Queen Hereafter, page 7
I urged the stallion on. Father was a good rider, but the horse I rode was faster.
With a final push, I burst into the fortress grounds. The guards shouted in alarm as I pulled my horse up abruptly to keep him from crashing into the nearest dwelling. Adair raced out of the stables where he had been sparring, and Donalda and Findlaich emerged from the Great Hall where they had been eating. Sweating with exertion, but giddy with the rush of the race, I turned to face Father as he careened in behind me.
“Gods, child, what on earth possessed you?” he shouted.
Leaping from MacBethad’s horse, he ran over to his own, grabbing the reins in one hand and nearly dragging me off with the other. He did not let go of my arm when I alighted, instead pulling me towards our quarters.
As I passed Adair, I shot him a reassuring smile and his face lit up in relief. Only his continued loyalty to me as his sister protected him from any lasting resentment I might have felt towards him.
“I’m sure she didn’t—” Adair began, rushing to my defense.
“Peace, son,” my father snapped back.
He threw me into our house, slamming the door closed behind me.
“Guard her,” he shouted, though I could not make out who was to be my jailer. “I don’t want Gruoch leaving for the rest of the day. If she escapes, I will hold you personally responsible.”
My victory soured as the day wore on so that even when let out at suppertime, I snarled at anyone who came near me and was eventually sent back to our rooms for being obstinate. But not before MacBethad secretly pressed a piece of dried apple into my hand. I had not forgiven him for his earlier betrayal, but his fingers were surprisingly warm, and I felt a little tingle on my neck as he touched me. I went back to my room with my illicit sweet, unable to turn my thoughts away from MacBethad and his warm hands.
As I sucked my piece of apple, willing it to last as long as possible, a muffled commotion broke out near the main gate. I ventured towards the door, and as it opened, discovered my guard had abandoned his post. The inner gate was open and a small band of mounted troops was riding past. Hiding in the shadow of my door, I waited until they were clear of me before grabbing my blade from under my bed, my cloak from where it hung by the door, and ducking out into the night. All was quiet save for the soft whinnies of the few horses that were still stabled. Servants wandered around, but the air felt thick with secrets.
As I made my way towards the gates Odgar stepped in front of me, crossing his arms and barrelling out his chest.
“I wish to look,” I said.
He stood aside, but his eyes bored into me as I peered into the darkness. The riding party that had passed me earlier was filing out of the settlement and across the bridge to join Findlaich and my father, who were also on horseback. MacBethad was with them, as was Adair, riding his new mare. Resentment tightened my chest once more.
“What’s happening?” I asked.
Odgar didn’t reply. I scowled at him but his gaze remained unmoved. I craned my head and squinted. Shapes began to emerge from the blackness. A thrill of excitement ran up my spine.
I had to get a closer view. But even if I crept out of the settlement, there would be nowhere to hide. I sighed, affecting an air of boredom.
“Where is Donalda?” I demanded. “I want her to plait my hair with lavender and sing me to sleep.”
Odgar gruffly indicated the house of one of Donalda’s maids—her closest companion. They often spun together there. I think Donalda preferred its simplicity to her own home, which Findlaich had decorated with trinkets collected from all over his land until their quarters resembled a trading ship.
I rushed in the direction Odgar indicated, hoping he would not watch me all the way. I had intended to carry on, but the low murmur of voices arrested my movement.
“Why would it upset them that their uncle intervened with the king?” the maid was asking.
“Because it was their duty to pay their father’s debts,” Donalda replied.
“But they could never have assembled so much wealth. They would have lost the land either way: to Findlaich in exchange for his clearing the debt, or to a mormaer of King Malcolm’s choosing if it was not met. Was it not better to lose it to their uncle?” the woman insisted.
“Aye,” Donalda replied.
“Then why are they attacking us now?” The other woman’s voice had taken on a nervous quality, and my fingers prickled at the thought of conflict.
“We do not know if they come to attack,” Donalda said, choosing her words carefully. “It was more than land they lost, remember.”
“A horrible business,” the maid said. “But surely they do not blame Findlaich for that.”
“If my husband could afford to pay the fine, why didn’t he do it while his brother was still alive?” For the first time, I sensed disapproval in Donalda’s voice when speaking of Findlaich.
“But he had nothing to gain from it!” the woman replied.
“Except for his brother’s life. Should that not have been gain enough?” Donalda said.
“But he couldn’t have known that would happen,” the woman trailed off.
Donalda was silent. All I could hear was the quiet clacking of the loom.
“Do you think we are in danger?” the woman asked, her voice so quiet I had to strain to hear what she was saying.
“I cannot say.” Donalda spoke softly. “My nephew Gillecomghain has always had a softness to him. He was kind to MacBethad when they were small. But the eldest son Mael Colum is a brute like his father. He now has nothing to lose, and there is no telling how far he will go to win back his father’s honor . . . It reminds me of Ailith,” Donalda continued, her voice growing even quieter, as if she sensed my presence.
I stiffened at the mention of my mother. From the day we arrived, Donalda had not spoken of her, and I had been thankful for it.
“Findlaich thought Gillecomghain would make a good match for Gruoch. He carries a weight as she does. The two of them might have offered each other comfort, and then this awful conflict might have been avoided.”
I did not like to hear how easily Donalda sensed the weight of my mother’s presence around me.
“Have you told Boedhe yet of your hopes for Gruoch?” the maid asked, and I tried to hold my breath so I could better hear what those hopes might be.
“Findlaich says it is too soon. He worries her woman’s time is late, but it was so for both my sisters. There is no cause for concern. Once it has come, a decision will be made. He waits to see if he has the support of the Norse king.”
“And will you warn your father if Findlaich and Boedhe decide to march?” the woman said, and I could feel Donalda choosing her words carefully.
“I don’t know. It has not come to that, I think.”
“But it will soon,” the woman urged.
“Aye,” said Donalda.
My head spun with all that I had discovered but as their talk turned to flightier things, I set back on my quest, worried that I had wasted too much time and had missed the conflict. I stole a length of rope from the stables and snuck quietly towards the guard tower farthest from the action below. My suspicions about what I would find there paid off. The young guard had left his post to join Odgar and get a better view of what was happening below.
I fixed the rope in place and lowered myself down the other side of the wall. I then released it, not wanting to risk the young guard raising the alarm upon discovery of my means of escape. I hid the rope where I would need it upon my return; it would be harder to scale the wall from the outside, but MacBethad and I had done it once before.
Hiding in the shadow of the great fortification, I ran around its perimeter until I came out in front of the settlement where I could just see the men gathered. Crossing the bridge was out of the question. I would be seen instantly. The dry moat, though steep, was not too deep so I resolved to climb down it and back up, hiding just below the lip.
The ground was cold and the going difficult, but I could soon hear the voices of Findlaich, my father, and others I did not recognize. They sounded close by, so I inched further along the moat to give myself some extra distance from the party until I felt confident enough to poke my head over the edge of it.
Findlaich’s riding party had doubled in size, bolstered by men from the settlement. Facing him I saw a long line of strange horsemen—fierce-looking, with shaved heads—speaking together in a tongue I didn’t recognize. Findlaich interrupted them. When he spoke, he sounded every bit the fierce warrior prince he must have been in his youth.
“As you know, I have paid your father’s debts and that land is now rightfully mine.”
“It was our responsibility to pay King Malcolm, and we are prepared to do so in full and take back our half of Moray,” a man at the center of the line replied. His voice was calm and steady. This could not be Mael Colum, the brute Donalda had spoken of. Perhaps it was Gillecomghain.
“What’s done is done. The land is mine. You are free to live in your father’s house, but you must pay tribute to me as any man of Moray does,” Findlaich replied with thinly veiled impatience.
At this moment, my father turned and looked behind him, straight at me. I gasped and dropped my head. I dared not breathe. I heard voices but could not make out what was happening. Once my heartbeat returned to normal, I allowed myself a cautious look. Father had turned back to the horsemen. He hadn’t spotted me.
“It is decided,” Findlaich was saying. “I will fight you. Though if I were you, I would not risk my life for half of Moray.”
“Then for all of Moray!”
A different man had dismounted from his horse, carrying a sword in his hand. His scowl matched the ferocity of his voice. This must be Mael Colum.
Findlaich did not respond. I would have given anything to see his face. I could not reconcile the gentle, warmhearted man who had taken us in, with someone who would take land from his own nephews, still reeling from the loss of their father. I knew what it was to suffer the loss of your homeland and I pitied the brothers.
“Mael Colum,” the first man said in a much gentler voice. He reached his hand out to him in warning, his face full of concern.
Mael Colum snarled.
“Quiet, Gillecomghain, or I will send you up to wait with the women.”
“For all of Moray,” Findlaich agreed, and Father stiffened beside him.
“And you will not set your men against me, when I win?” Mael Colum said.
“If you can defeat me, you will have won the right to Moray.” I detected the hint of mockery in Findlaich’s voice. I could tell Mael Colum had too, for his eyes narrowed even more, and I thought he would growl.
“To the death,” said Mael Colum.
“To the death,” replied Findlaich.
The cold that had steadily been creeping into my veins vanished, replaced immediately by the heat of anticipation. There was to be a fight to the death for the Kingdom of Moray. I needed a better view.
Crouching low to the ground, I was about to move forward when I sensed a presence behind me. Before I could scream, I felt a strong hand clamp itself over my mouth as I was pulled out of the moat.
Chapter 8
Stupid! Monumentally stupid. Why had I not told anyone where I was going? But had I done so, who would have let me go?
I had been so enrapt in the unfolding events that I had been blind to the dark shape creeping along the side of the moat towards me. I could tell he was huge when he lifted me effortlessly. I tried to bite the hand pressed against my mouth, but couldn’t get purchase. It was also over my nose, and for a terrifying moment, I thought he meant to kill me. I began bucking, but he held me tighter. He must have realized I was suffocating because he slid his hand down so I could breathe and whispered into my ear.
“Move—I kill. Don’t move—I don’t kill.”
He could kill me as easily as crushing an ant; I decided it was best to do as he said. I nodded, and he slowly removed his hand from my mouth. Setting me down, he tied my hands roughly behind my back.
“Walk.”
My mind raced with possibilities as he trudged forward. I tried to think of a way to escape as we wound down the hill away from Findlaich. More than once, I glanced over towards the combat and willed MacBethad to look my way, but he was intent, as they all were, on the unfolding conflict. Even if he had glanced over, he would not have seen us through the darkness.
We walked in a long arc around the men until we were behind Mael Colum’s line, hidden on the edge of a dense wood. We were a way back, much further than I had been from my vantage point behind our own line, but I could still make out the outlines of Findlaich and Mael Colum against torchlight.
My captor made me sit while he tended to his horse. It seemed he was the only one who had stayed behind. Presumably, Mael Colum had sent this man ahead to scout out the fortress, or perhaps even lay a trap for anyone who might try to sneak away to assemble more men. I took pleasure in the thought that I had kept him from this task.
My heart pounded in my chest, my attention torn between trying to find a way to escape and making out how the fight was going. If Findlaich won, I was sure I would be returned to safety. This might have been foolish thinking, but I clung to that hope all the same. Surely Mael Colum’s men would not risk the wrath of Findlaich chasing them back through the northern mountains with the full weight of Burghead’s army? If Findlaich did not win, however, there would be no point in my running back to the keep. Perhaps I could charm my captor.
“Where are you from?” I asked, making my eyes as wide and inquisitive as I could—a strategy I had used a number of times on Barrach. It always seemed to get me whatever sweets I wanted. My captor gave me the barest of glances before returning his attention to his horse. I tried again.
“You must have fought alongside Mael Colum many times. You will have tales of glory to share?”
I was sure this would work. All warriors loved to boast of the glorious fights they had won. Even those who had not would make up some story of honor won, exaggerating the smallest of accomplishments into epic tales of glory. My captor must not have understood. He tore off a piece of his tunic and walked towards me. I regretted my decision to engage with him.
“No, no!” I said. “I’ll stop talking. I won’t say anything.”
I shut my mouth and pursed my lips, trying to communicate my message. My captor paused in his approach and nodded tersely.
If Findlaich lost, my best chance would be to make a break for it, running deeper into the forest, and wait until I had an opportunity to run to Elgin and warn them.
I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again, trying not to be overwhelmed by the impossibility of my position.
They had been fighting for what felt like ages when a cry of anguish rang out, bouncing across the foothills. A man fell to his knees but I could not make out which one. My captor looked up from his horse and the two of us craned forward, desperate to see who it was. My heart hammered in my ears and I couldn’t distinguish one voice from another.
“The victor,” someone shouted.
“Who?” I yelled.
My captor didn’t bother to silence me. I expected it to be over then, for one side to rush against the other, but the fallen man was being helped to his feet and led towards us. Mael Colum had fallen but was not dead. Findlaich was mounting his horse and his men were turning back towards the fortress. Panic burned in my throat like bile. I turned to my captor.
“Let me go,” I said, trying to steady my voice, hating how squeaky it sounded compared to that of Findlaich or my father.
My captor seemed torn. Mael Colum’s men were walking slowly toward us; someone was supporting the older brother, who could barely walk.
“Let me go,” I said, louder this time.
My captor came closer and lifted me up, placing a dagger to my throat. I tried to slow my breathing and stared at him, holding his gaze. I began muttering the words to Grandmother’s lullaby as I had done to Crinan all those years ago. He cocked an eyebrow in amusement. Then, with one swift blow, he struck me senseless.
* * *
As I came to, I could feel the warmth of a fire on my face. My jaw ached, and I tried to lift my hands to ease it, only to find they were still bound behind my back. I was tied bodily to a small tree and had been gagged. We had moved deeper into the forest. I could see the torchlight of Burghead, now a tiny orange beacon in the dark. I was relieved that we had not gone far, but my head ached and there was a slight ringing in my ears.
Mael Colum’s men had set up a makeshift camp. Some were sleeping, others tending to their horses. The smell of meat filled my nostrils, but I couldn’t see an animal roasting over the fire. Mael Colum sat opposite the flames as one of the mercenaries tended his wounds. I stifled a gasp.
Findlaich had cut off Mael Colum’s hand at the wrist. His arm had been cauterized—that accounted for the smell of burning meat—but bloodied bandages littered the ground. Mael Colum was cursing and drinking in equal measure as his arm was bound.
To be maimed was the greatest dishonor—an immutable mark of a warrior’s failure to protect himself. Such a man could never hold a position of authority in our society, or lead an army, or own land. Even kings were not immune from that age-old law.
The man I thought might be Gillecomghain stood behind him.
“If we had ambushed them as I commanded, we would now be sitting on the throne of Moray,” Mael Colum snarled.
“They would have slaughtered us,” Gillecomghain insisted. “Why else did you resort to hiring mercenaries? Your men knew that any strike against them would be lost, which was why they would not come.”
“They are weak,” Mael Colum spat. “More ale,” he demanded of no one in particular.
My head was clearing and I could better make out the two brothers. They were young, much younger than I had expected. Mael Colum could not have been more than twenty years old, and Gillecomghain looked to be only a year or two older than MacBethad. Gillecomghain’s long, thick hair shone in the firelight like spun gold. He was tall and angular, but not frail. He looked like a young hero from a tragic druidic tale.
With a final push, I burst into the fortress grounds. The guards shouted in alarm as I pulled my horse up abruptly to keep him from crashing into the nearest dwelling. Adair raced out of the stables where he had been sparring, and Donalda and Findlaich emerged from the Great Hall where they had been eating. Sweating with exertion, but giddy with the rush of the race, I turned to face Father as he careened in behind me.
“Gods, child, what on earth possessed you?” he shouted.
Leaping from MacBethad’s horse, he ran over to his own, grabbing the reins in one hand and nearly dragging me off with the other. He did not let go of my arm when I alighted, instead pulling me towards our quarters.
As I passed Adair, I shot him a reassuring smile and his face lit up in relief. Only his continued loyalty to me as his sister protected him from any lasting resentment I might have felt towards him.
“I’m sure she didn’t—” Adair began, rushing to my defense.
“Peace, son,” my father snapped back.
He threw me into our house, slamming the door closed behind me.
“Guard her,” he shouted, though I could not make out who was to be my jailer. “I don’t want Gruoch leaving for the rest of the day. If she escapes, I will hold you personally responsible.”
My victory soured as the day wore on so that even when let out at suppertime, I snarled at anyone who came near me and was eventually sent back to our rooms for being obstinate. But not before MacBethad secretly pressed a piece of dried apple into my hand. I had not forgiven him for his earlier betrayal, but his fingers were surprisingly warm, and I felt a little tingle on my neck as he touched me. I went back to my room with my illicit sweet, unable to turn my thoughts away from MacBethad and his warm hands.
As I sucked my piece of apple, willing it to last as long as possible, a muffled commotion broke out near the main gate. I ventured towards the door, and as it opened, discovered my guard had abandoned his post. The inner gate was open and a small band of mounted troops was riding past. Hiding in the shadow of my door, I waited until they were clear of me before grabbing my blade from under my bed, my cloak from where it hung by the door, and ducking out into the night. All was quiet save for the soft whinnies of the few horses that were still stabled. Servants wandered around, but the air felt thick with secrets.
As I made my way towards the gates Odgar stepped in front of me, crossing his arms and barrelling out his chest.
“I wish to look,” I said.
He stood aside, but his eyes bored into me as I peered into the darkness. The riding party that had passed me earlier was filing out of the settlement and across the bridge to join Findlaich and my father, who were also on horseback. MacBethad was with them, as was Adair, riding his new mare. Resentment tightened my chest once more.
“What’s happening?” I asked.
Odgar didn’t reply. I scowled at him but his gaze remained unmoved. I craned my head and squinted. Shapes began to emerge from the blackness. A thrill of excitement ran up my spine.
I had to get a closer view. But even if I crept out of the settlement, there would be nowhere to hide. I sighed, affecting an air of boredom.
“Where is Donalda?” I demanded. “I want her to plait my hair with lavender and sing me to sleep.”
Odgar gruffly indicated the house of one of Donalda’s maids—her closest companion. They often spun together there. I think Donalda preferred its simplicity to her own home, which Findlaich had decorated with trinkets collected from all over his land until their quarters resembled a trading ship.
I rushed in the direction Odgar indicated, hoping he would not watch me all the way. I had intended to carry on, but the low murmur of voices arrested my movement.
“Why would it upset them that their uncle intervened with the king?” the maid was asking.
“Because it was their duty to pay their father’s debts,” Donalda replied.
“But they could never have assembled so much wealth. They would have lost the land either way: to Findlaich in exchange for his clearing the debt, or to a mormaer of King Malcolm’s choosing if it was not met. Was it not better to lose it to their uncle?” the woman insisted.
“Aye,” Donalda replied.
“Then why are they attacking us now?” The other woman’s voice had taken on a nervous quality, and my fingers prickled at the thought of conflict.
“We do not know if they come to attack,” Donalda said, choosing her words carefully. “It was more than land they lost, remember.”
“A horrible business,” the maid said. “But surely they do not blame Findlaich for that.”
“If my husband could afford to pay the fine, why didn’t he do it while his brother was still alive?” For the first time, I sensed disapproval in Donalda’s voice when speaking of Findlaich.
“But he had nothing to gain from it!” the woman replied.
“Except for his brother’s life. Should that not have been gain enough?” Donalda said.
“But he couldn’t have known that would happen,” the woman trailed off.
Donalda was silent. All I could hear was the quiet clacking of the loom.
“Do you think we are in danger?” the woman asked, her voice so quiet I had to strain to hear what she was saying.
“I cannot say.” Donalda spoke softly. “My nephew Gillecomghain has always had a softness to him. He was kind to MacBethad when they were small. But the eldest son Mael Colum is a brute like his father. He now has nothing to lose, and there is no telling how far he will go to win back his father’s honor . . . It reminds me of Ailith,” Donalda continued, her voice growing even quieter, as if she sensed my presence.
I stiffened at the mention of my mother. From the day we arrived, Donalda had not spoken of her, and I had been thankful for it.
“Findlaich thought Gillecomghain would make a good match for Gruoch. He carries a weight as she does. The two of them might have offered each other comfort, and then this awful conflict might have been avoided.”
I did not like to hear how easily Donalda sensed the weight of my mother’s presence around me.
“Have you told Boedhe yet of your hopes for Gruoch?” the maid asked, and I tried to hold my breath so I could better hear what those hopes might be.
“Findlaich says it is too soon. He worries her woman’s time is late, but it was so for both my sisters. There is no cause for concern. Once it has come, a decision will be made. He waits to see if he has the support of the Norse king.”
“And will you warn your father if Findlaich and Boedhe decide to march?” the woman said, and I could feel Donalda choosing her words carefully.
“I don’t know. It has not come to that, I think.”
“But it will soon,” the woman urged.
“Aye,” said Donalda.
My head spun with all that I had discovered but as their talk turned to flightier things, I set back on my quest, worried that I had wasted too much time and had missed the conflict. I stole a length of rope from the stables and snuck quietly towards the guard tower farthest from the action below. My suspicions about what I would find there paid off. The young guard had left his post to join Odgar and get a better view of what was happening below.
I fixed the rope in place and lowered myself down the other side of the wall. I then released it, not wanting to risk the young guard raising the alarm upon discovery of my means of escape. I hid the rope where I would need it upon my return; it would be harder to scale the wall from the outside, but MacBethad and I had done it once before.
Hiding in the shadow of the great fortification, I ran around its perimeter until I came out in front of the settlement where I could just see the men gathered. Crossing the bridge was out of the question. I would be seen instantly. The dry moat, though steep, was not too deep so I resolved to climb down it and back up, hiding just below the lip.
The ground was cold and the going difficult, but I could soon hear the voices of Findlaich, my father, and others I did not recognize. They sounded close by, so I inched further along the moat to give myself some extra distance from the party until I felt confident enough to poke my head over the edge of it.
Findlaich’s riding party had doubled in size, bolstered by men from the settlement. Facing him I saw a long line of strange horsemen—fierce-looking, with shaved heads—speaking together in a tongue I didn’t recognize. Findlaich interrupted them. When he spoke, he sounded every bit the fierce warrior prince he must have been in his youth.
“As you know, I have paid your father’s debts and that land is now rightfully mine.”
“It was our responsibility to pay King Malcolm, and we are prepared to do so in full and take back our half of Moray,” a man at the center of the line replied. His voice was calm and steady. This could not be Mael Colum, the brute Donalda had spoken of. Perhaps it was Gillecomghain.
“What’s done is done. The land is mine. You are free to live in your father’s house, but you must pay tribute to me as any man of Moray does,” Findlaich replied with thinly veiled impatience.
At this moment, my father turned and looked behind him, straight at me. I gasped and dropped my head. I dared not breathe. I heard voices but could not make out what was happening. Once my heartbeat returned to normal, I allowed myself a cautious look. Father had turned back to the horsemen. He hadn’t spotted me.
“It is decided,” Findlaich was saying. “I will fight you. Though if I were you, I would not risk my life for half of Moray.”
“Then for all of Moray!”
A different man had dismounted from his horse, carrying a sword in his hand. His scowl matched the ferocity of his voice. This must be Mael Colum.
Findlaich did not respond. I would have given anything to see his face. I could not reconcile the gentle, warmhearted man who had taken us in, with someone who would take land from his own nephews, still reeling from the loss of their father. I knew what it was to suffer the loss of your homeland and I pitied the brothers.
“Mael Colum,” the first man said in a much gentler voice. He reached his hand out to him in warning, his face full of concern.
Mael Colum snarled.
“Quiet, Gillecomghain, or I will send you up to wait with the women.”
“For all of Moray,” Findlaich agreed, and Father stiffened beside him.
“And you will not set your men against me, when I win?” Mael Colum said.
“If you can defeat me, you will have won the right to Moray.” I detected the hint of mockery in Findlaich’s voice. I could tell Mael Colum had too, for his eyes narrowed even more, and I thought he would growl.
“To the death,” said Mael Colum.
“To the death,” replied Findlaich.
The cold that had steadily been creeping into my veins vanished, replaced immediately by the heat of anticipation. There was to be a fight to the death for the Kingdom of Moray. I needed a better view.
Crouching low to the ground, I was about to move forward when I sensed a presence behind me. Before I could scream, I felt a strong hand clamp itself over my mouth as I was pulled out of the moat.
Chapter 8
Stupid! Monumentally stupid. Why had I not told anyone where I was going? But had I done so, who would have let me go?
I had been so enrapt in the unfolding events that I had been blind to the dark shape creeping along the side of the moat towards me. I could tell he was huge when he lifted me effortlessly. I tried to bite the hand pressed against my mouth, but couldn’t get purchase. It was also over my nose, and for a terrifying moment, I thought he meant to kill me. I began bucking, but he held me tighter. He must have realized I was suffocating because he slid his hand down so I could breathe and whispered into my ear.
“Move—I kill. Don’t move—I don’t kill.”
He could kill me as easily as crushing an ant; I decided it was best to do as he said. I nodded, and he slowly removed his hand from my mouth. Setting me down, he tied my hands roughly behind my back.
“Walk.”
My mind raced with possibilities as he trudged forward. I tried to think of a way to escape as we wound down the hill away from Findlaich. More than once, I glanced over towards the combat and willed MacBethad to look my way, but he was intent, as they all were, on the unfolding conflict. Even if he had glanced over, he would not have seen us through the darkness.
We walked in a long arc around the men until we were behind Mael Colum’s line, hidden on the edge of a dense wood. We were a way back, much further than I had been from my vantage point behind our own line, but I could still make out the outlines of Findlaich and Mael Colum against torchlight.
My captor made me sit while he tended to his horse. It seemed he was the only one who had stayed behind. Presumably, Mael Colum had sent this man ahead to scout out the fortress, or perhaps even lay a trap for anyone who might try to sneak away to assemble more men. I took pleasure in the thought that I had kept him from this task.
My heart pounded in my chest, my attention torn between trying to find a way to escape and making out how the fight was going. If Findlaich won, I was sure I would be returned to safety. This might have been foolish thinking, but I clung to that hope all the same. Surely Mael Colum’s men would not risk the wrath of Findlaich chasing them back through the northern mountains with the full weight of Burghead’s army? If Findlaich did not win, however, there would be no point in my running back to the keep. Perhaps I could charm my captor.
“Where are you from?” I asked, making my eyes as wide and inquisitive as I could—a strategy I had used a number of times on Barrach. It always seemed to get me whatever sweets I wanted. My captor gave me the barest of glances before returning his attention to his horse. I tried again.
“You must have fought alongside Mael Colum many times. You will have tales of glory to share?”
I was sure this would work. All warriors loved to boast of the glorious fights they had won. Even those who had not would make up some story of honor won, exaggerating the smallest of accomplishments into epic tales of glory. My captor must not have understood. He tore off a piece of his tunic and walked towards me. I regretted my decision to engage with him.
“No, no!” I said. “I’ll stop talking. I won’t say anything.”
I shut my mouth and pursed my lips, trying to communicate my message. My captor paused in his approach and nodded tersely.
If Findlaich lost, my best chance would be to make a break for it, running deeper into the forest, and wait until I had an opportunity to run to Elgin and warn them.
I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again, trying not to be overwhelmed by the impossibility of my position.
They had been fighting for what felt like ages when a cry of anguish rang out, bouncing across the foothills. A man fell to his knees but I could not make out which one. My captor looked up from his horse and the two of us craned forward, desperate to see who it was. My heart hammered in my ears and I couldn’t distinguish one voice from another.
“The victor,” someone shouted.
“Who?” I yelled.
My captor didn’t bother to silence me. I expected it to be over then, for one side to rush against the other, but the fallen man was being helped to his feet and led towards us. Mael Colum had fallen but was not dead. Findlaich was mounting his horse and his men were turning back towards the fortress. Panic burned in my throat like bile. I turned to my captor.
“Let me go,” I said, trying to steady my voice, hating how squeaky it sounded compared to that of Findlaich or my father.
My captor seemed torn. Mael Colum’s men were walking slowly toward us; someone was supporting the older brother, who could barely walk.
“Let me go,” I said, louder this time.
My captor came closer and lifted me up, placing a dagger to my throat. I tried to slow my breathing and stared at him, holding his gaze. I began muttering the words to Grandmother’s lullaby as I had done to Crinan all those years ago. He cocked an eyebrow in amusement. Then, with one swift blow, he struck me senseless.
* * *
As I came to, I could feel the warmth of a fire on my face. My jaw ached, and I tried to lift my hands to ease it, only to find they were still bound behind my back. I was tied bodily to a small tree and had been gagged. We had moved deeper into the forest. I could see the torchlight of Burghead, now a tiny orange beacon in the dark. I was relieved that we had not gone far, but my head ached and there was a slight ringing in my ears.
Mael Colum’s men had set up a makeshift camp. Some were sleeping, others tending to their horses. The smell of meat filled my nostrils, but I couldn’t see an animal roasting over the fire. Mael Colum sat opposite the flames as one of the mercenaries tended his wounds. I stifled a gasp.
Findlaich had cut off Mael Colum’s hand at the wrist. His arm had been cauterized—that accounted for the smell of burning meat—but bloodied bandages littered the ground. Mael Colum was cursing and drinking in equal measure as his arm was bound.
To be maimed was the greatest dishonor—an immutable mark of a warrior’s failure to protect himself. Such a man could never hold a position of authority in our society, or lead an army, or own land. Even kings were not immune from that age-old law.
The man I thought might be Gillecomghain stood behind him.
“If we had ambushed them as I commanded, we would now be sitting on the throne of Moray,” Mael Colum snarled.
“They would have slaughtered us,” Gillecomghain insisted. “Why else did you resort to hiring mercenaries? Your men knew that any strike against them would be lost, which was why they would not come.”
“They are weak,” Mael Colum spat. “More ale,” he demanded of no one in particular.
My head was clearing and I could better make out the two brothers. They were young, much younger than I had expected. Mael Colum could not have been more than twenty years old, and Gillecomghain looked to be only a year or two older than MacBethad. Gillecomghain’s long, thick hair shone in the firelight like spun gold. He was tall and angular, but not frail. He looked like a young hero from a tragic druidic tale.
