Celtic Blizzard

by Ria Cantrell

  Sinead tried the flint contraption again and magically it sparked. Wiping her eyes, she sniffled for courage and she said, “I’ll be damned, it’s like a medieval cigarette lighter.”

  It was a stretch to reach the old torch and because it was dry, Sinead wasn’t even sure it would ignite properly, but it still held the scent of smoky tallow so it may have had enough residue to actually work. Once she got it out of the holder, she flicked the flint a couple of times, letting the minute spark drop into the conical torch. The first few tries resulted in not so much as a puff of smoke and Sinead was quickly becoming discouraged but she tried it again and she blew the spark till it glowed on the dried rush, and just when she was going to give up, the torch flared and caught fire.

  As Sinead suspected, black smoke circled above it so she quickly raised it back into the iron grate fashioned into the wall. She guessed it had been placed so high to keep the smoke at bay. Despite the burning soot coming from the torch, Sinead was grateful for the light that lit her prison, not a moment too soon before the sun had completely set. The circled chamber was cold and though there was a brazier, there were no coals or wood to light. She thought about lighting the old parchment, but something within her could not bring herself to do it. Instead she sat down at the weathered desk and began to write. As she dipped the quill into the thick ink and tested it against the page, the words seemed to flow and the process calmed her. She wrote what she knew about the clan MacCollum. She wrote about how it was the treasonous act of the MacKenzie and not the MacDougal that day she had come to this time and place and mostly she wrote about Morag and Jamie. It was cathartic and therapeutic and when no one came to take her back to the MacKenzie, she relaxed enough to just write. Well, she had wanted to write the story hadn’t she? Only it was not how she imagined it to be. She would maintain her guard but she needed something to help her think clearly and to keep her wits about her. Seeing the written words neatly penned in her own handwriting soothed her. She wrote until her hand grew stiff with the cold and when she looked down at what she had done, she gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth and she felt as if she had been punched fully in her stomach. How could she not have realized it before? But it couldn’t be! It was impossible!

  Sinead looked at the leather covering and with trembling fingers she touched it, examining it more closely. Suddenly Sinead remembered and it was confirmed. The manuscripts that had been found and brought to the Cloisters on that fateful day had been written by her own hand.

  Chapter 39

  As the men rode out to where Hugh’s body laid with his blood frozen beneath him in crimson ice, Ruiri noticed the tracks heading down the rise through the trees. “He went this way, Jamie.”

  The snow had acted as a guide up until now, allowing the men to see the route that had been taken, but the thickening clouds on the horizon only meant one thing and that was more snow would be falling soon. Jamie could smell it in the air but he pushed the concern of another storm down deep. He had to get to Sinead. There was no other choice. With each passing mile, the weather worsened and Jamie’s heart sank in despair. Soon, it would be too hard to push the horses further. The snow fell thickly about them, covering them in coats of white as they urged the animals on. The wind howled like the call of the banshee and the tracks that had kept them on their coarse were soon blotted out completely. No longer could the horses take their speed and as the rapidly forming drifts swirled under their hooves, each stride became more difficult.

  Ruiri rode up beside Jamie and he said, “We have to turn back, brother.”

  “No! I willna’ leave her to be murdered by the MacKenzie.”

  “The horses will nay be able to go much further. Already the snow is coating their hooves. Ye’ canna’ make it on foot, t’would be impossible. We have no choice.”

  “I have no choice, Ruiri. I canna’ leave her.”

  “Look, I know it is hard to think about, but whatever has been done to her, MacKenzie has had hours ahead of us to do. T’will nay matter if we get there now or once the storm passes. We will be no good to her if we are dead and if our horses perish to carry us to her.”

  Liam brought up the rear of the riding party and he clapped his brother on the back. “Ruiri’s right, Jamie. We can make it back to the keep for the night and if the storm subsides by morning we will venture out again.”

  Jamie shook his head, “No.”

  “Yes, brother.”

  “But what if she is hurt…or worse?”

  “Beside Hugh there was no other blood. All of it was his own. I suspect she is unharmed else he would have left her as a trophy for us to find. Nay, lad. She is not harmed. Ye’ have to believe that. She is much more useful to him alive.”

  Jamie looked at Ruiri. For all he had been through, he was still able to logically lead when emotions clouded judgment. For all the legend wrought against him, Ruiri was not the rabid destroyer that he had been made out to be. He was a true leader of men and Jamie was proud to call him brother, especially at a time like this.

  With his head bowed in defeat, Jamie said, “Alright. We will go back. But with or without ye’, tomorrow, I will go to bring Sinead home.”

  ⌘⌘⌘⌘⌘⌘

  When the shock wore off, Sinead re-read her words. The manuscripts that had been brought to the Cloisters were indeed written in her own hand, but the story was different. She had read all she could about Jamie and was left with many questions. How then, had what she had written now been changed to the information she had read? Could it be that her simply being there now changed things? The whole perplexing situation made her head hurt. She suddenly felt so very tired. It was getting painfully cold inside the tower room and from the single high window, and the light of the moon, Sinead could see snow heavily falling once again.

  She was reluctant to lay down on the pallet because she had no idea if it was crawling with vermin, but as she grew more and more exhausted and no one seemed to come to the door again, she sat upon it. Sinead tried to fight the urge to sleep because she still worried that she had suffered a concussion of some sort from the blow to her head, but after the draining journey and the horrible events of the day, Sinead felt less able to fight the exhaustion that made even thinking, now an effort.

  She leaned against the cool wall, trying to at least just rest her body and force herself to stay awake. She thought that the cold coming off the stones would keep sleep at bay, but as it seeped into her blood, it seemed to leach not only her body’s warmth, but her ability to battle her weariness. She tucked herself into the meager bedding as best she could and tried to warm herself. She rationalized that she needed sleep if she was going to try to fight the monster who had taken her and so, without overthinking her accommodations, Sinead curled up and within minutes, she succumbed to her fatigue. With sleep came dreams.

  ~ Sinead watched as her captor toyed with Jamie. He had dragged her to the hall and forced her to sit beside him all the while as he baited Jamie. Sinead looked on in horror, feeling helpless. Jamie’s head was held high though he had been shackled in irons. He had been captured along with two of his brothers when they had attempted to rescue Sinead and the MacKenzie thought to prolong their agony with terrible deeds. Sinead could not bear it. She wanted to cry out that she loved him. Sinead would do anything if it meant saving Jamie, for she had no doubt that the Black MacKenzie was hell bent on murdering him; but only after making him suffer unspeakable tortures to cause the most pain; both physically and mentally. Sinead tried to think clearly because she had to help him, but in her heart she knew that nothing would prevent MacKenzie from his course. Cold evil emanated from the man like nothing Sinead had ever come in contact with. It was not evil born from madness, no! It was something else; sinister and base; evil that had come from Satan himself. Never in her life had she met a man as sadistic and cruel. She glanced at Jamie again and saw that he was staring at her. His face was set grimly but he would not look away from her. It was as if he was trying to get into her head an
d Sinead knew what he was aiming to do. She looked at him then, meeting his eyes and she shook her head. She screamed the words in her mind, “No Jamie. I will not sacrifice your life to save mine.”

  She shook her head in the slightest way as if to make him understand and then she felt the Black MacKenzie grab her jaw as he had done before and pull her into a kiss that turned her stomach sour. When he released her, his laughter rang off the soot blackened walls and Sinead could see Jamie’s rage simmering.

  “See, she is willing to warm my bed as she had yers’ Jamie MacCollum. Ye’ have forfeited yer’ life for a whore.”

  As tears filled Sinead’s eyes at the bastard’s claim, Jamie spoke and said, “There are worse things in life than death. If I am to die for her, then so be it.”

  Dubh laughed again, and the sound was like that of Lucifer himself.

  “Ye’ will die, and with her, yer’ line, for when I tire of her, she will be passed to my men for their pleasure and when she has no more usefulness, she will join ye’ in the grave.”

  With those words, Jamie struggled against the irons tethering his feet and hands. He tried to charge toward Dubh MacKenzie, only to be met with his blade, and the kiss of the Angel of Death.~

  Sinead woke with a start, screaming, “No!”

  Her heart was pounding furiously. She felt like she was going to be sick again. The dream was too real. Had it been prophetic? She could not be sure, but suddenly she knew what she had to do. She could never watch Jamie die and she would never let him sacrifice himself for her, but she must somehow get word to Jamie that she would be safe. If he knew she was no longer in danger, he would not waste his time trying to save her. It all became clear that Dubh MacKenzie would not spare her life, but would use her to set a trap for her beloved Jamie and Sinead could not let that happen. She would never be able to live with herself if something happened to Jamie because of her. It had been her carelessness in the first place for disobeying Jamie’s concerns. Now, there was only one thing she could do and she would not let Jamie die in vain nor end his lineage. Sinead decided that Jamie would live and marry someone else and make babies to carry on his name. It was what would have to be.

  Sinead grabbed hold of her knees and buried her head in them, rocking back and forth as the sobs validated her plans and acknowledged the loss of her sacrifice. She cried until she thought she had shed every last tear and then, when there were no more tears left to weep, Sinead rose. She went to the desk again and tore a sheaf of parchment out of the leather bound journal and she wrote one final entry. It was the only thing she could think of to do and perhaps if she could convince the MacKenzie that unless Jamie knew she was there, still alive, he would not venture to save her. Yes, it had to work! Please Guardians, guide me this one last time!

  Chapter 40

  The snow had stopped toward the evening the following day. Everything seemed so unnaturally quiet, as it often did after a snowfall such as the one that had happened during the dark hours of night. Jamie had returned home with his brothers, defeated and sick with worry. It was already growing dark and Jamie knew that the snow, even though it had stopped falling, would deter him from his course, but he just could not let Sinead spend one more minute in the clutches of the maniac that had killed that traitorous bastard, Hugh MacCollum.

  Perhaps he would go himself. After all, sometimes one lone rider was easier to hide than an army of men. One way or the other, Jamie was going out and if no one would dare to brace themselves against the elements, Jamie would do it alone. Sinead was his mate; his heart and soul and he would do anything he could to save her. He was a Highlander after all and a wee bit of snow was not something that could prevent him from saving the woman that he loved.

  The moon seemed to be on his side as it shone brightly even though it was no longer full. Tomorrow was supposed to be his wedding day, and if the Ancients saw fit, it still would be. His mind was made up. He would not be thwarted in his plans.

  Making his way through the keep, Jamie was met by his father Caleb. He did not want his father to try to talk him out of what he planned to do, though Jamie knew that Caleb would try.

  Surprisingly, Caleb said, “Son, come inside. I know what ye’ are about to do and I wish to speak with ye’.”

  “Ye’ will not stop me, Da’. She is my woman. I will do what I must to bring her home.”

  “Aye, and I would nay expect ye’ to do any less. I think ye’ should know t’was the MacKenzie that took her. When I retrieved old Hugh’s body, I found a scrap of MacKenzie plaid tossed alongside of Hugh. It was frozen to the ground with his blood. It was as if the MacKenzie wanted us to know for sure who had done the deed. And there was something else. A short way further, one of the crofter’s cottages had been burned to the ground. They had barely escaped with their lives. They came to seek refuge days ago and were too frightened to speak of what had happened. In questioning the many guests that have sought lodging within our doors, the wife finally gave up the information of what had happened. Dubh, for it must have been he by the description given by Old Mary, had threatened them, running them out. Taking lodging there himself, the crofters came to MacCollum. No one thought anything of it, since many arrived for the Christmas and Solstice merriment.”

  Jamie’s eyes grew dark and he fairly growled, “If he has hurt one hair on her head I will see him die before he can even remember his name.”

  Caleb nodded thoughtfully. “Hm, aye and rightly so. Son, be careful of a trap. MacKenzie has no use for Sinead, except to get at ye’. I believe that Hugh was feeding him news of yer joinin’ with the lass. I suspected him from the moment he showed up here, only days after Sinead had come. And that beating he had sustained, I am sure t’was MacKenzie lettin’ Hugh know that he held all the power in the ruse.”

  “I know t’will be a trap, Da’. I aim to beat him at his own game.”

  “Take the guard with ye’. Better to have yer’ back than to protect these shuttered walls.”

  Jamie shook his head in denial.

  “Nay da’. I will no’ compromise the safety of MacCollum to protect my back. I will take only my men at arms and if they do not ride with me, I can do this alone. Sometimes it is better for one man to hide himself than that of an army.”

  “I will ride with ye’.”

  “Ye’ cannot. Ye’ are Laird and if there is a trap, which I am sure t’is so, I will nay have the snare set fer ye’ as well. This is mine, Da’ and mine t’will be to finish.”

  Caleb drew in a deep breath. Sometimes the weight of a laird was a hard one to bear, but he also knew that as the next in line to carry that weight, Jamie had to do what he knew he must.

  In the end, Ruiri and Shawn rode with Jamie and they set their course for MacKenzie lands, hoping to gain enough ground to make it there by morning. It was normally more than a day’s ride but with the cover of night, they could make up more time, so long as the roads were not too impassable.

  The men, with a small retinue of guards and arms men rode through the night, fighting with the cold and wind that seemed determined to keep them from making enough headway. Frustrations ran high and Jamie was ready to strangle anyone or anything that could further prevent his resolve. After taking shelter for a few hours to rest the horses and warm themselves, the men pushed on, heading north on the Highland pass, edging closer to MacKenzie territory. As the pink of dawn heralded a new day, the sun glared onto the glistening snow in a show of defiance against the wintery scene. Even as they rode, icicles dripped from the frozen branches of the trees and the fallen snow seemed to melt beneath the hooves of the horses that diligently pressed forward as their masters commanded.

  As the sun rose higher over the distant mountain peaks, riders could be seen approaching. The men were prepared to fight and unsheathing their weapons they readied themselves to do battle. Jamie gave quiet orders for his men to fan out and form a circle on the rapidly arriving envoy. There did not seem to be a large number of them, perhaps no more than a handful
, and once surrounded, they would be crippled by Jamie’s legion.

  Jamie’s hand flexed around the hilt of his sword and as the small flecks on the horizon grew closer, Jamie held it aloft in warning. The sun’s rays glinted off of the blade like a beacon of death and Jamie was fully intent on metering it out. He was in no mood for leniency.

  As the small band of riders approached and they were all liveried in black, Jamie knew these were Dubh’s men. The road was open enough to see that there was nowhere for others to lie in wait of an ambush upon them so he wondered what game the MacKenzie thought to play, sending these men to certain death.

  Jamie stood up in his stirrups, making an imposing figure in his nearly six and half foot frame and he called, “Throw down yer’ weapons and ye’ live this day.”

  The rider leading the pack responded, “We are on a mission with a message to the MacCollum.”

  “I am he and I know what message ye’ bring. Ye’ have my wife,” Jamie stated. It was not a question. He gave a silent signal with the slightest nod of his head and immediately, the small envoy was surrounded by Jamie’s men. Ruiri felt a surge of pride for his older brother who had embraced his birthright for the first time. When it came to matters of one’s woman, Ruiri realized that Jamie would rise to the station he had been deemed upon his birth as first son of the Laird. He proudly sat beside his brother, knowing that for all the legends about himself, Jamie was a force to be reckoned with.

  The man saw that he and his band were greatly outnumbered by at least three to one. With a black gloved hand raised, his men, hung back, but it was of no avail. The MacCollum warriors had quickly encircled them and one by one, the surrounded men dropped their weapons in the snow.