Duty And Passion In The Highlands: A Scottish Medieval Historical Highlander Collection

by Adamina Young

  For want of something else to do she went back to start reading the diaries again. She expected to be bored because she had read so many pages already, and so many of them dealt with the minutiae of Isobell’s everyday life. But instead she was fascinated, even though every injured part of her body was beginning to ache and sting again. She was thinking about going back to bed with a cup of Valerian tea when she found the entry that made all the difference.

  14

  The Ambush

  I had to tell Mungo that I could not keep the pledge I had made to him when we were twelve years old and I could not marry him. I will never forget the look on his face—he was so hurt, and I could practically see his heart break. I had to tell him that I had met someone else and I loved him with all my heart, and I had to follow where love led me. I am so desperately sorry for Mungo, but I cannot help it. He wished me good luck and I told him to go with God’s blessing, then I watched him ride away. May God forgive me for doing such a terrible thing to such a worthy man, and I hope Mungo will forgive me too, and find someone much more deserving of his love than I am.

  * * *

  After that the narrative became rather strange, and Malle began to feel shivers running down her back. She read the diary entry for the next day and found it strangely unsettling.

  * * *

  I was riding in the forest today and I had a very strange feeling. I felt as though something was touching the middle of my back between my shoulder blades. I have seen men practicing archery by shooting arrows into circles drawn on trees and I felt as if I had a circle on my back. I heard strange rustlings in the woods behind me, but nothing happened. I urged Danny into a canter and I rode home at once. It was likely my vivid imagination, as Donnan suggested, but I do not think so. I think someone was following me. Since then he has never allowed me to go out on my own.

  * * *

  Malle opened the diary at another page, and this one was dated two days after the wedding. The tone of the writing had changed again. Isobell was obviously beside herself with excitement and happiness, and it seemed to leap off the page as she wrote with long quick strokes of the quill.

  * * *

  I am so joyful that my heart is bursting with it. It seems that every flower in the world is blooming just for me. My Donnan is the most handsome, the most tender, and the most loving man in the world, and I do not know what I have done to deserve such happiness.

  * * *

  Malle smiled. She could practically hear Isobell’s laughter coming off the page, and she felt a sense of well-being flooding over her. Isobell was in love, as she was, and there was no better feeling in the world.

  There were a few pages that related to their intimate relations, and Malle felt herself blush while she was reading them. This was not a subject to which she had given much thought until she had met Craig, but she was receiving good instruction in it now!

  Then everything changed. Malle saw a different hand, a firm masculine script, the letters almost graven into the paper. The words were grim and threatening, and suddenly the air in the room seemed to darken and thicken; the candles guttered and blew and her hair lifted as though a wind had blown through it. Malle looked around herself fearfully but there was no sign of anything or anyone in the room, and a few moments later she had put it down to her fertile imagination.

  She unfolded the letter and read it.

  * * *

  My Dear Isobell,

  * * *

  I cannot believe you can be so cruel. You have been everything to me since we were twelve years old. I loved you the first moment I saw you, and God help me, I still do. I know that I am poorer that Donnan Dunbar, shorter in stature, and not so handsome, but I thought you could overlook those things and look to the man inside, who is burning with love and desire for you, and love me for who I am. I am the man who would lay down his life for you, and give away everything he owns for you, and you have broken my heart.

  In time, I may be forced to do my duty and be married, but there will never be anyone else to take your place.

  Donnan Dunbar is a very fortunate man...so far. But he took you from me, and you belong to me. Rest assured he will not have you for long, for if I cannot have you then he will not either. Just as you are mine, I am yours, and no one is going to hold you at night but I. Think about this the next time he kisses you, Isobell, and enjoy your happiness, for nothing lasts long in this life.

  * * *

  Your devoted Mungo

  * * *

  Malle gasped in horror at what was written on the page, because not only did she know that the threat had been carried out, but she knew who was going to be murdered. The letter made no mention of the victim’s name, but the inference was that it was going to be Donnan. After all, why would a man kill the woman he loved?

  A while after this letter her lifeless body was found facedown on the bedroom floor, and the feud began again in earnest. Malle was sure that Bruce was involved! Donnan had no reason to kill Isobell and she was very happy with him. Why would she commit suicide?

  Bruce, she thought. Could there be a connection between Alan Bruce and Mungo Bruce?

  Bruce was a very common Scottish name, but it was not inconceivable that the two men were from the same branch of the family. And it appears that the feud was not so big as to not be able to marry someone close to the Dunbars. After all, Isobell married a Dunbar.

  Malle knew she needed to talk to someone, so she went in search of Margaret, then groaned as she realized that her parents had gone to the horse fair. Who else could she talk to?

  Damn it! she thought desperately. The only person she could think of was Craig, but to get to him she would have to ride into the Dunbar Estate, putting herself in danger of being arrested. However, Craig would never let her go to the dungeons, and that was the thought that made up her mind. Craig had to see these letters.

  She thought about asking a guard to accompany her, but she knew that they would stop her as she got to the Cut, so she collected Arthur and trotted casually out of the courtyard as if she was going for a pleasant amble around the estate. It was a warm day with a white hazy sky, and any other day she would have enjoyed riding, but today she just wanted to get to Craig. She waited until she was out of sight of the castle then urged Arthur into a gallop. This time, however, they waded through the Cut, and she told herself she did not mind having wet feet for a few hours.

  I must look a sight, she thought. Bruises, scratches, bandages everywhere! She laughed aloud, then cried out as another rider sped out of the forest and stopped directly in front of her. Arthur reared up again for the second time in two days and she fell heavily on the hard ground, inflicting even more injuries on herself. She lay, moaning, unable to do anything to help herself.

  Then someone was bending over her. She had a sense of familiarity, then shock. In her dazed and confused state, she could see the man the way she had seen him before. It was the figure who had been bending over her at Isobell’s grave: Alan Bruce.

  His dark eyes were burning into hers and she recognized the glint of madness in them. Terrified, she instinctively hugged her arms around herself and tried to curl up into a ball, but it was no use. His dark beard was so long that it was brushing her chin and neck, and his breath reeked of whisky and fish; she almost gagged on the stench.

  He saw the revulsion on her face and laughed, then deliberately breathed on her hard so that she shut her eyes and turned away in disgust. She gave a moan of pain as the bump on her head, still sore from the previous fall, began to throb again. When he grabbed a hold of her hair and began to drag her towards the pine trees, she screamed.

  Pine needles scratched her skin and snagged her hair, tugging at its roots and making her howl with agony. She was in a nightmare of anguish. Her body was stinging and aching from her existing injuries and the new ones that were being inflicted.

  The torture ended when he let go of her hair, then stood above her and drew his broadsword. From her position on the forest
floor he looked even more menacing, seeming to resemble a thick, gnarled tree. She stared up at him, paralyzed with fear, while he did nothing but stare at her with an evil smile on his ugly face.

  “Get up, Mistress MacEwan,” he said at last. “Ye have nae business on Dunbar land. Whit wid happen tae ye if ye were caught? There’s some awfy bad types roon here that wid jist love lae get their hauns on a wee bit o’ MacEwan meat!”

  Malle saw the great broadsword at his belt and realized that if she were not going to die on its blade she had to keep him talking to her.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked with a puzzled frown. “What have I ever done to you?”

  “You are a MacEwan.” he replied, as if that explained everything.

  “And you are a Bruce, not a Dunbar,” she said, shaking her head. “As far as I know, you are close to them, but our families have no quarrel.”

  “Aye we dae, Mistress, oor three faimlies hae had a quarrel for twa hunner years!” His voice was low and vicious.

  “And Mungo Dunbar?” she asked, finally realizing the truth. “What does it have to do with him?”

  At once, she realized she had said the wrong thing.

  “Whit d’ye knaw about my faimly?” he demanded. “Whit has my faimly got tae dae wi’ you? Mistress, you have jist signed yer death warrant!”

  Alan Bruce raised his sword and then he took a menacing step towards her. She took a step back, then realized that her back was going to hit a tree. She turned and fled as fast as her legs would carry her, but she was only a small

  woman, and despite his bulk Alan could move very fast. He was gaining on her, but was still a few yards away when she tripped over a tree root and fell forward onto the carpet of pine needles.

  Malle was too dazed to care what happened next. She wanted to do no more than lie on her face on the forest floor till Alan Bruce put her out of her misery.

  15

  200 years

  It was then that she heard the furious thudding of hoofbeats coming towards her, and felt the ground shaking with their impact. Then a bloodcurdling scream was let loose and she knew at once who it was.

  Craig had been on his way to the church to give Father John another letter when he heard the scream. He did not think twice, but turned towards the direction of the sound; he would have known Malle’s voice anywhere. He was just in time. Standing over his love was Alan Bruce with a huge broadsword in his hand, ready to strike.

  Craig reined his horse in, afraid that if he proceeded any further, Alan would kill Malle.

  In a flash, Craig measured his options. He could ride forward and strike his enemy’s head off, but Malle was very close to Alan’s feet, and he might kill her. He could try to make peace with him, but judging by the madness in Bruce’s eyes, that was going to be a waste of time. Then again, he could take him on in single combat. Craig was bigger and heavier than most men, and he thought that his chances of winning a duel were a great deal better than Alan’s.

  Slowly, he got off his horse, not wanting to make any sudden moves that would startle or antagonize his enemy.

  The man gave him an evil smile, but Craig advanced towards him. “No one will hear you scream here and no one can save you. And if you kill her then I will kill you. Make no mistake, Alan Bruce, if you murder this woman the rest of your life will be measured in moments. That I promise you.”

  Suddenly Alan leaped at Craig, his sword swinging through the air in a wide arc. Craig blocked it then twisted the blade of Alan’s sword away from him so that he had room to aim for his chest, but Alan turned his body sideways so that Craig’s thrust went wide. Alan lunged forward again but was forced back by a heavy blow from Craig’s weapon on his own. They went on this way for ten times, each one lunging forward and being forced back again and again before Craig’s sheer strength prevailed. He took one long step forward and swiped sideways at Craig’s neck, and in trying to avoid it Alan stumbled backward and hit a tree trunk with his head.

  Craig strode over to where he lay slumped against the tree, then he raised his sword to strike, but he stopped short when Malle screamed and tugged at his sword arm.

  “No! No, Craig!” she cried. “We are not going to kill him. That would bring us down to his level, and we need to know if he can tell us what started this feud. Be at ease, lovie.”

  “I do not know how you can be so calm, Malle,” Craig said, shaking his head in disbelief. He had not taken his eyes off Alan, and now he leaned forward and disarmed him, throwing his sword away carelessly.

  “You are fortunate that this lady is merciful,” Craig said grimly, holding the point of his sword against Alan’s throat. “Or you would be lying with your head several feet away from your body by now. She is the only person who could have stopped me from killing you, for by God I could not have stopped myself!”

  He leaned over Alan and hauled him up by the front of his shirt, his dark gray eyes now almost black with rage.

  “Now you are going to give me answers or I will torture them out of you!” he growled.

  “Please Craig,” Malle begged. “Do not speak like that.”

  “He tried to kill you, Malle, and an attack on you is an attack on me. We are one now.” He took a step forward so that he was almost nose to nose with Alan. He was holding up his sword so that its thick blade was exactly the same distance from both of their faces, then he forced Alan to sit down again.

  Alan sat, with an expression of impotent fury on his face, but when his gaze flicked over to Malle for a second, it was replaced by one of utter malevolence.

  Malle did not flinch. She never did, and he was the one to drop his gaze first. When he looked up a few moments later, she was still staring at him.

  Alan Bruce had never felt so thoroughly intimidated, even by Craig.

  “So tell me why Fergus was murdered?” Craig demanded. “And do not insult my intelligence by telling me he had nothing to do with it. I know you. I have known you for years. You are a hard worker but you have a cruel streak. I did not realize quite how cruel, though.”

  “He has a wee bit land on tap o’ the Bruins Beck Hill,” Alan replied grudgingly, “an’ half a dozen good Heilan’ coos an’ a bull. I made him a good offer for them but he widnae sell.”

  “So you killed him?” Craig’s voice was incredulous. “For a parcel of land and a few cows?”

  Alan shrugged, as if to say what else was I supposed to do?

  Craig shocked Malle by coming out with a curse word that she had never heard anyone use before, and hoped never to hear again. Craig stepped forward and slapped Alan on the face with the front and back of his right hand. He wore a heavy ring on his middle finger which slashed Alan’s cheek and made him yelp in pain.

  Craig stood back, breathing heavily as he glared down at the person he had once called a friend but who had now revealed himself as a vengeful, vicious monster.

  Alan sat wide-eyed looking up at him, quaking inside. He knew that Craig occasionally went into a rage, especially when there was injustice, but it had never been directed at him before.

  “Now that I accept that you are a cold-blooded murderer,” Craig said disgustedly, “nothing else is going to surprise me. Angus Morrison?”

  “Angus bought a horse fae Fergus at the horse fair in Aberdour,” he replied. “They became pals. They had tae go into town tae meet each other tae have a dram, an’ that’s where I made Fergus the offer, an’ where he turned me doon. Angus wis there an’ a’ an’ he heard the arguing. When Fergus wis found dead he came tae me an’ asked me if I had anythin’ tae dae wi’ it. I said naw. I’d hae been stupid tae tell him I had, so I had tae kill him in case he told anybody. I threatened his wife an’ weans tae keep quiet an’ a’.”

  “You sound so proud of yourself!” Malle said disgustedly.

  Alan swung his gaze around to her again, stared at her for a moment, then looked away. “I didnae enjoy it, Mistress, but I had tae dae it.”

  “Why?” she demanded angrily. “What r
ight did you have to take away the lives of two innocent men, leaving their families destitute? If it were not for the charity of their lairds, they would both be begging on the streets now—or worse!”

  “I had tae restore the family honor!” Alan shouted. “Not so long ago, aboot five or six generations, the Bruce family wis a lot better off than it is now, an’ we had a fair wee bit o land. We were increasin’ oor name an’ oor riches.

  “Then the MacEwans an’ the Dunbars came alang wi’ a’ their money an’ started buyin a’ the land and become the strongest families aroond. An’ there wis no land left for us. Then there wis ane wee bit left, nae mair than a mile square, an’ the twa faimlies started fightin’ ower it! They both started grazin’ their animals on it an’ put their shepherds there, an they started fightin’ wi’ each ither. You had ALL THAT LAND and fought for the last wee piece o’ it!”

  “Before ye knaw it the MacEwans an’ the Dunbars where at war. The Bruces made sure they stayed at war, because if they didnae, they wid get thegither an’ make an empire up here.”

  “ We dinnae ask much. A’ we want is the chance tae be a mair important clan than we are noo. The clan we used tae be.”

  “And poor Fergus was standing in your way?” Craig growled. “A man who had very little, and you wanted to take away the wee bit that he had. He had a family to support. WHAT KIND of a man are you?”

  Alan was silent. He was not ashamed; he had said as much as he needed to say, and his fate was now in Craig’s hands.

  Or so he thought. Craig would have already killed him. His fate was in Malle’s hands.