“What dreams?” Kaetha asked.
He shuddered. “It would come back. The fire and the blood.”
TWENTY ONE
Prisoners
Donnan sipped the herbal brew Kaetha had made whilst Mairi and Kaetha sat by the fire, waiting for him to talk.
“We were planning an uprising in Kaernock. My family had long sided with Clan Onuist. We joined with other families against the Macomrags. We were going to take Kaernock Hall and defend it, overthrowing the Macomrags and setting the Onuists in their place as High Clan. But we were betrayed. The Macomrags descended upon us before we could make our move. In my dreams I would hear them again, breaking down the door whilst I hid. I would hear my mother and sister pleading, begging. I could hear their screams. And I didn’t move. I would hear my father and brother cry out as they fought back. And I did nothing. Then there was silence. I came out and my family were dead and fire – fire was all around me.”
It had started raining and Kaetha wondered if tears dripped down his face along with the rain.
“Tears of battle took away those dreams, dulling the memory of what had happened. I’d get it whenever and from wherever I could. Aye, I even stole from Nannie. I hated myself for it. I hate who I’ve become. So, now you know.”
“I wish you’d told me sooner,” said Kaetha.
“And now you know that I’m a coward.”
“You’re not a coward.” She held his hand. “You went through something no one should have to face.”
“A person has no courage if they fear nothing,” said Mairi. “Only if they face their fears,” she caught Kaetha’s eye, “and that’s what you’re doing now. Telling us now when you’ve kept it all to yourself for so long, that takes courage.”
Kaetha wrapped a blanket around Donnan’s shoulders and she and Mairi set to work making a lean-to shelter. It wasn’t the best they’d made but it would help against the rain.
After seeing to Donnan’s injury, Mairi secured sticks to Kaetha’s broken fingers, wrapping them with a strip of cloth. Deep, steady breathing came from the shelter. The potion she’d made for Donnan might not give him a dreamless sleep but it would hopefully be a deep, calm one.
“Where is he?” asked Mairi, keeping her eyes on the cloth as she wrapped it around Kaetha’s fingers.
She knew she meant Tam. “He’ll be off scouting.”
They gathered what items of theirs they could find scattered around the clearing.
“Who do you think that ‘mistress’ was they spoke about?” asked Mairi.
“Perhaps she works for Murdo.” Kaetha shrugged and stowed Glenna’s hammer into one of their remaining two bags. “What’s missing?” she asked, indicating the bag in Mairi’s hands.
“Money. Food.”
Cold, hungry and in pain, Kaetha didn’t even try to think of a plan or words to give them hope. It would be nothing but a fool’s hope.
“There’s only a mile or so left of the forest,” said Tam. Mairi started. They hadn’t heard him approach. “And beyond it, a village,” he added. Mairi didn’t even look at him.
“What village?” asked Kaetha.
“How should I know? A village is a village. I just thought you’d like to know.”
“Thank you, Tam,” said Kaetha. “Maybe I should go there and see if I can beg for food, before it starts getting dark.”
Mairi put down her bowl and got to her feet.
“You should stay,” said Kaetha, “keep an eye on Donnan.”
Mairi was clearly still exhausted and looked half relieved at the permission to stay, but half worried too. “You won’t be gone long?”
She shook her head. “Watch over them,” she said in an undertone to Tam as she passed him.
The village was quiet. An old man pushing a wheelbarrow crossed her path.
“Excuse me, do you have any food?”
He scowled at her, continuing on his way.
Charming.
She heard a tapping and turned to see what looked like an old tool shed beside a barn. She went over to it and tried the door. It wouldn’t budge. She heard breathing, a stifled cry and a ‘shh’. In the door was a sliding shutter. She slid it open, revealing the wooden slats set into the window and the darkness within the shed. She smelt stale sweat and human filth.
“Who is it?” someone snapped. “Well? Come to throw more rotten food, have you, bastard?” A hand gripped one of the slats, covered in dirt, bloodied with scratches on the knuckles and bound at the wrist with rope. “What are you waiting for?” A face now appeared, just as grimy as the hand; glinting, ferocious eyes; matted hair streaked with grey; a scabbed cut sliced across her cheek. “Who are you?” she said, studying Kaetha’s face. The scruffy hair and wide eyes of a little boy appeared at the window, his temple marbled with bruising. Then he was gone. A third person wept quietly in the far corner.
“What happened to you? Why are you here?” Kaetha asked.
“You’re not from here.”
Kaetha shook her head.
“All the illness,” began the woman, “all the misfortune in the village – we are blamed. The failed wheat crop, the dead horse, even the bitch of a Lady’s unfaithfulness to her Laird, her belly swelling for all to see, that’s somehow our fault, our corruption, our witchcraft.” She laughed bitterly.
