by Fiona Faris
“It is no’ oor fault, chief. Daen’t go mad at us,” one of the guards uttered as they cowered in fear of what Donald might do to them.
Donald shoved them both against the wall with each arm and proceeded to choke each of them with his bare hands. His brute strength overpowered the guards, and he nearly choked them to unconsciousness.
“If it is no’ the yer fault, then who the hell could it be?” he demanded.
“It was the warrior, Andrew,” one of them said.
Donald’s jaw dropped when he understood the guard’s comment. He thought it was too unbelievable to be true.
“Daen’t lie tae me! How did ye two screw up tae let her escape.” He punched each of them in the gut.
“We told ye it was Andrew. He came doon ‘ere an’ busted the lock while we were awa’. When we returned, the lassie had vanished an’ the dungeon cell had been broken. Who else besides Andrew would hae the kind o’ brute strength tae dae that?” one of the guards reiterated to the chief.
Donald’s face became a darker shade of red. He punched both of the guards in the face, and both of them stood up with bloody noses.
“Andrew! Get out here! Andrew!” Donald hollered as he raced upstairs to the top floor of the castle where Andrew’s quarters were located.
Andrew’s room was empty. Donald proceeded to check every Murray clan members’ room to investigate Andrew’s whereabouts.
“Where is Andrew? Where did that bastard go with my stoater? If ye ken o’ his whereabouts an’ daen’t tell me, then I shall kill ye,” Donald told the other clan members.
“Whit are ye bellowin’ aboot wee in the mornin’?” answered one of the younger clan members.
Donald smacked him across the jaw, sending him soaring back into his room.
“Ye answer me with respect! That goes fer a’ o’ ye. Now, where is that bastard, Andrew?” he shouted.
His seething wrath struck fear into the eyes of many of the men who lived in the castle, but it enraged others who thought his temper was out of control. He barreled into their rooms in the middle of the night over a female prisoner he wished to rape, he bullied and bloodied other clan members, and he threatened to kill them.
However, he had the physical strength of a lion, and he utilized that strength to control the clan with fear and intimidation. No Murray dared to stand up to him. Not before he was the self-appointed chief and not since either.
“Until I get my stoater back, nane o’ ye get the ither lassies in the rear prison. Nane o’ ye! If I see that bastard Andrew in this castle ever again, then I shall hae his heid fer stealin’ from me. That goes fer all of ye jist like him!” Donald finished his tirade and fumed to his quarters.
He slammed the wooden door shut with enough velocity that the hinges nearly tore off. The echo vibrated from the ground floor up to the top floor. Several of the clan members stared at each other without uttering a word. Andrew’s best friend, Rory, witnessed the entirety of Donald’s fury and thought it was as grand a time as ever to bring everyone’s attention to Andrew’s scheme.
Rory tapped softly on everyone’s doors to call an emergency meeting. No one batted an eye when he knocked on their doors. They simply nodded yes when he uttered the word “meeting” and flocked to Rory’s room like a group of hens desperate to find their hatchlings.
“If ye are a’ wonderin’ aboot Andrew, aye, he took Donald’s stoater. There is somethin’ else though…” Rory announced.
They all listened in anticipation of his announcement.
Rory pointed to the door to signal the man closest to it to ensure Donald was not outside eavesdropping. A younger clan member shuddered in fear as he peered in all directions. He slouched back inside the room and gave Rory the thumbs up to proceed, and Rory breathed a sigh of relief.
“A’ right now, afore we are a’ deid.” He chuckled. “Andrew brought the idea tae me recently o’ establishin’ new leadership in the clan. He wants tae kill Donald.”
The clan members in the room gasped in shock of Andrew’s scheme. They all looked around to analyze each other’s reactions to this plot.
“Now, I hae tae ask ye a’, how mony o’ ye would take part in makin’ this a reality tae secure a new chief?”
Not one of them answered him as the proposed plan still sent shockwaves down their spines.
“Who will be the chief, Andrew?” one of them blurted out. “This is jist bloody vengeance.”
“I daen’t know who would be chief, but Andrew fears Donald will drag oor clan’s name further into oblivion,” Rory commented. “Well, ye saw his outburst o’er a wee lassie, how dae ye a’ feel aboot that?”
More silence, and it made Rory irate.
“A’ right. I will make this as simple fer ye as possible. Everyone get the hell oot o’ here. If ye are interested in whit I told ye, then meet me on the archery range efter the moon rises. Got it?”
The whispers and clamor filled the room and adjacent hallways as everyone exited Rory’s room. Rory clenched his fist and bit his knuckles out of anxiety. He feared execution for treason for any rumor of murder against the chief and he dreaded the possibility of someone ratting him out to Donald.
Nevertheless, Rory waited with apprehension in the middle of the archery range under a half-moon sky, and thousands of stars cast overhead. He waited for hours to discover how many Murray souls harbored similar murderous feelings against Donald. After nearly four hours of piercing autumn gusts against his face, Rory amassed a total of seven other Murrays who had hatred and murder of Donald within their fantasies.
“Sae, this is it, eh? Very well. Men, gather yer belongings tomorrow. We leave at dawn fer oor mission,” Rory informed them.
“Whit are we leavin’ the castle fer?” one of the men asked.
“We leave tae meet with Andrew tae take oor clan back. As far as Donald is concerned, ye are a’ members o’ my search party tae bring him back ‘ere tae meet justice.” Rory laughed, then dismissed them all to prepare for their journey.
Chapter Ten
A village near Kellie Castle, Pittenweem, Scotland, two days later
Freya and Andrew’s journey had taken nearly two days down the expansive valley whose river traversed the path to Freya’s village. The perpetual rain had caused the river to overflow onto the fertile lands of the valley.
“We hae tae push forward, Freya. I cannae risk gettin’ us stuck in a flood,” Andrew reasoned with her as she pleaded to stop for a while.
“Please, Andrew, I beg o’ ye. Let’s rest fer a while.”
“Whit is wrang? Why a’ this incessant whinin’? I thought ye wanted tae get there as fast as ye can?”
A sense of trepidation sank into her mind as she identified the landmarks etched into her memory from her youth. They were ever so close to her village, and her heart raced from the anticipation of seeing her village.
“A’ right Freya, the rain has ceased so we can rest ‘ere fer the night. I know we are almost at yer village. I recognize some o’ these meadows,” Andrew said right before he set up camp for the evening.
Andrew gathered all the tree limbs and brushes which lied in that section of the valley to start a fire. He then became inflamed over his inability to spark it. The damp ground from the torrential downpour made it near impossible.
Freya shivered on the cold grass, and a sense of guilt came over Andrew for not being able to keep her warm. He removed his coat and walked over to her to place it over her arisaid.
Soon after, Freya fell asleep, and Andrew shivered the whole night.
“Freya, wake up! ‘Tis mornin’. We hae tae get goin’,” Andrew whispered.
Her silence told all as Andrew absorbed her anxiety, and he wrapped his arms around her to ease her nerves.
“Ye hae come this far, my dear Freya. Daen’t quit on me now,” he said and kissed her soft lips.
Her bright smile radiated for the first time since their intimate night in the rain together. She wiped the tears from her eyes a
nd puffed out her chest ready for a day of reckoning. Andrew lifted her onto the horse, and they rode into the sunlight parallel to the swollen river.
After they rode for nearly an hour under the beaming sun, they gazed at the outline of the village in the distance. Blackened fields highlighted the meadows where Freya played as a child, and she was dismayed at the sight.
Andrew halted the horse when they arrived at Freya’s village at the edge of the valley. She gasped and plunged off the side of the horse at the images which lay in front of her eyes.
“This is dreadful! Everything is destroyed,” she wailed, tears streaming down her face.
All the houses in the village Freya walked beside were either completely burned to the ground or severely scorched. She fell to her knees when her house was next on her path. She bawled incoherently as the house she grew up inside had been burned to a crisp and nothing remained of her childhood. She crawled to the center where the house stood in its former glory. There was no trace of her parents, and the mystery did little to ease Freya’s anxiety.
“Is this yer house, Freya?” Andrew asked as she sat in silence with her legs crossed almost in a trance.
“It’s a’ gone, Andrew. My parents, my house… my memories hae been scattered intae dust,” she said.
“I told ye it was goin’ tae be rough tae see.”
“Did onyone survive this barbaric attack?” Freya asked with a sense of hope.
“I could no’ tell ye. I got separated from the rest o’ the clan when they attacked the village,” Andrew explained.
“Ye hae tae know somethin’! Ye were there, right?” she pleaded.
While Freya grasped onto Andrew, he noticed a peculiar image which moved closer and closer to where they stood.
“Let’s go, Freya. There is someone ‘ere,” he said.
“Really, ye mean there is someone who survived efter all?” She stood up and followed Andrew’s line of sight.
Andrew gripped his broadsword with both hands. The mysterious figures echoed a strange humming sound as if hypnotized.
“Stay back! I’m warnin’ ye!” Andrew shouted. “Daen’t come ony closer!”
Andrew finally discerned the figures; they were an elderly man and woman.
“Who are ye?” he asked them as they stood side by side with blank expressions on their faces.
“Go awa’! Get off oor sacred land, ye foul beast. Be gone!” the woman shouted as she swatted her hands at Andrew.
“They will burn everythin’. Fire surrounds us everywhere!” the man shrieked as he shuffled his feet as quickly as they would move his frail body.
“Freya, grab that woman. Daen’t let her leave!” Andrew shouted.
Neither the man nor the woman acknowledged their presence. They mumbled incoherently while they walked around in random motions.
Andrew and Freya stared at each other speechless.
“They hae both gone mad oor are they in shock?” Freya asked.
“Whit is the difference? Dae ye know this couple?” Andrew replied.
“I hae ne’er seen ‘em in my life. Either they ne’er came oot o’ their house oor they are from a nearby village. There are more villages across those meadows an’ through the woods.”
“Dae ye live here? Are ye lost?” Andrew asked the man and woman.
He did not receive an answer. Both he and Freya attempted to stop the elderly couple from walking further down the valley, but it was no use. They would stop their relentless wandering and mumbling.
“Whit dae we dae, Andrew?”
“If ye daen’t know who they are, then let ‘em go. Maybe they will go back home an’ we can follow them tae another village.”
Freya watched in despair as the poor, helpless couple wandered further and further away into the valley, towards the direction she and Andrew came from.
“It is hard tae watch, I know, an’ I am sorry ye hae tae see this, but I hae tae show ye whit happened tae the castle,” Andrew explained.
“Oh, please daen’t show me whatever ruin lay up ahead at Kellie Castle. I cannae bear tae see the destruction at the hands o’ that demon,” Freya said with despair.
They paced up the steep hill which separated Freya’s village from what remained of the Erskine clan’s prized castle. Freya’s legs trembled, and she collapsed halfway up the trail. Andrew lifted her off the soil to help her gather her strength to trek to the peak of the hill which overlooked her once lively village.
Dark stains of blood were infused into the grassy meadow which encompassed the dirt path of the hill. Andrew was bewildered that this much blood had been absorbed into the green meadows. It was as if a sea of red had flooded the lowlands and the remnants were imprinted into the landscape. The subsequent rains which followed the ferocious onslaught of the Erskine clan failed to wash the blood that had been spilled.
The wind howled, and a sudden stench filled the air, putrid enough to make the two succumb to their knees and gag.
“Dear heavens! Whit is that foul odor which fills the air?” Freya asked.
Andrew knew exactly what the source of the putrid aroma was and winced at the reaction Freya might have when she laid her eyes on what lay ahead.
“Freya, let’s walk doon the rear path tae the far side of the castle, shall we? Whit lies ahead is simply tae gruesome fer yer delicate eyes.”
“Whit could possibly be worse than what I hae already witnessed, Andrew?”
“I am afraid it is far worse than onythin’ ye could hae imagined. Let us traverse doon the rear path, please, Freya,” he pleaded.
Andrew’s efforts to redirect Freya’s path failed as her jaw dropped and she collapsed to her knees at the ghastly scene in front of their eyes. Freya attempted to crawl away from the appalling imagery, but she vomited onto the dirt, narrowly missing Andrew’s boots. She bawled as her pale cheeks dangled inches above the bile which soured the surface of the path.
Freya witnessed the brutal massacre the warriors of her clan faced at the hands of the Murray fighters the day of their malicious attack. The lifeless corpses piled on top of one another sickened Freya to the core. The rancid odor from the decomposing bodies was intolerable, and the two could remain at the site no longer.
“How could ye let that devil dae such a thing like this, Andrew? Only a monster would commit such an act. Ye did not even try tae stop him, did ye?” Freya screamed while she assaulted Andrew’s chest with her clenched fists.
She unloaded every last drop of the anger into Andrew, and he displayed no signs of resistance. He could utter no response to Freya’s violent ire in the wake of the display exposed to her.
“Freya. Calm down. Please, will ye get ahold o’ yersel’? Listen tae me,” he said in a desperate attempt to settle her nerves.
“Get yer hands off me! How can I trust ye knowin’ ye were partly responsible fer this? This is my clan, my family. They are a’ gone!” She held her arisaid over her face to shield her nose from the treacherous stench of decomposing flesh.
She crept closer and closer to the tower of corpses which resembled a barbican to the scorched remains of Kellie Castle. The mangled castle survived solely due to the hammering rains which cascaded upon the castle the day it was set ablaze. The roof had caved in under the immense heat of the flames, but its outer walls remained upright on the bottom two floors. Everything on the inside had been charred into smoldering ashes, and it was unrecognizable from its former self.
Freya transcribed the facial features of each decayed body one by one, and her heart sank.
“Ahhhhh, it cannae be! Oh, please tell me this is no’ real. Why cannae this jist be one terrible nightmare?” she wailed.
Freya’s breathing became erratic as she peered at the bodies of the clan chief and her father right above him. She grasped her chest, and every breath became more challenging to release after the ghastly shock. The strength in her legs gave way, and she dropped to the wet meadow, powerless to control her anxiety.
“I… I canna
e breathe. This is jist… tae much. Get me oot o’ ‘ere. Please!”
Andrew helped her to sit upright. The tears streamed from her crystal-blue eyes, and she prayed for the peaceful rest of the clansmen’s souls after their gruesome deaths. At the conclusion of her prayer, she looked up at Andrew and sneered.
“My own faither an’ the chief are amang the deid. Is their blood on yer hands, Andrew? Tell me!” she demanded. “Answer me! Ye were ‘ere. Did ye kill ‘em?”
“I did no’ kill ‘em. My hands did regretfully spill blood, but no’ those two, my dear Freya,” he replied while her eyes gazed into his soul.