Celtic Blizzard

by Ria Cantrell

  Sinead looked horrified at this, imagining heathen rituals that she had seen in movies and she said, “Surely Morag would not have done anything to harm Bronwyn.”

  “Nay, of course not. Morag has oft said that Bronwyn would be her greatest acolyte but my sister will have none of it. All Morag did was prepare Bronnie for her new journey as a woman. Lots of young girls go to the Ridge and they sometimes receive messages from the Old Ones or Guardians concerning their fated mates or so we’ve been told. Lads have rites of passage of their own but they are usually much less mystical. Our rites to adulthood are more physical in nature.”

  “Like the Celtic band you all bear around your left arms?”

  “Indeed…although those come later and they are not forced upon us. We all have chosen to have that brand. All who call themselves MacCollum have wanted this mark as a sign of kinship and brotherhood. There have only been a few men who have not willingly taken the brand. Oddly those are the ones who have betrayed the clan one way or the other.”

  “Hmm, interesting. So what do you think Bronwyn learned the night she spent on the ridge?”

  “I canna’ say fer’ I dunna’ know. She has ne’er spoken of it to my brothers or even my father. Only Nan Morag knows. Perhaps if ye’ ask her, she will be able to explain.”

  “Mmm, maybe I will. Phew, I really thought you were going to say they performed some sort of crazy ritual that scared Bronwyn silly.”

  With a wistful smile, Jamie replied, “Well, I did nay say it was nay some sort of crazy ritual, for I suppose to a woman such as yerself, ye’ may find it so. I only know that it was more of a spiritual embarking and I know Morag would ne’er cause even the least physical harm to another. It is against her beliefs. She harms none; nay even the least of the animals that walk the earth. In fact, from what I know about the time spent on the Ridge on the night a girl passes into womanhood, Morag mixes special herbs to help with the discomforts of a girl’s first course.”

  Sinead leaned back on his chest and looked into his eyes and she teased, “And you know this because Morag told you?”

  With a slightly sheepish grin he said, “Nay. Sometimes lasses, like yerself, enjoy talking after…well ye’ know.”

  “Hmmm, I thought as much.”

  “Are ye’ angry with me?”

  “No. Of course not. So long as it does not ever happen again, unless I am the one talking after…you know….”

  “Ye’ have my word. I shall ne’er lay in another woman’s arms or bed again. This is my troth and promise.”

  Sinead kissed him and she said, “I need to get up. I have the final fitting for my wedding dress. Only, I guess it’s sort of silly to go through with the big church wedding thing, now.”

  “Nay, love. It is going to be a wonderful celebration. We will speak our vows before my kin and God in the modern rite. As I said, weddings are enjoyed for days at a time and the vows we spoke in private were only part of it. The rest will come after the church vows are declared.”

  “I rather liked the Ancient one.”

  Jamie smiled and stole another kiss saying, “I’m happy ye’ liked that. Aye, we are Christians, but alas, we are all pagans, too. The New Rites have not replaced the Old. They are coupled.”

  “Like we coupled,” Sinead said naughtily nibbling down his neck and straddling him. He turned and tossed her off gently and he growled playfully, “Ye’ shall wear out my manhood, lass, and then what shall ye’ do?”

  Sinead giggled and she whispered her answer into his ear, and then sent her tongue into it to make her point. Jamie went completely still as Sinead reached under the bedcovers and fit her hand around the thing in question. She said, “See, I knew it! You have enough strength to love me one more time before we go about our day.”

  “Just because it has grown hard does nay mean I am recovered enough to love ye’, lass.”

  With momentary concern, Sinead released him and looked at him to see if he was really spent from their night of love making. Instead, she saw him grinning at her and when she felt him turn over her, she welcomed him by wrapping her legs around his hips and drawing him fully within her. It seemed he was recovered after all!

  ⌘⌘⌘⌘⌘⌘

  Sinead had stood still while her wedding dress was fitted to her exact form. It was not white, but blue as was the custom during these times. The gown was beautiful with expansive sleeves that belled out from her elbows to below her hips. They were lined in a soft shimmering gold fabric and were embroidered with twisting vines also in gold threads. Sinead was amazed that the gown was already nearly completed in just a few days and the dressmaker did not have the luxury of using a sewing machine. Jamie had spared no expense for her gown to be finished. Sinead’s heart was full of love and gratitude. She twisted the garnet ring on her middle finger and smiled. It was true she had spoken her solemn vows but she was excited to be a bride in a more normal sense. She was eager to face her wedding day. There were only a few alterations that had to be made and the hemline finished and the beautiful gown would be done. It laced up the sides and the neckline was scooped gently, nearly resting on her shoulders. She felt like a princess and she was filled with happiness.

  Once the dressmaker was done pinning the hemline, she helped Sinead out of the gown, careful not to stick her with the pointed bone barbs that held the alterations in place. Sinead waited for the dressmaker to leave her chambers and she quickly put on her jeans and sneakers. She wanted to get a run in before the noon time meal and she knew that Jamie was busy with his many responsibilities. It wasn’t that she wanted to disobey him, but she felt perfectly safe and secure. Besides she was just going to run to the lake and back. Though her leg was almost completely healed, something about the Highland air made it harder to push through a run and it was still bitterly cold beyond the warmth of the keep. Running made her feel alive and connected to the land and she would make it as quick as possible so as to not alarm anyone. She put one of the simple woolen gowns on over her jeans and strolled toward the gate. She hoped it would be open so she would not panic anyone.

  As she got to the gate, she pulled her sweater over her gown and like she had done before, she tucked her skirt into her belt so she could free her legs. It was not the most comfortable way to run but it did the trick to allow her mobility enough to gain her stride. She smiled to herself. She must look quite the sight in her odd attire but she was pretty certain no one paid her much mind.

  She was wrong to make that assumption.

  Sinead had not run very far when she heard the distinct sound of someone calling for help. She looked back at the keep and realized that she was far enough away that none of the guards or people coming in or out would hear the faint voice of a person in distress. She rounded a copse of trees, barren from winter’s clasp and there lying down on the cold ground was an old man.

  Sinead hurried to the spot and she knelt down in the hardened snow next to the man. “Sir, are you hurt?”

  “Aye. I have fallen. I am but an auld man and I lost my staff in the snow.”

  Sinead’s heart began to pound. How would she help lift him if he was hurt? She said, “Wait here, I will go to get help.”

  “No,” the man shouted. “Dunna’ leave me. I have already been here a long while and I am freezing.”

  “Are you hurt anywhere? Do you think you have broken any bones?”

  “I know not for the cold has numbed me,” he lied. He had seen her go out of the gate as she had that other day and he planted himself amid the stripped trees. This was the day he had hoped to turn her over to the Black MacKenzie and Hugh MacCollum expected that any moment, the sinister warlord would make his presence known. He had to stall the lass, lest she call the entire MacCollum clan down upon their heads.

  “I can run very fast, sir. I promise to bring back help in only a few moments.”

  “No,” he screamed again, feigning agony.

  “Alright. Alright. Here, let me help you get warm.” Sinead unfastened the MacC
ollum plaid that she had wrapped about her shoulders for extra warmth and she draped it around the man to help dispel the numbing cold that was starting to seep into her own bones now that she had stopped running and was kneeling in the frozen undergrowth amid the trees.

  She tried to check his legs to see if she could determine the extent of his injury, but her fingers were quickly turning blue from the cold. She said, “If I try to help you up, would you think you could stand?”

  Hugh shook his head said, “I dunna’ know.”

  “Well, I guess we shall have to try. Here, I have found your staff. I can help you to lean upon it to gain some balance.”

  As Sinead was about to reach for the staff that had fallen a few feet away from the man, she heard a crunch upon the snow. She said, “Oh thank God. Someone is approaching. Perhaps he will be able to help us.”

  As she tried to grasp the staff, she could not budge it. She looked to the side and realized that the reason she could not lift it was because there was a man standing with his boot firmly planted upon it. She took one look at him and she knew by the ever present scowl that this was not a man who was going to help her. She raised her eyes to his and she suddenly felt the danger that she had been warned about. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the man who had been lying on the ground shift and she realized he had set the trap for her. She glanced toward him and she asked, “Why?”

  A searing pain seemed to split into her skull as the man who had newly approached hit her with something, knocking her senseless. She could not even cry out before the world turned black and she did not even feel the cold earth embrace her as she fell forward, facedown upon the frozen packed ground.

  Chapter 37

  “Come on, ye’ worthless piece of refuse! Help me drag her to my horse. I will need ye’ to tie her securely so she does nay fall during the ride back to my lands. She will nay be waking for some time, I would think. I hit her quite hard.”

  Hugh was not a man to feel guilty but he worried that the lass had been killed with the blow. Dubh did not need to tell him that he had struck the lass hard for he heard the sickening thud as the butt of his sword connected with the lass’s skull. Still, while the Black Mackenzie needed him, he would not vent his evil upon him and he supposed t’was better that the lass received the brunt of his malice this time. Hugh was not sure he would survive another beating by Dubh MacKenzie; of that he was certain.

  True to his name, Dubh was dressed all in black, like a specter of darkness. It stood in deep contrast to the white landscape that surrounded them. Hugh had to wonder at the audacity of a man who would abscond with the Laird’s son’s woman in the light of day when he stood out like a scar upon the world around him.

  “Move, I said.”

  Hugh pushed himself up and dragged the girl’s body a few feet. She looked dead and Hugh really wanted no part in her actual murder.

  Dubh pushed him out of the way and he said, “Never mind. Ye’ will have her bloodied and marred at that rate. I’ll have to do it myself.”

  Dubh rolled her into a horse’s blanket and he tossed her over his shoulder. She hung slackly as he carried her toward the denser tree line several yards down the rise. Calling over his shoulder, he said, “Well dunna’ just stand there like a simpleton. I will need ye’ to lift her to me once I mount my horse.”

  Hugh scurried slowly behind the Black MacKenzie and when he saw the man’s horse tethered to a tree, he held his arms out to claim the bundle so Dubh could mount. Once he sat in his saddle, Hugh struggled to lift the girl up toward Dubh. He really wished he had a drink because he hands shook from the lack of it in his bloodstream. It was nearing the time when he would have to take a slug of anything just to subdue the tremors.

  Once Dubh MacKenzie had secured the unconscious woman who was as limp as a sack of grain behind the neck of the animal, he called, “Untie the beast.”

  “B-but how shall I follow? I canna’ walk the entire way.”

  “Follow? Ye’ think to follow me back to MacKenzie? Think again, old man. I have no further need of ye’.”

  “But I canna’ stay here. I am the accessory to yer’ crime. They will draw and quarter me before the next moonrise for my part in it.”

  “That is no concern of mine.”

  “What about the payment then,” Hugh grumbled, fortified by the knowledge that Dubh was seated on his horse and could not pummel him again.

  “Payment? Ye’ have made me wait in the squalor of that crofter’s shack and ye’ think ye’ are due a reward? Ye’ are lucky I have decided to let ye’ live for the moment.”

  Hugh’s tremors were increasing and now he was not only a traitor to his clan but he had no gold to show for his efforts. Emboldened by his desperation, Hugh cried, “Ye’ owe me, MacKenzie. We had a deal.”

  “Well greater a fool are ye’, then for I dunna’ make deals with drunken scum, especially MacCollum drunken scum.”

  Before Hugh could utter another complaint, Dubh drew his sword. With an evil laugh, said, “I have changed my mind,” and without a moment’s hesitation, his arm slashed the wastrel before him and nearly cleaved him from shoulder to middle. Hugh died before he hit the ground, his eyes widened in the surprise of death as the mortal blow was dealt. As his blood rained crimson in the white snow, he fell, still staring at the one who ended his existence; his eyes dulling and glazing over as the last of his life’s essence spilled upon the now befouled ground.

  Holding the girl before him, Dubh took off at a break-neck pace, vaporizing clouds of snow and ice as the horse’s hooves dug deep to keep up the speed that was being commanded of him.

  ⌘⌘⌘⌘⌘⌘

  As the pain seared through her skull, Sinead roused only to find black cloying darkness around her. She was moving and she found it hard to breathe as it appeared she was hooded by some heavy fabric. The binding hood was musty and the smell of it churned her stomach. Sinead had grown accustomed to what was causing the motion. She was on a horse! Someone is kidnapping me! The realization of what was going on aided to burst the fog of oblivion she had fallen prey to. Damn it! Think! What happened before the darkness took over? As the throbbing ache pounded into her head, Sinead realized that she had been struck by something hard; it was hard enough to render her unconscious, but who?

  The gait of the horse was unsettling as she had been tossed face down over the beast. Sinead knew they were traveling at a furious pace from the rough beating her ribs were taking. Between the battering of her midsection, the waking agony in her head, and the heavy stink of the fabric covering her face, Sinead feared she would vomit. She fought the urge because the tightly secured hood around her face would offer her no relief if she lost the contents of her stomach. She knew that if she only breathed it would help but breathing was nearly as impossible as not puking. She had to focus. She needed to survive because clearly, whoever had taken her meant her more harm than any chance of good.

  He had already clouted her severely at the back of her skull and God only knew if she had suffered a concussion. The tightly wound cloth had been used to suppress any unnecessary movement on her part. She could not even move her arms. Her legs dangled over the side of the horse and only her ankles seemed free; which provided no means of struggling against her captor.

  Sinead did not even want to moan or cry out. In fact, she did not even move much despite the terrible discomfort of her position. She had enough of her wits about her to know that it was better if her kidnapper thought her to still be unconscious. Even forming that reasoning helped Sinead to not think about vomiting. Yes, if she could clearly put some thoughts together, she may be able to find a way to escape. Escape and survive; that would become her mantra in order to help her make it through the deadly journey to God knew where.

  As Sinead was trying to clear the fog from her brain, a word strong and clear rang inside her head. Jamie! The name came to her mind and she remembered. Jamie would find her. Oh dear God, when he did she wouldn’t have to worry about survival
because Jamie would kill her. She had not heeded his warning and now she was in this awful predicament that would probably not end well for anyone, except maybe her captor. Even that, though, Sinead was certain would end in trouble. If he had wanted her dead, he would have made sure the blow to her skull would have done the trick. Instead he had taken her and that could only mean one thing. He wanted to ransom her and since she was outside of MacCollum land, no doubt whoever had taken her would be using that to his advantage.

  Good, keep thinking, Sinead thought. At least you are able to put your thoughts together more effectively. It was helping her through the pain and discomfort of the arduous ride on the back of a horse, although the nature of her thoughts were disconcerting at best.

  How long had she been unconscious? How long had they been riding like this? How far was this monster going to take her from Jamie? Would Jamie even want her back after she had blown off his warnings, now jeopardizing perhaps his entire clan? Okay, those thoughts are not helping at all!

  Sinead went back to trying to form ideas on how she could get herself out of this deadly mess. Come on Sinead. You are a tough New Yorker, surely you can think of something!

  Sinead knew that while she was trussed up like a roast, there was not much she could do but if she was able to stand, the strength in her legs could be used to disable her captor. If she lived through the perilous journey to wherever the man was taking her, Sinead knew she would have a chance to make a getaway so she would have to be as patient as a woman could who was being kidnapped and rolled up like a cigar in the stale and putrid smelling blanket. Don’t think about the smell, dear God don’t think about that or you will hurl for sure…God get me out of this.