Page 15 of Highlander’s Ancient Vengeance

She tilted her face up to his, then felt his mouth come down on hers, sweetly and tenderly. The kiss lasted for a few moments, then he drew away, but when she opened her eyes he was nowhere to be seen. However, he had kept his promise; when she tried to lift her feet again it was easy, and she sighed with relief. The slim conifer trees had returned and there were no grave markers anywhere.

She took a step forward and screamed. The ground beneath her feet was no longer soft and yielding, but covered in sharp stones and broken seashells that cut into the tender soles of her feet and made her weep tears of pain. She could not stop walking, for that made the pain even worse, so she labored on. She looked up once, and Craig was standing a hundred yards away, laughing.

At last she got to the end of the rocky patch and looked up to scream at Craig, but he was gone; all that was left of him was his mocking laughter.

10

Another Killing

Malle woke up with a start. She could tell by the position of the half-moon that it was still very early in the morning, and that dawn was still hours away. Still half in the dream, she checked her feet for cuts and bruises, and was surprised to find that they were smooth and unmarked, without a trace of blood anywhere.

She sank back on her pillow with a feeling of complete relief, but an even stronger feeling of resentment against Craig Dunbar than before. She had asked him to leave her alone, but now he was even invading her dreams!

She turned over and closed her eyes, expecting to struggle to go to sleep, but she slipped away immediately, and slumbered dreamlessly for the rest of the night.

She woke to the sound of angry voices reaching her faintly from outside, and jumped out of bed to run along the passage to a room overlooking the courtyard. There she saw a crowd of men yelling at each other, and since each one was trying to be the loudest so that he could be heard over the din, the noise was almost deafening.

Malle ran back to her room and dressed hastily. She could wash later, she decided; this was far more important. She ran downstairs barefoot without making a sound, just in time to see a tall, bearded, redheaded man striding into the courtyard. Craig Dunbar plowed into the throng, scattering men right and left as he made his way to the front of the crowd.

“Enough!” he cried. He was wearing his claymore by his side, and he kept his hand on it as he spoke. How dare he walk into this castle as if he owned it? Malle was staggered by his arrogance, and even more so when his father joined him.

Then she saw the most baffling and outrageous thing of all; her own father and mother came out to join them. The two families kept a wary distance from each other, but one clan was in enemy territory, and was not suffering for it. What was going on here? Malle was raging.

She drew closer and stood at the back of the crowd to listen. They were all rough working men, and every one of them was furious.

“You might be wondering what made the Dunbars and the MacEwans come together like this,” he began. “I thank Laird MacEwan for allowing us on his land, as this is because of a situation that concerns both our families and all of you.”

There was a low rumbling from a few dozen men’s voices at this announcement. The MacEwan workers were not happy that the Dunbar workers were there on what they considered to be their territory, even though it belonged to their Laird, and the Dunbar laborers were not happy either, feeling threatened and endangered on their enemy’s land.

At the moment that Craig began to speak, one of the MacEwan workers stood up to shout at him. “Whit are ye here for big man? Ye’re no gaunnae dae onythin’ wi’ that big knife!”

For answer, Craig sighed, unbuckled the claymore, and dropped it on the ground, then stood in front of the man, chest to chest, spreading his arms out in a crucifix shape. “Do your worst, my man,” he said reasonably. “I will not stop you.”

The man gulped and took a step back, looking embarrassed, and Craig took a small flask of whisky from the pouch at the side of his kilt. He held it up to its owner then handed it to Laird MacEwan.

“If this happens again I will flatten you,” he informed him, then he pushed him away. There was an angry murmur among the MacEwan workers. Someone shouted an insult at someone else, a bit of pushing and punching began, and a scuffle broke out between the two sides. Craig cast his eyes heavenward and plunged into the fray again. This time he cracked two heads together, one from each side. Then he roared: “Stad!” in Gaelic. “Stop!” and silence fell immediately.

Despite herself, Malle was impressed, not only by the volume of his voice, but by the instant obedience of his men. Her father had also been going around separating scuffling men from each other, but he did not have Craig’s deep voice, which sounded like the deepest drumbeat she had ever heard.

Now she wanted to join her family, feeling threatened by the rough men around her. She pushed past Craig and he glared down at her, opening his mouth to snap at her, but she tilted her head back and smiled in a smug fashion. “Please say whatever is on your mind, Dunbar,” she invited him. “But have a care. We are on my ground now.”

He glared at her for a moment then clamped his mouth shut again.

Malle went around to the front of the crowd to join her parents, and Margaret frowned at her. “Malle, you should not be here!” she hissed. “This is no place for you!”

“I want to see what is going on, Mammy,” she replied. “I am part of this family and this concerns me too.”

Margaret sighed. “Stay quiet then,” she instructed. Malle nodded.

Craig’s eyes followed her as she left him and went to stand with her parents. Her hair was still tangled from sleep, her dress not properly laced and crumpled because it had been lying in a heap on the floor. If he had not disliked her so much he would have found her adorable in her tousled state.

For a moment, their gazes locked, green eyes on gray, and hers widened as if in surprise before they looked away...but in that moment, all his animosity towards her vanished. He knew he needed to talk to her and make things right between them.

When Craig began to speak, he did so in Gaelic, so that all his workers could not use the excuse that they could not understand him. Nearly everyone in the Highlands spoke Gaelic, but Craig spoke it like a working person and not like a nobleman, so they respected him more.

“The reason why we are all here today is because another man has died,” he said heavily, “from Laird MacEwan’s estate, and his name was Angus Morrison.”

Malle gave a gasp and her heart missed a beat. She was acquainted with Angus; he and his wife and four children lived on a cottage on the edge of the estate, and she knew them to be hardworking and kind people. What could they have done to deserve this?