The Wind in the Glen
Chapter 10
-
-
-
In the distance three figures worked their way across the snow covered meadow. The thick white moisture encumbered their movements, knee deep to leathers calve high. Dar blinked as the sun glared its peeking eye over the tree line. A strange tingle spread through his chest; too quiet, too still, and something else he had no words to describe. The Second oldest wondered if his two brothers shared the same foreboding dread, and stopped abruptly as his hand met brow to ward off the throws of light.
"There…." His arm shot forward, straight on from the end of his finger a lone form spraddled across the ground. A male, and Iain was missing, sent long past to tend the horses. He shouted out to his youngest brother as the call echoed off weather bound ridges, returning to one who lay motionless.
"Iain lad, are you live?" and Sean repeated his summons.
No movement or recognition, not a stir, and Dar challenged his legs to press harder and faster than the others. He arrived at his side shocked, his lungs stifled and heart pounding through his chest.
"No….it canna be so?" Gasping, angered and betrayed he stooped near the lad's still frame, white puffs of breath steamed from his nose and mouth, but none from his brother. He lifted the boy's skull and the warmth of the youngest Campbell's blood puddled in his hands.
"Iain….Iain what hae' ye done lad?"
His words of distress fell on deaf ears, and patted vigorously at the sides of pallor cheeks. Still nothing, he dabbed a touch of wet snow across his forehead, but the boy made no response.
"MacDonalds," he seethed, and leaned into his brother's body in search of a fatal wound. A shallow breath, faintly detectable touched on Dar's ear. The boy's nose bloodied and broken, and head cracked, but the lad was alive. A sigh relinquished from the Campbell's lips as the relief expanded in his chest and the breath expelled.
"We must git 'im ta shelter."
He stared past the older brother and noticed the tears that misted in the gentle ones eyes. Dar motioned towards the stream at the tattered bucket that lay aside.
"Quinn make haste, he's no dead yet….fill the pail wi' water and fetch it ta the cot." He pulled the fur cloak from his own back and engulfed Iain in its warmth.
"Aye, yir a fine and stout lad Iain Campbell," he muttered to the boy, "A man by any one's standards. Yi'll no let this knot ta yir head kill ya now." Dar's muscles bulged taut as he heaved, and gently hoisted the lad astride his shoulder.
He glared at Sean as he stood with his empty sallow expression.
"Och, how di' a wee lass da this?" he uttered as Dar passed him.
"Hae' ye no eyes man, di' ye no see the horses tracks, Sean?"
Regret burrowed its cold hand deep into his breast, as he laid Iain to the ground on a blanket nigh to the makeshift hearth.
I have betrayed my brothers for a woman I barely knew, one that had no such feelings for me. His mind reeled as the questions and self-doubt bounced off his seeminglyworthless brain. What have I done?
The light from the fire shone bright on the boy's blood stained face amid the musky bleakness of the small cot. The scent of peat and mildew churned amongst body odor, pungent even to him, as Dar doused the droplets of sweat from his fair brow.
"Tis' my fault no yirs ", he repeated as the door swung open.
Sean's massive silhouette clouded the entry, Quinn tagging closely on his heals.
"Di' ye say a word brother?"
"No….aye,….I di,….di' ye find the horses?"
"Och, na, they're goon….and the weather is ta much fir' us to travel afoot." He paused to take a breath and shake the snow from his broad shoulders. "Wi'l try again, on the morrow," and shoved Quinn aside to make his way. "How be the lad?"
Dar shook his head. "There's no change in 'im."
"Aye, that lass, deserves what she gits. May the fates freeze 'er ta death it' id' be a just revenge on those cowardly MacDonalds."
The fire dimmed and a gust of wind sent its cold breath and flurries inside the entrance. First a sizzle, then a crackle as snow flakes met their end amidst the fire. Duncan shifted unsteadily, from the biting stone his backside rested on. He fingered an additional limb to broach the smoldering blaze, and tossed it, landing well into the pit.
A gentle laugh escaped from the moistened lips of the crofter's daughter, as he teetered on the edge.
"Such a hard question is it now?" Shalain smoothed back her hair and away, as the supple side of fingertips traced the rose colored outline in her cheeks. She left no hint of the few sparkling snow flakes that seconds before caressed her face.
It wasn't a hard question….yet, neither an easy one. He pondered. What answer di' she expect from me? He gazed into the depths of the blue eyes afore him, as he raised his own. They bloomed with curiosity, as the flames reflected their graceful dance from within. His life, not one filled with the waddle of tongue and idle conversation considered her. The highlander studied each feature, searching, foraging for a sign of recognition, of true interest. At that instant he realized the silence had lingered into the odd moment and found her staring back at him. A blush donned her whimsical expression as if she thought better of the asking. She bent her neck; attenuate, fragile, long, but not too long, and gazed again into the pit.
"Aye lass, there is not about me wirth yir interest." He wanted to say words to save her from embarrassment, but once again that which was expelled, edged wrongly.
She shrunk back at first, as if hurt by his unrevealing answer, but inside he applauded as she cast it off and faced him full on. The dance in her eyes no longer present, replaced with a misty reflection of himself.
"Aye, Duncan MacLeod I think it shi'd be me deciding upon that don't ye?" She spoke softly, and yet there seemed an underlying strength he admired. Sensitivity in her tone, not bold, but courageous. He lingered on Shalain's words, and found none for himself.
She shivered and stretched the wool of the arisaid about her shoulders. An auburn wave of hair fell free of its perch, and the silky tresses nestled on her clutch. His eyes dropped to her hands delicate and lithesome. The contrast of deep red hair to paler skin reminded him of spilt wine on snow as she inched the fabric taut to her chest.
Without a word he slid off his unforgiving rock to gather the few branches that remained, and stoke the fire.
"Aye, er ye cold lass?" he took up his cloak and shook it generously in the opposing direction, and eased the heavy fur to her back. "It's a bit musty, but it'l bare ye warmth." As his firm hands guided the wrap gently over slender shoulders he felt them tense, and immediately retrieved his fingers. Heat again flushed his face as if he ran a hundred lengths. He stumbled over his words but regained them.
"I…I'm afraid the night wi'l get frigid, and we dunna' hae' much fuel left to fire."
"Thank ye Duncan, but what o' yirself ?"
"Och, I'l be fine, dunna worry." But, he worried, as he recaptured his thoughts. He worried over the coming night, he worried over retribution. Any Scot in his right mind would abide the storm, but these loathsome heathens had less sense than a muggins. The cave offered shelter, and defense, but his mind remained unsettled; disrupted by emotions long lost, disturbed by visions of travesty that may lie in wait. As he made the simple way to his seat, he eyed the lass, glad for it, her face turned. He did not know if it possible to hide away his concern. The delay of the Campbell's, might be a minimal one. It may only give them a day or two at best. He prayed within, that the snow might clear by the morn. Distress befell him, a heavy foreboding cloud, a black and horrible mark he'd left on this clan, and Shalain MacDonnell's kinsmen. Duncan knew he must leave this place, leave he must before his cursed life brought on more cruel misfortune.
She stared into the fire, each flame flickered differently as if it told its own tale, but this man she regarded had none? A Scotsman; a Chieftain's son, with no tale to tell? Shalain knew that much of his heritage from the indignant ranting of the Campbells. His mouth fell from the willing smile he gave earlier. She tried to keep her gaze into the fire to search his face from only the corner of her eye. A lonely wistful longing seemed to replace the glad heart which offered water, food, and warmth. The twinkle of child-like curiosity gone in the brown eyes which intrigued her so, diminished to somber pools of regret. All arrogance dispersed as well; left, a hurt and distressed lad, in a man's body. Where was this man's passion, the driving force that drew life when he came so close to death? She knew it to be there, a man with the strength to hold her wrist, when he had barely strength to live. Those intense determined eyes, those eyes of a champion, a Chieftain's son she would see again.
The fire all but gone, yet, amid gray ash red embers sparkled, and coals continued to give off heat. Shalain's eyes trailed after the highlander, her father's sark choking the broad shoulders draped in MacDonald cloth.
"You know Duncan MacLeod ye cui'd have feigned MacDonald" and he turned abruptly dropping the stone in his hand.
"Aye, I cui'd, but then the Campbells wi'd lay blame on them, and no where it rightfully belonged." Duncan bent and retrieved the stone, then another. "I wil'na bring such pain, na….no mir trouble than I have upon ye and yir clan."
He stooped by the pit relinquishing the gathered stones six or seven well sized at her count. She at last understood, as the dark subdued eyes gazed straight on into hers. It was guilt he bore.
"Och man, you dunna ken what yi've done." Shalain raised from the rock and away. Her eyes misted over, as he great and powerful as a lad might be, seemed to shrink into nothingness at her words. He leaned heavily on the torch as he used the end and pushed the coals to one side.
"Aye, I ken weel' enough."
She moved closer in front of him and stilled the torch stick with her own hand just above his. Her heart pierced at the pain he held, and she knew why he came, and not her father.
"No…..Duncan," her eyes brimmed tears of sorrow for his grief, and she tenderly cupped his cheek. "Ye dunna ken." She shifted her gaze away no longer able to withstand his stare as the moisture began to fall. Knees quivering she stooped and laid one by one the rocks into the pit. "Yi'l nary ken the grand deed yi've done fir me and my clan Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod." Shalain's voice barely above a whisper as tears stung her face and fell on heated coals, sighs hidden in respite released.
She recognized the touch of his knee against her side, and the strong manly hands that depressed on her shoulders. Tears on heated cheeks disgraced her, as the highlander maneuvered his grip. She turned her head away from the direction he urged her to, but the voice authoritative, strong, and yet gentle, as though forgetting his own emotions said her name.
"Shalain, look at me."
Face forward she gazed on him through blurred vision into soft brown eyes, his thumb touched on her blush, and removed the embarrassing moisture.
"Aye lass, I dunna ken, but I canna bear ta see yir grief." His fingers touched a lock of her hair and brushed it aside and she stirred at his compassion. "at first light wi'l go ta yir father's and I'l make my leave."
"Ah, Duncan tis no you that wakes the grief." Her head hung and she spoke in tones of meekness. "Tis the debt I owe ye, and the grief ye bear"
She moved back and took in his face as his brows arched, tolerant eyes widened and his head tilted. Concern seemed to take an expression of bewilderment in the dark warrior's person.
Shalain raised from her stoop, and seized the fur about her, lowered her head and turned her back on his inquiring stare.
"Aye Duncan, you see the Campbell ye killed, he murdered the Laird's son; a Chieftain's heir, and my betrothed." She glared through the entrance and into the night sky hoping the cold air might clear her pain. The snow fell, and frost bit relinquished tears on hot flesh, as hazy clouds billowed. She grasped her forearms taut to keep from quaking as she repeated the story to the one most worthy to hear it. Shalain turned again to Duncan, the torch illuminate on his firm jaw set, and determined brow.
"See tis I that am in yir debt forever, even though unaware, ye brought honor ta yirself, and yir clan."
No longer the power to weight both their burdens, she dropped penitently before him. Amidst sobs she uttered, "Twas'meant ta be don't ye see Duncan MacLeod if I had any part in saving yir life."
"Shalain, yi'l no kneel before any man especially me." She gazed up into brilliant, sparkling, intent eyes of pride as he lifted her shoulders. Now once again, there, the man that lay inside. "I'm no God that yi'l pay homage to, I am but a man. A man that tried ta save himself, and that tis it, no honor noor reward. A filthy scoundrel is dead and fir that I am glad. Yir Laird's son's death is na in vain, but that is as far as it goes lass."
Dar twitched and the screams in his head finally reached his ears, he pulled the young lad aside into his arms.
He wrestled him as Iain tried to free his hold, and the lad's voice permeated the cot shrill and loud,
"Ye dirty murdering MacLeod, fight like a man, ye coward." He held his arm down as the other swung around and the swoosh of his fist hissed by his face.
"Sean, Quinn." Dar yelled for his brothers. "It's the fever it has him," as the boy spewed from the depths of his bowels across the room.
"Quin the flint, light the candle man," and he grabbed for the cloth and drenched it. Sean held him, and stopped the thrashing as Dar cleaned him, and applied a wet rag to his forehead. Iain in his delirium blurted out every vile word he'd ever heard and some he hadn't as he swore vengeance on Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.
Sean and Quinn slept, but his own mind relentless, the words made no sense Iain knew no such MacLeod, none by name or legend. The light flickered, as the candle set rhythm to shadows as they played off the walls. Amid night's lair Dar's mind took realization and he knew something the others had yet to discover. The MacLeod did this, it was no a MacDonald. They knew him as a Chieftain or his son, but not one, his given name. He the injured man or a kinsman of his clan stole the lass and left Iain for dead. The winter storms were too severe, no one but a simpleton might send a messenger to MacLeod lands.
Duncan MacLeod so that be his name, weel have yir glory MacLeod it'l no be long fir we ha' awrs.
"Dar….Dar….?"
"I'm here Iain, right here lad."
"Dar…." He shrieked "I….I canna see!"
The black cavern hushed, reflections from torch light on ancient pict drawings seemed to move as the spindled blaze cast life into age old carvings. Duncan sat motionless near the pit gathering warmth from its coals as he lie in watch over Shalain. Custodian, and guard over Glaeden MacDonnell's only child as she huddled in restless sleep. The darkened corner furthest from the entry gave her retreat. Her cries stilled, left to only the wind's whisper, as its fitful song of woe piped into the night air.
The chill bore down into the cave, the horse snorted as he rubbed the soft velvety snout, his warm breath steamed into cold air like tales of a dragon's plume. He removed the woolen blanket doubled over the ebony coat on its back, dried from the heat of the animal it protected.
"Aye lad, guid lad." He lowly crooned, his stroke met warmth as it lingered on his neck.
In the pit he dusted the gray ash, and heated vapors filled his face. A portion of the blanket served well as he removed each stone and placed them in his emptied satchel.
Shalain roused as he felled the blanket over the plaid of her arisaid hoping it might give warmth to her legs. The cloak lay longer still down to her ankles and wrapped it over.
"Och no man….yi'l freeze take yir fur."
"Aye, I canna tis no right to let a woman suffer."
He haltered the torch inside the metal clasp chiseled into the granite older than time itself, and settled his back against cold stone to one side of Shalain. He held the satchel dutifully against the back of the fur as she leaned his arm rested and gave pressure feeling the hot rocks through leather. Duncan shivered as he pulled the yards of breachan from around him to make a blanket and shut his eyes.
Sleep did not come as his mind relived the story the lass told, her lost love and the grief she bore. The words of her question echoed, the question that he pondered. Tell me of you Duncan MacLeod? He shivered again as the cold sank into his bones bitter and relentless. The torchlight dimmed, and he knew soon the dark would overtake them. He heard her voice soft, and timid yet resolved.
"Duncan, come hither, pride wi'l na keep the body warm noor alive, wi'l ye no share this cloak wi' me?" and she opened the fur up to take him in.
"I'l na dishonor ye Shalain."
"There tis no dishonor in this, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, it tis yir life and mine we speak of, and ta keep them safe ta see anither day."
In the faint light the details of her eyes escaped him, but the shine beckoned him in sweet innocence. She'd overlook her own honor ta give him comfort and warmth.
"Aye Shalain tis no dishonor in it."
He nestled his body inside the cloak and placed the satchel between them as his strong arm wrapped the heavy fur taut around them. Unsure why but his throat tightened and mist came to his eyes as the torch's final flame waned. Her head fell tenderly in the crook of his neck, and she slept, but he di' na. He spoke to her as if she knew his heart.
"I was born in Glenfinnan on the shores of Loch Shiel the son of a chieftain Ian MacLeod, yir own father's boyhood friend, and his Lady, Mary Harris MacLeod." He leaned his head against hers as he related the highlights of his life with his father and mother. His cousin Robert and their rogue antics as they once chased a wolf in the forest to prove manhood and the witch he'd met in Donan Woods. The tragedy of his life; killing his own kinsman, and the love he thought lost forever with Debra Campbell, and even more what no one knew but he, as he stumbled over the events in the wood near her father's home.
Tears lay gently on his cheek, but no pain, more relief, and release of torment, came from the tale, and he gently placed one brief kiss on the lass' head. The question answered in his own time, and his own bidding.