| |
Western Highlands, Scotland, November 4, 1609
A thunderous crash severed the morning calm at Teineaer Castle, jarring the floor beneath the feet of Lady Ceana MacGregor. Heart pounding, she jumped up from the window seat. "Saints above, what has happened?" After throwing open the door of the solar, she raced down the corridor toward the stairs, the embroidery she had been working on tightly clutched in her hand. Trembling, she stood on the landing and peered down below.
Like a raging river, Campbells spilled through the splintered door hanging from its twisted hinges. Her clansmen fought fiercely to keep the invaders from entering the castle, but there were so many—perhaps a hundred or more. The clash of steel on steel echoed throughout the castle, the high-pitched clang deafening. She watched in disbelief, while one MacGregor after another was slaughtered, their life's blood darkening the stone floor. A scream tore from her throat, joining those of the injured and dying.
Where were her father and mother? The last time she had seen them they had been breaking their fast. She fell to her knees, as she watched the horror unfolding before her. "Lord, protect us," she whispered, her blurry gaze searching the crowd for any sign of her parents.
Growling ferociously, Duff and Ross, her two beloved wolfhounds, suddenly leapt into the battle, each taking down an intruder at the foot of the stairs. An enemy raised his sword to strike the dogs dead.
She held her breath, terrified that one—or both—of the dogs she had raised since birth would meet their death before her very eyes.
His companion stopped him. "Dinnae kill the bloody beasts," she heard him say. "We'll bring them along with us, once we're finished here. A fine pair such as these will fetch a fair coin, to be sure."
The knave lowered his sword and the other man dragged the growling animals by their collars into her father's library, then quickly exited and slammed the door.
A middle-aged man, his face splattered with MacGregor blood, gazed up the stairs, his lustful regard settling on Ceana. A slow grin spread across his ruddy face, as he placed a booted foot on the bottom step.
The embroidery fell from her hand. She turned and darted down the empty corridor.
"Dinnae run away, lass. I promise I'll be gentle," he said, then followed up his words with a laugh that chilled her blood.
She ducked into an alcove and drew the curtain, then slipped her sgian dubh from the sheath strapped to her leg—and waited. The battle on the floor below rang loud in her ears, while she listened for the footfall of the Campbell guard. She knew he was close, for he had been but a short distance behind her.
"No use in hiding. I'll find ye sooner or later."
She held her breath, clutched the hilt of the small weapon in both hands, and raised it above her head.
The guard yanked the curtain aside, his large frame blocking the entrance—and the only exit. "Och, I found you," he said, reaching for her.
Ceana brought the blade down hard, with the intent to bury it in his chest, but instead, it struck his breastbone, sending a tremor up her arms. She jumped back, leaving her only weapon dangling in his flesh.
He yelped, then extracted the sgian dubh. Blood sprang from the wound, darkening the front of his doublet. "I'll kill ye, wench," he roared, angrily throwing her sgian dubh down the corridor.
Shaking like a leaf in the wind, heart thundering against her ribs, Ceana threw all her weight against him and sent him staggering backwards a few feet, allowing her enough room to run past him.
"I'm no' finished with ye yet," he yelled after her.
She had to get to the laird's lug. There she would be safe for a time, for only those who knew of its existence could find it. Reaching the end of the corridor, Ceana did not look back as she hurried up to the third floor, with her legs trembling so violently she could scarcely stand. She heard the guard's footfall on the stairs behind her, as she opened the hidden door to the laird's lug and ducked inside. After barring the thick oak door behind her, she slumped to the floor and quietly sobbed.
How were the Campbells able to breach the castle wall without being seen? Had someone inside raised the portcullis and allowed them to come right in? If so, then who would do such a thing—and why? What about the guards on the ramparts? Why had they not sounded an alarm? These were things Ceana wanted to know, but first and foremost, she wanted to know how her father and mother fared. Had they been killed? Or taken captive? Praying the Campbell guard had given up on finding her and returned to his clansmen below, she wiped her tears on her sleeve, then reached to open the door, but the sound of her father's deep voice stopped her. An icy finger of fear clawed its way up Ceana's spine. She hurriedly pressed her eye against the small opening overlooking the great hall.
"Damn you to hell, Lyall Campbell," he shouted, his angry words echoing against the thick timber beams of the high ceiling.
The clan chief laughed. "You'd best be the one fashing about hell, MacGregor."
"Has not enough of my people's blood already been spilled to satisfy your bloodlust?" Her father eased himself and her mother toward the door leading out into the bailey.
In answer to his question, the chief smiled and shook his head. "There'll never be enough until the last MacGregor lies cold in the ground. Seize him, and the woman," he ordered his men.
Helpless to do naught, Ceana watched, horrified, as her father fought off one Campbell guard after another, shielding her mother with his own body, until several of them rushed him all at once, one burying a blade in his ribcage. He stiffened, then dropped to the floor, his blood quickly darkening the grey tiles.
Ceana choked back a gasp and covered her mouth with her hand.
"James!" her mother screamed, the sound piercing Ceana's very soul. Her mother dropped to her knees beside the man she had always adored, crying as if her heart was broken—and Ceana knew that it was.
The chief grabbed her arm and yanked her from the floor. "I was certain I'd find you again, sooner or later." He placed his foot on her father's chest, and her mother sobbed louder. "MacGregor might have managed to escape me once before, but not this time. No matter what you call yourselves, a MacGregor is still a MacGregor. The king will reward me greatly for what I've done here today." He roughly pulled her against him and tried to kiss her.
Screaming hysterically, she pulled her sgian dubh from her waist and slashed him across the face.
He knocked the blade from her hand. "To hell with you, MacGregor whore," he growled, quickly drawing his own blade across her throat.
Eliza MacGregor clutched her neck, then fell to the floor, across the body of her husband, and moved no more.
A violent wave of nausea washed over Ceana, as invisible hands grabbed her by the throat, stealing the very air she breathed. Physically and mentally recoiling from the sickening scene below, she dropped to her knees, crawled into a corner and curled into a ball. Burying her face in her hands, she muffled her sobs, as a river of tears ran from her eyes. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, but if she did, she would most likely be found out and lose her life, as well. Instead, she quietly grieved the deaths of her loving parents and the life they had once shared.
If she had not left the table earlier and returned to the solar to finish the needlepoint for her mother's birthday, she would have been in the dining hall, alongside her parents, when the Campbells had attacked. She knew her parents wanted her to live—and would have done anything to ensure that she did, but the stabbing pain inside her heart made her doubt she could.
None of this would have happened if not for King James' hatred of her clan. Several years earlier, after a battle between the MacGregors and the Colquhouns where many atrocities took place, the king had decreed that the MacGregors change their names or risk death. Her father had naught to do with the battle, but many of his cousins had. Those MacGregors who had fought had been caught and executed in Edinburgh, but the rest of the MacGregor clan had suffered much. They were now forced to hide in remote areas of Scotland and known as "Children of the Mist." Many were tracked down with dogs, and women were even stripped of their clothing, branded and whipped through the streets. And anyone barbaric as Lyall Campbell who killed a MacGregor could do so without punishment and be well rewarded.
This was not the first time the Campbell chieftain and his guards had attacked and murdered her people. Seven years past, when Ceana had seen but thirteen summers, she had watched from her bedchamber window at Dunstan Castle, as his army had gathered outside the castle wall. Her mother had pointed him out to her, and Ceana had never forgotten the cruelty in his expression, nor in the sound of his voice when he had ordered his guards to kill everyone. He had glanced up at her window and their gazes met. A revolting grin spread across his face, causing her to tremble and tightly grasp the window sill. He shouted more orders, and his archers shot burning arrows over the wall, setting fire to anything and everything that would burn.
Ceana and her parents had managed to escape, along with many of their clansmen, through an ancient tunnel. But a great many MacGregor guards had perished saving their laird and kin from certain death. Keeping out of sight by day and traveling by night, they had finally reached Teineaer Castle, an ancient and secluded estate, belonging to Laird Angus MacDougal, Ceana's grandfather. In making their escape, most of their possessions had to be left behind, but at least, now they were safe. After changing their names to MacDougal, they had lived a relatively happy life. Now that life was destroyed. How could she survive without her parents and her clan? With her back pressed against the cold stone wall, she wrapped her arms around her knees and quietly cried until she could cry no more.
Ceana was unsure how much had passed when she noticed the jeering and celebrating of the victors had ceased, and the castle had grown quiet. She reluctantly peered down into the great hall, her gaze immediately falling upon her deceased parents, the sight piercing her heart as surely as a blade. She bit her lip to keep from sobbing aloud. Pressing her ear against the small opening, she carefully listened for voices, but heard naught. Had the Campbells gone? And was she the only soul at Teineaer who had survived the violent onslaught?
Quietly, she removed the wooden bar and placed it aside, then opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. The guard she had stabbed earlier was nowhere to be seen—dead or alive. She picked her blood-stained sgian dubh up from the floor and slipped it back into the sheath strapped to her leg. Ceana was surprised the guard had left it behind, as it had several small jewels embedded along the top of the hilt. But she was glad he had not taken the weapon, as it had been a gift to her from her recently deceased grandfather.
Trembling, she slowly and silently moved down the stairs, watching for any sign of the invaders. She prayed the other women and the children had reached the safety of the hidden chamber but had there even been enough time? The attack had happened so quickly.
The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood, bringing her earlier nausea to the forefront. She made her way to the great hall, stepping over the bodies of men she had known for most—or all—of her life, lying in dark pools of their own blood. She had seen her share of death. For years, she had helped her mother and the healers tend to the injured, many of whom were warriors. But she would never grow used to the sight of men, who were like family members, lying slain and mutilated before her.
Ceana wept as she reached the high table and knelt beside her parents' lifeless bodies. She gently touched her mother's beautiful face, knowing she would never again feel her warm touch against her cheek, nor hear her father's contagious laughter echoing against the wooden beams of the great hall. She squeezed her eyes shut. Her chest tightened with grief and disbelief. Gathering her strength about her, she kissed them each on the forehead, then rose to her feet. "Farewell, Father, farewell, Mother," she whispered. A storm of emotion smashed into her, the pain of her loss crushing her beneath it. Her throat tightened as she bent and picked up her mother's sgian dubh from the floor.
Her parents—as well as the others—would have a proper burial, for she would see that they did. But unfortunately, their interment would have to wait until the earth thawed enough to put them in the ground. Until then, the bodies would need to be stored.
She dried her eyes on her sleeve and went to the library to free Duff and Ross from their confinement. She opened the door and stepped inside—empty. What had they done with her beloved pets? She prayed they had not changed their minds about selling them and killed them instead.
Ceana moved about the castle checking for a heartbeat on each fallen MacGregor warrior, but found none. The blackguards had been thorough. Still, she prayed the majority of her clan had somehow managed to escape the slaughter. Perhaps there were survivors in the secret passage behind the tapestry hanging at the end of the great hall.
Just as she headed across the room to find out, a deep male voice reached her ears from the kitchens below, followed by the laughter of many others. Heart drumming against her ribs, she turned and raced up the stairs to her bedchamber. She had to leave before they realized one MacGregor was yet alive, but she could not go out in the snowstorm dressed as she was. Her mother's words came back to her. Keep your head about you, Ceana, or else you'll never be able to think clearly. "I will, Mother," she whispered, then took a deep breath to steady herself.
After slipping into her bedchamber, she secured her mother's blade inside her bodice, then slipped on three shifts, two heavy woolen gowns, two pairs of wool stockings and her boots. She fastened her ermine-lined cloak about her shoulders and pulled on her deerskin gloves, the inside warmly padded with rabbit fur—a gift from her father.
Grabbing her jewelry and what funds she had, she stuffed them into a leather pouch, then listened at the door, before slipping back out into the corridor. She wanted to take her mother's and father's valuables along with her, but their chambers were located at the far end of the castle, and besides, how would she carry them?
Returning to the laird's lug, she barred the door, then pressed her eye against the small hole. From there, she could continue to observe the invaders with them being none the wiser. From what she could tell, there did not appear to be as many men as there had been. Perhaps some had returned to Campbell lands, once they had secured the castle for their murderous chief.
"Did any of you come upon MacGregor's daughter?" the Campbell chieftain shouted across the great hall.
She shivered. Had she lingered there much longer, he would have discovered her himself.
He continued, "I've been told she's a bonnie lass. She was but a child the last time I saw her, but even then, she showed the promise of great beauty."
"The lass stood at the top of the stairs during the battle," answered the guard she had stabbed. "I went after her. 'Tis how I got this." He pulled open his bloody shirt, revealing the nasty gash her blade had left behind.
A few of his clansmen snickered.
Ceana hoped the wound festered.
Lyall Campbell shook his unkempt head of black hair. "Och! She'll have to come out sooner or later, and if not, we'll search the entire castle until we find her. Then, after a wee bit of sport, I'll make short work of her as well. Only those without the MacGregor name will be allowed to live, whether it be man, woman, or child. Drag the dead out into the bailey, then fetch all the whisky you can find, for tonight we celebrate our victory. Gordon, bring me the kitchen wench you found hiding in the storeroom. I'm certain she'll be more than willing to provide us a bit of entertainment."
Cheers echoed against the oak timbers.
Hate raged through Ceana, and her hands curled into fists. She forced herself to calm down. Nightfall was not far off. She would wait until they were deep in their cups, then slip away. She had no idea where she would go, but she had no choice but to leave. The alternative was unimaginable.
There was a sudden commotion in the great hall, and when she looked for the cause, she found Nessa, a dark-haired lass of no more than twenty, surrounded by leering men. Her face was as pale as snow and even from a distance, Ceana could see how hard she trembled.
"Bring her here," the Campbell chief ordered. Once she stood before him, his gaze slowly traveled over her. "What's your name, lass?"
"Ne-e-essa R-r-ramsay," she stuttered, keeping her gaze locked on the floor.
"Then you'll live," he stated, pulling the frightened girl onto his lap and kissing her roughly.
Nessa tried to jerk away, but he grabbed a handful of her hair to keep her still, while he continued to ravish her mouth.
Ceana's stomach wretched with disgust, as she watched the girl struggle to get free.
Suddenly the terrified young woman went limp and slid onto the floor in a heap. She had fainted dead away, which was not surprising since the lass was prone to do so at least once a week.
Lyall Campbell snorted. "The prospect of being bedded by a fine specimen of a man, such as myself, nigh frightened the lass to death."
Laughter filled the air.
"Get her out of here. I'll see to her later. But for now, bring me more whisky."
Ceana shoved herself away from the scene below, relieved Nessa had gotten off as easily as she did—at least for the time being. She leaned back against the wall, rested her head on her knees, and thought about her own predicament. Her parents were dead. She still could not believe it, even after seeing them both murdered right before her very eyes. Never in her life had she felt such devastating heartbreak, agonizing pain, and overwhelming anger. Tears spilled down her cheeks. And never would she forget the horrifying scene she had witnessed that morning. But if it took the rest of her days, she would make Lyall Campbell pay for what he had done to her parents and her people.
Without any siblings to aid her, she knew of no one to whom she could turn to for help. Her closest living relative had been an uncle, her father's younger brother, Artagan, but she had not seen him since she was a child, and had no idea where he was. More than likely he was dead, like so many other MacGregors. But before worrying too much about where she would go, she had to first get past the Campbells. Once she was safely away from the castle, then she would worry. Surely there was someone who would provide her a safe haven—or so she wished to believe.
Throughout the night in the laird's lug, Ceana dozed in and out of sleep, only to jerk awake, praying what had happened was naught but a horrible nightmare, even though she knew the truth of it. The castle soon grew quiet, and she again peered below. By the light of the fire, she saw men sprawled on benches, tables, and the floor. It appeared all of them had deeply imbibed in her father's fine whisky. Tears sprang into her eyes at the thought of him, but she forced them aside. She would grieve later, but for now, she must focus on staying alive. Her gaze fell upon the tapestry, and her heart ached at having to leave anyone behind. Thankfully, most of the servants were from other clans, and Ceana prayed those who were MacGregors had enough sense left about them to deny it if they were found.
She quietly left the laird's lug. Morning was not far off. She needed to make her escape while the dark of night could shroud her in its shadows. There had been no servants to light the torches, and the castle corridor was cloaked in darkness, but lighting a candle was out of the question. Using her memory and the wall to guide her, Ceana made her way to the end of the corridor, then took the servants' stairs down to the kitchen. There, the fire had burned down but still gave off enough light to allow her to search the cupboards. She needed food for her journey, but would there be anything left after the marauders had taken what they wanted? With some searching about, she managed to find a bit of bread and cheese they had somehow missed during their pilfering and stuffed it into her pocket.
Drawing her cloak tightly around her, she opened the door leading to the frozen vegetable garden and kitchen midden pile. Checking to make certain all was clear, she pulled up the hood of her cloak, stepped onto the snow-laden ground and headed for the stables. She needed a horse. For without one, the murderers would catch up to her in no time at all. But would she be able to make her way through the bailey, and out the postern gate, with as large a thing as a horse, and not be seen?
The snow had stopped falling, and the slight pinking of the horizon gave Ceana cause to worry. She peered around the side of the castle into the bailey. The snow-blanketed bodies of MacGregor guards lay scattered about, and she wondered what the bastards had done with her parents. Blinking back tears, she noticed the portcullis had been left raised. Uttering a prayer of thanks, she hurried on to the stables.
At first, it appeared to have been left unguarded, but then the snores of two or more men reached her ears from the hayloft. She would have taken her mare, Renny, but the little horse's stall was positioned at the far end of the stables—directly beneath where the men were sleeping. Ceana regretted having to leave her behind, but she had no choice.
With morning quickly approaching, she made the decision to take the first horse she found saddled, which happened to be a black warhorse, large and muscular, left tethered just inside the entrance. She was an excellent rider, but still, she prayed he would not be too much horse for her to handle and would follow her commands.
The stallion snorted and tossed his massive head, as she walked up beside him. Whispering softly, she patted his forehead and scratched him beneath the chin, then secured her pouch to the saddle and reached for his reins. As she turned around, her cloak caught on a nail. With shaky hands, she quickly snatched herself free, for she had no time to spare, then quietly walked the horse from the stables, across the bailey, and through the portcullis to the thick cover of the wood. Though walking the horse had taken more time, she had not wished anyone to hear the horse's hooves pounding against the frozen ground close to the castle.
It was nigh impossible for Ceana to mount such a massive steed without something to aid her. She climbed onto the stump of a fallen tree and drew the stallion alongside her, then swung her leg across his broad back. Thankfully, he remained fixed to the ground like a boulder. She settled herself in the saddle, noting how her legs stuck out on either side, like those of a small child. Under other circumstances, it might have been quite humorous, but not today.
Taking a deep breath of icy air to steady herself, she nudged him forward. That was all it took for him to go racing across the frozen moor. If Ceana had not been holding tightly to his mane with her free hand, she would have been tossed aside like a sack of oats. She leaned forward, close to his black coat, praying they would not be noticed by a Campbell guard who might still have his wits about him. Once they were out of sight of the castle, she brought the horse to a halt. He pranced to the right, and she knew with a certainty, if she gave him his lead, he would take her straight into Campbell territory, and she could not allow that to happen. Instead, she turned him in the opposite direction and prayed she had made the right decision.
As the day wore on, the snow deepened, and Ceana was thankful she had chosen this horse for her mount. Renny would never have made it through the deepening snow drifts, no matter how hard the wee mare would have tried. She patted him on the neck. "I think I'll call you Cree, as you have a strong heart and a courageous spirit."
The stallion whinnied softly.
"I'm glad you approve."
With the sudden need to relieve herself, she turned the stallion into a stand of pines. As she dismounted, she noticed marks of varying lengths all along his rear, and it brought tears to her eyes. She did not know to whom he had belonged, but whoever it was had treated the beautiful animal poorly. Ceana leaned against his massive chest and gently stroked him. "I'm sorry you've been treated so, but I promise, I'll only treat you with kindness." She pressed her lips against the velvetiness of his warm cheek. When she moved away, he looked at her, and she somehow knew he understood what she had said—perhaps not her words, but her feelings.
A few minutes later, she was once again on her way. To where? Ceana did not know, but nonetheless, she had to keep going to survive, for Lyall Campbell had declared, "Only those without the MacGregor name will be allowed to live, whether it be man, woman, or child"—and he had meant every word.