Moonstruck Masness

by Laurie McBain

  They entered the small village of Timere and put up at the only inn, a small establishment that offered only a few rooms and no private dining room. The landlord wel­comed them suspiciously, having little liking for the En­glish, but more for their gold. Sabrina would have been concerned about the coachman and grooms abandoning them in this inhospitable area, their grumbles of dissatis­faction not having gone unnoticed by her, but they were in the employ of the Duke of Camareigh and valued their position—along with a healthy fear of reprisal from him should they abandon the Duchess.

  As they settled in their room for the evening, Sabrina tried to rally Richard's drooping spirits. "Tomorrow we'll leave early and ride into the hills. The castle is in a glen north of here and sits on a small finger of land that juts out into the loch. Let's draw a smaller map of the area from the tapestry so it will be easier to carry and refer to," she suggested practically, glad that it also would give them something to do.

  "I can hardly wait, Rina," Richard said happily, a dreamy look in his eyes as he thought of tomorrow's ad­venture.

  If the landlord was curious as he rented them their Shetland ponies, he managed to contain himself as he stood curiously watching Sabrina and Richard ride off on the small, shaggy ponies towards the pines dotting the slope in the distance.

  From the top of the rise they stared in silence across the dead brown heather of Culloden Moor, and at the snow­capped mountains against the Moray Firth and Great Glen that cut through the heart of the Highlands. Sabrina urged her horse away from the moor, her eyes filling with tears of memory as she avoided the bog with its treacher­ous holes, the land marshy and crisscrossed with small brooks feeding moisture into its spongy surface. Richard kept his pony close behind Sabrina as they entered the narrow passage to the glen. They rode through wooded areas and their attention was constantly drawn to the sound of waterfalls cascading from the crags, the outcropping of rocks that had been carved by nature out of the side of the valley. Sabrina felt a shiver as they traveled deeper into the wooded glen, her eyes lingering worriedly on the mists that clung to the mountain peaks. It could sweep low into the valley without a warning, entrapping the unwary in a sea of impenetrable fog.

  Every so often Sabrina would halt her pony and, strain­ing her ears, try to catch the elusive sound that drifted through the glen.

  "What's that noise, Rina?" Richard asked as she stopped the second time and he stopped to listen, too.

  Sabrina gave a nervous chuckle. "I must be crazed, I thought it was a bagpipe."

  "I thought those had been outlawed, Rina?"

  "I know, so did I," Sabrina murmured thoughtfully.

  The sun was blocked out as they rode through the forest of pine and oak and Sabrina felt the chill enter her bones, thankful that she had been wise enough to wear her velvet cloak with a hood covering her hair and partially conceal­ing her face.

  "It's creepy, Rina," Richard said uneasily.

  Sabrina glanced back at him over her shoulder with a reassuring smile. His small body was snuggly wrapped in a duffle surcoat, the coarse woolen cloth keeping him warm against the cool breeze off the snowy peaks.

  "Are you sure, Sabrina, that this is the right valley?" Richard called to her above the roar from a stream boiling against the rocks beside the narrow and twisting path.

  Sabrina hid any doubts she might feel as she called back. "Come on, we're almost there. Just a little further, I hope," she added beneath her breath.

  The path suddenly rounded an outcropping of rock and Sabrina and Richard came to an abrupt halt. Before them, glinting silvery, was the loch, and on its shore the ruins of the castle.

  "Oh, Rina," Richard breathed in awe mingled with dis­appointment, "it's been destroyed. Do you think they found the gold, too?"

  Sabrina urged her pony down the rocky descent to the shore of the lake, her eyes unblinkingly focused on the ruined castle, not even hearing Richard's question.

  "Why would they do this? Why destroy it?" she asked as they rode along the lake towards the castle, the waves lap­ping gently on the shore. Sabrina dismounted and walked towards the crumbling walls, large stones of what had once been a watchtower now strewn across the old court­yard. Only a skeleton structure remained of the stone stairwell, and the roof had long ago fallen in on the great hall. Sabrina looked around her in dismay, holding Richard's hand tightly as he slipped it into hers. "It was another lifetime, Richard," she said sadly, hearing the sound of her grandfather's voice echoing through the ruins.

  "I remember the day we left here and hurried down those stairs," Richard said disbelievingly as he stared around the hall overgrown with weeds and overrun by nesting gulls raucously crying out at their trespass in the castle.

  He pulled out the map they'd made and stared at it in puzzlement. "I think the cave is over there," he said, point­ing vaguely towards the far shore, "but how do we get there? The path isn't marked."

  Sabrina looked down at the map and then at the far shore. "The path is hard to find. Come on," she urged, feeling suddenly strange as they stood exposed in the cen­ter of the ruins. "We want to get back before that mist de­cides to move down the mountain."

  Richard followed Sabrina's sure steps along the shore­line and then up through the big boulders that edged the loch in large clumps. They walked along the uneven path, still clear of weeds as though the feet of the clan still trod upon it.

  Sabrina stopped abruptly as the path disappeared into the lake, and cried out in disappointment. "I had forgotten that this path only goes halfway around the lake. I don't think we'll be able to get across, Dickie. We don't have a boat."

  They were silently staring at their reflections in the water, when Richard gasped, his mouth opening sound­lessly as a third image was reflected in the water behind them. Sabrina swallowed hard and turned, her eyes widen­ing as she stared at the specter that had quietly sneaked up behind them. Richard gave a small whimper and pressed close to Sabrina's side.

  The figure stepped closer and stared at them, his eyes wild in a face with a full beard, his hair hanging in matted clumps over his shoulders, and in his bonnet a single eagle's feather.

  Sabrina stared at the tartan kilt and leather sporran hanging from his waist. His calves were covered to the knee in tartan hose and he wore heavy brogues on his feet. His plaid was slung over his shoulder and in one hand he held a claymore and in the other a dag, the blade glinting evilly.

  Sabrina hugged Richard close and tried to control her trembling as they faced the outlaw. He wore a kilt, was armed, and had a bagpipe slung over his shoulder. Sabrina was surprised, for such dress was forbidden by law, as was the playing of bagpipes—but it must have been he who'd been playing earlier.

  "Sabrina," Richard whispered, his frightened grasp pain­fully squeezing her fingers.

  The outlaw's eyes left Sabrina's cloaked figure and took in Richard standing nervously beside her, a frown settling between his eyes as he narrowed them to see better in the dim light as the mists rolled into the valley. Drops of moisture clung to Richard's red hair, and the odd light re­flected from his glasses gave his eyes a grayish tint as he stared back at the outlaw.

  The Highlander took a hesitant step forward, his frightening face suddenly breaking into a broad smile of excitement. "Angus?" he said in disbelief. "I dinna ken for sure it 'twas ye? I hae been waitin' fer ye tae return. I dinna know wha' tae do when they took ye awa' frae the castle? Ye heard me pipes, Angus?" he asked hopefully. "I been wanderin' aboot the glen playin' fer ye."

  Sabrina gave a sigh of relief and breathed easier as she finally recognized the outlaw. He'd changed so much in the last six years that he could have been another man. "Ewan, Ewan MacElden, it is you, isn't it?" she asked hesi­tantly.

  He turned his eyes from Richard's face and stared pene­tratingly at Sabrina, a puzzled look on his bearded face.

  "I'm the laird's granddaughter," she said, her words an echo of those she'd spoken so many years before.

  Ewan MacElden'
s eyes lighted up. "The wee lass?"

  "Yes. You remember me?" Sabrina asked eagerly. "And this is my brother Richard, the laird's grandson."

  Ewan MacElden came closer, a suspicious look in hiseyes. "Grandson?" he asked with tears in his eyes. "Nae the laird, he's deid, isn't he? I thocht he wae a ghost comin' frae the grave fer me. I promised I would play me pipes every nicht," he mumbled, his eyes drifting back to Richard's face.

  Sabrina smiled uneasily as she looked around worriedly at the thickening mist. "We've got to go, Ewan, or we'll get trapped by the mist. We'll be back tomorrow," Sabrina told him, urging Richard to move.

  But Ewan stepped in their path, blocking their way. "Ye wouldna get far frae here in this," he told them as the mist swirled around them.

  At their worried expressions he reassured them happily. "Dinna fret, I ken wheer ye be safe. Come," he directed, signaling for them to follow him.

  "But what of our shelties?" Richard asked worriedly. "They're at the castle."

  Ewan shrugged. "The gillies? Ach, they're be all richt."

  They followed him blindly through the mist along the craggy hillside until he stopped and they could hear the murmur of the lake beside them again.

  "We'll hae tae take the skiff across the loch, now," he said as he dragged the small boat from cover and across the pebbly beach, the hull scraping noisily in the muffled silence.

  Sabrina looked around her doubtfully. "I don't think we should, Ewan. I'd rather not stray too far from the castle. When the mists lift I'd like to be able to get down the glen and back to Timere by dusk."

  Ewan glanced around him doubtfully. "Ye've little choice, lass. Ye've no place tae go. Theer's none tha' es­cape the mists," he told them and stood aside for them to climb into the little boat.

  Sabrina looked at Richard's pale face and, shrugging, climbed into the boat. Ewan pushed them off and they floated through the mists in an eerie silence, their faces be­coming soaked by the fine drizzle that floated down.

  "How do you know where you are going, Ewan?" Sabrina asked worriedly as they continued through the thick, concealing bank of mist.

  "Nae need tae fear, I ken full weel wheer I'm goin', lass."

  Sabrina accepted his word for they scraped bottom and were suddenly surrounded by large, slippery boulders on the water's edge. He led them confidently along a steeply climbing path until they came to an opening in the hill­side, then he made his way deeper into the darkness of a tunnel until they came out in an enormous cavern lighted by torches fastened on the wall and giving off a spicy piney-wood scent.

  Sabrina and Richard stared around them in awe. Hang­ing by their heels were the carcasses of a sheep and a cow, and furs were stretched on the walls and spread on the floor where also there was a pallet covered by plaids and blankets. Sabrina lowered the hood of her cloak, feeling the warmth in the cave as she and Richard hovered over the wood fire burning in the center.

  Ewan MacElden bustled around the cave gathering to­gether blankets and stacked them near the fire. "Sit doon, an' I'll fix ye somcthin' to warm ye oop," he said to them and Sabrina smiled her thanks, pulling Richard down beside her.

  Richard huddled in his coat and watched the kilted fig-lire carefully. "I don't like it here, Sabrina," he whispered as he glanced around at the smoke-blackened walls of the cave and the shadowy corners.

  Sabrina bit her lip and forcing a smile said confidently, "We'll be all right, Richard. This is better than being lost in the mist, and Ewan is an old friend of Grandfather's, we can trust him."

  "He looks at me strange, Rina."

  "That's because you look a lot like Grandfather. He had red hair too, and I think your nose will eventually become beaky like his, but you'll have to grow into it," she teased, trying to get a smile from Richard's serious face, giving a sigh as he grinned slightly.

  Ewan acted the perfect host, making them believe he was entertaining them in the great hall of the castle rather than in a cave on the hillside as he conscientiously saw to their every need. He served them a strong, steaming soup in wooden bowls accompanied by barley bread and then fresh trout caught from the loch.

  "That was delicious, Ewan," Sabrina complimented him as she set aside her empty plate, feeling relaxed and warm in front of the fire.

  Ewan's eyes glowed with pleasure. "Ach, weel, I'm afraid I've become a bit like a cailliach. It's nae a mon's place tae cook, but I've naebody tae do it for me."

  "Well, no old woman could have done as well," Sabrina said and gave Richard a nudge.

  "Thank you very much, sir. I enjoyed it," he told Ewan politely.

  Ewan straightened his short figure proudly. "I'm yer mon, Angus. I'm here tae serve ye," he said humbly.

  Richard looked at Sabrina, his eyes wide and troubled. "But I'm n—"

  "He is very pleased, Ewan," Sabrina cut into Richard's denial, smiling at the wild-looking man.

  "Guid, now ye'll take those blankets and sleep the nicht by the fire," he said as he busily cleaned the dishes and spread out their blankets on a thick pile of leaves and dried flowers he'd quickly spread on the floor.

  Richard looked at Sabrina nervously, his eyes pleading that they leave.

  "The mist must have lifted by now, Ewan. We really should leave, but we thank you for your hospitality," Sabrina began.

  Ewan turned with his arms full of logs for the fire, his face showing surprise. "Dinna be fulish, lass, it hasna lifted. Ye'll be stayin' here," he said firmly, his kilted fig­ure challenging them to argue.

  Sabrina looked at Richard and, shrugging, accepted his offer, knowing that without him they could not find their way back to the castle, or even out of the glen in this mist.

  They settled down for the night, finding their pallets of leaves and blankets quite comfortable. Sabrina felt Richard snuggle close to her and wrapped her arm around his shoulders comfortingly.

  "Who is he, Sabrina?" Richard whispered.

  Sabrina watched the flickering flames against the stone walls and answered softly, "He was the piper of the clan, and I owe my life to him. He showed me the way to es­cape from the English, and if it hadn't been for him, I probably would be dead now. That is why I don't want to hurt him, Dickie. We owe him our kindness. He's stayed up in the glen all of these years alone. No wonder he gets confused at times. I feel sorry for him."

  Richard was silent for a moment, then asked barely above a whisper, "Do you think he knows about the treasure?"

  Sabrina shook her head in the darkness. "I don't know, he might. He was very close to Grandfather."

  "Should we tell him, do you think, about the map?" Richard asked. "He might know where the cave is. Maybe it's near this one?" he guessed with growing excitement.

  "It might be. I suppose we could ask Ewan tomorrow. Now go to sleep. We'll need to be rested if we're to find that hidden treasure."

  Sabrina buried her face in her arm as she fought off the wave of longing to be at Camareigh. She missed Rhea so badly, and wanted her soft, warm body cuddled against her breast. She had forgotten how isolated and ancient the Highlands were. She could be on the other side of the world from Camareigh, so cut off were they. She sniffed back the tears that were gathering behind her eyes, blink­ing rapidly to keep them from falling. She wanted to go home. She wanted to be back at Camareigh holding her child, and even fighting with Lucien.

  She didn't know why this morbid feeling of dread was hanging over her, but she suddenly felt as if she would never leave the Highlands and never see Camareigh and Rhea again.

  Lucien must know by now that she was gone. Would he be worried, or wonder what had happened to them? She wondered where he was now, and what he was doing.

  Lucien urged his horse through the stream that crossed their path, splashing water against the dusty blackness of his jackboots and turning their surface into rivulets of mud. He glared up at the gray skies overhead and then at the man riding silently beside him. "Does the sun never shine in this cursed land?" he asked with a mocking glance.
<
br />   Terence Fletcher laughed tiredly. "Never while I was as­signed here. They do tell me there have been sunny days, although I've yet to meet anyone who has seen one."

  Lucien flexed his shoulders slowly. "You think they've gone to the castle?"

  "I'm not sure, but I would wager that they have," Ter­ence speculated gravely. "I hope to God I am right."

  "What made Richard run off to Scotland?" Lucien asked for the hundredth time, and still came up with no answer.

  "Well, it must have something to do with the castle. We have traced your coach from various inns this far. It must be heading to Timere. The castle is up in the hills above it. It must be where they've gone. We can only be a day be­hind them at the most. If we hadn't gotten caught in those floods we would've been here before them. We must've lost three days," Terence complained in disgust. "I must be getting old, because these miles seem to get longer, the hills higher, and my back stiffer."

  Lucien grinned sympathetically. "An afternoon's romp in Hyde Park doesn't prepare you for hundreds of miles of hard riding, I assure you."

  Most nights they had managed to find an inn to stay at, but tonight they were in a secluded and uninhabited valley and were forced into sleeping under the cloudy skies. Lu­cien ate his share of rations hungrily, if not with relish, and was grateful for the ex-colonel's experience in camp­ing out, as he planned their meals and routes as he would have a campaign.

  "I've always felt strangely out of place up here," Ter­ence commented suddenly from his side of the fire. "I can remember how relieved I was to receive orders sending me back to England. I've always felt as though I were enter­ing another age when I travel through the Highlands. Even the language is different."

  "Tell me about the first time you met Sabrina," Lucien asked as he pulled a blanket over his shoulders for protec­tion against the cold night air.

  "The coincidences of life never fail to amaze me. Little did I imagine then that years later I would be married to that little girl's sister and coming back up here to find, or rescue, her from some unknown danger."