“Wait,” she said. “Ye need tae stay away from people like the warrior.”
But her words of warning fell on deaf ears since Seamus was long gone. There was a fascinated gleam in his eyes, a gleam that she didn’t like one bit. She had tried her best to dissuade him from fighting, but as the conflict came closer and closer, it was a difficult task to keep him sheltered and safe. The last thing she wanted was for her brother to join the warriors at Bracken Ridge. She glanced in the direction that he disappeared while a growing sense of dread settled over her.
Chapter 2
Donnell had planned to return to Bracken Ridge immediately after they bought their supplies, but after his involvement in the brawl, his mood became even worse, especially now that his earlier dream had come back to disturb him. So many years had passed, but when would the opportunity arrive when he could finally avenge his family? He had no answer to that question.
Recalling that he had seen the parish church when he arrived, he decided that it wouldn’t hurt to visit the house of worship.
Donnell’s parents used to go often to the village church. He had spent many hours there as a bairn, although he didn’t enjoy going to the place of worship. But now that his parents were gone, he somehow felt closer to them when he visited the house of God. Fortunately it didn’t matter where the church was located. The turmoil and pain seem to alleviate as soon as he stepped into the sanctuary. Because he craved the tranquil feeling, he then started a habit of visiting parish churches whenever he was troubled.
He recognized that he would never find peace until he found his parents’ killer. Of course he had a healthy dislike for many Englishmen he encountered, but it was for Eadwig Gorbidshire that he reserved his deepest hatred.
His mind wandered to that fateful day that was forever burned into his brain. And in his memory, he recalled Eadwig, although the man was a much younger version than he would be now. At the time he wasn’t the commander of the large English army. He was just a lower-ranked knight. From what Donnell understood of these warriors, they adhered to a code of conduct. However, apparently this code of conduct didn’t apply to Scottish people, he thought bitterly. His parents and others like them were peasants who were only trying to defend their homes and possessions. What hazard did these people pose to the armed warrior? There was no threat, he decided.
But Gorbidshire was a lower status knight who had something to prove. After Donnell escaped from his clutches, he had found a hiding place by the communal well. The other knights were destructive, but Eadwig was the most brutal. Against the advisory of his peers, he continued to cut down peasants who stood in his way. And when he had finished, he then set fire to the entire village, burning it to the ground until Donnell could no longer recognize it as the place of his birth. Donnell would never forget the look of sadistic satisfaction when the man torched their homes. Years elapsed and he began his methodical plan of arming himself with military knowledge and honing his fighting prowess. He knew that one day he would face Eadwig. And then the opportunity came when he was fighting with a mercenary gang in France, and he heard a rumor that Eadwig had become the Chief Commander of the English army. This news of his promotion, of course, didn’t surprise him. The bastard likely had to execute many people to reach that status. Suddenly, Donnell had an urge to quit the Company and return home. He joined the Black Targe Company, and as luck would have it, a war was about to be waged between Scotland and England.
Donnell gave his head a shake, trying to dispel the dark memories from his mind. He pushed at the oak doors and let himself in. As his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room, the familiar smell of beeswax and wood filled his senses. A small fire at the side of the room provided a little warmth, but the inside of the building was only a little warmer than outside.
At the far end of the small church a middle-aged priest looked up from his desk.
Donnell nodded at him in acknowledgment. The cleric opened his mouth to say something, perhaps a greeting, but something in Donnell’s countenance must have made him change his mind. The clergyman merely smiled and returned to his work. Donnell appreciated the other man’s consideration since he wasn’t in any mood for idle chatter.
He made his way across the quiet church and sat down at the second pew from the front. Every so often he heard the faint scraping of the cleric’s quill.
Overhead two birds fluttered their wings as they roosted on the wooden beams. They likely entered the building in the summer and never left. At the moment they perched on those beams and seemed to scrutinize Donnell’s every move.
Bending his head, he folded his hands in prayer. Normally he felt at peace in the sanctuary, but he couldn’t find it today. He closed his eyes tightly as he allowed the image of his dead parents to reappear.
“The time is near,” he said, silently addressing them.
Usually when he thought of his parents, they were smiling. And when he made his declaration to them, their smiles were unchanged, and they remained mum.
He slowly lowered his hands and stared at the empty pulpit. He then let out a heavy sigh.
Donnell could feel the cleric observing him, but he shut his eyes once again, waiting for the sense of peace to finally arrive.
“He’ll pay for what he did tae ye both,” he said under his breath, repeating the mantra every time he went to a church. The words served to strengthen his commitment to take on the cold-blooded killer. A heaviness settled over his heart. When his parents were murdered, their deaths had been so quick. He never had a chance to say good-bye, or to tell them how much he loved them. And when the knights had vacated the village, he had crawled out of his hiding spot and went to his slain parents. He cried and told them all that was in his heart. But they couldn’t hear him. They were dead. The only thing he could do for them was to drag their bodies to the forest and give them proper burials.
***
The vendors began to cautiously set up their stalls again, looking furtively up and down the street as if they expected the troublemakers to reappear. But then little by little the market resumed its activity, although the number of people browsing for goods was reduced by half. The usual chaotic frenzy of merchants and buyers seemed slightly muted as well.
Alisha hurried and completed all her purchases. But she was by no means happy with paying more money for the same items she bought last week. Her thoughts turned a dark corner. She had tried to negotiate with each of the suppliers, but it ended up that if she really wanted the foodstuffs, then she had to pay their new prices. The only deal she got was from the cheese dealer, but that was only because he was afraid to lose her business.
Although she was angry at the price gouging, she knew that the merchants weren’t really to blame for the rising prices. All that blame rested solely on the warriors who camped at Bracken Ridge. For months now, they arrived in droves to buy food and other supplies. They seemed to strip each market day of anything reasonable. The great need to feed thousands of men drove the prices up to almost unaffordable amounts. At first it was a boon to have such an influx of customers, but groups of them came weekly and the townsfolk soon realized that they also required supplies to survive the harsh winter. She was certain that everyone wished the conflict was over, and all the warriors would return to their homes.
Alisha could barely focus on what she was doing as the recent event flashed through her mind. She was so involved with completing her transaction with the cheese vendor that she wasn’t aware how close the scuffle had come. If that massive Highlander hadn’t jerked her out of the way, she would have been crushed and seriously injured. In her mind’s eye, she could see the fierce warrior, and she suppressed a shudder. He was lethal, powerful, and wild. There was no doubt about that.
Giving herself a mental shake, she forced herself to remember that Father Cormac waited for her at the kirk. She quickly adjusted her basket and hurried toward the church.
She walked briskly through the town and would have made up for lost time except her
steps faltered when she was about to pass the home of Widow Aggie. In all respects, the dwelling seemed deserted but she believed that the old woman was inside. Her husband had died the year before, and her health had declined drastically. With no husband or children to support her, she was alone in this world. But she was a proud woman, and would never have asked for help even though her struggles were obvious to everyone in the town. There were many people like her who had similar stories, and Father Cormac made it a point to visit them, and help alleviate their suffering. On several occasions she accompanied Father Cormac, and she found that she liked helping those less fortunate.
Alisha was aware that the priest had been busy working on his translations but she couldn’t recall when the last time he visited the old woman. She heard no sounds from within, but she knew that the widow was likely too sickly to be anywhere else. She made her decision; she would visit the elderly woman.
She raised her fist and knocked on the front door. “Widow Aggie,” she called. “’Tis me, Alisha.”
“Ye may enter,” a frail voice said from inside.
As she stepped into the house she saw the frail woman huddled in the corner, her plaid wrapped tightly around her thin shoulders. Her wrinkled face was caved in, and she looked as if she might expire at any moment.
“Why dinnae ye have a fire?” Alisha asked.
The house felt almost as cold as the outdoors, and she could see the mist escaping from her mouth. And the chill in the air seemed to go through her clothing.
Alisha looked around the sparse area and found the answer to her question. There was no fire burning in the hearth. Apparently she was too ill to even get the logs that were stacked at the side of the house.
Setting the basket on the common table, she went to retrieve some wood for the hearth. A minute later, she had a small fire started in the open hearth, and the room slowly began to warm up.
“Have ye eaten yet?” she asked.
“Aye, I had a piece of bread,” the widow said, indicating to a tiny portion of food in her bowl. It was obvious that the old woman was trying to stretch the meager amount, and have it last for a few more days.
“Ye will have tae eat far more than that,” Alisha said. Walking over to the basket, she broke off a piece of the fresh bread and cut off a chunk of cheese.
“Here.” She crouched and placed the items in the bowl.
But Aggie’s thin hand didn’t reach for the food. Instead, she clutched Alisha’s sleeve. There were tears in her cloudy eyes. “Bless ye, lass.”
A lump caught in her throat. There was no one to take care of this elderly woman. Alisha covered her cold, bony hand with hers, squeezing it. She wished that she could do more for her.
“Make sure that ye eat everything I gave ye,” she said, making her voice stern. “If ye need more, ye just need tae ask.”
The old woman merely smiled and nibbled on the cheese. Alisha returned her smile, although she couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty for giving away some of Father Cormac’s food. He was going to visit Bracken Ridge for a day, and taking less provisions with him wasn’t ideal.
Alisha got up, gathered her things and left for the church. She had stayed with the widow a lot longer than she intended.
Leaving the now warm house, she stepped back into the chilly outdoors, and walked quickly to the kirk. When she got to the entrance, she pushed at the heavy door, letting herself inside.
Once inside, she leaned her body on the door. With one arm hugging the basket close to her, she lifted a hand to touch her chilled cheek.
“Aiya, ‘tis a truly frigid day...” she started to say, but the rest of the words fell from her lips. Father Cormac wasn’t alone in the church.
“Och, ’tis ye,” she said, instantly recognizing the Highlander from the market. It appeared that he was just about to leave. And even though he was several paces away, she could feel his strong presence. She slowly pushed her arisaid from her head, allowing the excess fabric to drop behind her. “I dinnae think anyone was visiting the kirk.”
His hot gaze glided over her, taking in every detail. What was he looking at? His continued perusal of her made her self-conscious, as if he could see through her clothing. Suddenly, she felt an urge to cover herself again.
Father Cormac walked toward them. “The lad is just about tae leave,” he said, confirming what she already knew.
“Please accept my apologies from earlier,” she said, addressing the Highlander. “I really should have thanked ye for your help.”
“What happened?” Father Cormac asked, his brows drawing together in confusion and concern.
“There was a brawl at the market, and I got caught in the middle of it,” she explained to the cleric. “And this warrior...” she scrunched her brows together. “I’m sorry, I dinnae ken your name.”
“Donnell MacKelon,” he said.
Alisha didn’t know why but a warm sensation swept through her body at hearing his deep brogue again. In a way, the voice seemed to sink into her body, chasing away the chill from outside. She took a step backward, uncomfortable with this strange and unfamiliar sensation.
“And Donnell MacKelon,” she continued, gesturing at him, “saved me from getting hurt.”
“A brawl,” the old priest’s frown deepened. “There seems tae be a rash of those lately. Perhaps the Commander-in-Chief is right...”
“I should go,” Donnell said, sounding as if he had some urgent business to attend.
Alisha got out of his way but raised a delicate eyebrow when he made no move to exit the doors. She remembered how he had fought against his opponent. For a large, powerful warrior, he advanced with frightening speed.
Just then footsteps sounded at the landing on the other side of the oak door. Seamus walked in, allowing a blast of cold air and morning light to sweep into the dark interior.
“I found out...” he stopped short when he saw the Highlander standing near the threshold. His brows lifted. “Sorry, am I interrupting something?”
“Nay,” Donnell said. “I was just leaving.”
Chapter 3
Seamus stepped aside, allowing the warrior to pass.
“Father, your horse is out front,” he said, his voice sounding a little distracted.
Alisha understood his distraction because she also watched the brawny Highlander disappear into the town. She shivered when she recalled how he had looked at her.
“I thought a kirk would be the last place for a man like him tae visit,” she said. “Do ye ken why he came?”
“That reason is between him and God.”
Alisha smiled, understanding his gentle reprimand. But still, she was curious about Donnell. He had a bigger than life presence, and even though he was gone from the room, she could feel the electric vibrancy that he left behind.
She forced her thoughts from the stranger. “Here, Father. I’ve brought ye the food.” She pulled back the cloth for the priest to inspect the contents of the basket.
“Ye keep it for now,” he said. “I need tae finish the last of the translations, and then I can be off.”
When the cleric walked away from them, her brother leaned forward and said in a hushed tone, “I ken who that man is.”
“Isnae it obvious? He’s a soldier,” Alisha said dismissively. “Since they converged at Bracken Ridge, there are quite a few of them wandering in town.”
“Nay, ye dinnae understand. He and his friends arenae just any warriors. They’re mercenaries from the Black Targe Company,” he said with reverence in his voice. “The nobility hire the group, and they have a reputation of getting the job finished. The man that was just here, Donnell MacKelon, is one of their main men. ‘Tis said that even outnumbered, he can kill his enemies with his brute strength alone.”
“Ye shouldnae listen tae Finlay’s nonsense,” she hissed, not liking the awe in his voice. She glanced over at Father Cormac to make certain that he was well out of earshot. “I told ye time and again that fighting is nae an ideal occ
upation for ye tae pursue.”
“I think ye are wrong,” he said, crossing his arms over his thin chest. “Are ye telling me that a farmer can provide well for our family?” he demanded. “Our father was a trader, which is slightly better than being a farmer. We both ken that he struggled tae support us.”
Alisha was taken aback by the tone he used on her. Her brother was normally quiet and reserved, but today he was belligerent and dismissed everything she said.
She wondered how their lives would have turned out if she hadn’t contacted Father Cormac. Unfortunately when their parents died, they had no one to rely on. Out of desperation and fear, she contacted her father’s childhood friend Father Cormac MacDufferin. She used to hear stories about him. And when he learned of their plight, he brought them to live with him in Newtonburgh.
After living in the town for the past two years, she found that the townspeople were tolerable, although she still didn’t feel comfortable living here. After all, she had left her home and had lost so much. Her thoughts took a dark turn as she recollected the outbreak that had hit their small village. The plague had wiped out her parents and half the inhabitants of the village. Seamus was touched by the disease as well, but he managed to recover from it. He was once a content and carefree lad, but he became withdrawn after contracting the illness. And while Alisha had adjusted somewhat to living in the town, Seamus hated the move. He didn’t have to verbalize his discontent. For the first year he made no attempt to make new friends, and he seemed to withdraw into himself even more. Alisha worried about him. But today Seamus was different. Under normal circumstances she would have been glad to see the misery lift from his shoulders, but she didn’t need soldiers like Donnell MacKelon influencing him in any way. Unfortunately, seeing his animated features, she saw that it was already too late.
“If ye stay in town as I said, ye will be safe,” she said slowly.
Seamus walked through the oak door and pushed it firmly closed behind him. Her statement did little to deaden the excited and determined gleam in his eyes. Seeing the glint caused dread to creep further into her being.
Highland Rogue Page 2