Medieval Mistletoe - One Magical Christmas Season

by Laurel O'Donnell

  “We shall, my lady.”

  But she knew they wouldn’t. The men would be on alert no matter how many hours or days passed before Magnus and Blane returned.

  EVERY hoot of an owl was a call sign from enemy warriors. Every scurry of a rabbit or wood mouse through the leaf strewn forest floor was a flurry of enemy feet. Magnus was so tense that even Beast was becoming skittish, tail flicking and shuffling his feet when Magnus stopped to listen. The puff of vapor from the men’s horses’ illuminated in the moonlight streaming on the wooded road.

  Beast’s withers shuddered and his ears flicked this way and that, checking for sounds that were unusual. Blessed was the fact that his mount was trained in the art of war and as an added guard. ’Twas oft said that when at camp if the horses started to get anxious, a foe—man or beast—was afoot. Well, it was true not only at camp but along the road as well.

  Four years ago, their greatest enemy—besides the damned Sassenachs—Laird Ross was finally cut down. The man had done everything he could to thwart the efforts of the rebels on behalf of their rightful king Robert the Bruce, including siding with the English. He’d tormented them, raided their lands, stolen their secrets, and betrayed them. Attacked the Sutherlands and surrounding clans ritually.

  If Magnus hadn’t seen his body hanging he would have been tempted to believe his death was but a myth.

  Though the man himself had been vanquished, he left behind his vengeful daughter Ina—who had wanted to marry Magnus—and her husband, Marmaduke Stewart, who had been betrothed to Arbella before Magnus took her away from him. That made for dangerous neighbors considering Ross lands bordered Sutherland. Two thwarted spouses-to-be now married to each other? It was a recipe ripe for vengeance.

  Magnus, his brothers and cousins had known that with her father cut down, Ina was bound to come at them like hellfire. They’d needed a treaty. Something to hold her in line at least for the time being. In order to keep the peace, Ina had agreed to give up her dearest family member and heir, her cousin Padrig, to the priory on the Sutherland holding. She’d not been pleased, but had relented, considering her army was no match for that of the Sutherlands’ combined with his cousins and allies, the Murrays and Sinclairs. They’d approached her that way, and she’d relented—not easily, but still she did.

  Written into the treaty was Padrig’s release upon his twenty-fifth birthday. They were still a good three years away from the event, which meant they should be safe, but Magnus had heard a rumor weeks before. A rumbling really, from Prior Samuel, that Padrig had begun making more of a fuss as of late.

  The boy had been angry to join the church to begin with. At twenty summers, to be suddenly thrust into a life of purity was hell for a boy of Padrig’s reputation. No doubt missing all the baser appetites he’d relished. Now he’d been forced into five years of celibacy. No drunken nights of debauchery. The Prior noted several disturbing occurrences in particular that went beyond the lad’s usual balking. He’d been found completely unconscious and blubbering drunk beneath a cask of altar wine. Stealing the altar wine had earned him a sound lashing, and in turn he’d threatened to burn the priory down. The following week, after having been punished for stealing the sanctified wine, he’d been found with a lass in the buttery. It didn’t appear that the woman wanted to be there with him, and it wasn’t clear how, in fact, she’d ended up there. As it turned out, she was a young lass who’d come to visit her brother who was also a monk within the priory. Her maidenhood was still in tact as they’d caught Padrig before he could do any irreversible damage, but still—the lad was becoming unhinged. Rape was a sin, and to commit it under God’s roof… Prior Samuel was beginning to believe it wasn’t safe for Padrig to be at the priory anymore. That perhaps a dungeon would be better suited for the devil that lived inside him.

  His aggression and blatant disrespect was definitely not a good sign. In fact, it was damned ominous and gave Magnus cause for more than a little concern.

  After returning Prior Samuel’s missive with a plea to hold tight just a little longer while Magnus began negotiations for his relocation, he’d not heard anything else. That didn’t mean that a messenger wasn’t on his way—or delayed for some reason—to warn Magnus of Padrig’s possible escape. Ina wouldn’t risk losing her cousin to Magnus’ sword. The only reason they would set up this blatant ambush was because Padrig had indeed gotten away. Lord, he prayed the priory was safe and that Prior Samuel had not been hurt. A cold, knotted rock settled in his stomach. Magnus was almost certain that Padrig was back in the clutches of his beloved cousin. He was also certain that in the two years since they’d signed their treaty, Ina and Marmaduke could have raised an army. Their clan had wealth, good farming lands, and the fear of their people.

  ’Twould be just like a Ross and an English maggot to sneak in from behind. They were both a shifty, traitorous lot. The kind that liked to lie in wait and then stab a man in the back as he passed without said man ever knowing who it was that had killed him.

  Magnus did not believe in coincidences. There was no way in hell that the Ross clan wasn’t somehow connected to the mysterious missive.

  Magnus glanced at his brother, grateful for his company. The men had been through so much throughout their lives. He was certain that if he’d not had the support of his siblings and cousins that he’d not have been able to raise them as he had, nor see that their clan flourished. For the most part, they’d acted as a unit. Aye, he was chief of the Sutherland clan, but he respected his siblings’ opinions. A man could never rule alone. He needed support and advice. And he’d been lucky to have it in droves. Their wool, Sutherland wool, was prized in both Scotland and England. Superior above all others in texture, quality and the ability to hold dye.

  When Blane met his gaze, Magnus nodded his direction toward the trees indicating he wanted to get off the road for a moment. He gave the signal to his men to move forward. As one, they urged their horses into the protection of the trees.

  Blane and Magnus kept silent a few moments longer, their eyes adjusting to the forest, as they scanned the trees for anything out of place. One warrior went silently to the right and another to the left. The others waited patiently until the two scouts returned, signaling they’d seen nothing. It seemed they were not going to be immediately set upon, at least not yet.

  “Do ye remember when Prior Samuel came to visit us about Padrig?” Magnus asked his brother.

  Blane nodded. “Ye think he’s behind this?”

  “Aye, possibly. Seems that his behavior meant he would soon seek escape, if not escalate his violent attacks, and we both know Ina and Marmaduke would welcome him back. In fact, I wouldna have been surprised if they welcomed him back with a new sword and a plan of attack.” Magnus frowned. Would they never be free of those who wished to oppress them?

  Hundreds of years from now, would his line still be fighting for peace?

  “They’re desperate this time,” Blane remarked.

  “Aye. They want to hit us at our hearts.” And they did. Instead of just attacking the castle, they hoped to get Magnus away so they could abduct or harm his family. Saints, but he couldn’t even think about it. The direction of his thoughts made his blood run cold. He would drain each and every Ross of their blood—especially Ina, Marmaduke and Padrig. “Ye think this means they haven’t gotten their army together, but that they figure now was a good time with Padrig having escaped?”

  Blane grunted. “They’ll know that we’ll find out soon about Padrig, and that we’d come looking for him. If I were to wager, I’d say they spent the last two years putting their plan into place.”

  “They’ve broken the treaty.” Magnus stated the obvious, biting out each word.

  “They’d best leave our children alone,” Blane growled.

  Though it was dark, Magnus could imagine his brother’s face going black with rage. Most likely matched his own.

  Magnus nodded. “We’ll take no prisoners.” Though he was relieved that Arbella and he
r sister were well away and safe from harm, if he arrived home to find even a scratch on any of his children, he’d unleash holy hell. “Let us get on with it then. We’re close now, and if they’ve set up an ambush, they’re likely to have more warriors than we can fend off.”

  Ina and Marmaduke might be cowards, but they weren’t stupid. They knew how formidable and deadly the Sutherlands could be, and they’d not be stupid enough to only send a few green lads into battle. They’d send their best. And lots of them. Though Blane, Magnus and most of their men could fight off more than one warrior at a time, it was unlikely the Stewart/Ross clan would be so kind as to only send a few warriors their way.

  “Let us stick to the woods. We’ll circle around to the other side of the loch and take a few of the small boats we’ve got hidden, then we’ll cross the water silently, mooring on the beach where they canna see us,” Magnus said.

  “We’ll approach them just as they do us,” Blane said with a smile.

  “Aye, and they’ll not be expecting us to do that.”

  THE bed was lumpy and felt like it had been stuffed with twigs instead of straw. But it would be ungrateful for Arbella to say so. Davie and his wife had been kind to let her and Aliah have their bed and the privacy of the loft. She twisted around, coming face to face with her sister in the dim light of a small fire in an iron brazier. The loft was smoky and though the fire warmed the immediate area around it, a deerskin was pinned back from the opening of the window—a hole really—to let the smoke out, also let the cold air in.

  “’Twas sweet of them to give us their bed,” Aliah whispered, her brow crinkled in a way that said she’d also rather be sleeping on the floor, nearer to the heat and further from the rough mattress.

  Arbella bit her lip, stifling a laugh. “I think they were rather excited to do so. I can’t imagine why?”

  But her laughter quickly disappeared when a twig jabbed her ribs and she imagined a knife-wielding marauder taking his blade to Magnus or their children. She stared at her sister, seeing the concerned wrinkle in her brow. Aliah’s three children were also at Dunrobin.

  “Everything will be all right,” Arbella said, determined to do what she could to placate her sister, and to keep herself from being stressed out. As it was, she had a child growing inside whom she needed to take care of.

  “I do not think they will come into the room while we slumber,” Aliah said. “Should we take turns on the floor? Beside the brazier?”

  Arbella smiled and nodded. “Aye. You go first.”

  Wrapped up in her husband’s plaid, Aliah sat up. “Thanks, Arbella.”

  “Think nothing of it. Get some rest.” They were likely to need it come morning.

  Aliah scooted off the bed, grabbed her pillow and settled onto the floor. Arbella rolled onto her back, staring up at the thatched roof and thin wooden beams that supported it. It looked as though it could come down with just a swift gust of wind, but judging from how old it appeared, she guessed the rickety look was deceiving.

  Saints, but what was she doing here on this rotten old bed staring up at the ceiling? She should be with Magnus, headed home to their children. Fear tightened around her heart, and without her sister beside her, some of her fears were starting to ebb inside, to take hold of her. Tears pricked her eyes and she shivered.

  She closed her eyes, steadied her breathing. Pictured Magnus riding like the wind toward Dunrobin. The way she’d seen him for the very first time. Barbaric, huge and dangerous. Even now recalling that image of him flying toward her on horseback, his dark hair wild in the wind, lips pulled back, sword raised, made her blood pump hard for him. He’d protect their family. She had every confidence he would.

  That wasn’t the issue.

  Their enemy wouldn’t fight fair. That was a fact. They’d come at him from behind, and stab him in the back when he least expected it. Aye, she had an idea of who they were fighting.

  Her cousin-by-marriage, Myra (who was married to Daniel Murray, Magnus’ cousin) had written her just the week before with a warning. Accidently-on-purpose (a great past-time for Myra), she’d overheard her husband talking with his second in command regarding a missive he’d received from Magnus. Padrig was no longer cooperating at the Priory, which meant that he would likely escape and Ina and Marmaduke would no longer have a reason to hold back their desire for vengeance on the Sutherland clan and their families.

  Hours later, when the house had settled and Arbella had still yet to find sleep, the ever so slightest bump sounded from somewhere downstairs in the croft. Or was it outside? Startled, she sat straight up in the bed and stared toward the small opening of the loft where a ladder leaned against the sill, leading to the main floor.

  Aliah sat up and stared at her sister. “Did you hear that?”

  Arbella nodded and held a finger to her lips. She slowly slid from the bed and tip-toed on bare feet toward the ladder, trying not to step on the places where she’d heard the wood planks creak when they’d first come up, but it did no good. The wood screeched several times, and every time she winced, paused, waited to hear the call of alarm from below. There was none.

  When she reached the opening, she peered down and listened. She could view nothing odd, but a scuffling noise and grunts came from outside. She’d heard those same sounds numerous times—it was the sound of hand-to-hand combat.

  She turned to her sister and pointed toward the small window. Aliah leapt from her spot on the floor and hurried to the window, peering out a corner. Her mouth fell open, hands covering her gaping horror.

  “What is it?” Arbella hissed.

  “There are at least a dozen warriors outside.” She glanced back at Arbella. “I…”

  Arbella’s heart had leapt, thinking perhaps Magnus had made it back, but the horror on her sister’s face quickly took all hope with it. “What?”

  “I… do not know any of them, and they have hurt Ronald and Tobias.”

  Arbella carefully stood and made her way to the window to see for herself. Ronald and Tobias both lay on the ground, their eyes closed, hands tied behind their backs, ankles tethered together. But the fact that their hands were tied behind their backs was a good sign—they weren’t dead.

  In the darkness, she couldn’t make out the colors of the warriors’ plaids.

  But, if this had anything to do with Padrig, it was likely Ross warriors outside the tiny croft. Which meant…

  “They planned this. They planned for Magnus to leave the castle. For us to insist on going.” She shook her head. How could they have guessed? Were she and Aliah so obvious in their thinking? Was Magnus?

  Aliah shook her head, her face having paled several shades. Her lips were thinned, eyes wide with terror. “They came for you, Arbella.” Aliah jerked her head toward the bed, pointed. “Get under the bed. I’ll go in your stead. They don’t have to know you’re here.”

  “Too late.”

  A chill knifed up Arbella’s spine and her blood ran cold at the sound of the female voice behind her. Aliah had been right. How had she snuck up the ladder with no sound? Saints, but the hatred she felt for that woman was unreal.

  Arbella slowly turned and came face to face with their clan’s enemy. Pasting on a smile she felt nothing of, Arbella eyed the beautiful, bitter woman in front of her. “Ina,” Arbella said. “How lovely to see you again.”

  LOOMING atop a hill, and down the beach about a mile was Dunrobin. They’d hidden their horses on the opposite shore and glided unseen across the loch, mooring their small boats on the sandy shore. Scouts walked on the top of the castle battlements. In order to stay hidden from them—whether they were Sutherland or nay, because if they were Magnus’ own, they would inadvertently alert their enemies that he was coming—Magnus decided, they’d do best mooring a mile down the beach and walking the rest of the way.

  Magnus glanced up at his home. The castle looked quiet, lights filtering from a few windows reflected on the sea below. It had taken him and the men longer to get here by go
ing around the loch to the other side, but in the process, they’d avoided any of the traps that Ina and her entourage would have set up.

  The slow, methodical walk up the beach was going to be another quarter of an hour at least. His muscles were tight with tension. He didn’t want to waste another moment until he could get to his family, but he understood the need for care. One wrong move and he’d not be able to get past the Ross clan in order to see to his family’s safety.

  From what he and Blane could make out, there were no ships moored at the Sutherland pier, which hopefully meant the Ross clan had approached from the front or sides rather than from the water. Magnus’ scouts returned with good news that no Ross scouts appeared to be hidden this far down the beach. If they were careful, they could avoid them altogether.

  “Any man we cross along this path that is not of Sutherland decent—or that of my cousins—should be considered a foe. Leave no chance for them to sound an alarm. We take no prisoners today.” Magnus nodded to each of his men as they took in his orders. There would be no quarter given for anyone who dared to threaten his family.

  They crept up the sand, their booted feet leaving impressions that reflected in the moonlight, but the waves lapping on the right washed away any trace of their steps. To their left were the dunes and rocky rises. Magnus kept his gaze on them, just waiting for the enemy to make themselves known.

  Moving in silence by communicating in hand signals only, they stopped every ten or fifteen feet to make certain they were not being followed and that no one at the castle seemed aware of their presence. In the grand scheme of things, Magnus supposed he should be angry if they made it without alerting the Sutherland guard, but then again, if the men were alerted, their element of surprise would be ruined. Besides that, they couldn’t truly be certain that the guards upon the gate were not Ross warriors already—though he prayed they weren’t.

  Less than a quarter mile from the castle, they slipped between two rocks and made their way up a tight natural stair. At the top, they crouched and continued on their way until they reached the outer curtain wall of the castle. Magnus nodded to Blane who crept forward to find the secret latch. The men scanned the walls and surrounding woods and beach, making certain they were not seen. The click of the lever went unnoticed as a wave on the beach crashed. Mayhap God’s way of saying he approved of their mission?