Chapter Fifteen
With his hands bound tightly behind his back, Domnall mounted the horse-drawn cart that had come to carry him to the public place of his execution. A shove from behind made him stumble and his bare knees slammed into splinters of wood. The cart lurched forward as he struggled to stand.
The journey was short and crowds of people followed the slow progress of the cart to the public square. Domnall scanned the crowd, desperately seeking a final glimpse of Davina. Was she out there? He sought her in vain. Good. ’Twas for the best that she didn’t witness his death. She had known far too much tragedy in her young life.
The cart jolted to a halt beneath the pillory from which a noose already hung in ominous invitation. The eyes of the throng gleamed with eager anticipation as the hangman dropped the loop of rope about his neck. His senses instantly awakened to the sharp prickle of the thick hemp as the hooded hangman jerked it snug about his neck. It began to cut into his skin even before the knot tightened.
A sense of unreality surrounded him. How could this be happening? He’d expected imprisonment but never had he believed the king would go so far as to hang him. But the noose about his neck was very real.
Though he fought the wave of panic, his body racked with an involuntary shudder. His raspy breathing came faster, and sweat broke from his brow, slowly dripping into his eyes. He was swiftly losing the fight to maintain his self-possession.
Please God, if I must die today, let me face it as a warrior.
He opened his eyes again and stared out into the crowd pressing against the pillory. Elbowing and pushing one another, they clambered for a closer view of the hanging. The spectators went silent with the appearance of a cowled priest. Domnall consoled himself that at least the king had not denied him the benefit of last rites.
With the executioner standing at Domnall’s back like a hovering angel of death, the priest spoke, “Do ye wish to make a final confession, my son?”
That voice! Domnall’s heart nearly burst from his chest. Duff?
Leaning closer, as if to hear Domnall’s confession, Duff whispered, “’Tis nae executioner but Niall under that hood, and the other men stand ready with horses. The chances of escape are slim at best, but ye willna die this day if we can help it.”
Domnall murmured a fervent prayer of thanksgiving to God and all of His saints.
As Duff proceeded to go through the motions of the final sacrament, Domnall felt Niall behind him, whispering instructions as he sliced through the bonds. “Jock, Leith, and Quinn are standing ready. The moment the driver raises the whip to the horse, I will cut ye down. Be prepared to fight.”
Every nerve in Domnall’s body came to life as the next few seconds unfolded.
Duff had hardly finished with the sign of the cross before the throng began chanting for the gallows dance. Niall signaled the cart driver who raised his whip to the horse. The crushing sensation on his windpipe was sudden and intense. The mob jeered and cheered as his body jerked upward. His ears roared and vision blurred, and then came a flash of steel and he hit the ground with a thud.
Confused and unbalanced, Domnall struggled to his feet as his friends encircled him with drawn swords. Screaming a Highland war cry, the fierce warriors quickly broke through the ranks of terrified bystanders. Amidst the confusion, Jock, Leith, and Quinn appeared on horseback. Dragging Domnall up behind him, Quinn spun his mount into a frantic gallop toward the city gate.
“How will we get through?” Domnall asked.
“’Tis already open,” Quinn replied.
Domnall felt no need to inquire further. Pushing their horses to the extreme, they galloped northward at a breathless pace.
“Are we followed?” Quinn asked.
Domnall stole a glance over his shoulder to find the gate was already in the far distance and no riders were yet in pursuit. “Nay,” he replied in relief.
“Good,” Quinn grunted. “We’d hoped to take them unawares. ’Twas our only hope.”
“What now?” Domnall asked.
Quinn glanced back with a grin. “We are going home.”
*
Riding at night and taking cover by the light of day, the band of Highland outlaws pressed on, avoiding contact with people until they arrived at the outskirts of Inverness. Reaching a bluff overlooking the Moray Firth, the invisible line dividing the Highlands from the Lowlands, they pulled up their panting horses. For the longest time, no man spoke. Miraculously, they were finally within reach of home.
“The horses are nigh dead.” Duff was first to break the silence. “They need rest and we need sustenance.” Their saddlebags had long been depleted. “We have friends at Inverness, but ’twould still be unwise to enter the city together.”
“Aye,” Niall agreed. “We needs must make ourselves less conspicuous. We are wanted men, and outlaws of the king.”
“Though it grieves my heart to say so, ’twould be best if we part ways here,” Duff suggested.
“I sore regret that I have endangered ye all,” Domnall said.
“Och!” Duff exclaimed with a laugh. “We only needed ye as an excuse. We should have done this long ago. I like the Borderland nae better than I like the Normans who habit there. Now we are free of both!”
“Only for the nonce,” Domnall said soberly. “’Tis only a matter of time until the Highlands become the new Borderlands.”
“Dinna say so, lad!” Jock glowered. “Dinna even think it.”
“It needs saying and thinking,” Domnall insisted. “If we are to stop it.”
“We and whose army?” Quinn asked.
“Our own,” Domnall said. “When the time is right.”
Duff’s brows rose. “Ye indeed have a treasonous heart.”
“Ye think I should have hanged, after all?” Domnall asked.
“On the contrary,” Duff smirked. “I think we should crown ye king of the Highlands.”
With his jest, Duff had given Domnall an unexpected opportunity to voice the question that had long plagued his heart. “When I come of age, I intend to put forth my claim to Moray. I will be in need of generals if I have to fight for it. Would ye support me in this, Duff?”
Duff considered him for a long time before answering. Just when Domnall was beginning to think he should have held his tongue, Duff answered.
“Aye,” he answered. “I would support ye in Moray and beyond.”
“As would I,” Quinn said, quickly echoed by Niall and Jock.
“Thank ye,” Domnall said, feeling both heartened and deeply humbled.
“Ye may rest assured, lad,” Duff said, laying a big hand on his shoulder. “When ye sound the call for battle, we will come.”