A Shot Across the Bows
'Conall caught the heroes' stone, and he
raised it on the top of the shoulder, and on the faggot
gathering place of his back, and he carried it aloft to
the top of Beinn Eidinn, and down to the bottom of
Beinn Eidinn, and back again; and he left it where he
found it.
And the Gruagach said to him, "Ach! thou hast
enough of strength, if thou hast enough of swiftness."'
-From Tales of the Highlands and Islands, 1860
oOo
The air in Conall's lungs felt like liquid fire by the time he ascended the steep ridge where the games field overlooked the wide loch. The climb was made even harder by the slippery frost and snow, and he wasn't exactly light on his feet.
Lady Nicnevin's round tent stood smaller from the others, seemingly insignificant, but his heart always lurched into his stomach every time he came near it. He'd heard tell the sith disliked rooms or tents with corners for they were afraid of becoming trapped in them. The air around the tent physically repelled him. Worse was the woman inside.
Conall's eyes lingered on the dark entrance. He wondered if his father had gone with King Fergus to burn the Bear Witch, or if he had remained by Lady Nicnevin's side, like a loyal hound keen to do her bidding.
The games field and surrounding high green was still pleasantly lit with pockets of fire in honour of Samhain. The winter sun would rise tomorrow and the veil between this world and the next would lift. It was a celebration of past, present and future, and the final bonfire to be lit represented a challenge to the coming season - a light in the dark months to come.
Queen Elinor was standing by one of the larger tents, issuing orders to the servants preparing the grand bonfire at the heart of the field.
As Conall drew closer, his stomach dipped as he spotted Annis at the Queen's elbow. She smiled prettily when she caught sight of him coming across the green, but her beautiful features had a disturbing look about them in the harsh shadows thrown by the fire.
Queen Elinor raised a delicate set of eyebrows, surprised by his arrival. "Young Lord MacGuffin, what an unexpected pleasure." Her gaze slid towards Miss Annis and she smiled coyly. "Or perhaps not so surprising after all. Not even the sith can keep young love apart. I have just spent the day with your soon to be mother in-law and betrothed-"
"Yer Majesty, ah'm vera sirry tae interrupt, but it is you ah've come tae speak with."
The smile on Elinor's face dropped like a stone, replaced by an urgency and fierceness that reminded him too much of the bear she'd once been.
"What's happened?" she demanded.
"It's Merida," Conall blurted out, then coloured at his over-familiarity. "Ah mean, it's the Princess, yer Majesty. Ah know it's no ma place tae speak ma mind here, but the King's gone an' locked her in 'er room an'-"
"What?! For what reason?"
Conall's eyes flicked between Annis and the Queen's furious gaze, and swallowed thickly.
"They had a d-disagreement regardin' the... regardin' the uhh..." he stammered to a halt and turned his gaze to the ground, squeezing his eyes shut and willing himself to be brave. "Ah believe the Princess wis tryin' to free the wise wuman, yer Majesty. King Fergus foun' her an' now he's gone off wi' the Lords tae burn the witch," he said breathlessly, letting the words rush out before he could lose his nerve again.
Elinor's eyes blazed. He never would have believed the Queen of Dunbroch capable of such a stream of colourful invectives, had he not witnessed her first hand right there on the games field. Conall had always assumed Merida had gotten her temper from her father. Now he saw plainly she was the product of two fiery tempers.
"Uch! That stupid emotional man! This is why husbands should be culled at birth. When I get my hands on him I will wring his feckless neck!" She threw her head back and yelled, "LACHLAAAN. Where are you, you stupid boy? Bring me my horse! I have a family of necks to wring."
Conall and Annis could only stand back and stare in bewilderment as Elinor snatched the reigns from poor Lachlan and mounted her grey mare with the fierce single-mindedness of a soldier about to ride into battle.
"But my Queen!" Annis leapt forward anxiously. "My mother wishes tae speak with you further in her lodgings. She will be most aggrieved to hear you've left!"
"I have spent enough time on Lady Nicnevin for one day," Elinor retorted crisply. "I think she can bare to be apart from me for a little while."
With that, the Queen was off galloping pell-mell towards the castle, Elinor's hair flying behind her like a banner.
Conall made to follow her immediately when he felt a grip like a snake bite on his arm. He turned and found Annis was no longer smiling at him.
"My mother will not be pleased with you."
MacGuffin yanked his arm away, stepping back and shaking his head at her. "That wuman is nae kind of mither ah've ever known."
Annis tossed her head with a tight little sneer. "You barely even knew yours."
Conall didn't rise to her jibe. She crossed her arms and glowered at him, but even anger on her never looked completely human. Her eyes were as black and hollow as the day he'd first met her. He started walking back down the hill towards the castle, hoping he could find the words to make Merida understand. Perhaps she could even help him?
Annis gave a high, tinkling laugh. "What are you going to do? Scale the castle wall?" She gave him a snide appraising look up and down. "Best leave great feats of courage to warriors like handsome young MacIntosh, my love. Who do you really think that bushy haired shrub of a girl really wants to come to her rescue?"
"That fine quine doesnae need rescuin'," he snapped back. "What she needs is a friend and ah willnae fail her in that role again."
She shrugged in a bored manner. "And Nicnevin?"
Conall clenched his fists and turned to stand his ground. "Ah'm no takin' any mair orders from her. She's a ruthless witch."
Annis gave him a lazy smile, brilliant teeth shining like pearls in her too-wide mouth, as she said, "More reason not to cross her, young Lord."
Conall's eyes grew round. He could hear the unspoken threat in her words, and his mind flew to his father with a fearful ache in his heart. His shoulders drooped. Behind Annis, he could see Lady Nicnevin's tent gaping open like a black maw. A figure stood inside, watching, too still to be human, too silent to be animal, but breathing. Listening.
"It's a pity, you know," she drawled. "Dunbroch's Queen means well, but she is making a grave mistake."
Conall felt his heart grow cold. "Whit d'yeh mean?"
Now the look on Annis's face looked very human. Jealousy and spite glinted in her dark eye as she fixed her hard gaze on him.
"If the Queen frees her daughter, the Princess will die tonight."
oOo
The path King Fergus took to the Clanach Sluagh cut through a deep forest of snowy pine, giant oak and skinny birch, where the steep side of a mountain rose up on one side, keeping vigilant watch over their progress. Even if it weren't night, the peaks would still have been invisible. A veil of snow was starting to blanket everything in sight. It was a slow, steady trickle of large flakes which covered their heavy tracks in minutes.
King Fergus knew his men were nervous. Even the Lords Dingwall, MacIntosh and MacGuffin riding beside him - fierce battle-hardened men who had fought off invaders from Rome and the North alike - looked pale and wary. Their eyes kept darting to the trees on either side of them, unnerved by the heavy surrounding silence. Fergus knew all too well how the snow could play tricks on the mind. The snow took everything in -colour, warmth, sound, life- but gave nothing in return.
A low drumming echoed through the woods, vibrating trunks of ash and birch. A couple of horses shied, but Fergus barked at the men to steady them and keep to the path.
"Path? Whit bloody path? This is madness," Lord Dingwall grumbled, always the first to complain. "What are we doin' ridin' all the way out here t' freeze our ruddy bollocks off for? The witch'd toast just as well back hame!"
"Shut yer maggoty mouth, Wullie," snapped Lord MacGuffin. "Fergus knows what he's doing."
Lord MacIntosh rolled his eyes. "Aye, well he can tell that to my sair bum."
Dingwall gave him a sneering look. "Maybe if yer arse wasn't so bony yeh'd have somethin' tae cushion it with."
"I'd rather have a skinny bum than that flabby bagpie yer sittin' on!" MacIntosh snapped. "Looks like yer mother's saggy ti-"
"You leave ma' mother out of it, ya lanky beanpole!"
"If you three don't SHUT IT," King Fergus bellowed, "ah'm gonnae make brand new saddles out of yer arsecheeks!"
Young MacIntosh barely registered his father's arguing with the other Lords. After years of listening to the Lords argue it all became white noise. Besides, he was too distracted by the cold to care about much else. Dougal hated the snow. He wanted to be back in the castle by the roaring fire, with a flagon of wine and a pretty girl on the arm of his chair - not riding through the snow on a starless night with Wee Dingwall as his companion.
More than anything, more than the snow and the cold, or the strange silent woods, Dougal hated the look on Wee Dingwall's face.
He scowled at the shorter man keeping pace with him on the trail. Up ahead of them, hitched to the back of a horse-drawn cart, was a tall narrow cell with iron bars. Its prisoner was the Kingdom's most wanted criminal to terrorise the countryside since the demon bear Mor'du stalked the land.
The Bear Witch was huddled in a corner of the cell, quietly curled in on herself. She didn't look like a grave threat. To his eyes she only looked like a harmless old woman, but Dougal knew better than to question the King.
A quick glance around the party also told him Young MacGuffin hadn't yet joined them, despite the King's strict orders. He wondered if Conall had crept away to free Merida. A treacherous part of his heart hoped his friend had, but he crushed it instantly. Dougal had done the right thing. He knew he had.
There was a loud snort beside him.
Dougal glared at his companion. "What?"
"I didnae say anythin'," Colin replied sniffily.
"You don't have to. Your pasty mug says it all, so you might as well spit it out for all to hear."
Colin shot him a dark, assessing look out the corner of his eye. "Okay. Fine. You're a witless cocksplat, Dougal MacIntosh."
Dougal spluttered and his eyes went wide. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. You're a spineless, jealous, mean-spirited dunderheid. A weasel-nosed trout with an ego as big as yer balls are wee."
"Right, you can stop now."
But Colin's head snapped viciously towards him.
"OH NO. I've started an' I'm gonnae finish." He cleared his throat. "You're a Grade A prick. A lanky faced, bow-legged, giant shitgibbon who cannae see past the end of his massive beak. A complete and utter bawbag. A hairy galloot. A manky, spindly-legged, pasty grey jobbie with-"
"OKAY!" Dougal shouted, exasperated, and whipped his head around to scowl at the soldiers chuckling behind them. Colin's out of character tirade had drawn more attention than he had liked. He hoped to the Dagda his father hadn't overheard.
Dougal also knew he deserved every word of it.
The sick, tight knot in his belly refused to unwind.
"Okay," he said again, softer this time.
Colin shot him a brief sideways look, one fair eyebrow raised, before fixing his eyes on the path ahead. "So you admit it, then?"
"Yes. No! I- argh!" He ran a long-fingered hand through his hair in frustration. "I only led Fergus down there because it was a stupid plan. She already put everyone through the Bear Curse because of her dealings with that witch. Who knows what would have happened if she'd managed to set the old woman free?"
"Unbelievable." Colin gave a hollow little laugh and shook his head. "I think you actually believe the drivel coming out of your mouth. It's almost impressive what an absolute bullish lily-livered ninnie you-"
Dougal gave him a open, wounded look. "Please stop calling me names."
The side-eye Colin gave him said everything, but he held his tongue nonetheless. They rode on in silence for a while, before the heir to the Dingwall clan spoke again.
"You know Conall would never dob her in like that. We both know that giant doesnae have the heart to do anyone over, least of all the Princess. He's too decent for his own good," said Colin, then added haughtily, "Personally, I think honour an' valour's a bit overrated, but I'll take it over your thick-headedness any day."
Dougal didn't say anything, just sat slouched in his saddle.
"You don't even love Merida, y'know," Colin remarked coldly. "You might think you do, but yeh don't. You just hate tae lose."
With a sigh, Dougal hung his head. The fight had gone out of him.
"Fine. Say you're... Say you're right." He shot Dingwall a warning look before the other had a chance to gloat. "This is in theory, yeh ken. Keep in mind the idea of you bein' right goes against the natural order of things an' everything I believe in. But say you're right... that I don't love her like that." His voice grew quieter. "But if I don't, then why dae I feel so-"
"Guilty?"
Dougal cast his eyes down to the reins in his hands and nodded once.
"Guilty is how most warm-blooded people would feel after they did over their pals. And you managed to do over not just one friend, but two," Colin observed, candidly. "In theory, of course. Guilt is the conclusion I come to under the assumption that you are a warm-blooded man, and no' just an arse waitin' tae be kicked. Empathy isn't dished up on a plate for you to pick up whenever you fancy. You've got to want to care about people in the first place. Maybe if yeh'd actually ever loved someone other than yourself before, you'd-"
"I have."
This time Colin did turn to look at his companion, but Dougal did not meet his eyes. His gaze were still fixed rigidly on his own white-knuckled hands holding the reins.
"Y'know I have."
Colin didn't answer. Dougal didn't know if his companion would have, as a troubled muttering from the soldiers and Lords ahead drew their attention. Suddenly the trees parted to reveal a wide clearing of unspoiled snow. The horses grew nervous, tossing their heads and whinnying as the approached the stone circle: the ancient Clanach Sluagh.
The sight of them sucked the air right out of Dougal's lungs. He swallowed thickly, patting down the length of his horse's neck as much for his comfort as the twitchy animal's. The stones, cripple-backed and huddled into the rising wind like hikers in a blizzard, seemed to hum with energy.
And the drumming grew louder.
Dougal began to wonder if he was the only one who heard it. Odder still, he realised with a tremulous shiver, no snow fell inside the circle. It was like an invisible roof sheltered the area. Beyond the stones, the snow was a whorl of movement, but inside the stone circle everything was disconcertingly quiet and still, like the world was holding its breath.
At his side, Colin gazed open-mouthed and wide-eyed. Few things stirred the shorter man into action - in fact, Dougal was proud to count himself among said few things. Colin normally wore the look of a bored trout, but right now the sight of the ancient ring of stones left all of them struck dumb with horror.
All except King Fergus.
At the head of the party, the King dismounted and strode towards the cart carrying the Bear Witch, stubborn purpose in every stride.
His hands were already undoing the leather straps securing the cell to the cart as his voice boomed around the hills. "Quit starin' like gormless neaps, lads," he bellowed. "We've work t' do!"
oOo
It was closing in on Midnight when her mother hammered against her bedroom door in a voice high pitched and frantic with worry.
"Mum?" Merida's eyes flew open and she scrambled off the bed, tripping as she ran to the still locked door. "MUM!"
"I'm here, love!" came her mother's voice, anxious and strained. "What in blazes happened? Heavens t' Betsy, I leave my family alone for one day and-"
"Dad locked me in," Merida interrupted, her voice still choked with half-shed tears. "He's gone off into the mountains with the Lords. Mum, he's gonnae burn the witch!"
"Wait, love, slow down-"
"He doesn't know what he's doing!" Merida sobbed brokenly. "Mum, yeh've got to open the door, please, I've got t' stop thi-"
The door swung out and Merida stood facing the corridor, blinking in surprise.
Her mother cocked on slender dark eyebrow at her. "Did you really think I wasn't gonnae let you out?"
Merida dived forwards, flinging her arms around her mother's neck. Elinor embraced her in a fierce hug - a little too fierce, Merida thought with a bone-cracking wince. Her mother had retained one too many bear-ish habits and attributes after the curse.
When Elinor drew back, her tone was irritable. "I was out on the games field seeing to the folk- that Lady Nicnevin wouldnae let me leave. A right old Missus, that one. You'd think she was the Queen and I her lady in waiting, the way she talked- but never mind that." She snapped her fingers, muttering furiously. "Och, yer stupid father. I'll chew his bloody ears aff!"
"Mum, I've got tae stop him. We need the Bear Witch. She knows what happened to MacGuffin's lands. She knows what the storm is!" She laid her hands on her mother's tense shoulders. "It's not the Northern invaders, Mum, it's- it's worse, much worse. I think it has something to do with the stone we broke to destroy Mor'du. The witch might be our only chance."
To her surprise and relief, her mother nodded. Whatever damage the Bear Curse had done, and the guilt Merida carried on her shoulders for it, the bond between them had been strengthened tenfold.
"I believe you," Elinor's eyes shone with trust as she stroked her daughter's face, shushing her. "Shh, don't worry, I believe you. We'll get Silas to saddle the horses for us and find yer father-"
But Merida shook her head. "No, get the boys first. I'll go on ahead. Angus is faster than Bridgit, we'll make better time."
Elinor's dark brows drew together in worry. "Merida, be careful. The snow's fallin' faster. There may be a blizzard coming down off the mountain."
"Don't worry, I'll be fine." She grabbed her cloak, bow and quiver from her room, swinging both over her shoulders.
"Oh aye, is that why you're taking a weapon?" Elinor remarked wryly.
Merida smirked. "It's just mah bow." She kissed her mother's cheek with a tight embrace.
Yes, well, if you think you're going out in that flimsy cloak, young lady, you have another thing coming. You're still pale from the fever!"
"Fine." Merida rolled her eyes and rushed back into her room, snatching the first item to hand, tossing it around her shoulders and fastening it with a silver brooch. She squeezed her mother's arms as she trotted back into the corridor. "Really, I'll be fine. There's no better rider in Dunbroch, Mum."
Elinor snorted. "Now you're gettin' cocky."
"I'm never cocky," she retorted with another smirk and a wave as she walked backwards down the hallway. "I just know I'm right."
"That's what your uncle Jock said before he broke his neck during a haggis toss," Elinor huffed, then squared her shoulders and wagged an imperious finger in her daughter's face. "And don't think for a second that upon your return I won't demand immediate details on the hows and whys Young Lord MacGuffin's attire came to be in the possession of your bed, young lady."
Merida froze, but her Mother's only held her in a tight last embrace.
Then they parted to set off on their separate tasks. The guards watched the Princess tear out of the castle warily, but none stopped her: now that Queen Elinor had returned, they had been put in their place. Fergus may have been King of the realm, but Elinor was judge, Queen and executioner in the castle as far as most were concerned.
Merida tore into the stables where Angus was waiting, kicking the door of his stall with heavy hooves and snorting impatiently. He was a wise old beast and knew when something was wrong. Without bothering to saddle him, she swung herself on to his back and kicked him into a fast gallop.
The air was bitterly cold, colder than it had been on previous nights, and the rolling clouds were starting to make good on their threats as more snow fell thick and fast. She tugged on Angus's mane so that he came to a halt, and studied the ground with an eagle eye. The tracks her father's party had left were already mostly covered now, but she could just make the faint outline of them, heading North-West into the hills.
Merida grit her resolve and urged Angus into a gallop. She knew where they were headed.
oOo
There were things Young MacGuffin knew about the Princess that few others did. She snored in her sleep, and not delicate little snuffles either - deep, bone-vibrating, textured snoring, meant to wake the dead. She slept on her back and took up every inch of her bed with limbs spread-eagled, her hair splayed across her pillows like tangled wild heather. From a distance, her round face was pale and without imperfection. But on closer inspection, her cheeks were a ruddy, wind-beaten colour, and a spattering of light freckles covered her nose and forehead, too many to join up. She kept an ancient, raggedy looking toy by her pillow that might have been a black and white horse once. It was missing an eye and most of its mane now, and the sawdust stuffing peeked out of more than one split seam. Books littered her floor; carved bows and single-edged sgian-dubhs with carefully scratched runes lay next to partially completed stitch-work on a work bench. A shining claymore leaned against an old black and white rocking horse in one corner, both clearly well-loved over the years. A midnight blue velvet gown with delicate bead-work along the hem and collar had been carefully hung over the door of her wardrobe, and beneath it sat a pair of muddy oil-skin boots.
All these things and more Conall took notice of. Everything in the bedroom was sheer Merida; hard and soft, neither masculine nor feminine, but a constantly shifting blend of both. He filed everything away in a small, secret corner of his himself - one he rarely visited these days. Other things, other people, had taken her place.
If he were honest with himself, which he rarely was these days, Conall supposed he might have loved Merida once. But that was a long time ago and he had come to terms with those feelings, greeting them now like an old friend. But after she had fallen asleep in the kitchen he'd cradled her so close as he carried the sleeping Princess to her chambers, carefully and reverently as someone might ferry sacred relics. Merida wasn't light; her figure was full and he could feel the strength of her muscles even through the layers between them. The fire had dwindled in her bedroom, so he'd wrapped his over plaid around her before pulling the heavy covers and sheep skins over. He'd even brushed a curl of hair tickling her nose, fondly, then choked back a laugh as she snuffled deeper into the goose-feather pillows.
Merida was nothing like the Princesses from the tales he had loved so much as a wee lad. Back then he had enjoyed nothing more than squatting by the hearth in Castle MacGuffin and listening keenly to his father's men as they wove their stories, red-faced and jolly after one too many dram. He hadn't thought about it at the time, but with hindsight he realised how passive many of the women in those tales had been; faceless beauties to be acquired through feats of bravery by men.
As he'd grew up he came to appreciate just how strong and complex all of the women in his life were. His nursemaid, Gwenny, had been a wiry wee thing, but no one played a prank or told a dirty joke quite like her. His father's second wife, Nancy, had turn both man and beast to jelly with her sharp tongue. And of course, the story of his parents betrothal was famous across the land. Lord MacGuffin had returned from a failed (though Conall always suspected half-hearted) attempt to win the hand of Lady Elinor in a competition between the four Lords, and gone immediately to his mother's house to request her hand in marriage. She had answered his request with a headbutt.
What a fine woman, Lady MacGuffin had been.
Conall wondered what advice his mother would have offered him now. The Princess's words had cut him deeper than any sword. Her poor opinion of him hurt more than any physical blow ever could.
Worse was the fact that he had no means of proving his innocence. He couldn't prove why everyone believed the worst of him, but he had his suspicions. He should have confided in her earlier, trusted her to keep his concerns safe. Last night, when they had sat together in the kitchen chatting into the wee hours Conall had come so close too spilling everything, but the idea of sharing such a secret with the Princess seemed too intimate.
Still, that Merida could so readily believe the worst of him hurt deeply. That she had involved Dougal and Colin in her plans, but not him, stung more than a little. It felt like they had failed each other in their first test of friendship.
He'd been glad for the solid, locked door that parted them when Merida had said her harsh words. Conall didn't think he would have been able to take all that anger and bitterness levied at him. Worst of all, despite the fury in her voice, he could hear the hurt louder.
But none of that mattered now. Annis's threat hung heavy over him as he skidded down the slope of the games field, coming close to breaking his neck on the ice a couple of times. He started up the steep path to the castle, stumbling through the snow. He did not know if Annis had made her threat out of spite or if she had glimpsed Merida's fate, but Conall couldn't take the risk. Whatever Merida thought of him, he would not let her down again. Gossip and consequences be damned, he had to stop her from leaving the castle.
But as he approached the gates he heard the sound of a horse crashing through the snow towards him. He leapt off the road moments before a cloaked rider on a familiar black and white steed thundered by.
Conall's watched the receding rider disappear into the woods. Over the years, he had accompanied his father on visits to Dunbroch, well before the visit of those fateful games during which he'd made a poor attempt to win the Princess's hand. On those early visits he had spent most of his time keeping out of sight and mind in the stables, helping the stable hand with the horses. Conall knew Merida's beast by sight and by gait. There was no mistaking Angus.
Which meant the cloaked rider could only be-
Instantly, Conall scrambled to his feet, a gripping fear gnawing at his heart as he ran towards the stables.
oOo
Sorry for the late update! No excuses, I just completely forgot bwaha. ^^ Anyway, just a note on the snippet at the beginning. Conall Gulban was a Scottish mythic hero and his exploits are chronicled in JF Campbell's 20th c. Tales of the Highlands and Islands. The gruagach was essentially a type of brownie. Anyway, Conall Gulban was the reason I decided on Conall for Young MacGuffin's name, particularly due to the tale of Conall Gulban lifting the Heroes' Stone and taking it up and down the hill and back again. Stone lifting was a huge part of Scottish culture- if you had to sum up the heart of Scottish folklore you could probably do so just by talking about the people's relationships with the stones.
