Chapter Eighteen
“The raven’s cry heralded the arrival of the warrior, and the maiden scattered moonbeams to light his path toward her.”
Uneasiness settled over Desmond. He blamed it on the absence of his beloved, but quickly shrugged it aside. Trying to keep up with the multiple conversations flowing around the table, he resorted to clipped sentences or nods. There was only one he wished to converse with, and she was not by his side.
Desmond drummed his fingers on the oak table. Deep in thought, he did not hear Alastair’s comment, until the man was jabbing him in the side.
“Where are your thoughts?” Alastair leaned forward. “Where is your lady?”
Snapping his attention to the man, Desmond stood. “Forgive me. I shall return shortly.”
Making long strides out of the hall, he glanced toward the stairs, thinking Ailsa had gone to her chamber. Quickly sweeping his gaze to the open front doors, he spied Finn near the well with one of the horses.
Walking over to the lad, he asked, “Have ye seen Ailsa strolling around the keep?”
Finn squinted thoughtfully. “Aye. She was heading toward the stables as I was leaving to take Gawain out for a ride. Perchance she required some peace with all the shouting going on inside.”
Smirking at the lad, he made his way toward the stables. Upon entering, he looked around. “Ailsa?”
Hearing her horse, Elva, snorting heavily, Desmond raced quickly to her stall. The animal was pacing within, its eyes round with fear. Reaching out, he tried to calm the animal. Yet, his boot encountered an object on the ground. Glancing down, his heart froze. He knew the sgian dubh well. It was the one he had taken from his beloved when they first met. Never once did he ken her to be without the blade. Sweeping his gaze over the ground, he saw the discarded apple pieces and more. Evidence of a struggle was strewn across the stable grounds—from a half-eaten apple to baskets toppled over. Part of a sack had been emptied, its contents of straw dumped without regard.
His hands shook as he reached for a small piece of material snagged on a loose portion of the stall. He rubbed the soft bit between his fingers, recalling how he skimmed his hand over Ailsa’s gown earlier in the hall.
Pure rage exploded inside Desmond, and he roared with its release. His beloved had most likely been taken by force and swiftly. His chest constricted with fear. Had the English invaded the walls of Urquhart? The mere thought of losing Ailsa slashed at his heart.
Finn was the first to reach him. “What is wrong?”
Desmond grasped his shoulders. “Prepare my horse. Ailsa has been taken.”
“By the hounds! Aye! And mine as well. I will come with ye. I can track them.”
“Agreed.”
Storming from the stables, he rushed into the Great Hall. “I require men to come with me. Ailsa has been taken.”
Shouts and questions erupted within the hall, and Desmond held up his hands to halt any further words. “I found her blade on the ground and remnants of a skirmish are evident in the stables. Her horse is there, so I dinnae ken who has taken her.”
“Have King John’s men invaded Urquhart?” asked a stunned Bran.
“’Tis the bastard, Muir,” snapped Finn, walking into the hall.
“Nae!” bellowed Bran, slamming his fist onto the table. “It cannae be!”
Finn shook his head. “His horse is gone and none of the other animals are missing. Even his satchel and sword are gone.” Bracing his hands on his hips, he added, “If it was King John’s men, why did they allow him to take all his belongings?”
“By the Gods, I will take his head!” shouted Bran.
Desmond snarled. “He was foolish to try and carry two bodies on one horse.”
“Ye cannae be certain he’s alone,” argued Alastair.
“Will ye come with me?” Desmond asked the Dragon Knight.
“Aye, most definitely.”
“As will I,” proclaimed Duncan, coming alongside him.
Angus stood. “Stephen and I shall remain at Urquhart. With the threat of these men nearby, we will need added protection here.”
Desmond nodded and turned toward Duncan. “I require Finn’s aid, as well.”
“What? No.” Brigid came to her son’s side. “I won’t allow him.”
Finn glared briefly at his mother and then softened. He grasped her hands. “Ye cannae hold me back. I ken ye wish to keep me safe, but I am no longer a lad of ten. I have seen many a battle and ’tis time I learn to fight in them. Or assist.”
Duncan approached and placed an arm around her shoulders. “He is correct, my leannan. Finn can track as well as any other. In fact, I reason him to be better.”
Tears misted her eyes, and she bit her lip. “Keep him safe, Duncan.”
Turning back toward Finn, she embraced him. “Come home to us and guard your father well.”
Bran stepped forward. “I am coming with ye, so dinnae try and tell me otherwise.”
“Your sword arm is of nae use, so can ye wield a blade with your left hand?” asked Desmond.
The man’s smile was sinister. “Most definitely. The lesson was one taught by many on our island, though few could master the skill of using both arms.”
Desmond placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Good. However, I have one condition.”
He eyed him skeptically. “Which is what?”
Desmond’s lip snarled in disgust. “The Cameron is mine. Do ye understand my words?”
“Granted.”
“We leave shortly. I shall fetch my sword and cloak.” Desmond left the hall and mounted the stairs swiftly. Entering his chamber, he pulled forth his sword. Belting it to his waist, he withdrew a dirk from his trunk and placed Ailsa’s sgian dubh inside his boot.
Going over to the window, Desmond bowed his head. Kneeling on one knee, he fisted his hand over his heart. “Guide us on our journey, Gods and Goddesses. Keep Ailsa safe from harm. Show us the path and give me strength. Ye have brought love into my life, I pray ye not to banish the light she has given to my heart and soul.” When Desmond lifted his gaze to the gray clouds, a shaft of bright sunlight pierced through and hope surged within him.
Standing, he looked outward. “I am coming, Ailsa. Let my words carry to ye on the winds.” Turning around, he strode quickly out of his chamber.
****
Squeezing her hands, Ailsa tried to bring some feeling into them. Her bindings were extremely tight, making it difficult to move her wrists. The rope bit into her skin, which was now raw and bleeding. Stretching her fingers, she continued to survey her surroundings. Anxiety clawed inside, scraping at her nerves. Surely Desmond would come searching for her. Perchance he did not ken she was missing. The thought wove a thread of fear inside her bones, but she banished it to the dark recesses of her mind. There was no time to consider uncertainties.
It was she against Muir. Time was swiftly becoming her enemy, and the higher they climbed, the more her chances of escaping were dwindling. It was unwise to attempt a fight with him on the horse. She had to put together another plan to remove herself. Only then would she be able to flee. If she could get away from Muir, she’d follow the loch toward Urquhart. Fighting him would prove foolish in her current situation.
A raven’s caw pierced through Ailsa’s thoughts, and she clenched her jaw. Was it an omen foretelling a doomed future for her? Squeezing her eyes shut, she sent out a prayer to Mother Danu, pleading for assistance.
I willnae die today. I dinnae believe ye would have opened my eyes and heart to love, simply to have it snatched away. Show me the light. Show me a way out of here.
“If ye reckon I am going meekly, Muir, ye have never known the true woman inside. Ye have become my enemy, and I shall fight ye to the end.”
“Your words dinnae frighten me, woman.”
“And ye are a loathsome, weak man.” Ailsa clucked her tongue in disapproval. “I find it almost humorous to think ye see yourself as chieftain of our island. Ye must be daft in the head. The people would nae more accept ye than they would a young child.”
When he yanked her braid back, his foul breath grazed across her cheek. “Do ye wish to die?”
Ailsa gritted her teeth against the pain. “And lose your chance at gaining favor with King John? I think not.”
He pushed her away from him. “Beware your tongue, or I shall cut it out.”
Realizing she was poking an angry boar, she trained all her senses on Muir. “Tainted goods will not be wise, either. Nevertheless, when I tell King John how ye schemed with the Dragon Knights to take over the throne…” Ailsa paused, hearing the low growl. “I have heard he favors beautiful women. Do ye really reckon he will believe your word over mine? I can be verra convincing.” She half-turned and pouted her lips. “Would ye care for a demonstration?”
Fury exploded in his eyes, and he raised a hand to strike. But as quickly as he did so, his face relaxed, and he cupped her chin harshly. “If ye think to taunt me with words, ye are more the fool than I thought. ’Tis a long journey we travel, and if I must bind your tongue, I will do so.”
She eyed him scornfully. “Take your hand off me.”
“Gladly,” he replied.
Ailsa’s head pounded in frustration, causing her heart to beat faster. She had to come up with a plan. Adjusting her position as best she could, she watched a lone wolf dart out in front of the horse. The horse whinnied and raised itself on its back legs. Taking quick advantage, she leaned with all her weight against Muir as he fought to maintain the reins on the horse.
“Hold!” he bellowed.
However, the animal continued to balk, fearing for its own life. In a desperate attempt to bring them all to the ground, Ailsa continued to lean backward with all her strength. Her actions proved successful, as Muir let go of the reins, bringing them both toppling to the ground. The horse took off at a fierce gallop through the trees.
Wincing from the impact, Ailsa swiftly rolled and stood. Not giving another thought to the man or animals, she fled into the trees. Muir’s roar echoed all around, and her steps hastened. Fear drove her deeper into the forest. Without the use of her hands branches smacked her face, the sting of pain driving her onward. She would not stop. Not turn around. Not give up.
There was one light of hope shining a light on her path. Freedom and Urquhart.
Sunlight glittered through the canopy of trees as she continued to run. Jumping over a fallen log, Ailsa slipped and sucked in a breath. Pain tore into her foot, but she had no time to waste. Her arms ached, wanting to be free of their bindings, and her shoulders throbbed from the motion of being constrained. Birds flew out from the tree limbs, chirping angrily at being disturbed from their solitude.
When the crunch of leaves and grunts from Muir grew near, Ailsa went deeper into the trees. Picking up her pace, she darted as best she could between the trees. Yet, a sense of dread washed over her as the area unexpectedly opened to the loch below, and she slid to a halt.
Gasping for breath, she looked in both directions. One led down to the water, the other, along the ridge.
Turning toward her left, Ailsa bit her lip, undecided on which way to go, and finally descended the rocky terrain. Slipping several times, her injured foot screamed. Sealing off the pain, she cautiously crept along the narrow path. A cluster of pine trees loomed ahead, and Ailsa prayed she could reach them before Muir caught sight of her.
Her gown snagged on a fallen log, halting her progress. Tearing the material free, she continued downward. Ye are almost there. Rushing toward the trees, her fingers brushed aside the limbs, and she dove underneath.
Ailsa let out a long held breath and leaned against the rough bark. Recalling her training with Duncan, she closed her eyes and attempted to pull the mists around her. Cold and fear had her senses spinning in a tempest. Taking in deep cleansing breaths, she focused on the swirling tendrils of mists. Gathering the vision, she lifted her head upward. A light breeze kissed her cheeks, and she opened her eyes to find herself shrouded within the haze.
“I ken where ye are hiding, and ye will live to regret your actions.” Muir’s voice sent a strand of fear snaking down her spine.
Pushing away from the tree, she vowed the man would not put his hands on her again. “Ye bastard,” she hissed into the cold air.
Instantly, a hand clamped around her mouth. Squirming against the intruder, she tried to butt his head with hers. Another hand slipped firmly around her waist.
“Stop fighting, mo ghrá. ’Tis Desmond.” The warmth of his words spread throughout her body, freeing the tension. He released his hand from her mouth and turned her around.
She let out a hiss from the biting pain in her foot.
“Are ye hurt, Ailsa?”
“Twisted my foot,” she muttered. Ailsa sagged against his chest. “Ye found me. ’Tis really ye?”
Desmond lifted her chin and took her mouth with a savage hunger. She drew his moan into her body and reveled in the strength of his touch. Breaking free, he wiped a lone tear that had escaped. “I would have searched the world for ye. But now, I must finish what the Cameron started.”
Ailsa did not have time to utter a retort as Desmond sliced at her ropes, freeing her hands. He gave a short two-burst whistle and Duncan, Alastair, Finn, and her father emerged forth. “But—”
He placed a finger over her lips. “Dinnae argue,” he ordered. His tone offered no room for argument, and she nodded. “Part the mists, so I may see him.”
Closing her eyes, she steadied her breathing. Seeing the misty tendrils disappear within her mind, she slowly opened them to find Desmond staring at her. He brushed a gentle kiss along her brow.
“Be ready. He’s charging down the path,” muttered Alastair.
Gently leading Ailsa to her father, Desmond nodded to the older man. “Ye ken what must be done?”
“Aye,” snarled Bran.
Ailsa clung to her father’s arm. “How did ye find me?”
He pointed to Finn. “The lad is a fine warrior. Tracked ye and Muir’s steps.”
Reaching out for the lad, Ailsa embraced him. “Thank ye.”
Stiffening briefly, Finn swallowed. “’Tis naught, my lady.”
“’Tis Ailsa,” she countered. “And ye are brave to venture forth with these other warriors. Ye are one among them. Did ye come upon the wolf?”
“Nae. Only the horse. ’Twas frightened, but unharmed.”
Sweeping her gaze outward, she clutched a hand to her chest, watching as Desmond strode forth from the trees toward Muir with his sword held outward.
As the rest of the group emerged as well, Muir’s steps faltered. Coming to a stop, his jaw tensed. He wiped the sweat from his brow, though his gaze never wavered from Desmond.
“What now, O’Quinlan?” he demanded.
Desmond leveled his sword at the man. “’Tis me ye shall fight, Cameron.”
The man shrugged dismissively. “Ye expect me to believe ye will fight fair?” He gestured at the Dragon Knights. “Will ye cower behind them?”
Desmond’s eyes flashed with a thunderous rage Ailsa had never witnessed. His blade held steady as the sunlight glinted off the cold steel. “I have nae need for them. Your time of reckoning is here…with me. In the end, it shall be my blood on your blade, or yours on mine. It does not matter. This ends now.”
Ailsa felt her father’s fingers curl around her arm, and she darted a glance at him.
“Traitor,” spat out Bran in disgust.
“And you’re a thief! I should be the chieftain of Ailsa Creag. Ye have nae claim.” Muir pounded his chest. “’Tis mine!”
Bran’s chest heaved with fury. “Ye are dead to me.”
“Enough!” shouted Desmond. Pointing a finger at the Dragon Knights, he ordered, “No one is to interfere. Do ye ken my words?”
Muir took the advantage of Desmond’s momentary distraction and lunged toward him. Ailsa shoved a fist into her mouth to squelch her gasp as Desmond countered and blocked the oncoming attack.
The battle became brutal, as each man was intent on maiming the other. The clang of steel echoed throughout the serene setting. Though the two men were equally built, Muir had more muscle, and when Desmond slipped on the rocky incline, Ailsa once again kept her fear lodged deep within.
Blocking another blow, Muir swept low and slashed across Desmond’s leg. A low growl escaped from him, and Desmond slammed a fist into the Cameron’s face.
Blood spurted forth from Muir’s nose and letting out a curse, he withdrew a dirk from behind his back.
“It will not matter how many blades ye show me, for ye are going to lose this battle!” shouted Desmond. Blood flowed out from his wound and seeped down his leg.
Muir’s lips twisted in a cynical smile. “I will drench the ground with your blood.”
As the fighting resumed, Ailsa could see Desmond weakening. Twice he staggered back, his injured leg now bleeding profusely. Her fingers itched to hold a blade and be by her lover’s side. Her chest heaved with each blow, and the taste of blood filled her mouth from biting her own lip in worry.
When Muir slashed a blade against his arm, Desmond roared.
Ailsa’s fingers dug into her father’s cloak. “Ye—they must do something. I have nae wish to see Desmond die,” she hissed out.
Her father shook his head solemnly. Gripping her hands firmly, his eyes were shards of steel. “Can ye not see what he is doing?”
Ailsa wanted to scream at her father. “I dinnae understand.”
“He is proving himself to ye—to our people. If Desmond is to rule by your side, he must judge himself worthy to all. This is his test, Ailsa.”
Her lip trembled. “Desmond has naught to prove to me. He is already a champion in my eyes.”
“Yet, he must do so for himself. ’Tis his own honor at stake.”
“So ye—the Dragon Knights would see him die?”
Her father tilted his head to the side. “Ye believe he will, daughter?”
Fury boiled to the surface, wild and untamed. Nae! Her mind screamed. Wrenching free from her father, she reeled around. Hear me, Desmond O’Quinlan. Ye will nae leave me all alone. With her hands clenched by her sides, Ailsa lifted her head and prayed with all her might.
Yet, Desmond’s strength faltered. He had managed to inflict some injury on Muir, but his wounds were worse. Deflecting another blow, he slipped and fell to the ground. Muir knocked his blade from his hand. Leveling his blade at his chest, he looked at Ailsa. “His life is mine.”
Ailsa screamed. Stepping forward, her father immediately yanked her back against him.
Then again, Muir’s proclamation was Desmond’s advantage. Pulling forth Ailsa’s sgian dubh, he knocked the sword away and shoved the blade into the man’s thigh to the hilt. Dropping his sword, Muir collapsed onto the ground in agonizing pain.
Desmond stood slowly. Picking up the Cameron’s sword, he flung it outward. Leaning over the man, he placed a booted foot on Muir’s chest. Reaching for the sgian dubh, Desmond pulled it free and wiped the blood off on his tunic. “Ailsa’s honor has been fought. Now, I leave ye to King William’s men.”
“And my champion has won!” shouted Ailsa, limping into his outstretched arms.
Desmond caught her with one arm, crushing her to his chest. Burying his face in her hair, he whispered, “Mo ghrá.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks as she cupped his face. “Ye foolish man. Ye almost died.”
He leaned his forehead against hers. “Nae. With ye my by side, I shall always win.”
She felt her knees weaken as his mouth descended, sweeping her away with the healing warmth of his kiss.