Fraser 01 - Highland Legacy (17 page)

Cailin blinked back tears, her joy overshadowed by memories of her own childhood.
What if the babe is a girl? Will Connor love and cherish our daughter, or be disappointed and shun her as my father did?
Cailin’s heart clenched as she struggled to catch her breath. Familiar feelings of rejection and sadness knotted her stomach. The loneliness, longing for a mother’s love and father’s acceptance were things she refused to let happen to her child.

Mary brushed a stray curl from Cailin’s forehead. “Are you frightened about giving birth?”

Cailin lowered her eyes. “My mother died giving birth to my twin brother, and my father never forgave me for being the one who lived. He had no use for a daughter. Men wish for sons.”

“Be it a son or a daughter, a babe is a gift from God. If I marry, I hope to have at least a half a dozen bairns.” Mary took Cailin’s hands and squeezed them. “Giving birth must be the most wonderful thing in the world. You’re a strong, healthy lass, and I have faith that all will go well.

“I fear not for myself,” Cailin muttered, her hand sliding over the flat plane of her belly.

“Then what bothers you?” Mary lifted Cailin’s chin. “This is a time for joy. Dinna worry about Connor. He is a skilled warrior and will come back to you. I know it.”

Mary’s attempt to reassure Cailin fell short. “He’s not invincible. Even the bravest, most skilled warriors can fall victim to a blade. There is also the possibility that the English will find me and see me punished for a crime I dinna commit.” She wrapped her arms around herself and shook her head. “What will happen to my child if they do?”

“You’re safe here, Cailin. Connor will return, and he will protect you and the bairn.”

“What if he doesn’t return? What if the babe is born and Borden finds me? He’ll show no mercy.” Cailin stood and began to pace the small cell. “Mayhap, I should leave here.”

Mary grasped Cailin by the shoulders, forcing her to stand still. “That would be foolish. It’s not safe for you to leave the priory.”

“Promise me that if Borden comes, you will protect my babe. Promise that you will care for him and see him safe.”

“Nothing is going to happen to you or the bairn. What about your father? Surely you can go to him for protection, and he would welcome his grandchild.”

“I will never go back to my father’s keep. He showed me no affection or regard when I was a bairn and made no effort to protect me when Borden came to the castle to arrest me. If not for my own resourcefulness, I would have been taken prisoner without a protest. As sure as I am he’s made no effort to find me. If I must raise my babe alone, I will. If I am arrested, and executed, I’ll not have him reared by a heartless bastard. Promise me that you’ll raise my bairn as your own, Mary, that you’ll love him,” Cailin pleaded.

“I promise,” Mary said softly. She pulled Cailin into her arms and held her close. “Should the need arise, I promise to love him as my own.”

The acrid smell of blood and the stench of death shrouded the once peaceful Scottish encampment. Connor crept through bracken, brambles, and thistles—being careful not to raise the attention of the English. When he reached a copse of trees at the north end of what was now a battlefield, he lowered himself into a crouched position. His heart sank as he surveyed the carnage.

How could this have happened? Why did I survive when so many of my comrades perished?

The Scottish army of nearly four thousand men came to Perth prepared to fight, but when Aymer de Valence refused to meet the challenge, the Bruce ordered them to make camp outside the village of Methven. He had not anticipated a predawn raid by three thousand English soldiers.

Unable to sleep, his dreams plagued by thoughts of Cailin, Connor had gone to the stream to bathe and cool the fire in his loins. When he heard men shouting and the clash of metal, he raced back to the camp, but it was too late. Many of the men died as they slept. They never heard the blackguards coming. The Scots fought bravely, but they were caught unawares. The English took full advantage of the surprise attack, and in no time, they’d overrun the camp.

Grief-stricken, Connor hung his head
. If only I could have done something to stop the butchery
.
What of my brothers, and cousin? Have I failed them, too?

With baited breath, he scanned the sea of twisted bodies, the familiar faces contorted by pain, the lifeless eyes staring up at the sky? Were Alasdair, Bryce, and Simon among them? The full impact of what happened hit him like a mighty blow to the gut. His stomach roiled and acid rose in his throat as he bent over a rock and emptied his stomach.

A tree branch snapped. He had company. His breath caught and his heart pounded like a battering ram against his ribs. He reached for his claymore and turned in the direction of the noise, prepared to fight with his last ounce of strength if necessary.

In a voice barely above a whisper, a man spoke from shadows. “Saints be praised, you’re still alive.”

He immediately recognized Simon’s voice. Blowing out a sigh of relief, he lowered his weapon. When his two brothers and Cameron joined his cousin, he moved with stealth to where they stood. He embraced each of them in turn. “What of Robert, and the rest of the lads? How many survived?”

Simon brought his finger to his lips and ushered him into the woods before he answered. “Robert is safe. When we knew the battle was lost, we saw him away.” Simon clutched his left arm. The sleeve of his tunic was red with blood. His face drained of color and he wobbled on his feet.

“You’re hurt.” Connor caught his cousin as he staggered forward and fell to his knees.

Simon shoved Connor away and struggled to stand unaided. “I’ll live to fight another day, but I cannot say the same for the lads who fell on the field. Robert should have posted more guards around the camp. Had he done so, the blackguards would not have been able to attack under the cloak of darkness.”

“The lads fought bravely and died for a cause they believed in. We will not let their deaths be in vain. We must honor their memory.” Alasdair briefly bowed his head and crossed his chest. “The Almighty has seen fit to let us live, so best we not tarry. Those who survived the battle headed west to the Argyll Mountains. There we will regroup and come back stronger than ever. Aymer de Valence will rue the day he was born.” He slammed his balled fist against the trunk of a tree so hard his knuckles bled.

“We cannot just leave the dead and wounded behind.” Bryce drew his sword and started to move in the direction of the camp.

Connor grabbed his arm. “What do you plan to do? Too many have fallen, and we are but five men against three thousand. There’s nothing more we can do for them. We must entrust the spirits of the dead to the Almighty, and as for the wounded—” Connor hesitated, his eyes downcast. “The English have shown no quarter, and there are no survivors.”

Bryce took a few more steps, then planted his feet firmly in place. He took a final look at the disheveled encampment, crossed himself, and bowed his head in prayer. “
Tha ma duilich
. I’m sorry, please forgive us, dear friends. Rest assured that your deaths will be avenged.”

Following his brother’s lead, Connor bowed his head and prayed for the souls of those lost this day, for their families, and for Scotland.

Pangs of guilt twisted his gut. Thousands of brave men had died, yet he’d survived, and would carry the memory of this battle the rest of his days. Aye, Simon was right, they would live to see another day, to fight another battle, and owed it to the fallen to do it with pride. But when it was over, and Scotland’s army had licked its wounds and rebuilt its forces, he would go to Cailin and tell her how he felt. He would beg her forgiveness and take her to wife—if she’d have him. If this day’s massacre taught him anything, it was that time is precious, and not to be wasted on fear or senseless pride.

“We must be away, lads,” Simon whispered. He tapped Connor on the shoulder.

“Aye, we’ve tarried long enough.” He joined the others, and they silently made their way through a thicket of brambles and out of harm’s way.

It didn’t take long for news of the Scot’s defeat and de Valence’s treachery to spread. It was a well-known fact that Robert the Bruce had narrowly escaped and planned to retaliate. However, to divulge the extent of their loss and the near annihilation of the Scottish army would be an open invitation for the English to attack before they had a chance to regroup.

Over two months had passed since the battle near Methven and still there had been little word as to survivors, leaving many families wondering about the fate of their loved ones. Cailin was no exception.

She paced the priory cell, praying for news of Connor and his brothers, but hope of their return was beginning to wane. Without conscious thought, her hands covered the small swell of her belly. Five months along, she was starting to show. Fortunately, the morning sickness had subsided, and she no longer dreaded waking up to a chamber pot. A soft rap on the door caught her attention. Half-expecting Mary to bustle in with a food-laden tray, she slid to the edge of the bed and sat up. “Aye, who is it?”

The door opened, and Cailin’s mouth dropped open in surprise when in addition to Mary, she saw Marjory Bruce standing in the doorway.

“The queen feared an attack on Kildrummy castle was immanent and sent Marjory to us for safe keeping.” Mary placed her hand on emiesMarjory’s shoulder and ushered her into the cell.

“Is there any word of Connor or your father?”

Mary shook her head. “Nay. I’m sorry to say there has been no word.”

“I wanted to wait for my father to come home, but my stepmother would not hear of it. If Papa is wounded, he may need my help.” She buried her face in her hands and sobbed, her slender shoulders heaving as she released a torrent of tears.

Cailin gathered Marjory in her arms. When the child had cried herself out, her wailing reduced to a few sniffles, she guided her to the bed and encouraged her to sit down. She sat beside her and offered a linen handkerchief. Even though her own father had no regard for her, she knew the loss and despair of being ripped from her home. To be forced to leave parents who adored and coddled you must have been devastating.

“I know you’re worried about your father. The word is that he survived the battle at Methven and is hale and hardy. Your stepmother was wise to send you here.” Cailin swept the tangle of blond curls from the girl’s face with a gentle brush of her hand. “Did your mother and the others leave the castle as well?”

“Nay. They stayed to wait for the men to return,” Mary interjected. “The castle is well-guarded, and I’m sure everyone is safe. They thought it best that the bairn join us for while.”

Cailin studied Mary’s face, uncertain if she was telling the truth, or simply trying to allay the child’s fear.

“Mother, Aunt Mary, Aunt Christina, Uncle Nigel, and Isabella MacDuff, the Countess of Buchan, remain at the castle. Lady Fraser left a fortnight ago. She grew restless and decided to return to their home in lowlands to wait for Sir Simon’s return.” Marjory dragged the handkerchief across her damp cheeks.

“What of Lady Jenna?” Cailin asked with genuine concern. While the lass had shown her no kindness, she shuddered to think what the English soldiers would do to a maiden if given a chance. Her own attack on the riverbank showed her to what extent the randy scoundrels would go.

“Jenna refused to leave, despite her father’s wishes. I begged her to come with me, but she would not hear of it. I am ashamed to say it, but my cousin Jenna will turn this terrible event around and use it to her advantage.” Marjory sniffled, blew her nose, then crumpled the scrap of linen in her hand before she continued. “Jenna once told me that if the English ever took over Scotland, she would select a handsome lord who suited her fancy, woo him, and if necessary, marry the rogue. She claimed she would do what was necessary to remain a lady in high standing and would never cower to any man.”

Tightness squeezed her chest, and Cailin fought to breathe. What if Jenna knew of her location and betrayed her to the English? “You dinna think she knows where I’m hiding and would tell?”

“Nay, I’m certain they kept your hiding place a secret. Marjory dinna know where she was going until she arrived. Even if Jenna did know, I cannot believe she would betray her family’s trust or stoop so low.” Mary wrapped her arm around Marjory’s shoulder, and urged her to stand. “Come, sweeting, I’ll show you to a chamber and help you to clean up. Cailin needs to rest.”

“I appreciate your concern, Mary, but I dinna wish to rest.”

Mary lightly stroked Cailin’s cheek. “Your face lacks color and you have dark circles under your eyes. When I passed by your cell late last night, I noticed the light under your door. Connor would never forgive me if I dinna care for you and the bairn.”

“I’m a grown woman, and know if I need to rest,” Cailin replied a little more sharply than she’d intended. She didn’t mean to appear ungrateful and truly appreciated Mary’s concern, even if she was a little overzealous at times.

“If not for yourself, then think about the babe,” Mary cautioned. “Now, climb back into bed while I see the wee lassie settled. Once I’m finished, I’ll fetch you a cup of warm milk to help calm your nerves. Cook made a fresh batch of bannock. I’ll bring you some with honey and a wedge of cheese.”

Cailin bit back the urge to argue. Mary was probably right. She hadn’t been sleeping well, her appetite was poor, and she needed to think about the babe. On the other hand, how could she rest? If wounded, Connor might need of a healer or, God forbid—she quickly crossed herself—he could be dead. The constant worry that Borden’s men would find her hiding place weighed heavy on her mind. She began to pace, even more concerned about her fate and that of her loved ones. “I need to know that Connor is safe and that this place of sanctuary will remain as such.”

“I dinna want to stay in this horrible place. It’s dark, damp, and smells like dung,” Marjory shrieked. She crossed her arms over her chest and defiantly stomped her foot. “I want to go home.”

Mary threw her hands up in the air. “Och, the two of you will be the death of me.” She lifted the girl’s chin and sighed. “I’m afraid you dinna have a choice in the matter. I know you’re worried about your father, as I worry about my own. The priory may not be a fancy place, but your mother has placed you in my care, and I mean to keep you safe. Now, be a good lass and come along.”

After a moment’s pause, the child nodded. “Fine, I’ll go with you for now, but I’m not staying. As soon as I’m able, I plan to return home and wait for father.”

Cailin bit back the urge to smile. Marjory’s spirit reminded her of herself as a child. Mary was so kind-hearted and only trying to do what she felt was best for all concerned. She did not wish to cause any more grief, so she sat on the edge of the bed and waited for them to leave. However, when the door closed behind them, she sprang to her feet. Resting was out of the question. She’d go out of her mind with worry if word of Connor did not come soon. She spied the Bible on the table and picked it up. Holding it to her breast, she prayed Connor, his brothers, and all at Kildrummy Castle would be spared.