Highlander's Embrace

by Amy Isan

  “I’m thirsty.”

  The guard hacked up some phlegm and nodded. “I got something for you to drink, right here.” He grabbed his crotch and patted it gently, an ugly chuckle in his throat.

  Elyn gave him a polite smile through gritted teeth and ignored his vulgarity. “Do ye know who that man is?” Elyn said, pointing at Gavin.

  “Can’t say I do, should I?”

  “He’s the Laird of the MacKenzie Clan.”

  The guard coughed. “Like I give a shite. What’s he doing in there then? Why should I believe you? Get back in your corner, wench, I donae wanna hear nothin’ from you unless you’re laying on yer back.” He banged the bars, knocking Elyn's hands loose as she crawled backwards in shock. She groaned loudly and curled her arms around her knees. What was the use? What was she even trying?

  She sat down and looked at her arms. They were plastered with dirt. She was sure her face was just as dirty as well, the feeling of dry mud caked on her cheeks and forehead. She furrowed her brow and looked at Gavin.

  This was all his fault. Maybe Clan Maxwell trying to get him to marry Katrine was a final olive branch to get peace, especially if the King was the only thing keeping the MacDonalds from ransacking the castle. With Gavin refusing, he signed the death sentence of not only his father, but Elyn's parents and sister as well. She felt her hands tremble as the tide of anger rose in her, knotting her chest with anxiety. She leaned over and jammed a foot against Gavin, waking him up with a howl.

  “I’m still angry at ye,” Elyn explained. “Fer getting me in all this.”

  Gavin groaned with frustration and knitted his brow. He wheezed as he rubbed his sore buttocks, casting an angry glance at Elyn. “I already told you I was sorry.”

  “Forget it, your being sorry donae change all this.”

  The door to the dungeon keep clanged open, and Elyn turned to the sound of footsteps only to see a man stride inside. It was Laird Maxwell. He leaned into the guard’s ear and whispered something to him, which made the guard immediately leave his post.

  As the guard left the room, shutting the door behind him, Laird Maxwell adopted a sinister grin. Elyn gave him a mean look as she rose to her feet and approached the iron bars. She leaned in close, her face pressed against the metal, bringing it that much closer to Laird Maxwell’s. She drew up saliva and spit in his face, setting her jaw in stone as she reeled back from the bars.

  The Laird pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his cheek before shaking the spit from it onto the stone floor. “My, my, what a spirited one this is. Just like I thought.”

  “What are you doing here?” Gavin asked, standing to his feet and coming next to Elyn.

  “I just thought you might want to know why you’re here,” the Laird said. His voice was even, but with an odd rhythm to it. It set Elyn's teeth on edge. “We weren’t properly introduced. I’m Laird Robert Maxwell, of Clan Maxwell, and advisor to the King. I’ve discussed it with the King already, and you two will be executed by sunrise tomorrow for crimes against the crown.” The words sounded hollow.

  Elyn shook her head. “What crimes?”

  “Treason, of course. I’m sure it could have all been sorted if the king was receiving his mail, though...” Robert pulled out a thick stack of letters he had in his cloak and dropped them on the ground. “A shame your father had to die so ruthlessly. His throat slashed, you said?”

  Gavin shook his head, “I never said that...” his expression changed as the truth dawned on him. “You!”

  “Excellent deduction. The men currently destroying Eilean Donan Castle aren’t the MacDonalds, although I do desperately wish they were. Those mewing cats couldn’t be motivated to strike against your father, for any reason, but maybe now the blood will have been heated up a little more. Of course, it would have been easier if you had just married my daughter. I could have brought you in close and finished you myself. I can’t believe those idiots couldn’t kill you first.”

  Elyn yelled out for the guard to return, for him to come back. Robert shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Tch-tch, he isn’t going to come for the screams of some commoner.”

  Gavin balled his hands into fists, trembling with anger. “I can’t believe this. You’re lying, I donae know why, but you are.”

  Elyn looked at Gavin and she mouthed that she was sorry. Robert’s voice pulled her attention back to him.

  “It’s fine to see you two still found each other. Fine, but disgusting,” Robert smiled a wide grin. “It won’t matter. Once you’re both executed, the King will give me Eilean Donan Castle as reward for my obedience, along with all the clans that swear fealty to the Laird of that land. From there it’ll be mindlessly easy to crush the MacDonalds and march on the throne for myself. I’m glad you came here, Gavin. Otherwise I might not have succeeded. With the other clans crushed and nothing in my way, I’ll claim the seat of Scotland. It’s high time we stopped bickering and ended the scourge that is the presence of the English on this great island.”

  “The English?” Gavin stared in disbelief. “You are going to attack the English?”

  “Those wild animals donae deserve to share the same air as us Scots. I’ve tired of trying to convince the King to do it himself. Soon, it’ll all be over. It’s almost a shame you two won’t be able to enjoy it. Regardless, I’m sure the MacDonalds are marching on Eilean Donan right now. I sent them a letter advising them to attack, since I told them that the MacKenzies were sure to blame the MacDonalds for the attack.” He cast a dark grin and left the room, a low chuckle on his voice. The dungeon door clanged behind him, and the guard moved back to his post, evidently a bit tickled by the Laird's laughter.

  “I hope it was good, I could hear ye screaming from out there,” he said.

  “It was certainly a sick treat,” Elyn said. The guard looked at her, amused but dumb.

  “I dunno what that means.”

  “Forget it.”

  Chapter 7: Alec

  1540 — August 29th

  Alec Macrae was worried. He frowned as he looked across the courtyard, the ramparts ravaged and destroyed during the battle for control over the last several days. After Gavin MacKenzie had left, Alec was able to fend off the last attackers from entering the castle, and the morning following Gavin’s departure, organize a strike against the raiders. The attackers had grown weak and lazy throughout the morning, so Alec was able to effectively kill or drive almost all of them out of the castle walls. Almost.

  A small band had taken over one of the spires in the northeast end of the castle, and he hadn’t be able to infiltrate their strong hold over the last couple of days. His own men were feeling their morale slip. He knew they could maintain control, but it was that much more frustrating because he wanted to take the hostages back from the invaders.

  He couldn’t do much more than try to stay calm. The worst thing was the look of horror on some of the villagers faces when they were hauled into the keep. One in particular struck Alec’s heart hard: a young lass with hair the color of coal. He remembered only glimpsing her from across the quarter, her wild eyes seemed to pierce into his soul and heart. He touched his chest in anxiety.

  He stood on the balcony from his room and stared across the highlands. He hoped that Gavin would get his message to the King soon so he could get some support. He had already tried sending a letter to the Maxwells asking for assistance, but they hadn’t replied. He hadn’t heard any follow up threats from the MacDonalds either.

  Alec sighed and leaned over the balcony wall. The fires had destroyed much of the inner city, but he was thankful the storage and granary was saved. He had enough reserves to feed his men, but with the surrounding clans unable to deliver more food or get onto the loch to fish, it wouldn’t last. He was frustrated because he felt like the entire world had cast its eyes away from Eilean Donan Castle, or that the devil had specifically marked it for destruction.

  He had to hold out hope, hold out faith that God would return to his favor, that Gavin Ma
cKenzie would do everything he could to protect his people. Alec knew that while Gavin wasn’t always the most sound minded man, he was at least the most loyal and faithful. He would get the job done.

  Alec thought of when Gavin and he were boys, running through the castle and making a fuss in the quiet afternoons of the castle, when the sun would glint off the loch just right. When the MacKenzies and Macraes had just become strong allies, taking the reins of ruling together and combining their two great clans under one roof. Looking over the land now, Alec could scarcely imagine a time when the clans of Scotland were scattered and splintered more than they were now. But it wasn’t enough. They needed to all join together, none of this bickering and killing for nothing. For what? A babe that the MacDonalds thought was murdered?

  Alec recalled his father and Angus discussing it several years ago, when the King had sent a letter asking the clans to set aside idle strife. England had resurfaced as a threat against their people, and Alec could only recall his father trying to calm Angus down when he had received the letter. He was angry that the King was ordering him to sacrifice his honor by admitting to something he hadn’t done: killing the MacDonald child. He blamed the MacDonalds for having such loose and underutilized watchmen in their castle, and it was their fault for the loss of the baby.

  His father had died of old age when Alec was a teenager, but he didn’t think that Gavin understood what a father that Angus had been do him as well. The loss of Angus MacKenzie was just as powerful for him as it was for Gavin. He hoped he wouldn’t have to permanently take over the control of the castle - the responsibility was too much for him to bear, the last three days already taking a toll on his body and mind.

  He gazed into the mirror and sighed at the deep lines already embedding themselves under his eyes. He was starting to look like his father, but twenty five years too young for it. He folded his arms and puffed out his chest, trying to replace the vigor he had had even a week before. It was no good.

  Neil was at the door, and he tapped on it to gain Alec’s attention.

  “Sire, the men need you to go over another battle plan.”

  “Aye, I’ll be right there.”

  Neil left and Alec was left to his thoughts. How was he going to get those hostages free? He had some hard choices to make.

  “Gavin, where are ye?”

  ***

  In the dining hall, a table had been cleared off and a map of the castle and its inner walls had been spread across it. Alec leaned over it, spreading the edges of the gnarled sheep skin taut, trying to keep the map from curling on itself. He exhaled.

  “We know they’re keeping the villagers in here.” He pointed to the spire in the northeastern section of the castle. There was only a couple of routes to reach it - two extended across the ramparts and were too narrow to make it across. “You’ve tried going through the front?”

  “Aye,” Barron replied. “They were able to fend us off, and we can’t overwhelm them wit’ numbers.”

  Alec thought for a moment, scratching his chin in contemplation. He traced a line from the castle ramparts, following the outer wall, and smashing against the tower where the hostages were kept. “Have you tried the ramparts?”

  “Hell no,” Barron said, “We think it’s too risky to the men. We can’t afford any more losses.”

  “We won’t lose anyone. Listen up.” Alec turned and snapped his fingers, gathering the attention of the other clansmen in the room. A mixture of Macrae and MacKenzie men, united together in battle for the first time in years. Alec smiled to himself as the men crowded around the table, their murmuring quieting.

  “Barron, take about a dozen men and grab some of the better shields from the armoury. Donae give me that look, I know your men donae like using shields, but it’s important. Form a tight circle, making sure your shields cover every direction and advance on the keep. If you can catch them inside, they won’t be able to stop you. We have better fighters than they do, they’re cowards hiding away in mouse holes.”

  Barron cast a wide grin and slammed his fist on the table, shaking the map. “So we’ll be the cats.” He rallied the men up and they cheered down the halls, toward the armoury. Alec sighed, sitting back in a chair that was nearby and massaging his brow. He hoped his idea would work.

  He also hoped that woman was okay. The one with the black hair he couldn’t keep his mind off of.

  Chapter 8: Sheena

  1540 — August 29th

  Sheena Douglas shivered in the darkness. Since her capture, the men had handled her poorly, leaving dark purple bruises on her wrists and thighs. They had berated her for fighting back, and barely kept her fed. The hunger clouded her mind. She peered up from her cell and looked through the distant window, taking joy in the fact she could at least see the clouds passing overhead in the blue sky.

  The men claimed they would make an honest woman out of her when they finally had control of the castle. Their numbers had dwindled from an impressive four hundred to a stagnant thirty-five men, not enough to make a real strike on the castle, but enough to inflict lasting pain and anguish on their hostages.

  They had killed many of the villagers on the night of the raid, but taken thirty for themselves to do with what they pleased. She could still smell smoke on her clothes from the fires. Often, Sheena would stare up through her small window and wonder if Elyn ever made it out alive. She dared not speak a word of having a sister, not because she was worried she was still in the castle, but because she didn’t want to be shown her corpse. She rubbed her arms to try and stay warm, the dark room in the spire surprisingly chilled considering the time of year.

  Sheena hoped for rain to come. If it did, and she could make it back to her family’s home, they could have another harvest for the summer. Another bounty to enjoy before it was all over. She cursed the damned MacKenzies for not doing more to stop this from happening. Hadn’t they known about the MacDonald threat for years? How many years...? Sheena tried hard to think. She couldn’t put a number on it, save for feeling like her entire life.

  Two of the clansmen were talking to each other in hushed voices. Sheena strained to try and hear their words, as they were huddled over a table. Discussing battle plans? She heard them say something about the MacDonalds, obviously the men they worked for. Another name slipped past their lips, a more distinct sentence: ‘Mathou got away.’ Sheena decided it was one of the few pieces of information she had gotten from them, so she tried to remember it.

  She hoped that Elyn hadn’t gone back to Dornie. It was no doubt ransacked at this point. Sheena scratched against the wall, her clothes growing more tattered and ragged by the day. Another week and she’d be wearing nothing at all. She despised the thought, her mind already growing cynical.

  The men that kept her locked up claimed they had killed the Laird MacKenzie. If that was true, who ruled the castle now if the Laird was dead? Why were they holed up in a small tower? A handful of guards, undeterred by violence to give up their loyalty? Sheena treasured the idea, that men could still be valiant, even after she saw what kind of evil they were truly capable of.

  Sheena’s father coughed, holding his hand to this mouth as he buckled in pain and hacked up phlegm. The other prisoners stared at him and shuffled back, a look of fear on their faces. One man yelled at her father, telling him to cut it out lest they all get the sickness. Sheena frowned.

  “Shut it!” She stood up and bared upon the man. “If you donae, I’ll make sure you wish you had an illness.”

  The man recoiled and shuffled into the damp corner of the room. He cradled his knees in his arms.

  Sheena returned to her father and wiped his forehead. She whispered words of encouragement into his ear, which he nodded to.

  Suddenly a noise roused the group of invaders, and they moved to the door to investigate. An archer called down from the top of the tower. “I see something, they’re advancing on us again!”

  The sound of arrows slinging from their bows echoed throughout the tow
er, the meaty twang of the bow limbs cracking with each loose. Sheena guarded her parents, hovering over them and trying to keep whatever was coming from hurting them. She didn’t like the hungry look one of the guards gave her as he slipped out the front door.

  The sounds of battle rang through the spire, steel on flesh and wood. Men shouted and called out battle plans, others grunted and traded blows. While Sheena couldn’t see any of the action, she almost could get a sense of it from just listening. Soon the cries died off and the lone archer from above shrieked and moved from his perch. The wooden door sealing the hostages inside burst open, and Sheena shielded her eyes from the glare of the sun, bracing herself for another beating.

  A man with a thick beard moved into her vision and extended his hand. Blood was smeared on his face, but his eyes were gentle. He wore the unmistakable colors of the Macrae Clan. Before Sheena could convince herself to take his hand, he withdrew it and stared up through the spire, catching sight of the lone archer. He called out to his men, “Get that one! Donae kill him though, he needs to spill his words before we spill his guts.”

  One of the clansmen nodded and bounded up the stairs, knocking the archer’s meager sword away and grabbing him by the cuff of his shirt. They dragged him down the stairs, his legs knocking against each stone step. Barron Macrae nodded in approval. He turned back to Sheena.

  “Aye, lass, you’re safe now, thanks to Alec Macrae. Come with us, there’s plenty ‘f room in the castle for you lot.”

  ***

  The clansmen gathered up the wounded and sickly villagers and took them back to the castle. The ones who could not walk were carried, while others were gently guided. Sheena’s lips felt as if they were sewn shut, but she hoped her gratitude was more than evident.

  Upon arriving back in the castle, the clansmen directed the group of villagers to the mess hall, where they had food set out.