Rescued by a Laird

by Fiona MacEwen

  “I mean what I say, Ailsa, ye dinnae have to go anywhere ye dinnae wish to. If ye wish to stay here with us then ye can, I will nae allow anyone to take ye from here against yer will,” Bryce said.

  She was silent for a moment, pondering his words and she eased herself closer to him, reaching out to instinctively take his hand. He looked at her and smiled, as she leaned her head against his shoulder.

  “I dinnae wish to marry Stewart McKinnon, of that I am certain. And I dinnae wish to leave this beautiful place and return home, for I fear my father will insist upon my marrying someone quite against my will. He is a kind man, but he is set in his ways and has decided that I must marry to secure my future,” Ailsa replied.

  “Then … why nae stay here, ye would have both,” Bryce said, and as she looked up at him, he leaned down and kissed her.

  Their kiss was tender but passionate, and she had never experienced such a thing before. He held her softly to him, his arms placed gently around her, sending a sense of warmth and safety running through her. How wonderful he was, and how she delighted in him, in his kindness, in the way he held her now, and in the way he had so cared for her since her arrival. Truly this was love and Ailsa knew she had fallen for the handsome Laird and his castle by the sea.

  But as their lips parted, she let out a cry and pointed out to sea. There, on the horizon, were three ships, sailing across the waves towards the beach and Bryce looked with horror at the insignia on the sails. It was Stewart McKinnon and his men, sailing towards the beach, and Bryce leaped up, helping Ailsa to her feet as the two now made their way as quickly as they could towards the track up to the castle.

  “He is coming for me, is nae he?” she said, a look of horror across her face.

  “Aye, lass, it would seem so, but dinnae fear, this castle has held out before and we shall nae allow him to take ye, at whatever cost, I promise,” Bryce said.

  “Ye cannae risk yer life for me, Bryce, nor the lives of yer folks, what of yer dear mother?” Ailsa said, as they struggled along the beach, the ships coming ever closer behind.

  “Nay Dunbar is a friend of the McKinnon’s, and Stewart McKinnon has been looking for any excuse he can find to see to it that this castle is his and my lands are seized. He would have come anyway in the end, of that I am certain,” Bryce replied, helping her up onto the track.

  They cast a glance back to where the ships were now moored out in the bay. They would land using long ships and Bryce knew that their only chance was to secure the castle and fend off the siege. They could not hope to meet them head to head, there on the beach and instead Bryce knew that they must make their stand from the castle.

  By the time they arrived at the castle gates the enemy had already been spotted and as they entered the gates were locked and barred behind them, whilst on the walls the sentries prepared for the attack. Archers stood ready in the courtyard to let fly a volley of arrows and the sergeant was mustering his men for the fight.

  “Dinnae worry, sir, we will nae let those treacherous McKinnon’s get to the lass, keep her safe in the keep with yer mother,” he said.

  “Well done, men,” Bryce said, looking around at his clansmen, brave men who were no friends of the McKinnon’s and whom he knew could be trusted to fight to the death if necessary, against their enemy.

  He helped Ailsa inside, where Lady Dunbar was pacing anxiously up and down the Great Hall.

  “Oh, thank the Lord, Bryce, Ailsa, ye are safe. When the cry came that McKinnon’s had landed on the beach, I feared the worst. Come now, lass, sit here by the fire, we shall be safe, dinnae worry and nay harm shall come to ye, I promise,” Lady Dunbar said.

  “I must go and be with the men,” Bryce said, “stay here and dinnae leave this room, it is the safest place in the castle and if, God forbid, we fall back, then the keep will still be well guarded, even if the walls are breached.

  “Let us pray it dinnae come to that, Bryce,” his mother replied, embracing her son and kissing him.

  “Bryce, please be careful,” Ailsa said, and she struggled up from her place by the fire and came over to him, kissing him on the cheek.

  “I will be, dinnae worry,” Bryce replied, and nodding to them he strode out towards the courtyard, every bit the noble Laird preparing to lead his clan.

  ***

  Stewart McKinnon had wasted no time in landing his men on the beach, they had used long boats let down from the ships and now around a hundred McKinnons had waded through the surf and onto the beach. They faced no opposition and soon their banner was erected by the same rocks which just a short while ago Ailsa and Bryce had sat upon. The smoky remains of their fire still burning close to where the banner now stood.

  “The castle of the Dunbar’s is a fine sight, tis’ it nae?” Stewart said to one of his clansmen as they looked out across the beach to where the castle stood proudly atop its crag.

  “Aye, Laird, and for these many years past we McKinnons have coveted it,” the man replied.

  “Aye, and today will be the day tis’ ours, young Bryce Dunbar has nay experience of war, had dinnae ken how to command troops in battle. It will be an easy victory, I assure ye,” Stewart replied. “Have a fire kindled, we shall burn in the gates and then charge them, they have fifty men at most, Hamish Macleod was useful enough to provide that information, and many of them have seen too many springs or not enough, old men and boys the lot of them.”

  The men went about his bidding and soon a large bonfire had been kindled below the castle, as Bryce’s men watched nervously from the battlements above. It was later that day that Stewart McKinnon approached the gates to parley. He had no wish for unnecessary bloodshed and called out for Bryce to face him and talk terms. The young Laird soon appeared on the battlements and Stewart called out to him to surrender.

  “Ye think that a show of force upon the beach is enough to make me surrender to ye, Stewart McKinnon? Then ye are very much mistaken, I assure ye,” Bryce replied.

  “Ye have somethin’ that belongs to me, Bryce Dunbar, somethin’ I am eager to see returned,” Stewart called up, as down below his men made ready with the flames.

  “And what would that be?” Bryce replied.

  “Ye know full well what it is, the lass to whom I am rightfully betrothed, the lass ye wrecked off yer beach and are holdin’ here for yer own wicked pleasures. Return her and I shall leave ye alone, for now,” Stewart said.

  “If ye mean Ailsa Kennedy then I assure ye she is quite free to go, should she so wish to. But I know she has nay desire to go with ye, nor to marry ye, and I will nae see her turned out of this castle to a life of misery with ye on yer island,” Bryce said, as Stewart McKinnon shook his head in anger and placed his hand upon his sword.

  “Ye we will nae be harmed, Bryce Dunbar, ye and yer clan may remain in peace, but ye will hand Ailsa over to me or I shall be forced to take her by force, dae ye hear me?” Stewart cried.

  But Bryce had his archers unleash a volley of arrows over Stewart’s head, his response to the McKinnon demands very clear. Stewart turned and signaled to his men that the time for words was over and that they should make ready to attack

  “Ye will regret this, Bryce Dunbar, ye and all yer clansmen, I assure ye of that,” he shouted, as Bryce looked down from the battlements above.

  “It is ye who shall regret it, Stewart McKinnon, there is nay place for ye and yer violent ways here, be gone now, an leave us in pace,” Bryce said, but the McKinnon Laird was having none of it and ran back towards his men, signaling them to prepare themselves for the attack.

  ***

  “Steady now, men,” Bryce said, as he watched the beach from high up on the battlements.

  The fire on the beach was now large and several small trees which had stood amidst the dunes had been felled, their branches set alight like great torches.

  “They are goin’ to burn the gates, Laird, the archers must be brought up onto the battlements to shoot down,” the sergeant said, standing next to Bryce who nod
ded.

  “Aye, signal them to come up here, when the charge comes we shall cut them down upon the track, Stewart McKinnon will soon see that I am not a man to be messed with,” Bryce replied grimly.

  The archers were positioned on the battlements and as Stewart and his men hauled the trees from the fire, their branches alight, Bryce ordered a warning volley to be sent amongst them. The arrows were let loose, but many fell short, caught in the breeze coming off the sea and none of Stewart’s men were harmed.

  “Wait until they get closer,” Bryce said, watching as the trees were carried along the beach towards the track.

  But Stewart’s cruelty had one advantage to it, and that was his ability in war, honed over many years of conflicts with his neighbors. He knew how to fight and as his men prepared to run up the track towards the castle gates, carrying their burning battering rams he had ten of his men raise their shields over the top of the others, creating a cover from the arrows which would let fly above.

  “Ready men,” he cried, his voice echoing around the castle walls as Bryce and his fellow clansmen watched from above, “charge.”

  Bryce turned to the sergeant who ordered the archers to let loose their arrows, but most just bounced off the shields or became caught up in the smoking branches, which made it impossible to see or make targets of the men who carrying that deadly weapon towards the wooden gates.

  A great plume of smoke was now coming up from the gatehouse, the trees burning freely at the old wooden doors, as from above their rained down more arrows, as Stewart’s men retreated.

  “Quickly, water, draw water from the well to douse the fires,” Bryce called down to the courtyard where already pales were being sloshed down into the well and a chain of soldiers forming to pass them up.

  But smoke was already coming from beneath the doors, the dry oak easily catching as the trees burned. The buckets of water made little impact, poured down and creating more smoke, so that soon the whole castle was enveloped, and Bryce could see nothing of Stewart McKinnon and his men below.

  “Tis’ nay good, Laird, we cannae hope to beat him like this, the archers cannae see through the smoke of the fire, nor the men know where to defend the wall,” the sergeant said.

  Bryce was at a loss, the gates would soon buckle and fall, as the flames licked further at them, the water making little impact on what was now an inferno of flames.

  “Bring the men back, we shall make our stand at the keep,” Bryce said, rallying his men down from the battlements and into the courtyard.

  “Dae ye surrender Bryce Dunbar,” a voice called through the smoke, echoing around the castle crag like an unseen specter.

  “Surrender, when all ye have done is placed a burning bush before our door, ye dinnae know me at all, Stewart McKinnon,” Bryce shouted back, casting a final glance into the smoke, as he followed his men down from the battlements.

  The pails of water had little effect and now the gates of the castle were well and truly alight, the flames causing the wood to buckle, as with a crash they fell in, sending a great cloud of smoke into the air and choking those nearby.

  “Back, fall back, men,” Bryce called, drawing his sword and rushing towards the keep.

  But as he did so another cry came from behind, and a surge of McKinnon men poured through the archway and into the courtyard. Bryce turned, ready to fight, but the sergeant pulled him back, drawing his own sword to protect the Laird, as the clash of sword upon sword clattered around them.

  Bryce fought bravely, as around him his men were outnumbered, beaten back towards the keep, their last bastion of safety. Smoke continued to pour into the courtyard and soon it was almost impossible to see anything, the thick clouds hanging heavy in the air, as the soldiers struggled for breath.

  “Get to the keep,” Bryce called to the sergeant, as one of the McKinnon’s lunged at the with his sword and Bryce wielded a deadly blow to him, sending the man reeling back in pain.

  As he staggered up the steps, breathless and in pain from a blow to his arm, he turned to look down on the scene of devastation below. The gates were still smoldering, and as the smoke began to clear it revealed the defeat of the Dunbar’s at the hands of the McKinnon’s. Men lay wounded on the ground, and many were dead. The McKinnon’s were calling victory and around Bryce his own men had formed a protective circle, as Stewart McKinnon emerged from the smoke and stood victoriously before them.

  “So, ye could nae defend yer castle against a hundred men, look at ye, Bryce Dunbar. A lad still with much to learn, ye should have given me Ailsa when ye had the chance and not see yer gates burned in and yer men killed for nothin’ now, hand her over. I know she is in there, I’ve known all along, I shall have the girl and ye shall be allowed to remain here, though subject to me. These lands have always been the rightful claim of the McKinnon’s, it was yer great grandfather who thought it right to take them from us, well that injustice is now righted, ye hear me,” Stewart said, push through the men who looked helplessly at their Laird standing at the door to the keep.

  “I would rather die than see ye get yer hands upon the lass, Stewart, if she dinnae wish to marry then that is her choice, ye hear me?” Bryce said, as Stewart McKinnon came to stand before him, his sword pointing at Bryce’s throat.

  “Oh, I hear ye, but yer words mean nothin’ when ye are surrounded and yer castle is overtaken, now stand aside,” he said, pushing Bryce firmly away.

  But at that moment the door to the keep opened, and Ailsa and Lady Dunbar came defiantly out. Despite her injuries Ailsa had drawn herself up to her full height and looked with nothing but disdain and contempt at Stewart whose face broke into a smile.

  “Well, well, well, so this must be wee Ailsa, the bonnie lass I was promised and who was so cruelly taken away from me by this pitiful excuse for a man,” Stewart said, stepping forward and looking at Ailsa as though she were an exhibit at a fair, or a prized animal at the market.

  “If it is a pitiful man ye be wantin’ then I suggest ye take a look only at yerself, Stewart McKinnon, and if this is the introduction I am to have to the man who thinks he shall be my husband, then I am certain that I have nay desire to make it so, for it was with little desire I set out before this sorry business occurred. How dare ye come here now to claim me and think that ye can make me yer property, I am no one’s property,” Ailsa said, her face set in anger, as Stewart flushed red with anger.

  “Ye are betrothed to me, and this man has kept ye a prisoner here for his own wicked pleasures. Ye will come with me now, ye hear me?” Stewart McKinnon said, reaching out to grab her, but as he did so the hand of Lady Dunbar fell hard across his own and he reeled back in anger.

  “Ye will dae nay such thing, ye wicked man, ye had nay right to behave in such a way and ye know it, ye are nothing but a bully Stewart McKinnon, just like yer father before ye,” Lady Dunbar said, putting her hands on Ailsa’s shoulders.

  But Stewart McKinnon simply laughed.

  “See, the woman speaks, the old woman of Dunbar, always meddlin’ and interferin’ the old witch,” Stewart said, as his clansmen roared with laughter and Bryce turned helplessly to his mother.

  “I am nay afraid of ye, Stewart McKinnon, and ye shall get yer comeuppance, mark my words,” she said as Stewart took hold of Ailsa and a cheer went up from his men.

  “Ailsa Kennedy, ye will come with me, and to prove that I am a benevolent man, the rest of this sorry group will remain here. I have what I came here for, but if ye try to rearm and regroup, Bryce Dunbar, then I shall see to it that ye are punished, dae ye understand?” Stewart McKinnon said.

  “I understand that ye are a despicable man, and that ye would marry a lass against her will just to satisfy yer own desires, yer own lust for power, ye are nay worthy to hold the title Laird over yer clan, and I should rather be a weak man than one like ye,” Bryce replied, but Stewart simply laughed, and he took hold of Ailsa, and dragged her down the steps of the keep.

  “I dinnae want to marry ye, I never
wanted to marry ye, it is Bryce that I love, now let me go,” she cried, striking out at him, but as she did so she toppled over, letting out a cry of pain and Stewart simply picked her up and hoisted her over his shoulders, striding towards the burned out gates, his men following behind.

  As he did so she let out another scream, and he covered her mouth with his hand, as she struggled in his grip.

  “A feisty lass, ye have had below yer roof, Bryce Dunbar, feisty indeed, she will be quite a handful, I am sure,” he called out as Bryce stood helplessly with his mother and the remaining clansmen.

  Chapter 8

  A Fool in the Storm

  As the battle had been fought clouds had rolled in over the shoreline and the sky, which earlier had been so clear and fresh, was now becoming black and broody, the first drops of rain now falling and causing the smoldering fires to smoke once more.

  “Ye cannae sail now, McKinnon, can ye nae see there is a storm comin’ in from the sea, ye dinnae know these waters well enough,” Bryce called after them.

  “And ye are simply tryin’ to keep me here so ye can find a way of freein’ Ailsa. I suggest ye keep yer mouth shut, Bryce Dunbar, or ye may find yerself on the wrong end of my sword,” Stewart shouted back.

  “What are we to do, Mother?” Bryce said, tears in his eyes as Ailsa was carried off by the McKinnons, her face tearful as she looked helplessly back at Bryce.

  “We’ll find a way, son, I promise ye,” Lady Dunbar said as they stood together in the courtyard, around them the sad sight of their fallen clansmen, the castle decimated, and their banner torn down.

  ***

  “There now, lass, ye are safe and sound,” Stewart said, setting Ailsa down on the beach, as great drops of rain fell upon them, and a rumble of thunder shuddered across the sky.

  “I dinnae wish anythin’ to dae with ye, and I have nay desire to marry ye, Stewart McKinnon,” Ailsa replied, scowling at him as he laughed.