her again.

  Opening the door, he listened for signs of her in the room. As soon as he stepped inside, he could smell her. That familiar rosemary scent almost dropped him to his knees as he encountered it. But he was able to continue to the bed, where he stopped.

  Even in the dark, he could tell it was empty.

  “Kensey?” he asked aloud, thinking she might be in the room somewhere. But there was no answer. He called her name again, louder. Still no answer.

  Had he missed her in the hallway? Had she taken the back stairs down to meet him, thinking to avoid the family’s crowd?

  Stalking through the door, he went directly to the room she used to occupy, thinking she might be sleeping in that bed out of protest, but he found it wholly undisturbed. He stormed to Duncan’s room and knocked.

  Duncan pulled the door open and his eyebrows shot up. “What is it?”

  “Where’s Kensey?” Broccin asked. “I searched our room, her old room, I’ve been all over the halls. Where is she? The lass hasn’t gone, has she?”

  “No.” Duncan scratched his already messed red hair. “I saw her before she retired and she was going to bed early.”

  “Then why isn’t she occupying that bed right now?”

  “I don’t understand,” Duncan said. “Have you checked downstairs?”

  Broccin ran downstairs, followed closely by Duncan. They searched each room quickly, with no luck. They met in the kitchen, staring at one another, too dumbfounded to speak.

  Footsteps clamored through the halls. “Duncan!” Quinlan called. “Duncan, where are you?” The hulking man came into the kitchen as Duncan shouted back. “Broc! Erm. I mean, m’lord.” Quinlan bowed his head as he approached.

  “Please, Quinlan.” Broccin waved off his salutation. “What brings you here in the middle of the night?”

  “It looks as though we are under attack, m’lord.”

  Broccin’s eyes widened immediately. “Who is it?”

  “They not flying colors, which means raiders.”

  Duncan shot his brother an incredulous look. “Why would raiders attack a known friend of the Scottish crown?”

  Quinlan shook his head. “Alec was on watch and he says he believes them to be Ross men and some Englishmen. They’re having some trouble crossing the ravine, but Alec said they’re going to make better time once they get across.”

  “I thought Colin Ross was forever incapacitated by that blow you gave him.” Broc leaned on the table, staring down his brother.

  Duncan shrugged. “We’d heard the same. Either he’s not with them, or he’s had a miracle.”

  “Well won’t we all just get on our knees and thank the good Christ.” Quinlan spat. “I’d best be back to Alec. Do you have orders, sir?”

  Broc realized for the first time that Quinlan was waiting on him, not Duncan. It would be a long road toward remembering who was the laird of this clan, after all.

  Broc motioned for them to walk toward the tower. The three men stalked through the castle, calling for all the men to be roused and dressed.

  “Could you see how they are armed?” Broccin asked, mounting the stairs to the tower.

  “Not really.” Quinlan followed, his hands outstretched to the walls. Duncan was behind, pushing the pace.

  “Have they attacked yet, or are they still at a distance?”

  “They’re almost to the castle gate as we speak.” Quinlan began to heave air as they reached the top. They crossed to the turret where Alec extended a spyglass.

  “I can’t see much,” Alec said. “But what I can see is that they’re through the outlying lands and almost past the ravine. They’re going to be at the castle gate likely before we can rouse even just the men who are inside the gates.”

  “Alec, you take my horse and ride out along the ravine. I left Gaidel tied up in the courtyard, so you won’t have to saddle a horse. See if you can get a good look at their colors or their leader. And if you see English soldiers, you ride back like the wind and we’ll kill them all, every one.”

  Alec left the spyglass on the turret and ran for the stairs.

  Duncan’s eyes were wide. “We should get the women and children back into the great hall. Keep them as far from the fighting as we can.”

  Broc nodded. “You go do that. Quinlan, you get the horses saddled and the men ready. If we can’t ride out to meet them, we can at least be ready. And let’s get some of the archers up here to the towers. Tell them to fire away as they can see. Let’s have them hitting as far a distance as we can give them.”

  The two ran for their posts and Broc picked up the spyglass. He extended it and looked out onto the moor. They really were a good league away yet, and getting caught up in trying to cross the ravine instead of riding the long way around.

  Perhaps they didn’t know there was a way around. But it would slow them up and tha
t would allow for just long enough to get the men together.

  Broc clambered down the stairs and found Alec’s horse saddled, so he mounted the poor beast. All the horses looked frightened in the darkness.

  He heard the first call of archers above and the loosing of arrows. A few of the men were saddled and ready and Broc led them to the castle gates. A call came from the tower.

  “Open the gate! Friendly rider.”

  The doors opened and Broccin turned just in time to see Alec riding up to them, a horrified look in his eyes. The gates closed behind him as he approached.

  “What is the news, brother?” demanded Broccin, the look on Alec’s face bothering him immensely. This was a man whom he had never seen frightened. A man who looked death in the face and smiled. But something was gnawing at him, Broccin could tell.

  “It is Colin Ross,” confirmed Alec, with Gaidel shifting nervously beneath him. His mouth formed a word, but no sound escaped his mouth. Finally, Broccin had taken enough.

  “What is wrong, man?” Broccin yelled. “We must know.”

  “They have Kensey.”

  ***

  The hallway was dark and completely silent. Through the windows, Fiona could hear the echoes of clashing swords and the moans of battle.

  Nualla had just been put down, and now she awaited Duncan’s return in the silence of the house. The other women had moved to the great hall, but Fiona felt safest here. Far above the battle, far from the swords and men.

  When she left the confines of the room, certain her baby was fast asleep, she hoped to check on the others, then return quickly. She didn’t want Nua to wake without one of her parents in the room. A new bairn needed sleep, though.

  In the quiet, she sensed a presence. Fiona stood at the top of the stairs, waiting for Lydia or Brigid to answer her question. Hearing no answer, she asked again. “Who’s there?”

  Again, only the eerie silence filled the hall and she was left staring into near darkness, wondering why they wouldn’t answer her.

  “Looking for someone, my pet?” came an oily voice from the dark shadow at the corner of the hallway. Fiona froze. If she led him back toward Duncan’s room, he would find Nualla and make good on his promise.

  Please, my baby, stay asleep. Stay safe and asleep.

  She picked up the front of her chemise and ran down the stairs, screaming. “Duncan! Duncan!” But her own cries only came back to her. Duncan wouldn’t be able to hear her and come to her rescue. Colin’s boots clomped on the stone. He wasn’t even running, and yet he managed to remain close enough, she could smell the acrid stench of his medicinals

  She bolted through the doors and out into the courtyard. Perhaps she might get lost among the fray and Colin would have difficulty finding her. She saw Alec and Fitz fighting nearby and called out to them, but neither could hear.

  Before she could reach them, Colin tackled her to the ground and pinned her beneath him. “Thought you could get away from me, did you, my dear?” he sneered, his face curling up into an ugly grin.

  Her throat closed and the contents of her stomach threatened to regurgitate. He rained punches on her face over and over, his rage visibly building. She tried to call out for Duncan, but then Colin had his hand on her throat, constricting her breath.

  Without thinking, she brought her knee up hard and caught him between the legs. Howling in pain, Colin rolled off her, clutching at the injury. She hurried to her feet and turned to survey the men, looking for Duncan. She couldn’t see him anywhere.

  Her eyes finally landed on Broccin, fighting one of the Ross soldiers on foot under the shadow of one of the castle walls. “Broccin!” she yelled, trying to catch his attention. With a brisk stroke, he put his sword through the man’s heart and felled him where he stood. Then, his broad shoulders turned in her direction.

  His face contorted in panic as he connected with her searching eyes and he ran for her at top speed. Everything in her body relaxed at the mere sight of him. Even if Duncan couldn’t be found, at least Broccin would save her.

  ***

  As he saw Colin put his sword through Fiona’s side, Broccin let out a fierce yell that turned the heads of many of the men in the near area. The fighting all but stopped when they saw the felled woman in her white chemise.

  Broccin, as he reached Colin, took a broad swipe at the man’s right arm, cleaving it from his body entirely. As Broc stood over Colin, watching the monster roil on the ground in his own blood, he raised his sword again to take the monster’s head off.

  Then, he heard it. It was a sound he’d not heard a human being make in his entire life. A sound of grief and terror so intense that it almost clawed out your heart to listen to it. Duncan came running up behind him, his sword drawn, and beheaded Colin with one final swoop of his sword.

  Duncan sank to his knees next to Fiona. His sword dropped from his hand and he gathered her in his arms, weeping and praying that she be spared. Broccin had to drag him away so they could get Fiona to safety.

  Broccin and Alec took Fiona inside the castle, being as careful as possible.

  “Don’t touch the wound.” Duncan’s red eyes blinked as he stood at Fiona’s side. He pointed to the stairs. “Take her to my bed.”

  Broc stopped their progress but shook his head. “Her wound. We can’t move her too much, Duncan.”

  Duncan’s cry, while not the inhuman wail from earlier, nonetheless stopped all conversation in its wordless agony.

  “Take her to my bed.”

  Broc and Alec obeyed, but Alec called for Brigid along the way. Broccin replayed the moment of Fiona’s wounding in his head over and over. The sight of him, the relief, then the surprise of Colin’s blow. Had there been a moment? Even a moment? Could he have saved her?

  Not a man had been around her for yards, except him. If he could have thrown his sword or called to one of the archers? But no, it had been too fast. Almost as though Ross had been waiting for someone to see her before he slew her.

  Broccin and Alec laid Fiona on the bed and looked around for help. Where was Brigid? And Lydia? Where was Kensey?

  If anyone could help Fiona right now, it was Kensey.

  Duncan said as much when he entered, but they all looked stupidly at each other.

  “We did not see her,” Alec explained. He tried to help Brigid lift the cloth from Fiona’s side, but the poor girl finally came awake and screamed in her pain. “Not since they approached the battlements.”

  “Someone go and find her!” Duncan punched at the door. “Where the devil is the lass? She needs to be here!” Broccin placed a shaky hand on his brother’s shoulder which Duncan quickly jerked away.

  Broccin stood with an empty hand and tried to ignore the tears that threatened. “Fiona will be all right.”

  “She will, she will, she will,” Duncan chanted, holding her hand. He kissed it over and over.

  “Duncan.” Fiona’s voice came in a dull croak from her sweating face. “I love you, Duncan.”

  Duncan rose from his kneeling position and sat on the bed next to her. He took her hand gently and smoothed the hair out of her eye, shushing her.

  “You’ll be alright, love,” he cooed.

  “Duncan, I love you,” she repeated.

  Holding back tears, Duncan said, “Say that again, lass.” When she didn’t reply, he his body shook with sobs. “Say that again, lass.”

  The room began to slow as the breath didn’t return to her body. Duncan bent over her, his own body convulsing with grief. In the dull room, with the warm life leaving her body, his voice husky with emotion, he chanted, “Please, no. Please. Please, no. No. No.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Kensey could feel the cool air on her face before she opened her eyes. That, and the uncomfortable swelling in the back of her head and numbness in her extremities. The pain almost prevented her from seeing anything.

  The first clear shapes she could make out were moving. She hear
d the sounds of metal clashing and the grunting of men beating on each other. There must be a battle, she thought. Where am I?

  “Aah, you’re awake now, lass,” came a slimy voice next to her. Suddenly, she felt a hand grope her and she tried to slap it away, but her hands were bound. Now the numbness in her hands and wrists made sense to her.

  She tried to talk, but there was a dirty piece of cloth shoved into her mouth. She wriggled her tongue to get the cloth out of her mouth, but it was held there by a muddy and bloody hand.

  Kensey could feel the bile rising in her throat as she smelled blood on the man. She couldn’t stop thinking of Broccin. Where he was, what he was doing… some part deep inside still wished he would come for her, but she would have to find her own way out.

  If she could manage to keep from vomiting.

  “Now, now.” The man moved his hand. “Do not fight me, woman. I’ll do you no harm if you do as I order.”

  Kensey tried her hardest to scream, but the muffled sound she did manage to make at last was barely even audible in her own ears, let alone over the small hill she was being held behind. Hot, angry tears streamed down her cheeks and the man holding onto her began to squirm.

  “Let’s not have any tears. You’ll be no use to me if your masters think I’ve been at you somehow.”

  As her vision returned, she saw men fighting near her. Someone in a long, red tunic and then another man with black trews. The English? What were they doing here? They must be with Colin Ross, and after Fiona.

  Her anger bubbled up until she thought she might not be able to control it. Fiona had been through enough. She would get free and personally murder every one of those English bastards, and the Rosses along with them. She started to squirm, trying to get away from him, and kept trying to scream as loud as she could.

  Now he was fully on top of her, both hands over her mouth, and then one trying to pull the bonds around her hands tighter, and then both on her mouth again as she opened wider and screamed louder.

  Flashes went through Kensey’s mind. Flashes of the night Malcolm had pinned her to the wall and tried to force himself on her. Flashes of Colin beating Fiona, of her father being slain in a dirty dungeon. She writhed like a wild thing. She wasn’t going to be a victim of the will of others any more. She would kill them all.