April Holthaus - The MacKinnon Clan 02 (3 page)

“Thank ye, Father,” Ewan said taking the letter from the old man’s wrinkled hands and began to walk with him down the tapered passageway that led to the chambers below.  

The room was quaint containing nothing more than a short pallet to sleep upon and a small table where a food tray had been placed. After riding for days and sleeping out in the woods on the cold hard ground, Ewan was not one to complain about the meager accommodations. He even would have been satisfied with a pallet of dry hay out in the stables than one more night out in the cold. Ewan sat down on the pallet and untied the laces of his boots before stretching out his tired limbs.

The stew he was served was bland but full of vegetables and very filling. He was grateful for their hospitality and had grown weary from eating dried oatcakes and apples. After finishing off his ration, he sat up in the bed reading the missive. It was from Wallace giving him the location of their camp along River Tay. Ewan folded the letter and put it in his bag and began to sharpen his broadsword before settling in and falling asleep. 

After what seemed like only a few short hours, Ewan awoke to the sound of the monks humming an unfamiliar tune in the chapel. It was just as bad as when his young friend, Angus used to stamper around the camp with his large, heavy feet. Thinking about Angus now only consoled Ewan. Angus had been killed during a raid of bandits last fall while trying to protect the laird’s bride, Annella.

He was a good lad and even though he was only a squire, he was a good warrior and friend. The reality of his unexpected demise only made Ewan’s motivation stronger. He knew that every battle might be his last, but he accepted his fate. Ewan lived for honor and dying in battle, fighting for what you believe in was the most honorable way to leave this mortal world. He would never back down nor shame his family’s name.

Packing his belongings, Ewan walked down into the chapel to join the monks in prayer.

“I am glad that ye joined us this morning fer service, Ewan. To be honest I dinna expect ye to come,” Father Gregory said.

“Aye. It has been a while, Father. I fear my faith has been displaced as of late.”

“God kens yer heart, Ewan; that is all that matters. He is there to listen, as am I.”

“I must be off, Father. Thank ye again.”

“God be wit ye and watch over ye, lad.”

“Bless ye, Father.”

Ewan opened the door to the courtyard. Blinded by the light of the sun, he squinted his eyes until they could adjust to the brightness. He walked towards his horse and unraveled the reins that were tied to the stall. Ewan climbed onto the back of his great black horse, and rode south towards the River Tay as directed in the letter.

It was the early hours of the morning when Ewan reached the top of the hillside to the north of the loch. Slowing his horse, Aron twitched his ears from an approaching sound.

“Ye there. Move one step forward and I will run ye through,” a short and stocky red-headed man with an Irish accent called out from behind a tree.

“Mighty big words ye have there for a wee size of a mon,” Ewan said unafraid to provoke the man. “My name is Ewan MacKinnon. I am here to speak wit William Wallace.”

“William Wallace, ye say. And what makes ye think I would let ye do a thing like that?” The man asked, swinging his sword back and forth in a taunting fashion.

Not amused by this portly man, Ewan took a breath and continued, “Because I have me here a missive from Wallace to join the raid,” he said as he pulled the note out of his satchel and waved it in the air.

“Ah, well then, me name is Randulf, they call me Duff,” he said as he returned his sword to the scabbard tied to his hip. “Can nay be too careful out here wit who be our enemy or no’. But if what ye say is true then follow me. I will show ye the way. And if ye be lying either way, Wallace will see ye gutted,” Duff chuckled.

Unsure if he was willing to trust the man so easily, Ewan put the letter back into his bag and kept his other hand on the hilt of his sword.

“MacKinnon, I am glad ye accepted my invitation, my friend. I am sorry we missed ye at Stirling, but yer men gave me the full account of what happened to yer laird’s wife and father last fall. I hope ye got the bastard that did it,” William Wallace said as he crept from behind the trees.

Ewan got down from his horse and shook Wallace’s hand. “Aye we did. My cousin, Laird MacKinnon wanted me to give ye his condolences for no’ being unable to come. His wife Lady Annella is heavy wit child and he dinna want to leave her side,” Ewan said as
he looked back at Duff who gave him an unfriendly glare.

“Well as long as I have one MacKinnon, I can nay complain. We are lucky to have ye. Since my letter, there have been many new developments. Come, let’s sit. We can go over our plans over some whiskey, eh?”

Brushing past the shrubs and bushes, Ewan became mindful of the increasing sound of flowing water. Up ahead, he saw a small waterfall cascading down the hillside that emptied into the loch below. In the clearing, fifty men or so were in the midst of training. Setting up camp along the waterfall was quite clever, Ewan thought, as the noise would draw out the sounds of the men from those who may be traveling through these woods. The tree-covered mountain that surrounded them also provided enough protection to conceal their camp and numbers.

Ewan sat with Wallace around the fire along with several others and listened to the plan to rescue the imprisoned Scots. Ewan learned that many of them have been taken to Carlisle Castle as well as three other English holdings.

“The English are cunning to harbor the prisoners in different locations. Confining them all in one location would have surely warranted an attack,” Wallace said.

“I will take the road to Carlisle wit a few of the men,” Ewan proposed.

“Carlisle is heavily defended. It will no’ be easy to get in.”

“That will no’ be a problem, which is why ye recruited me,” Ewan said with confidence.

“Aye. If anyone can sneak into Carlisle right under that bastard Richard’s nose, it be a MacKinnon. Yer uncle was famed for his battle skills. I can only imagine that ye possess those skills as well.”

Ewan felt warm with pride. MacKinnons have fought in every battle leaving a heavy impression throughout the Highlands. They were known across the lands as fierce and cunning warriors. Following his death, Ewan’s father, Douglas was famed as the Dark Ghost of Scotland. In life, his use of trickery and skill with a weapon allowed him to sweep past his enemies unnoticed, while killing men in the shadows. Even now, fearful men claim to see his ghost, haunting them in the dungeons and within the deserted woods.

Ewan excused himself to join the group of men who were to accompany him to Carlisle. He wanted to leave and be on his way as quickly as possible. Duff introduced Ewan to a man named Oliver MacBain who was one of the men to join him. Duff, even though a stocky man who looked as if he could barely hold a broadsword, said that he was familiar with the road to Carlisle and could offer the best route to take.

Oliver, on the other hand, was a towering brute. Duff explained that Oliver came from the clan MacBain, who resides on the southern tip of the Highland border. The MacBains have been long time followers of William Wallace and had much political influence. They were known to be excellent warriors who had descended from an Irish clan several generations ago.

Once the greetings were over, Ewan gathered what supplies they needed and tightened the leather straps on his horse’s saddle before mounting his horse. The small group of them headed south into the night, towards the English border.

Chapter 3

Grateful for the Lord’s ear for listening to her prayers, Jacqueline felt more at peace that even the beat of her heart masked the faint sound of footsteps walking behind her. Jacqueline looked over her shoulder, surprised to see Lord Wessex looming above her.

“Forgive me, my lady. I did not mean to disturb you while you are in prayer,” Lord Wessex said, sounding very honorable thought Jacqueline.

“I was not praying, My Lord.”

“May I sit?” he asked.

Jacqueline nervously scooted over, allowing Lord Wessex to sit next to her. She could feel the goose bumps form on her skin as he sat almost a breath away from her. Keeping her head bowed she dared not to look at him until he spoke.

“I am not a man of many words. I know that an arranged marriage may not be what you desire and I do not expect this marriage to be one out of love; however I do hope that over time you will give me a chance to prove my loyalty and for me to earn yours as well.”

“That is very gracious of you to say, My Lord,” Jacqueline said as she looked into the man’s large grey eyes.

The color reminded her of the sky just before a storm. In this light, Jacqueline could see the lightly peppered grey within the thick mass of his black hair, indicating the signs of aging. But even with the two-day old scruff on his face, Jacqueline denoted that he was aging well. He had no wrinkles around his eyes or forehead and his skin was youthful looking and had a bit of a shine. Up close, he didn’t appear as unfriendly as she first thought.

“I had hoped that this evening we could take this time to get to know one another before tomorrow.”

“There is little to say about me, My Lord. I spend most of my days stitching and sewing new gowns and tapestries. I fear I would only bore you.”

“Please. Tomorrow I am to be your husband. I would like for you to call me by my given name, Charles when we are alone. And I doubt there is little about you. From what your cousin and brother told me, you are quite gifted. They mentioned that you excel in horseback riding and of your teachings of the church.”

“Yes, I once thought to devote my life to serve the church, but my brother refused my wishes.”

“Well I must say, my lady, that I am grateful for his denial. A lady like you should not be hidden away in the confinement of the church and behind nun’s robes. You should be dressed in the finest of gowns to show off your beauty,” he said as he brushed his hand against her cheek.

Jacqueline blushed from his words and unexpectedly smiled. Never had a man spoke to her in such a way, but James entered her mind and her smile quickly vanished.

“Would you care to join me on our walk now?” he asked.

Jacqueline nodded and Lord Wessex stood up and held out his hand to assist her. He placed her arm under his and began walking out of the church and into the gardens. Jacqueline listened to him as he spoke of his family and his life as a militant man. In turn, Jacqueline answered his questions about her own life, but left out details of how her parents were killed and of James. Those, to Jacqueline, were far too private.

As they walked, they passed the wall just outside the dungeon, causing Jacqueline’s eyes to drift downward at the small window opening. She wondered how many of them had survived the day’s hangings. She knew that even though a caged bird was offered food and shelter from the elements, it would give up all of its comforts for freedom. Jacqueline had only wished that she had the courage to fly.

Listening to Lord Wessex, and how her had treated her thus far, comforted Jacqueline. She was glad that he was not the vicious man from the stories she had previously heard about him. She had no doubt that when the time came, Lord Wessex would open her heart to a lasting friendship, as that would be all she could offer him.

“Well, My Lord, Charles. The hour is late. I thank you for your company.”

“The pleasure has been mine, Jacqueline,” he said as he placed a soft kiss on the back of her hand.

Once Lord Wessex opened the door to the great hall to escort her inside, Jacqueline took her leave to retire to her bedchamber for the remainder of the evening.

Ewan saw nothing but the blackness of the night illuminated by the few torches lit on the curtain wall of the castle. He inched closer to the tree line to have a better look. Several villagers passed through the gates carrying with them what appeared to be large sacks. The men in the courtyard seemed occupied with mundane tasks of hauling supplies and moving whiskey barrels about. Ewan’s curiosity grew as he knew that something was going on. Most of the guards were away from their posts and for this time of night, far too much activity was going on.

“We should strike now. They are nay expecting an attack,” Oliver suggested.

“Nay, now is no’ the time. We will wait till first light,” Ewan cautioned.

“Nay, we should get ‘em while they lie in their beds and cut their throats while they sleep.”

“Look around, ye ol’ fool. Heavily guarded they may no’ be, but twice the guards they have. To attack now would be foolish in this darkness. We dinna have the faintest idea where the dungeon is and we would only get ‘em killed. Patience, my good friend. We will ken when we are ready.”

Oliver spun around kicking the dirt up as he scuffled away in frustration. Ewan knew that whatever was going on down in the courtyard would only jeopardize their mission. He knew that Oliver was angered by having to wait, but running in blind would only be suicide and prove unsuccessful. Ewan turned back to the trees and helped the men set up camp for the night.

The sun had not even risen before Jacqueline awoke. Too nervous pending the day’s events, she sat on the edge of her bed in what was to be her wedding dress. Her stomach began to flutter with uneasiness. Glancing across the room, she gazed into the mirror. Almost unrecognizable, the reflection was almost as if a stranger was staring back at her. At her brother’s request and without argument, she agreed to marry Lord Wessex. And in a few short hours, she would be.

Jacqueline aimlessly twirled her hair around her finger, allowing her mind to drift as she stared out the window at the sky. Bright colors of red and orange lit the sky as the sun began to rise. Slowly, Jacqueline stood up from the bed and walked over to the window. And without thought or reason, she stepped up onto the ledge holding onto the sides of the window frame. Her lack of emotion made her so numb that she couldn’t even feel the cool air on her bare skin.