April Holthaus - The MacKinnon Clan 02 (12 page)

Over the next several weeks, the summer weather had brought in many rainy days and sleepless nights. Wicked thunderstorms would roll through the valley leaving the men without dry wood to warm themselves by a fire. Ewan trained hard with the men, readying himself for battle. Hundreds of men joined the campaign and it was only a matter of days until they marched east towards the River Forth to face the English forces. Each night, they traveled closer to where the scouts had spotted the English soldiers’ camp. William Wallace was leading them to Falkirk, just south of Stirling where the Scottish had claimed victory over King Edward’s army.

Ewan had never been more dedicated to this training, as Bram often pointed out. Bram had mentioned on several occasions that he believed Ewan was purposely keeping his mind on battle to forget something or someone. Ewan ignored his inquiries and questions in regards to the mysterious lass until Bram finally gave up. It had been over a week now since he last questioned him. Ewan knew that whatever he had or would have had with Jacqueline was over. She now lived a nun’s life and soon after battle, he would be heading home, whether it be Dunakin, or home to his Heavenly Father if he died on the battlefield.

In the early morning hours, their battle had finally come. Ewan stood along the ridge with over a hundred of his fellow warriors and stared into the faces of the English, waiting for the first cries of Wallace’s battle call. The intense rain made it hard to see across the valley, but the images of thousands of men staring back at them was haunting. Ewan agreed with those around him who were concerned over the difference in numbers Edward’s army had compared to their own. But no matter how many, and even if their chances were slim, they would stay and fight.

Ewan raised his shield as a hail of arrows flew through the sky and struck many of the men and shields around him. Wallace yelled out. Ewan charged alongside him towards their enemies. The battle had begun.

Chapter 11

“Bram,” Ewan yelled out in desperation when he noticed that Bram was limping and barely showing the strength to drag his sword behind him. Bram fell to his knees after being slashed across the chest by his assailant. Ewan ran towards the man with unrestrained fury. With one mighty strike of his sword, Ewan severed the man’s head from his lifeless body. Fighting off the men circling around him, he created enough of an opening to ward off any further potential harm to Bram.

“Ewan,” Oliver hollered out, “We must retreat. They are closing in from the left and the right.”

Ewan looked back at Bram. His motionless body lay upon the muddy ground. Ewan wiped his hand over his face to clear his eyes from the rain and sweat. Ewan stood silently searching for his fellow comrades. However, not many of them still stood.

“We can no’ save ‘em. His blood is no’ on yer hands, Brother. We must retreat now,” Oliver said as he cupped Ewan’s shoulder, seizing him from taking another step.

Oliver was right. The only thing Ewan could do now was retreat if he wished to live. For a moment, it was a hard decision for him to make. He came into this battle willing to give his last breath, but evidence showed that they were losing this fight and there was no honor in giving up.

Ewan saw a small group of men who had survived the slaughter flee towards the forest of Torwood. With a guilty conscience, he looked back at Bram one last time and ran towards a rider-less horse and climbed onto its back. Racing away from the battle he headed off into the woods. The heavy rain falling down had washed away most of the blood and grime on his clothes.

When he got to the edge of the forest, he glanced back for a moment as the English knights had begun to retreat from their victory and continued onward. Catching up with Oliver and the other men, they were badly wounded. But Ewan knew that it wasn’t their injuries that caused them to remain so quiet and emotionless. They were broken men. Tired, hungry and exhausted, they traveled together towards home.

Jacqueline was grateful for the kind treatment the monks and nuns had offered her and adjusted well to her new life. She had taken up the care of the young as well as work in the gardens. Jacqueline was not at all ashamed of giving up the life she once knew to remain as a servant of God and its people for the rest of her days.

Father Modine had been kind enough to offer her prayer and private teachings within her chamber, but today she had decided to venture off down to the chapel herself.

The clean crisp air blew in from the opened windows causing Jacqueline to take a deep breath in. Her bedchamber provided no fresh air as there were no windows within the small space. Jacqueline was never one to manage being cooped up in a place for too long.

Turning the corner into the chapel, Jacqueline sat down at one of the benches in the back as the rest of the monks and a few members of the congregation took over the rest of the room. The chapel was not much different than that of Carlisle Abbey. It had a tall vaulted ceiling and beautiful paintings that hung high on the walls. She listened to the preacher speak both in Gaelic and Latin, even though she only understood the Latin. She thought the Gaelic language to be confusing and hard to comprehend.

The teachings he spoke of were to live by the word of God. Jacqueline believed herself to be a very Christian woman and she tried to live up to the church’s teaching and only faltered in one area, her King. Edward believed himself greater than God, and even though he was a king of man, he too was a servant of God. The other teaching the priest spoke of was forgiveness. Immediately Ewan crossed her mind. She knew that the guilt she felt would have to stay with her forever. She felt awful how she treated him. He may be a MacKinnon but he wasn’t the one who killed her parents and he was not even aware what his father had done. She tried to convince herself that she allowed her mouth to run solely based off the anger she felt but knew that it was no excuse for her behavior. 

After the sermon, Jacqueline headed to the altar to light the candles for prayer. Jacqueline felt that she had many things to pray for. She prayed that the war between the countries would soon meet its end. She prayed for her brother’s forgiveness and asked for forgiveness in return for betraying her king and country. And she prayed for Ewan to have safe travels on his road back to the Highlands, not knowing how far away his journey would take him. Jacqueline had never seen the northern Highlands. Growing up, she had only heard stories of its vast beauty and how it was desecrated by the barbarians who lived there. 

Just as Jacqueline was about to light the next one, the door to the chapel swung open and a gust of wind blew out all of the candles she had lit. Davina ran to the altar and gave the sign of the cross. She bowed down and sat on her knees with what appeared to be a missive clutched in her hand. Seeing the saddened look upon her face, Jacqueline scurried over to her to console her friend.

“Are you alright?” Jacqueline asked.

Davina looked at her as if she had witnessed death before her eyes. “I have received a missive from my sister. My brothers went to Falkirk without my father’s blessing to go off into battle and were killed. So many Scots have died. Only a few survived and many who had survived were taken prisoner.”

Jacqueline felt pity for Davina’s loss, but could not shake the feeling she had in the pit of her stomach. Falkirk was where Ewan had mentioned he was heading after they parted. Davina held up the piece of paper for Jacqueline to read it.

My Dearest Sister,

Deacon and Lachlan were killed during the battle at Falkirk. Mother and father are well but grieving their loss. They say they marched in the rain…one by one and side by side. They were heavily outnumbered. Many of our kinsmen were slaughtered. Fear not as they fought with honor and gave their lives for the heart and soul of Scotland. Few managed to escape the massacre but no’ many of them made it home. May they rest with the angels, dearest one.

Anna

No matter how many times she read it, Jacqueline would not accept the possibility that Ewan could be among the dead. Jacqueline tightly held onto Davina’s hand for comfort. Both women prayed for the souls of those who had perished.

For the remainder of the day, Jacqueline decided to remain in solitude. She took her meals within her room and did not do any of her chores for that day. She even opted out of going into the village to visit with the children, which was something she had always looked forward to. As she sat in her room, Jacqueline couldn’t help but want to reach out to Robert the Bruce. She thought that perhaps he could provide her with more information. She knew that Ewan would probably never want to see her again after the way she behaved, but if she could only hear word of his safety, that would be all she would need.

Jacqueline left her room, and demanded that one of the monks travel with her to Carrick.

Stopping her in the hallway, Father Modine said, “I apologize, my lady. There was nothing I could do. Yer letter was intercepted.”

Knowing that Father Modine knew nothing of the letter she sent several weeks ago, she worried about what the repercussion would cost her. “I don’t understand. What are you saying?”

“There are men at our gates. They are searching fer ye.”

Jacqueline ran to the window and looked outside. Walking towards the door, she recognized the two men, Malcolmus and Nial. Nervously, she watched as they entered the room. Nial set a small brown leather bag down upon the table. As the sound of coins clang together, Jacqueline knew that the priest had profited from her entrapment. Father Modine picked up the bag of coins and stuffed it into his robes and without word, left out the back entrance of the chapel.

“We meet again, my lady,” Malcolmus said as he grabbed onto Jacqueline.

Jacqueline kicked and screamed, but no one had come to help her.

“No, no,” she cried.

The monks backed away, giving her a look full of sorrow and shame. Binding her hands together, Malcolmus threw her up onto his horse and climbed up behind her. Jacqueline felt the searing pain from the rope as it bit into her skin. Her riding companion held her waist tight against his to prevent her from escaping. Not saying a word, they rode off in silence.

Jacqueline feared that where they were taking her would be the last place she would ever see. Treason against the king was punishment by death, and Lord Wessex, her betrothed, would gladly kick the stool out from under her feet on the gallows. Not only did she deceive her king, but him as well. His own wrath and embarrassment would mean that he would want her death to be quick.

Deep down, Jacqueline hoped it would be him and not her brother. She wanted to spare Wayland the burden of killing his own blood.

As Jacqueline thought on this, she no longer fought her captives. Instead, she hung her head high, not afraid to die, nor ashamed for what she had done. She would face Lord Wessex without a guilty conscience. Her life alone was not worth the lives of the several men she had saved that night and given the chance, she would do it again.

After several hours of riding, Malcolmus and Nial rode to a small farm house. Chickens pecked the ground while the goats grazed on the barrel of hay within their pen. Jacqueline’s curiosity grew as she had wondered why they would have brought her here. The small wooden shack looked recently occupied with clothes hanging on the line and smoke coming out from the smoke stack. The house was nestled deep within the woods away from any village or road. Overall, thought Jacqueline the house looked pleasantly welcoming; not at all what she had expected.

Standing in front of the door stood an elderly woman with two logs held in her arms. Her hair was tangled up and held with pins and her clothes were tattered and worn. The wrinkles on her face showed signs that she was not aging well. Her creased forehead and turned up nose made the woman appear disgusted with the three of them as they rode up the broken cobble stone path.

“Is this the lass?” the old woman croaked.

“Aye, mama,” Malcolmus answered.

Mama?
The blood drained from Jacqueline’s face.

“Why have you brought me here? Please release me,” Jacqueline cried out.

Both of the men and the old woman ignored her pleas. Jacqueline worried what their plan for her was. Malcolmus dragged Jacqueline into the house and down the stairs into the storage cellar beneath the floor boards of the kitchen and locked the trap door behind him.

She could hear them talking in the kitchen above her.

“The lass is too thin and scrawny. She sure is an ugly one, isn’t she?” the woman asked.

“We were rewarded richly fer her capture,” Malcolmus responded.

“Aye, knowledge worth more than gold,” Nial said.

Jacqueline could hear their pounding footsteps exit the kitchen and enter the other room. Their voices now muffled.

The room she was kept in was small and dark. The only light she had was the dim beams of light that came down from the cracks in the floor above. Jacqueline searched for a way out, but could only feel empty shelves along the walls covered in cobwebs. The heavy footsteps she heard above the stairs shook the dust from the wooden boards causing Jacqueline to cough profusely. Once she wiped the dust from her eyes, Jacqueline looked around the room. There was no hope in escaping. All she could do was wait for them to reveal their plans on what they were going to do with her.

Hours had passed from what Jacqueline concluded as the light from above had dimmed to a flicker of light produced by a few lit candles. It had been silent upstairs for most of the day. The only sound now was the tapping of tiny footsteps shuffling across the floor. Jacqueline looked up as she heard the lock jingle. The old hag opened the hatch and set a tray of food on the first step and slammed the door closed with her foot. When Jacqueline heard the chain of the lock snap closed, she stood up to inspect the tray the woman had left. Jacqueline couldn’t help the curiosity that they would show such concern for a prisoner.