by John Ryan
Thayer scurried away to find some kindling. Rushing back to Elspeth’s side, he doubled over, panting heavily and bearing twigs for their “duel”. Offering Elspeth his hand, Thayer helped her to her feet.
Spying her impish look, Thayer hesitated. What the devil is Elspeth planning? Does she intend to disarm with her beautiful smile or womanly enchantments? Surely, she cannot believe she can truly best me in the art of the sword.
Elspeth produced a kerchief of fine linen which she had hidden in her bodice. Apparently noting Thayer’s hungry gaze upon her bosom, she promptly turned around and adjusted the kerchief over her eyes.
Thayer placed the larger of the twigs in her right hand and, leading her to a small clearing, quipped, “Elspeth, are ye ready to face defeat?”
“After I conquer ye, I shall be pleased to accept your apology, Thayer MacCourt,” Elspeth proclaimed in mock indignation.
Thayer held his “sword” in front of him. “At your command, m’lady.”
Elspeth thrust the twig forward, fighting with the ferocity of a wildcat. Thayer’s eyes widened in amazement, utterly stunned at the accuracy of her swipes and the fierceness of her onslaught. With each flurry of thrusts, he had to remain diligent just to fend off her continued assail. And, much to his astonishment, Elspeth showed no signs of tiring even after several minutes. Drawing a deep breath, Thayer finally went on the offensive. As if without effort, Elspeth parried each of his thrusts expertly.
Stepping back for a moment, he wiped his brow before exclaiming, “Elspeth, if I dinna see it with me own eyes, I would not have believed it! I have never seen anyone fight without the benefit of sight afore!”
A brilliant smile crept upon Elspeth’s soft lips.“Ye, Sir, have been bested at your own game of deception,” Elspeth declared as she spread the kerchief to reveal a series of tiny slits which she had snipped earlier to enable her to see.
Thayer grinned as the nature of her ruse came to light.
“Elspeth!” he said, laughing aloud. “I suppose I had that coming. Now, come here so I can kiss the victor!”
***
The sun dipped behind a lonely cloud, temporarily wreathing the clearing in shadow. It may as well still have been shining, though, because, lost in each other’s embrace, the pair wouldn’t have noticed the very world if it crumbled around them.
“Mayhap, we should be on our way, m’love,” Thayer suggested with consternation, gently sweeping an errant crimson tress from her eyes. “If we depart now, we will still reach Lothian afore dusk.”
“Aye,” Elspeth agreed begrudgingly, “but, I hope there will time aplenty for kissing once we are wed.”
“Ye shan’t be able to catch your breath, m’love,” Thayer confirmed with a sly wink. “Come now, let me help ye with your cloak.”
After coiling Elspeth’s cloak about her slender shoulders, Thayer hoisted her to the fore of Ethelion’s saddle. Her cheeks reddened as his hands cupped the ripe curves of her bottom.
Turning about, Elspeth smiled coyly, casting him an amused look that instantly chased the chill from the air. Answering with a grin of his own, Thayer mounted Ethelion behind her and gently nudged the great steed forward with his heels.
As Thayer and Elspeth carefully maneuvered the hulking stallion through the thick underbrush and bracken, the autumn chill yielded to the thin silvery beams which penetrated the sparse breaks in the tree canopy. Flecks of sunlight warming their faces, the pair made careful progress. The woodlands afforded them the benefit of cover while not adding significant time to their journey. They would certainly make Lothian before dusk.
After nigh an hour, Thayer spied a brilliant curtain of light, suggesting that the edge of the forest was near. “Hold tight, m’love,” he advised.
“I would be only too happy to oblige ye,” Elspeth cooed.
With a quick thrust of his heels, Thayer spurred Ethelion forward with greater urgency. The woodlands were sparser now; fewer broken boughs littered the ground and a clear path to the edge of the forest became visible. Lacking further necessity to tread lightly, they sprinted free of the woody abyss and into the brilliant midday sun.
Clear of the woodlands, Thayer drew on Ethelion’s reins. Shielding his eyes from the blinding rays, he warily scanned the horizon. The lush, rolling hills and glades of emerald were aglow with a splendor unrivaled in all of Scotland. The way ahead was unfettered, affording him a view which stretched for miles. A grateful smile curled his lips as he saw they were surely utterly alone.
Unbeknownst to Thayer, Elspeth was faring far worse. The chill which effused her body was not caused by the cool autumn air. Rather, it was the fathomless fear for Graham and Faolin which gnawed at her heart. Seeking respite, she gathered Thayer’s hands and drew his body closer. Momentarily veiling her eyes, she lingered to relish the warmth of Thayer’s prickly chin , which rested upon her crown. Summoning her steel, she slowly lifted her lids to behold the landscape. Though it seemed to stretch out its hands in welcome, the hollow feeling in her heart was a painful reminder that her brother was still in the clutches of a madman.
The pair had their tentative repose snatched by the cry of a falcon which drifted gracefully just above the treetops. A nearby thicket rustled excitedly, prompting Elspeth to jump with a start. She giggled with relief at the sight of a startled hare, which skittered away in an attempt to avoid becoming the falcon’s next meal.
Ethelion was well rested and the remainder of the journey would be made without further delay. The great stallion whinnied its assent as Thayer gently nudged his side, goading him to increase their pace. As the rhythmic cantor morphed into a full gallop, Elspeth leaned forward to further carve the wind which whipped about them, billowing her cloak. With each stride, Thayer embraced her slender waist ever tighter. As he cleaved to Elspeth’s lithe form, he was welcomed by the continuous wafting of her sweet, earthy essence. With his forearm protectively coiled around her, Thayer could sense the quickened tempo of her heart. Each stride they rode closer to the realm of Lothian prompted it to race just a little bit faster. She must have felt protected within his grasp because she reached back with one hand and clutched his arm even tighter around her waist.
Though no words passed between them, Thayer relished the solace he was able to afford to Elspeth within his arms. Though he longed to ease her anxiety, he could muster no fitting words of comfort. Wisely, he kept his want of hope for Graham’s fate to himself. Recognizing Lord Devlin’s well earned reputation for cruelty; Thayer knew there was little chance that Graham and Faolin would be found alive.
The day grew tired and the sun dipped slowly into the cloudless western sky. They had made excellent time and the familiar profile of Lothian’s majestic misty mountains now loomed on the horizon. The waning rays of the dying day lit the rich emerald hills with a grandeur that could rival the most brilliant diamond. The towering black stone wall which buttressed the formidable, craggy peaks of the Hebrides shone as if afire. Though they were several miles removed from the sea, the sweet, briny aroma of the waters of North Berwick’s port wafted through the fields. They swirled and mingled with the scents of heather and thyme, creating a pleasing aroma to rival any fragrance.
“Thayer, do ye not agree that these are the most beautiful lands in of all Scotland?” Elspeth petitioned softly, as if seeking to ease her growing apprehension.
“Aye, they surely are,” Thayer agreed, tugging on Ethelion’s reins and slowing their pace. “Though it shall ever pale to your beauty, m’love.”
Elspeth leaned back, the top of her head resting under Thayer’s chin.
“My father’s eyes would sparkle with pride when he spoke of these lands to Graham and me,” she gushed.
“Please do tell me about it, m’love. I would be most interested to hear about the lands of your family,” Thayer said.
“Very well, ye forced it out of me, Thayer,” Elspeth ceded happily. “As ye ken, the Hebrides are known as the islands on the edge of the sea. My father taug
ht us that they were carved ages ago by extinct volcanoes, earthquakes and receding glaciers of ice.”
Her voice trailing, Elspeth fixed her gaze upon the sprawling horizon. Her mind drifting to happier times, images of her family roiled in her mind, causing a dull ached to creep into her heart.
“Well,” Thayer petitioned softly as he dabbed at a tear which had slipped from her eye,“I would like very much to hear the rest.”
“Forgive me, Thayer, I was just reflecting upon me father,” Elspeth said apologetically.
“‘Tis surely no need to apologize, m’sweet. Your pain is my pain,” Thayer said.
“I love ye, Thayer MacCourt.”
“And that is all that matters in the world to me,” Thayer said as he gently stroked her cheek.
A plaintive sigh escaping her lips, Elspeth continued. “Though dotted with an occasional homestead, much of the Hebrides peaks are desolate and bleak. ‘Tis said that the souls of our countrymen killed in the War of Independence linger here, awaiting the day they are to be avenged.”
Though Elspeth would never allow herself to utter the words, she secretly hoped her brother’s soul did not already wait amongst them.
Thayer leaned to get a look at the lather which had begun to drip from Ethelion’s muzzle. He scanned the horizon for a source of fresh water. A grateful sigh fled him as he spied a shallow pool which lay just beyond a nearby dale. It had been left by the recent rains and was encircled by the thick woodlands.
“Elspeth, Lothian is only an hour’s ride and I ken ye are impatient to be restored to your family, but let us repose yon for a few moments. Ethelion is in want of water and would benefit from a brief respite.”
“Of course, Thayer,” Elspeth replied.
With a graceful stoke of Ethelion’s shimmering silken mane, she concurred, “I have waited this long, surely I can endure a few further moments’ delay. Besides, I am in the company of the handsomest man in all o’ Scotland. Why would I be eager to conclude my journey with such a well favored guide?”
Flashing a winning grin, Thayer turned to respond. But before he could utter a word, every muscle in his body stiffened. Straining his ears to the wind, he detected the unmistakable sound of horses and riders approaching.
“Elspeth, riders draw near. Speak not. We shall take cover in the woodlands beyond the glade,” he whispered, gesturing with his broad chin toward the towering pines.
Elspeth nodded her assent and Thayer spurred Ethelion toward the forest. The loyal steed, sensing his master’s urgency, dashed into the nearby woodlands, slackening his pace only when they were deep within its shadows.
Hurriedly dismounting, Thayer snatched Ethelion’s reins. Hoisting Elspeth from the saddle, he motioned for her to take cover behind an overgrown thicket of bracken.
Muffling his footfalls, he guided the towering beast to a mossy copse some thirty yards yon. Upon his return, he was relieved to find Elspeth well concealed behind the thicket. Silently, he eased himself directly behind her and rested his chin atop her right shoulder. After flicking a reassuring wink, he directed her attention to the edge of the forest. Together, they bent their ears to the wind and awaited the source of the disturbance. Elspeth began to tremble. Sensing this, Thayer quickly drew his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. She fumbled for his hand and clutched it firmly.
The voices drew near.
Distinguishing the native tongue of the riders, Thayer tilted his lips to her ear and whispered, “English patrol.”
“Aye, and look, they bear the coat of arms of Lord Devlin,” Elspeth noted.
The English patrol, which consisted of four heavily armored soldiers and one slightly built young archer, came fully into view.
In a gruff, gravelly voice, the tallest of the group raised a heavily mailed gauntlet and pronounced, “Patrol, halt! Dismount and tether your steeds. We shall take a bit of a breather here.”
Directing his heated gaze to the archer, he barked, “You, archer, gather some wood for the fire, post haste!” Casting a casual glance toward the thicket which concealed Elspeth and Thayer, he demanded, “And fetch some kindling from that overgrown thicket yon.”
In a voice which crackled, yawed and changed pitches, the young archer replied, “Beggin’ your pardon, Sir Edward, but I have kindling aplenty from our last respite.”
“Very well, then. I guess you are good for something,” he replied mockingly with an annoyed swipe of his hand.
With a surge of hormonal-fueled courage, the young archer straightened his back and pronounced, “Aye, but ye are remiss in the whole of your praise of my abilities, Sir Edward, for I am the finest archer in all of Lothian!”
The soldiers strived to muffle their laughter as they watched Sir Edward’s face darken.
“Stifle yourselves!” he barked as his eyes narrowed menacingly upon the young lad.
Lifting his gauntlet threateningly, Sir Edward growled: “Bah! I should tan your worthless hide for your insolence; but you’re not even worthy of the effort!”
Elspeth slipped forward ever so slightly. The subtle rustle of undergrowth caught the young archer’s attention. Whirling round in his saddle, he nimbly slid from his mount. Deftly plucking an arrow from his quiver, he promptly loosed a bolt in their direction. The missile whizzed just over Thayer’s and Elspeth’s heads, prompting them to crouch lower to the ground. Gripping the hilt of his blade, Thayer watched as the young archer cautiously approached. Though he detected a Scottish tongue, he was prepared to slay the young man should he discover their concealment.
“Sweet Jesu!” Elspeth whispered to Thayer, “I ken that lad! His name is Brice. He’s the youngest son of my Aunt Eua. He must have been pressed into service by Lord Devlin.”
“Mayhap, but if he discovers us, Elspeth, pray that his fealty to your family is steadfast. If ‘tis not, he will not live to see the morrow.”
Brice inched forward and, arriving at the copse, crouched upon the ground. Drawing a deep breath, he cautiously peered into the brambly thicket. Spying Thayer’s and Elspeth’s eyes peering back at him, he gasped before tumbling backwards onto his rear.
“Well, what is it you see, archer? Speak up!” Sir Edward demanded.
Flicking a wink of recognition to his cousin, Brice sprung up from the ground.
“‘Tis naught, Sir Edward. There is aught here. ‘Twas probably some small game.”
“If ‘twas small game, archer, we could have used it for a meal. You’re not even capable at doing that, are you?” Sir Edward rebuked.
Spying the motionless form of an impaled hare lying just beyond the thicket, Brice smiled and whirled round. “As always, Sir Edward, ye are wise in your assessment.”
Elevating a suspicious brow and maintaining his glower, Sir Edward motioned for the patrol to dismount. The men slid off their horses, looping their reins around nearby boughs. Meanwhile, Brice gathered several large stones and arranged them in a circle. As he dug the fire pit into the hard earth, he snapped the tip of a dull blade he had been afforded by the patrol.
Muttering oaths beneath his breath, Sir Edward complained grumpily, “Never mind that, you careless oaf! Just toss some kindling and set it alight!”
Turning to Thayer and motioning with a tilt of her chin, Elspeth whispered, “When our countrymen retake Dirleton, he’s the first one I want to see hanging from a gibbet.”
Thayer chuckled quietly. “Aye, m’love. I will see to it post haste. And remind me to never raise yer ire.”
Rolling her eyes in mock disdain, Elspeth pinched Thayer’s thigh. Wincing in pain, he chuckled. He knew even though they were in such a precarious situation, he should have expected Elspeth’s attack on his leg. A tear welled in his eye. It slipped loose, trickling onto his hand. Elspeth lowered her lips to his hand and gently kissed it away. Noting Sir Edward rise from the stone upon which he was perched, Thayer tenderly grasped Elspeth’s hand and redirected her attention to the hulking knight.
“Rest up, chaps. Word has reac
hed Lord Devlin that the wayward lass he seeks, Lady Elspeth Mourney, rides this way with a single escort. Her squire is rumored to be Sir Thayer MacCourt of Edinburgh. Although Devlin seeks to capture the Lady unscathed, he would surely pay a handsome price for MacCourt’s head.”
“You can have Sir Thayer’s head,” sniped one of the soldiers wryly. “I am more disposed to capture the comely Mourney lass. Mayhap, Devlin would not mind if I were to have just a little taste of her wares before delivering her.”
Her jaw working in anger, Elspeth wrung Thayer’s hand so tightly a small trickle of blood appeared.
Drawing his mouth to her ear, Thayer whispered, “I dinna think I can wait until we have retaken the castle before I kill each and every one of them.”
“Nae, please dinna do anything rash, Thayer. I fear Brice will be harmed. Do not fret, in due time, they will get their just reward.”
“She may be a comely wench but if you touch her, chap, Devlin will have your head,” Sir Edward cautioned bluntly.
“’Tis just as well, I suppose,” the soldier grumbled as the grisly vision of his head upon Lord Devlin’s chopping block wrested him back to reality. “I’m sure that lass’ virtue has long since been lost anyway,” the soldier added callously.
“Indeed, and knowing the Scots as I do, I’m sure she gave it up more than willingly,” Sir Edward sniped with a wicked grin.
As a chorus of hearty guffaws rent the still forest air, Brice grimaced at the lecherous mockery.
“What ails you, archer?” Sir Edward mocked as he spied the frown of revolt etched upon Brice’s face. “Mayhap ye have a soft place for the lass--being kin and all.”
“Nae, I’ve heard she’s a real vixen,” Brice replied with mock authority.
Smart lad, Brice, Thayer contemplated. Live today, fight on the morrow.
“You see, men. These bloody Scots are not even loyal to their own kind,” Sir Edward noted with wicked amusement as he tore off a chunk of hard tack and stuffed it into his mouth.