A Merry War
Disclaimer: I am not BRAVE enough to claim that I own Merida, the Suitors, or anyone else.
Summary: The Macintoshes are not the only family in Scotland whose temper is the stuff of legend. Young Macintosh/ OFC.
Note: I'm not entirely happy with this chapter and it will probably be edited later. This portion of the story is important to the plot but not my forte or preferred fictional playground. I really want to thank you all for taking the leap with me nonetheless.
Chapter Fourteen
Be careful when you play with fate, wee loves. For when you mess with fate she has a way of messing with you right back.
~ Nana Calleigh to her granddaughters on a cold evening in the Castle Dunbroch
Fire, smoke, greasy with the scent of death, curled into the sky chocking off heaven's light and turning day into darkest night. The hellfire roared around her, scorching her lungs, her hair, her clothes, her skin, and stinging her eyes. Beyond the flames the land was decimated, within the flames nothing stood that was not on fire. Tents, trees, people. It was hot. So hot. But she pressed on, searching, screaming,
"Ennis! Ennis!" she had to find him, her very soul depended on it. Their child depended on it. She ran. Shrieking. Searching. Through the woods she ran. Through the thoroughfares of the camp, between the tents, in the tents.
"Ennis! Ennis!" Tears hot as ash clung to her face and choked her throat.
She found him, wounded, hobbling, struggling through the fire. He was gasping. He was weak. Falling…Falling…Falling…
"Ennis! Ennis! ENNIS!"
Bonny sat up in her tiny sweat soaked single bed and promptly wrenched her guts and heart out onto her blanket. Shaking and spitting, tears rolled down her cheeks like a flood. She had witnessed the death of her only love, her man, her Ennis.
In the periwinkle ughten she decided. Nan had told her once, a thousand times that she was not to mettle in the affairs of the fates, that was not the meaning of her dreams. It was not her role as prophet. Nan had told her not to mess with Fate for Fate had a way of messing right back. Bonny no longer cared, she would not allow the Fates, the Gods, or the monsters in her dreams to take her man. Not ever but certainly not while she carried his son.
Slipping from her small room she crept into her brother's. Seamus was already up and tending the farm. It had taken her nearly vomiting at her father's feet to prove to him and Seamus she was truly unwell and not above herself and too proud to work. She was glad now that her nauseas time was constant; it allowed her to remain in the house. It gave her time to plan while Mum, Da, and Seamus tended the stock.
When she'd been dismissed and sent home her father had nearly switched her for shamming the family. When she'd felt too ill to work he'd nearly thrashed her again for sloth. As she went through her brother's drawers to find a shirt she thought with bitter humor that her Da would likely switch her for running off. She didn't give a damn, not any more, not when her man needed her.
Stealing what she need she returned to her room to dress. Boots, tunic, kilt and heavy cloak. She hoped the bulk of the too big clothing would cover her feminine figure. Jamming a cap on her head she did her best to tuck her golden trusses up into it. From under her mattress she pulled the box she kept her secrets in, the love tokens Ennis had given her during their romance. Her fingers traced the crown and twined hearts of the Luckenbooth brooch. Sadly she raised it to her lips and kissed the beautifully engraved silver. Her purpose renewed she placed the promise back in her box and picked up the hand mirror he'd given her on their first anniversary. She examined her disguise. Engraved around the glass in delicate script proclaimed Here is the most beautiful woman in the world.
Bonny laughed quietly, reflecting back in the glass was hopefully with a bit of dirt to harshen her soft jaw, was the face of a man. Returning the mirror to her box she slid the entire collection under her mattress.
"Hold on, a ghrá, I'm coming."1 She whispered, her heart fervently praying she was not too late.
The retreat had been humiliating and heart-wrenching and movement into the forest was painfully slow. Camp was now set, however. Supplies were the worst; no one had brought an axe, save what they fought with. Such finely crafted, meticulously balanced, painstakingly sharpened battleaxes biting into wood…each swing felt like a sin. Knives were abundant but carpenters scarce and so every man made his own weapons.
Toys in the nursery were better made than their weapons. Dougal was certain his new 'sword' was no more than a pointy stick of yew stripped of leaves. Ennis' arrows had fared better, the attention to detail and precision needed was exactly how the laird's brain worked. If Rosalyn's curse was the weather and his curse was his temper, Ennis' curse was obsession.
Rosalyn. Once her name flitted through is mind he was gone. Gone with worry, with longing, with loneliness. It made his heart hurt so badly he couldn't breathe.
Busy. Keeping busy kept him focused. Kept the sadness at bay. He threw himself into work. When he was exhausted Rosalyn found her way into his mind less often. It made his ribs ache but he could think of no other way. The pain was even a blessing for it kept him distracted.
This need for constant work was how Dougal Macintosh found himself trailing behind Callum, moving deeper and deeper into the dark woods.
"Where exactly are we going Kilwillie?" He asked. When they left camp he'd been under the impression they were fetching more wood for Ennis. The windward laird couldn't walk yet and would not be able to fight in the final stand (unless they rigged up a cart, Dougal was fairly certain Ennis was planning this as they were speaking) but he was making weapons. His needle like focus was a boon as he carefully measured and whittled and crafted.
"The Reavers are not the only creatures in this place." Dougal paused and stared at the General.
"Did you drag me out here to look for monsters? Haven't we enough creatures after us?" The man turned.
"My family's place has always been contingent on our ability to protect the land; I will not be the one to fail."
"Can we not fight one war at a time?" He was heartily tired of killing and wanted to do nothing but lay down his sword and go home. He could not however return to his mother, his home, his…Rosalyn, until he was certain it was safe. That they were safe.
"This is my duty." The pair glared at one another for a long moment.
A high pitched mew broke the moment. A Will o' the wisp appeared between them and a trail formed, glowing in the shade. Dougal looked at the African and then back at the wisp. Neither man moved. The wisp moaned again.
"Well?" Kilwillie asked, "Shall we follow it?" Dougal's mind was filled with the memory of the last time he followed the glowing blue beacon. The cabin. The whisky. The morning. The kiss. … You can't just kiss me like you mean it when you don't…
Dougal swallowed painfully.
"If we msut." Callum gave him a look, "the last time someone followed the wisps I had to fight a bear." The last time I followed a wisp it broke my heart.
"Well if it is a bear it won't be Mor'du at least, thanks to the Queen. Let's go." As he followed Dougal began to reevaluate his position on volunteering for everything that would keep him busy.
The trail twisted and turned and wound around and eventually stopped before a small clearing. In the middle of the place where the brust was cleared was a small hut made with woven twigs and braided grass, as if it was a living part of the earth still. It would hardly have been visible if not for the scarlet and gold sparks pouring out the windows and flying through the air. Dougal felt his jaw drop open and his eyes grow wide, he looked at Callum. The General arched a brow and looked back at Dougal.
"I think we found a coven."
The door of the wicker house burst open and out stormed a caramel haired lass, magic literally crackling off her skin in snaps and pops of yellow and red.
"Stopitjuststopit. WhydoIgottadealwiththisbook? Maneverpreparedmeforthis! I can'tdealwiththisandGodsdamnitwh yIcan'tIstopglowing?!" Words rolled from her tongue with a familiar Doric lit as she screamed in frustration, pulling at her hair. The sparks flying from her fingertips got brighter and larger.
"Nessa get back in here!" A wizen woman shouted from the door, "Before you're-" Callum cleared his throat loudly. The woman turned to stare at them. "-seen." She finished weakly.
The caramel haired girl stopped her rant and turned. It'd been years since Dougal had visited Gregor at Castle MacGuffin but he'd never forgotten the little girl who'd followed them about like a pup.
"Nessa Rose?" Dougal asked, locking eyes with the still glowing girl.
Note the second: I'd like to thank all of the wonderful reads and reviewers, everyone who has favorite and followed this little tale. I'd like to extend an extra special thank you to Wolf of the Western Woods, Marissa, KiraMizuka, Random Reviewer the Second, AbundantCurls, ShizukaRen-Hime, and Shahrezad1 for being lovely people and providing a sounding board for ideas and indulging my obsessiveness. Thank you everyone.
Note III: Also, this will likely be the last update of this story before the New Year. Monday is that start of my finals week and after finals I go home for four days and then fly to Egypt for two weeks. I will still be writing and thinking and planning this story but won't have a computer. So if I don't update before 2013, have a happy winter solstice, holidays which fall around it, and a wonderful New Years!
1 My love