Highlander's Embrace

by Amy Isan

  “I just spotted the Maxwell clansmen marching here. They’re about fifteen miles southeast of us.”

  The hair on Gavin’s neck bristled with the news. He opened his eyes wide and gripped his sword as he raised his voice. “Listen to me, all of you.”

  He felt the eyes of the MacDonald army on him. He planted a foot on a bench and rose up on to the table. He knocked a plate off and unsheathed his sword, holding it in the air. “I killed the traitor Mathou.” He looked from Barron to the crowd, only hesitating his gaze on Elyn for a brief moment. “The Maxwell Clan has had their hands in too many pockets for too long. They’ve created a feud between our clans. One I’m afraid the simple answer of betrayal can’t rectify. Years of boiling blood can’t be cooled with a simple reason or answer. But...” he pointed his sword at one of the men. “We can fix this.

  “Laird Maxwell plans to take the throne, to rule Scotland as our king. Will we let him do that? Will we let him tear everything we love from our hands and stand by while he reaps the rewards? Will we let him get away with inciting a false feud between the strongest families in the highlands? To sway the king with his forked-tongue?

  “Or will we fight back? I’m sure, because of Mathou, he expects an easy victory tomorrow morning. An easy win for his goals. He’ll take Eilean Donan Castle, push forward and take Strome Castle. With the MacKenzies and MacDonalds outta the picture, he’ll be free to storm across the highlands and take the throne ransom. No one will stop him. If Elyn, your Grace’s daughter, hadn’t warned us of Mathou’s betrayal, we would all look like fools.

  “But when the Maxwells arrive tomorrow morning, they won’t be winning an easy fight. They’ll be fighting the combined forces of the two strongest clans in the land. Our claymores will drive their skin from their bones, rend their muscles from their flesh, and push them into the salty loch. Not only them, but their families and sons, their royalty and debts. They’ll be wiped from the face of Scotland as we know it. We’ll be free of their toxic curse.”

  The clansmen grew feverish as his speech finished, erupting into a screeching cheer as their swords rang out as each one was unsheathed. They stomped their feet on the rough stone and shook the very foundations of the castle. They cheered aloud, feeding off each other’s mad energy. Gavin extended his hand down to Elyn, who took him by surprise by leaping up to the table. The roar of the army’s cry was loud and deafening in a most satisfying way. Gavin grinned at his work. His heart was racing. The battle couldn’t come soon enough.

  ***

  Gavin took Elyn aside, leading her to his chambers. They had been cleared out, Gavin thought that perhaps Sheena and Elyn’s parents had moved to another room.

  After he closed the door, she fell into his chest, wrapping her arms tight around him. He held her close, cradling her head with his powerful hands, being careful to not touch her wounded side.

  “Elyn. I’m sorry I didnae get to say good-bye to you. If you hadn’t come —.”

  “Donae think about that,” Elyn replied, her voice a whisper. She nudged her head against his chest, breathing deeply. “I’m glad I’m with you again.”

  Gavin brushed her hair from her face and looked into her eyes. They were unguarded, vulnerable, and honest. A woman of her kind was rare, and he almost felt unsure of how to carry himself anymore. For the first time, he felt a bit of nervousness creep into him when he was near her. He kissed her and her hands wrapped around his neck. He held her, keeping her on her tiptoes as their kiss grew long, deep, and powerful.

  He broke away. A blush had appeared on her cheeks when he caught a glimpse of her, the look making his heart race. He tried to regain his breath, folding his arms across his chest to steady himself.

  “What’s wrong?” Elyn said. “The battle. You’re worried, ain’t ye?”

  He nodded and moved to the balcony, stepping out into the crisp night air. He searched over the horizon, desperate to see any signs of clan movement. “What if the scout was wrong? What if they were coming sooner?”

  Elyn drew herself up next to him and wrapped her arm around his elbow, pulling him away from the balcony and back inside. He didn’t fight it. She kissed him again, her breath hot on his skin.

  He felt himself slipping, but he brushed it off. “We shouldn’t.”

  “Our clans were arranged to marry, weren’t they?” she teased him. He was silent. She picked up on his drowsiness and pulled him to the bed, running her fingers through his hair. “If the Maxwells are coming tomorrow morning, you’ll need to rest.”

  He gazed up at her, a sense of relief washing over him. She brushed his hair back and unbuckled his chain-mail. She drew the covers over him and cradled his chest, twirling her fingers through his thick patch of hair.

  Within moments, Gavin felt himself drifting off, his eyes growing as foggy as the mists on the moors. The last glimpse of that night was a smile on Elyn’s freckled face. He’d fight for her, that was for sure.

  ***

  The next morning, Gavin collected the clansmen outside the castle walls, across the bridge that separated it from the main land. They couldn’t have the village getting destroyed any further than it was. The sun had just broken across the mountains, scattering bright yellow light across the grassy highlands. A gentle wind gusted past the clansmen, whipping their kilts and flags into a rattling fervor. Gavin was astride Elspet once again, the horse having grown a bit fat in her stable. He rattled the saddle as he streamed around his men, observing any for weaknesses or ill-minds. The men looked hungry for blood. Nay, for vengeance.

  Elyn had insisted on following him onto the battlefield. He tried to fight her complaints, but what could he have really done? He had nearly resolved to lock her in the dungeon until it was over, but deemed it too dangerous. If a woman needed to be thrown in jail to keep from fighting, he might as well let her fight on her own. He caught glimpses from some of the clansmen becoming perturbed by her presence on the battlefield, so he raised his voice to gain the attention of the army as one unit.

  “MacDonald Clansmen! Macrae Clansmen! MacKenzie Clansmen! For one day, we cast off these loyalties and become one! Highlanders united under Scotland to repel and beat back the Maxwell threat. One Clan to fight together, bleed together, and win together! When every last Maxwell has either fled or fallen to our blades, we’ll celebrate together.

  “However, I am not blind, and I can see some of you are upset by Elyn MacDonald's appearance on the battlefield. I want to make something extremely clear. She joins us in our unity, she is one of us, and I expect as much honor and respect to be paid to her as to any of the other clansmen. Without her, I would not be here calling out to you all, I would not have been able to prove to your Grace that she was alive.”

  Gavin eyed Alec and Barron, who were nearby. Their battle armaments were worn down, but well taken care of. They nodded in approval, and Barron raised his voice.

  “Elyn MacDonald, or Douglas, or whatever her heritage is. She’s a feisty lass.” Several of the clansmen chuckled heartily. Barron hardened his voice. “But Gavin is right. Her hands are not fresh and unstained. Neither are mine. If there is any kind of mistreatment of the lass, you’ll have to answer to my hands. You’ll have a hard time with them choking the life out of you though.”

  Gavin spoke up again. “As I said last night, and I’ll repeat this morning, we’re not fighting for our clans, we’re fighting for Scotland. In hundreds of years, our kin will recall this day with fond remembrance. Scotland will be on our side, as we are on hers.” He thrust his claymore into the air, and the silence of the clansmen exploded into a roaring fury.

  A loud horn rang out over the hillside. As the single note bellowed and crossed the grassy hill, a large army of clansmen bearing the Maxwell tartan and crest mounted the far away hill. Their numbers were large and formidable.

  The leader of the Maxwell army rode forward on his horse, carrying a large banner and two aides with him. Gavin rode to meet him, Barron and Alec following behind him. In
the shallow valley between the two hills, they met each other, holding their ground about forty yards apart.

  The leader of the Maxwell army seemed visibly upset, almost confused, Gavin interpreted. His face was flushed, and his brow was covered in sweat. He spat angrily at Gavin. “Where is Mathou? What did you do to him?”

  “He’s dead,” Gavin replied cooly. “I imagine you weren’t expecting such a welcoming party.”

  The man looked at his allies with confusion. “Impossible.”

  Alec sighed. “You can turn back and head to your castle. Tell your Laird that it was a good effort, but no games are going to be played here.”

  The leader spat on the ground and stared at Gavin. “You’ll pay for Mathou’s death. Your entire family will pay — all of you. Scotland will be ours.”

  Gavin shook his head and laughed. The man stared at him with contempt. “What is so funny!”

  “Scotland isn’t to be owned, Maxwell. She’s more than that.”

  Gavin turned and rode Elspet back to his army. Barron and Alec followed behind him. They watched as the Maxwell leaders ran back to their side of the hill to reconvene.

  “Do you think they’ll give up?” Alec asked.

  Gavin shook his head. “No. They’re too proud to throw away twenty years of planning.”

  Barron snorted and laughed. He looked over the army and back to Gavin. “We’ll do it for them then, the stubborn dogs.”

  ***

  “They’re preparing.” Gavin said. He watched the Maxwell leader who had spat at him ride down the line. His voice was inaudible from the distance, but Gavin recognized those movements. The rallying speech of a leader. Gavin turned to his fellow men.

  “Highlanders, prepare for battle!”

  The highlanders unsheathed their swords by the hundreds, the cacophony of their claymores freeing themselves from their holders rang through the fields, briefly catching the attention of the the Maxwell leader. Clansmen on both sides prepared to shoot, nocking arrows against wood and wire alike.

  Gavin screamed with bloodlust. He thrust forward, galloping down the hill. He felt the thundering yells of his clansmen reverberating through his very soul, the pounding of their feet hard against the highlands. The cold wind whipped past Gavin’s face, and arrows flew past him. The grass hissed against Elspet’s hooves and ankles, and the pounding of the horses around him followed him down the hill.

  The Maxwell army seemed to hesitate, intimidated by the sudden surge of clansmen from the enemy. Finally, they started down the hill, the Maxwell leader staying behind as his men flew past him, their swords held high in the air and screams of victory on their tongues.

  Gavin met the first throng of men, swinging his sword down and slicing open their chests, felling all of them instantly. He watched as Barron and Alec met Maxwell clansmen with equal resilience, killing enough clan members to strike fear into the hearts of any remaining. Already, Gavin was assured of his army's victory, watching the Maxwell men lose morale with their body count. More and more clansmen fought together, trading blows and slashing flesh with their thick swords. A harsh wind blew through the valley, kicking up dirt and debris, shaking the grass and buffeting the flags of both clans. Gavin’s mind turned to Elyn. He stared across the battlefield, trying to locate her distinct frame. He cursed himself for not staying with her, but the thrill of battle had caught him in the moment.

  She had disappeared through the crowd, he was sure he just saw a glimpse of her hair sticking out from a helmet. A lurching noise over the distance drew his attention, as huge war machines spilled over the Maxwell’s hillside, large catapults ready to fire boulders into the valley. Gavin stared in horror as he thought of the implications. The Maxwells didn’t care for casualties on their side, only to decimate the opposing army. If they had a standing army afterwards, it would be a bonus. Gavin looked around for Elyn one last time, and frowned. He had to turn his mind’s eye from her, he had to focus on the battle.

  Gavin moved quickly, gathering up men to join him at the top of the Maxwell’s side. Barron and Alec followed him, flanked by fifteen additional allies. They encountered the catapults and the crews manning them, managing to rip them from their stations before they could let loose a single volley. Gavin impaled the captain of the Maxwell army with his claymore, spilling his blood onto the vibrant green grass. With a little bit of trickery, Barron rigged the catapults to destroy themselves if they were used, slicing several of the retaining ropes with his heavy sword.

  From their new vantage point, Gavin could see the armies colliding. Save for the occasional banner, he could hardly tell where each clan began and ended. He spied a familiar horse, Rhys, and saw a group of men bearing down on Elyn.

  “Come on!” Gavin yelled to Barron and Alec. He sprinted Elspet down the hill at full speed.

  As he reached the bottom of the hill, he watched Elyn dismount from her horse and unsheathe her sword. She gestured for the men to attack her, before her eyes moved to Gavin for a moment. She nodded slightly as he rode up behind them, still yards away.

  The first man lunged at her, and she quickly dodged and shoved her sword into his stomach, dropping him to the ground like a fallen tree. She slid her blade against his kilt, cleaning it for the next man. As the second man ran forward, Gavin caught him with his blade, severing his head from his body instantly. The momentum of the man’s assault threw his body down to the ground, crumpling like a doll. His head rolled forward.

  The third man’s face had drained of blood, and with little movement from Elyn, he fled in the opposite direction. Elyn and Gavin rejoined the fray, throwing themselves into battle as the sun baked them in their clothes. They traded blows with other clansmen, fighting them back and covering each other when needed. Barron and Alec moved in and covered them as well, keeping lurking Maxwells from hiding among the dead. The morning fog dissipated with the heat of the battle. As the hours passed, the sun rose up to its peak and began to lower again, the valley growing thick and stifled with bloodshed and sweat.

  Gavin lowered his sword, exhaustion gripping him like a sickness. He wiped his brow, the sticky of his sweat clinging to his skin. He looked over the battlefield as more and more men gathered around Maxwell groups to defeat them, the opposing army inexorably growing outnumbered in each skirmish. The dust from the wind settled and left a musty scent in the air, and there were no more Maxwells to be saved. All perished among the dead.

  Gavin and his men moved among the bodies, checking to see if there were any survivors on either side. The occasional MacKenzie or Macrae Clansmen was found, and hauled off to be treated at a temporary encampment that Gavin had set aside. As they finished combing through the death, a man coughed, which turned Gavin’s ear. It was one of the aides to the leader of the Maxwell army. He lay crumpled, an arrow pierced in his side. Barron held his sword to the man’s neck, ready for Gavin’s order to finish him.

  “Wait,” Gavin said, holding up his hand. “He can be the one to tell Robert Maxwell what he has brought to his people.”

  The aide shook his head. “I’d rather die than be your messenger boy.”

  Gavin folded his arms. “You’ll be our messenger. Alive or dead, it donae really matter to me. Your body will be evidence enough of what happened here.”

  The man’s grimace faded as horror took its place. He feverishly shook his head. “No, no! I’ll do it! Let me live!”

  “I thought you might say that,” Gavin said. He pointed for two highlanders to haul the man up. “Get him a bandage and some water and send him on his way. He can walk. If he donae make it, they’ll find him eventually.”

  The clansmen nodded and carried the Maxwell leader to the triage encampment. Gavin sighed heavily and turned to Elyn, who had dirt and blood caked on her clothes and armor. He chuckled. “I’m surprised that armor fit you at all, considering it was made for a man.”

  “A young man,” Elyn said. “I had to modify it.” She gestured to the split seams near the chest and waist. “I
t was built for a tree, not a sculpture.”

  Gavin grabbed her shoulder and shook her with confidence. He smiled and kissed her chastely on the cheek, not wanting to draw more attention than necessary. He felt a burning desire for her, one that couldn’t be quenched with such a trivial gesture, but it helped.

  He gathered the surviving clansmen. By his count, he had only lost twenty souls. Ten powerful MacDonald clansmen and ten loyal MacKenzie clansmen.

  A fantastic victory by any measure. As they marched back to the castle, Gavin watched MacDonald and MacKenzie men laugh together, their arms hung around each other’s necks in camaraderie. If only his father could see him now. Everything he had done for Scotland.

  Gavin looked at Elyn, her eyes bright and on the horizon. She looked a bit surprised when she noticed his gaze, and she gave him a look that said, ‘Careful, MacKenzie.’ Gavin did it all for Scotland and for her.

  ***

  Back at Eilean Donan Castle, the injured were carried to the mess hall by the victors. They gathered around the long tables and ushered in songs of victory, champions to Scotland. Age-old gaelic hymns, as spirited and passionate as they were the day they were first sung. Bards played music that rang out in the hall, bagpipes droning and blessing the stoned walls with melodies.

  Large game birds usually reserved for great banquets near the end of the year were brought in and cooked. Waiting for such an occasion wasn’t necessary now, with such a momentous event on the hands of all the clans. Scotland was nearly united again, the tense and dizzying feud that had kept the MacKenzies and MacDonalds separate for so many years finally dissolved. The blood bath had washed the two clans together, uniting them as one. While many of the men may have gone to sleep the night before as separate people, they all ate and sang and danced in the mess hall as one.

  Gavin thought of writing to the King to alert him of the news. Without a second thought on the matter, he managed to snatch a scribe from the celebration. He dictated a letter detailing the victory and the dark undercurrent that the Maxwell clan had kept out of his sight for years. He insisted he contact the MacDonalds to vanish any doubts on the matter. The letter was signed and sealed with the MacKenzie crest. A signature of its very own in the eyes of any royalty.