by Annis, Dawn
He searched desperately around boulders, in the scrub oak. His shoulders sagged. It wasn’t Thea, but a camp follower.
“Have ye seen a young lass?” Callum squatted next to her. He patted her hand.
The woman was mute in her fear. Callum considered shaking the information from her but paused. He doubted she would be able to tell him anything coherent. He helped her up and led her to the edge of the camps.
“Go home,” Callum instructed.
The woman ran. Turning to watch her go, he had a fleeting thought to follow her, to see to her safety. She would have to fend for herself. He strode back into the camps.
Cannon fire brought on another scream. A woman hid in the exposed roots of a rotted tree, having burrowed herself into the earth. Dirt rained upon her with every explosion. It must be her. His heart would not be able to take it if not.
He scrambled over to her and touched her shoulder as terrified sobs consumed her. She screamed her fear.
“Thea, my love, ye must come out. ’Tis Callum. I am here.” He struggled with the ropes binding her. She squirmed until he calmed her enough to use his knife and cut her free.
Thea sobbed. She grabbed Callum and hung on, her hands clawing at his back. With each new cannon volley, she shuddered but no longer screamed.
A burning anger replaced his temporary relief.
The madman Fendrel has put her in terrible danger, and he will die for it.
Terrified, Thea released Callum and touched his face, as if to convince herself he was real. Grabbing him once more with a sob, she hugged him so forcibly she nearly strangled him.
Callum took her arms from around his neck and held her fingers to his lips. He forced Thea to look at him until the crazed fear left her eyes.
He searched the area around them for stragglers, stood, and grabbed her hand, drawing her out of her hiding place. He tucked her into his shoulder and forced her to walk. They escaped from the fighting, the destruction, the death.
“I saw no way out. All I could think to do is bury m’self as far into the rotted tree as I could. Then ye came, came to me,” Thea stuttered, tears streaming down her grimy face.
Callum ran his hands over her body, checking for injury. “Love, are ye hurt?”
“Nay, no badly.”
“Can ye ride?”
“Nay, we have to wait, Callum. The outcome ’tis important. We must ken.” Thea pointed to the battlefield.
“Wait? Nay!”
“We canna wait for word.”
Callum closed his eyes and lowered his head. “Aye.”
He carried her to the edge of the trees farther along the field before setting her down. The sleet had turned to a dense fog. It and the smoke from the cannons obscured the battle below. Thea grabbed Callum’s hand and squeezed tight.
“’Tis more than any should bear. Where is the Young Pretender? Why does no he bring a halt to the slaughter?”
Callum pointed to the prince and his advisors as they picnicked on the field far from the destruction.
“They toast one another rather than act?” Thea asked, her face incredulous.
“Aye.” Callum held his breath as Charles dispatched his generals. “Blast it. He will lead them to their deaths.”
A breeze parted the smoke and mists. The Highlanders had lost their cover. Callum raised his eyes and thanked all that was holy as whole clans retreated, ignoring the urging of their commanders to stand and attack. Injured MacDonald men helped each other off the field. One man had lost a foot.
“He will no live long.”
Thea shook her head. “Nay.”
They watched in horror at the remaining fearsome Highlander attack. A horde of blood-covered clansmen charged ahead, brandishing their broadswords, shields, and dirks, yelling their clan war cries. The bagpipers played their encouragement.
Callum pointed to John Fendrel and the remaining MacDonald men. The small ragtag group rushed into the melee. John wore a maniacal mask. He and the MacDonald clansmen melded with the enemy as whiskey into water.
“He is goin’ to die, he kens it, and he does no care.” Thea put her face in her hands. “My brothers kent the right o’ it, but I did care for him.”
Callum soothed as he comforted Thea. “I ken ye did, lass. ’Tis in yer nature.”
“All I see is blood.” Thea clung to Callum.
Callum pointed out to Thea men escaping the troops, attempting to blend into the woods surrounding the moor. The English were not fools and followed close at their heels.
At least the English were not currently moving in their direction. “I will wager some will die in those trees. Either side. No one will ken o’ their fate.”
Ground troops fired on the attacking Highlanders, guns discharging. The wind from behind them pushed choking clouds of black powder smoke at the clansmen.
Thea trembled with the din of swords clashing as the English and Scottish fought in hand-to-hand combat. She grasped onto Callum, her face pale under the ash from the cannon smoke.
“I think I am goin’ to be sick.”
Callum held her as she retched her sorrow.
He snagged a forgotten blanket from the dirt, shook it out, and threw it over Thea to keep her warm.
“The daft prick!” Callum pointed to the field. Bonnie Prince Charlie, the Young Pretender, slapped his horse with his wee sword and fled the field. “The coward.”
The English second line stepped forward and shot into the fray, further reducing the clansmen numbers.
Callum let out a breath. “They are retreatin’. The daft bastards are finally retreatin’.”
The English forces followed the clansmen. Other English soldiers canvassed the bloody field, searching for injured Scots. They used their bayonets to gut fallen men. One Scot lifted his hand in placation only to have the soldier stand on his neck with one foot and rip him across the abdomen, spilling his entrails. The man cried out. The soldier laughed.
Thea shielded her eyes with the blanket. “I canna watch any longer. My heart is sore.”
“Aye, ’tis a gruesome sight. The battle is over.” Callum put his arms around Thea’s shaking shoulders as she sobbed.
“Those poor men.”
Callum drew a breath. “We canna stay. We must go before the king’s men find us.”
They moved from their position, mindful of the soldiers both Scottish and English, and stumbled out of hell. The gruesome deaths of the men they left behind on the battlefield filled Callum to the brim with heartache and sickness.
“All I see agin are the wounded lyin’ on the ground, their bloody hands raised in surrender.” Thea wiped the tears and grime from her face with the back of her hand.
“We canna worry over them. Ye must be stalwart.”
Callum suddenly stopped her, his hand up. He put his finger to his lips.
She came to a halt, quiet, and choked back her grief.
Callum slowly paced up to a lone horse. It stamped its feet, eyes wide. “Sssh. There now, ye wee bit. Settle down.” Callum reached the horse and patted its neck. “There ye are, my bonnie lass. ’Tis all right.”
He stroked its nose and patted its neck again. Without turning, he motioned for Thea to come next to him. She approached quietly, carefully. She, too, crooned to the horse.
“What is she doin’ out here? I wouldna think a mare would be brought to a battle.”
“Me, as well, but I am damn glad to see her. I dinna see my mount, and she is all we have.”
Callum and Thea climbed atop the mare and rode to the west through the trees. A sinking feeling halted him. They would have to avoid the men fighting for the prince. Their camps dotted the woods. He spotted a small ridge, no more than ten feet at the highest. He guided the horse toward the ridge, hoping
he could slip through if a line of defense was formed there.
“Hang on, love. I have a plan. Pray ’twill work.”
“More than I ever have before.” Thea, quiet for a moment, declared, “We are in a precarious spot, and I have put us here. My shame empties me.” She leaned against Callum’s back. He could feel her body shake.
“Ssh, lass. There isna call for shame. John Fendrel had a plan, and he was goin’ to carry it out. Ye were in the way.”
Each time they spoke, their breath hung in the air. The cold numbed his hands as Callum urged his mount to the ridge. He cringed when the clatter of their horse’s hooves on the rocks echoed across the moor.
There is no help for it.
Hopefully, the retreating men hid the noise he and Thea made. He guided his horse up and around to the top. They dismounted and hid at the edge of the forest. A group of Cameron clansmen poured toward the battlefield, leading their horses. Callum and Thea shrank farther into the gloom. They questioned whether the clansmen intended to fight or collect their dead and wounded. Either way the English were a threat.
“The road home leads us through more troops. We can hide from them here and let them pass us by,” Callum said, his voice low. “I will be surprised if they make it to the battlefield. The English seem determined to seek men coming from the woods.”
Callum held her tight. A whimper escaped her lips.
“Now isna the time. Thea, where is the braw, sassy lass I have come to ken? Ye have had a rough time, and ’tis goin’ to be rougher still, but we will get ye home, havena doubt.”
“I should have gone to ye as soon as I heard o’ their plans. I dinna ken John would take it so far.” Thea clasped Callum’s shirt. “I dinna want ye hurt because o’ my daft thinkin’.”
He turned. “Nay, no time for regret.” Holding her cheek in the palm of his hand, he gazed into her eyes. “Ye have to stop blamin’ yerself and sobbin’ yer guilt. I ken ye have been through more terror than any man, but ye have to be stalwart. I canna get us home alone. Let us make it to our warm hearth alive.”
Thea nodded, her eyes large.
Callum led the horse away from the ridge, weaving their way from the edge and into the trees. Movement ahead caught his eye.
“Move around the horse as quietly as ye can,” Callum urged.
Thea hesitated.
“Do as I say, now,” he hissed.
Thea scrambled to do as he insisted, her feet scuffing the ground softly. Callum followed, his hand on the horse’s hindquarters, and he pushed Thea against a tree. He turned the horse’s head, forcing it to stand in front of her as a shield.
“Stay,” he ordered, handing her the reins.
Callum faced a soldier with his weapon pointed at him. The pimples on his face showed him to be more a boy than a man. The boy’s body shook. Tears and snot ran down his face.
Callum stood with his hands at his sides, palms out. “Let us pass.”
“No. I am to shoot you until you are dead. Them’s my orders.”
“We were caught within the army, but I wasna on the battlefield.”
The boy took aim. Thea shoved the horse at the boy, startling him. His weapon fired its single shot into the treetops. Bewilderment rested on his face, then terror. He scrambled back, tripping over his own feet. Leaving his musket, he turned and crawled until he gained his footing and ran toward the battlefield.
Callum threw Thea atop the horse and climbed up behind her. He urged their mount through the trees and left the boy to his own fate as they followed ghostly shapes moving through the mist.
Thea’s cold hands gripped Callum’s as he guided the horse through the woods. He heard sounds of men escaping the battle, the copper smell of blood still in his nose. The fog shrouded the features of those close, making them little more than a suggestion.
Thea’s wet hair had fallen from its braid and hung, cold and clammy, over her shoulder and in her face. She trembled. Callum tighten his grip on her. Neither spoke for fear of discovery.
Over and over again, in his mind, Callum saw men dying, heard them screaming, smelled the pungent earth as cannon balls furrowed to a stop once their destruction was complete. Trees cracked and splintered with each blast, the English determined to rout out the Scots.
Occasionally, they heard a man begging for his life before a single shot echoed, the fog carrying the desperate sound. Thea turned and buried her face in Callum’s shoulder.
“Ssh, ’twill be fine,” Callum said, his voice low. “Be quiet as ye can.”
A soldier in his red coat loomed out of the mist.
“Off your bleeding horse. I need it to git back to my unit. I will not have the likes of you riding while I walk.”
Callum climbed off the horse and helped Thea to the ground. With his hand on her hip, he edged her slightly behind him.
“The lass has had her fill this day. She canna take another step,” Callum tried to reason with the man.
“Shite,” Thea said so low only Callum heard her.
No Sassenach pig would be taking their horse if he could help it. “Take care where yer pointin’ that,” Callum said as he looked directly at the musket.
“How about I just shoot you now? Your Scottish whoresons are running for the hills. Ain’t nobody going to stop—”
Thea came around Callum in a rush and punched the bastard across the jaw. The blow snapped his head to one side.
Astonished, Callum followed with a punch of his own, laying the man flat.
“Oww.” Thea shook her hand. She beamed at Callum.
“Pure dead brilliant, lass,” Callum said as he grabbed the musket and checked for shot. “’Tis empty.”
Chapter 11
The forest was deadly quiet except for the occasional shot ringing through the trees, a shot that at any time could find her. They avoided the bushes where an enemy could hide. Rain poured, obscuring the path they followed. The mists had soaked them to the bone, rain adding to their misery. They slogged through the mud with their heads down, each in their own thoughts. Callum wound his arm around Thea. They shook from the cold, the wet, the battle. Her fear threatened to overwhelm her. With a finger under her chin, Callum turned her face to his. He wiped the hair plastered to her cheeks and kissed her forehead. Callum resumed leading the lone horse, and Thea clung to his arm, comforted.
“’Tis the MacLeod?” A lone voice sounded over the din of the rain.
Startled, Thea met Callum’s eyes.
He lowered his head and, with a sideward glance, put his finger to his lips.
“If I tell ye to ride, ride,” he commanded.
“Nay, I will no . . .”
“Thea,” he warned. “No argument.” He withdrew the gun he’d stored under the saddle blankets to prevent the powder from getting wet. The lost use of the blanket was a sacrifice of warmth against the cold he and Thea were enduring, but a necessity. With a stern look, Callum put her on the horse and wound the reins around her hands.
Reluctantly, she leaned into the saddle. Thea held the reins close. The saddle creaked, but the mare stood motionless, head down.
Thea would do as she was told for now, but she would not go anywhere without Callum. Her eyes pricked with unshed tears. Callum had chosen not to fight. The MacLeod would not be welcome here. She would not be welcome here.
“Who be askin’?” Callum replied to the voice, guarded. He pushed her down closer to the horse’s neck.
“’Tis Dougal MacDonald,” the voice said. “Dinna shoot before ye have heard me out.”
“I wouldna count on it,” Callum replied, caution in his voice.
Four men stepped out from the gloom. Two of them supported their companions, bloody and limp. All were injured to some degree, but two appeared as if their last breath were momen
ts away. The largest man stepped close to Callum. His face was streaked with blood and sweat, dirt caked in his hair and beard. His burden winced in pain with every step. He shifted the man’s weight and reached his arm out to Callum. “Dougal MacDonald.” Callum clasped his forearm. Thea recognized him as one of the men who accompanied Prince Charles to Dunvegan.
“This here is Alister.” With a slight movement, the injured man raised his hand. Blood soaked Alister’s pant leg. “Yonder is Edmund holdin’ on to Willie.” Edmund had a gash down his face. Willie, injured far worse of the four, his shirt and tartan were covered in blood.
“We have traveled as far as we can.” Dougal pointed to his companions. “We have had to hide from the Sassenach, and every time we go to ground ’tis harder to get my men on their feet agin.”
“I can see why. Ye canna have the horse,” Callum stated. “I am travelin’ with a woman as ye can see. I am no keen on puttin’ her in further danger.”
“Aye, MacLeod, I can see yer point. Isna the horse I am thinkin’ about tho.” Dougal pointed a thumb across his shoulder. “We couldna take from ye if we wanted. Yer no too safe in these parts yerself. Mayhap ’tis helpful to have extra hands should there need be.”
Thea glanced at each man, assessing their injuries. These men weren’t a threat. They were trying to get home and needed help. She slipped off the horse and stood by Callum, her hand gripping his arm.
Callum gazed at her upturned face, his lips in a grim line.
”We must.”
He shook his head. “Nay. They will slow us down.”
Thea straightened and held her chin high in disagreement.
“’Tis Thea MacNichol I see?” Edmund interrupted as he lay Willie down. Willie moaned.
“We will no harm ye, Thea. We will guard ye with our lives,” Dougal vowed. “We ken what Fendrel did.”
Thea narrowed her eyes upon hearing John’s name. Callum guided her behind him with his arm. “Are the English still tailin’ ye?”