A Highland Pearl (Highland Treasures Book 1) (13 page)

Gavin, dressed in kind, except carrying a large claymore in a
scabbard belted across his back, came through the doorway with Erskin followed.
Andrew’s wound kept him from using the heavy claymore on this night.

The destriers pranced and snorted, eager for the excitement of
battle. Their leather saddles, atop blankets in shades and hues of red, green,
blue, and yellow, glistened in the torchlight. Each warhorse had reins and
harness studded in silver or bronze, with a wooden targe attached to the
saddle’s pommel. Scara stamped so heavily the stable boy had difficulty holding
him. Andrew calmed the horse by speaking softly in Gaelic, then mounted.

The other warriors mounted horses and passed to the outer
bailey entrance with its heavy doors opened wide for their departure. The noise
of horses snorting and prancing with eagerness for battle and the excited
shouts of the warriors leaving to fight wakened the household. Several came to
watch the excitement. When the men crossed the training field heading in the
direction of the fire, Andrew looked toward Maidie’s window. She stood
watching, her fine figure silhouetted in the frame. He turned toward Gavin to
find his brother observing her also. Gavin waved. She returned the gesture.
Saints above, what should he do? He didn’t want to get involved with a lass,
but his resolve vanished at the sight of Maidie.

She had Gavin captivated for sure. Now his brother and he
competed for her attention. What a sorry state of affairs. The coming fight
would take his mind off the golden haired lass. Reivers were about, probably
from the Cameron, MacKenzie, or MacIntosh Clans. He would have to wound and
kill again, or be killed.
If there is a God in heaven, bring this feuding
between the clans to an end. We have enough to fight with the sasannach breathing
down our necks.

The closer the party of warriors rode to the village of
Swordale, the brighter the flames became, shooting into the night sky. Andrew
felt certain nothing remained of the village except burned out cottages and
frightened people running away from the ruckus. He looked at Gavin who stared
ahead with a set jaw. His face, even in the dim moonlight, looked dark and
brooding. Screams of fear and war cries reached his ears.

Andrew turned to his brother. “Take half of the men to the far
end of the village by the ben and block any from escaping in that direction.”

Gavin nodded then turned to carry out the chief’s orders. He
called the names of Erskin and nine others, leaving Tavish to ride with Andrew.
The tanist rode away with his men to the far end of the village. Likely, most
of the people were running toward the mountain for safety. The reivers would
not follow them, but go in the opposite direction with the cattle.

The second band of eleven riders quickly made their way to the
center of the burning village. Most of the people were running in the direction
of the ben as Andrew expected. A woman ran past him. She carried a bairn and
her face looked disfigured with fright. The thatch on the cottage roofs burned
with intense heat. Andrew hoped all villagers had escaped the fires. He didn’t
want to find anyone burned in the remains of their home.

Andrew waved to his warriors. They scattered out through the
village, looking for the thieves. He rode down the main street seeing naught
but the burning remnants of the cottages and their furnishings. Burning debris
from the thatched roofs and other articles flew through the air. The heat from
the flames blistered Andrew’s face and hands. The blustery autumn wind aided to
spread the fires. A hot glowing cinder flew into Scara’s neck, sending the
horse stomping, rearing, and then bucking.

Andrew pulled on the reins while yelling at the frightened
horse, but the roar of the fire and wind made the animal deaf to his commands.
He pulled on the reins with all his strength while the horse bucked then spun, the
wound in his abdomen burning and throbbing with pain. Finally Scara gave a last
snort, bucked, then settled down to gallop down the street. Andrew hovered over
the horse almost fainting from the pain, but managed to stay mounted. He
finally pulled Scara to a walk, stopping well away from the burning village.

They had arrived too late. The reivers were gone. Andrew rode
to the base of the ben where people gathered away from the fire. Children cried
while clinging to their mother’s skirts. Soot streaked most of the frightened
drawn faces. Gavin sat on his horse close by, while his men continued searching
the village.

His brother rode over to him. “Are you fine, Andrew? You did
well to stay on Scara in the ruckus.”

Andrew answered through teeth clenched in pain, “Aye, I’m
fine, Brother. Just a wee bit shaken.”

“Your face looks ashen even in this dim light. Mayhap you
should return to the castle and let me handle the reivers.”

“Nae, I’ll complete this mission. There are those that need
hanging for certain, and I’m the only one who can give the order.”

“Alright then. Just don’t hold us up. We must cover a lot of
territory before dawn,” Gavin warned.

Andrew flashed a hard look at his second in command, then
turned toward the group of villagers huddled together beside the mountain away
from the fire. The cold wind hit his face and quieted the burning rage swelling
within as he took in the pitiful scene.

“Did you see the direction the thieves took?” he asked an
elderly man standing close by.

“Aye, M’Laird. They went thus.” He pointed west in the
direction of MacKenzie lands.

“So I thought. Thank you for the information. My men brought
extra blankets, knowing you may be staying out in the cold this night. We must
go after the reivers, but others from the castle will be coming with supplies
on the morrow. We will soon have your homes rebuilt. I gave the order before we
left.” Andrew reached behind his saddle, pulled two heavy wool blankets loose
from their bindings and threw them down to the old man.

Gavin did the same. The villagers began gathering around. “Thank
you, M’Laird,” one called out to him.

Soon the warriors who had been combing the village arrived and
gave the villagers the blankets they carried. The people snatched the blankets
as soon as they hit the ground. Some would need to share, but these were good
tenants, and took care of one another.

The elderly man looked up at Andrew. “God bless you, M’Laird.”
Light from the fires cast sinister shadows on the lined face.

Andrew’s heart went out to the innocents caught in the feud
between the clans. Naught was their fault, but they suffered because of it.
Hate mingled with thoughts of revenge for those causing this carnage rose like
a bitter lump in his throat. He felt sure the Camerons and MacKenzies were the
responsible parties.

The chief turned his mount toward the western direction and
waved for his men to follow. The band of warriors soon fell in around him, so
he spurred Scara to a gallop. Surely the reivers were not far. They were
herding cattle, and would be easy to find. He needed to aprehend them before
they reached MacKenzie lands, or he could not carry out the planned justice.

Erskin rode ahead to look for a trail and soon came back with
the information they needed to follow. The dark night made tracking difficult,
so the band moved on slowly with Andrew and Gavin riding along with Erskin and
Tavish in the lead. Andrew could barely stay on his horse. Shooting pains like
fire flashed through his entire body. For the first time in his life as a
warrior, he wished he had stayed at Fàrdach Castle and let Gavin fight this
battle. Tavish rode ahead now, scouting for the reivers. After a long while, he
returned with no good news. Andrew could not understand why they had not soon
overtaken the outlaws.

Gavin turned in his saddle to stare at Andrew. “Brother, we’re
stopping now. You canna go another mile.”

It was true, but Andrew didn’t want to admit he was in pain. “I
can keep up, Gavin. Dinna fash yourself about me. I’ve been worse.”

“Nae, you lie. I canna see your face, but I can tell by the
way you sit in the saddle, you’re spent.” Gavin raised his hand and the band of
warriors stopped, including Andrew. “Stay here, Brother, or go back to the
castle. The men and I will catch the reivers and bring them to you.”

Andrew could go no farther, but he would not return to Fàrdach
Castle alone and without the thieves. “I will remain here and wait for you.”

“Should I leave Tavish or one of the others?”

“Only Colin. You will need the other warriors for taking the
reivers. Be certain you bring them back here. I will pronounce judgment in this
place.”

“Aye, Brother, as you wish.” Gavin patted the neck of his
stallion to calm him. The destriers pranced, eager to be about the chase.

“Go now. Make haste. I will be here on your return.” Andrew
dismounted.

The warriors now lead by the tanist moved on to find and
capture the reivers. Colin dismounted, took his horse and Andrew’s by the reins
and tied both to a nearby bush.

A cold, light mist began to fall. Clouds cloaked the moon,
making the night black. Andrew sat down on the root of a large oak with low
hanging branches. Leaves from the large tree covered the cold, damp ground. An
owl’s haunting call pierced the night air.

Andrew unhooked the plaide on his shoulder and wrapped it
around his aching body, while Colin gathered small branches and twigs enough
for a fire. He found dry leaves then piled them together close to Andrew’s
feet. Using a flint stone and his
sgian
dubh
, Colin soon had a small fire burning. He added kindling, larger
sticks, and finally a limb.

Andrew leaned against the tree trunk, relaxing in the warmth
of the fire. Colin soon joined him, wrapped his plaide around his young body,
and rested against the tree. Andrew’s wound burned with pain. He closed his
eyes, but could not sleep. Droplets of water from the mist collected on the
tree’s branches and splashed down upon his head, but he did not care. His pride
throbbed as mightily as the wound in his abdomen. He, the chief of Clan Munro,
could not lead his men into battle. The tanist must now do his work. His
warriors and people would hold him in contempt for not being able to perform
his duties. How could he face his men?

Andrew’s eyes closed against his will. He wished for one of
Maidie Munro’s potions to ease the pain in his gut and her gentle touch to ease
the pain in his heart. He soon dozed. In a fitful sleep, he dreamed of a bonny
lass surrounded by glowing light, dressed in a flowing sheer white gown with a
wreath of yellow daisies about her head. She wore a large pearl around a
slender neck, and her skin shone like alabaster. Golden locks spilled around
her shoulders and down her back. Large blue eyes and red lips taunted him. He
reached for her when she beckoned with one willowy hand.

“If you touch this pearl, you will have life and love,” she
spoke in a voice sounding of tinkling bells.

“Aye, come closer and I will touch it.” Andrew stretched his
hand out further. He had almost reached the pearl when the beautiful lass
backed away. “Come closer. I canna reach you. I will touch the pearl,” he
called as she grew smaller and smaller. He tried to run toward her, but his
legs would not move. “Come back, come back. I canna reach the pearl,” he called
at the top of his lungs, but she vanished.

Colin shook his shoulder. “Are you well, M’Laird? You’re
talking in your sleep.”

“Aye. I’m fine, lad. Just a wee pain in the gut.” Andrew placed
a hand inside his plaide and felt the warmth of blood oozing from the wound in
his belly.

Colin rose to put limbs on the fire, and then settled against
the tree once more. The night mist grew heavier and colder. The owl called
again, this time from further away. Andrew guessed his cry had frightened the
bird. Hopefully, no wolves were about. He didn’t feel up to fighting off a pack
this night, and Colin would not be able to hold off very many by himself.
Andrew had no spirit or energy left for fighting.

Even in the night’s cold air, perspiration lay on Andrew’s
brow. He wiped it away with the plaide and then wrapped the wool garment closer
about his body. For the first time since Tara Fraser, he longed to gaze into
the eyes of a lass and wrap his arms about her, feel her touch on his skin, and
press her warm lips to his. Since Maidie came into his life, his thoughts
turned more and more toward the soft feel of a woman. If only he were free to
properly court the lass. She may not want him, however, now that his strength
was spent.

The sound of a distant owl broke the night air again. Colin
wrapped his plaide tighter around his body. Another owl sounded closer.

Andrew jumped to his feet with a hand on the hilt of his
broadsword. “Colin, douse the fire. ‘Tis no owl we’re hearing, but an animal
far more dangerous.”

Chapter Eleven

Maidie rose from the bed with tears
streaming down her face. Terrible nightmares of fighting and blood filled her
sleep. She checked on Sven who lay asleep beside her. Alan and Nellie slept
beside the door on a mat of rushes. Maidie quietly donned her robe and
slippers, opened the large door, and made her way to the chapel adjacent to the
great hall. The quiet castle loomed large and ominous in the dark of night,
almost sinister in spirit. She expected to see a roaming soul jump out of the
darkness upon her. She could feel her heart throbbing in her throat. Her mouth
went dry, but she felt praying to the Lord at the chapel’s altar this night
would save the lives of the warriors.

Maidie opened an oak door with iron hinges and a large iron
keyhole to enter the beautiful sanctuary decorated with blue silk cushions on
the wooden benches. The room smelled of incense and the smoke of candles.
Several tapestries depicting the life of the Lord Jesus hung on the walls. Three
quarterfoil windows on the southern and northern walls of the chapel had four
panes each, the panes forming the shape of a leaf. A large intricately carved
crucifix from the wood of a hawthorn tree hung over the altar. Light from the
tapered candles in four wall scones, two on either side of the room, flickered
when the door opened, then cast dancing shadows upon the floor.