Timeless Tales of Honor (4 page)

S
omething was pulling
her from her dream. Low, muffled voices that she could not understand. As the heavy fog began to lift, she slowly became aware that she was not alone. She tried to focus her eyes as well as her mind, both requiring a good deal more energy than she had. Where was she and who was speaking to her? Why was she so cold and wet? It was then that the memories came flooding through and fear took its ugly hold again.

The soldiers had found her! Terrified, she tried to move, to stand and run, but every muscle in her body ached and her ribs screamed at her to remain still. Her arms and legs felt as though they were made of lead and no matter how hard she wished it, she simply could not move.

Someone was holding her, speaking to her. Her eyes began to focus and a man’s face began to come into focus. He had long brown hair and blue eyes and he was smiling at her. Her heart sank and her stomach reeled with the realization that she would not be getting away. She had been captured and knew that very soon she would be back in Penrith. Her life was over.

The cuts stung from the tears that streamed down her face. She pleaded aloud for mercy, not certain she recognized the sound of her own voice; it sounded so weak and dry. She heard another man’s voice but she could not understand what he was saying.

“Please,” she begged him, “I meant not to kill him.”

Duncan looked up at his men. They appeared as befuddled as he was. “Now what be this about killin’ someone?” he asked as he tried to keep his voice soft and reassuring.

Still struggling to move, she said, “The earl,” She muttered. “I m-meant only t-to f-frighten him.” She took a deep breath, still shaking. “He would not s-stop and it h-hurt so m-much.”

From the bruises and cuts Duncan and his men could surmise she had taken one hell of a skelping. Could what she was telling them be true? Could something so small as the lass before them have taken someone’s life?

“Please. Let me g-go. I p-promise not to t-tell you found m-me.”

“I’m afraid we canna do that, lass.” Duncan knew she was afraid of something, but the possibility of leaving such a young girl alone out here was not an option.

“Please, I beg of you. Leave me.” More tears fell as she continued to plead with them. She would rather die here alone and freezing than to be returned to Penrith.

Duncan and his men exchanged confused glances. There was no way they would leave her here. He tried to lighten the moment by saying, “But lass, some of us have mothers.”

Aishlinn was dumbfounded for she could not imagine what having a mother had to do with anything. Her head was pounding and she could not make sense of what he was trying to tell her.

Duncan smiled to his men. They knew what he meant and knowing smiles formed on their own faces. “Our mothers would skin us alive if we left a distressed lass stranded and alone out here in the middle of nowhere,” Duncan told her.

Rowan added, “Aye. Me own mum would skin me, then reattach me skin so she could do it again.” The men nodded their heads in agreement. Rowan’s mum was a fierce woman and it would have mattered not who this lass was nor the circumstances surrounding why she was here. Had the men left her and anyone found out, it would be a most certain death for each of them.

Aishlinn was too tired and cold to care if these men had mothers or not. Visions of what they were going to do to her raced through her mind. “P-please do n-not take me back.”

“Back where lass?” Duncan asked.

Aishlinn looked at the men who surrounded her. Perhaps they were cruel men, wanting only to toy with her before they would shackle her and take her back to Penrith.

“Are you not K-king Edward’s s-soldiers?” Aishlinn asked breathlessly. It was near agony to speak. She wanted only to sleep and to be warm and to be away from them.

The men looked insulted by her question. “Och!” they protested in unison, apparently quite appalled by such an accusation.

A wry smile formed on Duncan’s mouth. “Now lass, do we look like the king’s soldiers?”

She stared at each of them for several long moments. They certainly did not wear the uniforms of soldiers. Bare-chested each of them was, with scabbards at their sides and long flowing hair and braids on either side of their temples. Nay, the English did not dress in such a manner. As she lay there terrified and freezing, she searched the cloudy regions of her mind for a few moments before it finally dawned on her. These men were Scots!

But that meant little to her at the moment. She could not be certain as to their intentions. They could be mercenaries hired by the king or the earl’s own men sent to find her.

“Nay,” she said. “Ye d-do n-not.”

They seemed quite pleased with her answer as a broad, proud smile came to each of them.

“I be Duncan McEwan,” the one whose bare shoulder her head rested upon said. “And that be me cousin, Rowan Graham and that be Richard and Findley McKenna, and that be Manghus Williams.” Each man bowed at the waist in acknowledgement of his name.

“Tall Thomas be buildin’ us a nice fire.” Duncan gave Aishlinn’s arm a gentle pat. “Now,” he began. “Tell us what be yer name lass?”

Wanting nothing more at the moment than to be free and warm, she gave up attempting to make sense of anything or to fight. Perhaps, if they were mercenaries, she could buy herself some time and escape the moment the opportunity arose. Weakly she answered him. “Aishlinn.”

Duncan thought it a fine name and repeated it. “Aishlinn. We be pleased to make yer acquaintance.” Her body still shook from cold and he knew he needed to get her to the fire quickly. He held her tighter and stood.

He had moved so quickly that it frightened her. Afraid he was going to toss her to the ground, she reflexively wrapped an arm around his neck. Her body tensed from fear and the pain in her ribs intensified. The doubt and despair were overwhelming.

Standing still for a moment, Duncan smiled and said, “Now let’s see how Tall Thomas be doin’ with that fire.”

With his men following, Duncan carried the lass to a spot by the fire. He held her close to his chest as he sat down upon a plaid. Aishlinn remained fearful but was glad for the warmth his body was providing. She wondered if she would ever be warm again. Her wet shift and dress clung to her body and chilled her to the bone. Someone gave Duncan another plaid and he carefully wrapped it around her.

Embarrassed, humiliated and terrified, she remained rigid, ready for whatever onslaught, abuse or treachery these men might inflict upon her. She wondered if she would ever be able to get free and make it to her mother’s clan.

Duncan sat holding Aishlinn close to his chest as the others helped collect more wood for the fire. Aishlinn was afraid to speak and could not find the strength to ask what they planned on doing with her.

It did not take long before a blazing fire flickered before them. Tall flames crackled and licked up towards the sky, the heat a welcome relief from the bone-chilling cold.

It was Rowan who finally broke the long silence. His low deep voice startled her. “Lass,” he began. “Who did this to ye?” He was sitting very near her and stared at her face. Humiliated at what the earl had done she cast her eyes to the ground. Aishlinn hoped that if she were honest with them, then they might show her some kind of mercy. “’Twas the earl.”

“Was that why ye killed him?” asked Duncan, not looking at her but at the fire before them. She noticed that his nose appeared to have been broken at least once. But it did not look ghastly or out of place on his bearded face.

Swallowing hard she nodded slightly. She did not want to think back to that night in the earl’s chambers. She wanted to forget how it felt when she plunged the dagger into his back. The memories brought an instant wave of nausea to her stomach.

Looking up at the man called Duncan, she searched his face for some sign that would tell her what his intentions might be. She could see the muscles in his jaws clench and what appeared to be anger in his eyes. The intensity of it alarmed her.

“I meant not to do it.” She was deathly afraid of these men. “He was hurting me and I felt the dagger in my hand…” her voice trailed off as she thought back to that moment.

“I can’t say that I blame ye,” Duncan said through clenched teeth. Knowing any man could do this to such a small girl brought forth much anger.

“What be the earl’s name?” Gowan asked.

Aishlinn swallowed hard again and braced her body for the beating she was sure would come with her confession. “The Earl of Penrith,” she whispered.

Instantly all eyes were upon her as bewildered expressions came to each of their faces.

“Ye killed the Earl of Penrith?” Rowan asked, astonished by the notion. Aishlinn tensed more and began to pray that God would grant her enough strength to run, though she knew it would be impossible to defend herself against seven men.

“Aye, I did,” she answered warily.

She noticed then that the men stared at Duncan. He had not taken his eyes from the fire and he was working his jaw back and forth. Ever so gently he sat her on the ground and stood while his men gathered around him.

She wanted to crawl backward and run away, but the fear that filled her to her marrow froze her in place. She knew it would not be long now; she had confessed. She wondered if they would kill her here or take her back to Penrith. It mattered not anymore.

After several long moments of silence, Duncan turned back to her. His piercing blue eyes seemed to search hers for something. “Yer certain ye killed the Earl of Penrith?” he asked.

Unable to find her voice she nodded her head.

Suddenly, an odd and curious smile came to his face. Why were they toying with her? Why didn’t they just pull their swords from their scabbards and kill her and be done with it?

“Then lass,” Duncan began, “We be forever in yer debt.”

Aishlinn stared at him in stunned silence. She had anticipated a beating or torture. Not a smile and certainly not gratitude.

“’Twould be our honor to see ye to safe lands, to see ye to yer people and yer family,” he said.

Perhaps she had injured her head when she fell. Perhaps she was hallucinating from lack of sleep and food. Or perhaps she had lost her mind. This was a very confusing turn and it was probably too much to hope that he was not lying to her. Confused and leery she asked him, “You’ll not take me back to Penrith?”

“Nay!” Each man said, aghast at the notion.

“I don’t understand. Are you not mercenaries?” She was growing more confused with each passing moment.

“Mercenaries?” They all laughed at her. “Nay!” Duncan smiled proudly as he looked at his men. “We be Highlanders!”

She had never seen a Highlander before this day. Moirra had told her many stories of Highlanders being big strong men with great senses of honor and pride about them.

These men were enormous! Each wore his hair long, well past his shoulders; some had two braids at their temples, others only one. Their breeches were made of leather and were tucked into leather boots. Three of them were bare-chested, exposing well-defined and almost unbelievable muscles, as well as scars that were more likely than not earned in battle. Arms as big as tree roots, massive legs, and shoulders broader than Aishlinn had ever seen on any man before. They simply did not seem real.

In Moirra’s faerie tales, the Highlanders were big, hairy and beastly looking men. While Aishlinn would agree they were all very big men, she could not necessarily say they were beastly looking. Moirra also warned that Highlander men liked their drink strong and their women ready. As a bairn Aishlinn had not understood the auld woman’s words. Older now and alone in the forest with seven of them, she prayed quietly that there was no truth to the stories.

Duncan stepped toward her and bent on one knee. “We be grateful to ye lass. ’Twould be our great privilege to see ye to yer destination. We will defend yer life and yer honor to our deaths.” His expression was quite serious.

Years of experience with cruel and harsh men, warned her not to trust the ones standing before her. “What do you know of my honor,” Aishlinn asked. Why would they make such a pledge?

Duncan studied her for a moment. “Ye killed the Earl of Penrith, did ye not.” It was statement, not a question.

“Aye, I did,” she answered attempting to sound stronger than she actually felt at the moment.

“Then lass,” Duncan said, “I owe ye a lifetime debt of gratitude for what ye’ve done.”

He could sense that she was quite perplexed. He raised an eyebrow, then with a wry smile and a wink he said, “Ye see, lass, ye saved me from havin’ to kill the whoreson meself!”

T
he fire burned steadily
as they all huddled around it. Aishlinn was wrapped in several plaids and Duncan sat uncomfortably close to her. The tears had stopped, but the shivers and doubt running through her mind had not. She was still very leery of these men.

The day was growing darker and the fire cast flickering shadows upon the group. They had sat for some time in quiet reverie, each of them lost in private thoughts. It was Manghus’ deep voice that finally broke the silence. Quietly he began to explain why they were so glad to hear of the untimely passing of the Earl of Penrith. Duncan remained quiet as he absentmindedly poked a long stick at the fire.

Manghus explained that some ten and seven years ago the Earl of Penrith had ordered the destruction of a village. The earl had been convinced that someone in that village had stolen several pigs from his lands. Instead of searching out the reivers individually, the bastard had ordered the destruction of the entire village. The earl meant it a lesson to anyone who would steal from him or would offer refuge to those who hid from him.

“Duncan was just a lad at the time,” Manghus told her, his voice laced with sadness. “Only eight when it happened.” He paused for a moment as he stared blankly at the fire. Aishlinn wondered if he wasn’t staring at something from his own past. “Twas Duncan’s village. Only three lads survived it. Duncan be one of them.”

From the angry and pained expressions on the faces of the men around her, Aishlinn knew the story had to be true. No one could have feigned the pain, sadness and regret she saw in their eyes. Her heart broke for the men. She knew their pain well. An odd sense of relief washed over her for now she could understand why they had made their pledge to protect her.