An Ordinary Life

Our chapter this month comes from my first novel, Trinity of Souls. It is set in one of my favourite places, the Scottish Highlands, during King Edward Longshank's occupation, between Wallace's defeat at Falkirk and Robert the Bruce's victory at Bannockburn.

Trinity of Souls ebook edition is currently available for just 79p in my summer spectacular price crash: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Trinity-Souls-Carl-Bayley-ebook/dp/B0CQ8XRDZ2/

Paperback available at: https://troubador.co.uk/bookshop/fantasy-and-horror/trinity-of-souls

(Dialogue translation for An Ordinary Life available on request!)

Bryce had fought with Wallace from the beginning, back when they were just a band of outlaws. He fought with him all through the war and stood beside him when he was defeated at Falkirk. He went into hiding with him and privately wept when he was captured and executed. He escaped from the English and fled far into the north, where they couldn’t follow. Or, at least, they wouldn’t. They knew they weren’t safe.

He tried to settle down to an ordinary life, eking out a meagre existence on a croft by the sea. But his days with Wallace filled his dreams every night. He heard stories of the Bruce’s rebellion in the south and considered joining him. But he wasn’t sure if he trusted the new king. Bruce had sided with the English before. The whole thing seemed to have petered out now anyway.

At least there was Sionag to distract him in the daytime. She was his neighbour’s daughter and the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Her long, flowing hair was a vibrant red; her emerald-green eyes seemed to see into his soul. Whenever she was near, he would find an excuse to talk to her. He had charged the English cavalry armed only with a dagger; he had climbed cliffs a thousand feet high; he had faced the most extreme dangers imaginable; but he couldn’t find the courage to ask her to step out with him. Her smile reduced him to a blushing boy; her very glance thrilled him to the core. He was hopelessly in love. But he was thirty-four years old and she was what, perhaps twenty at most? Why would she have any interest in him?

He sighed. It was hopeless. Any day now, she would find a boy her own age and that would be that. He should find himself an aging spinster or widow. He needed to be more realistic about his prospects.

On a sunny morning in the autumn of 1306, he was digging in the field by the beach when he saw her coming by with a basket of mussels. “Mistress Sionag, I trust yae are well this fine morning?”

“Why, aye, I am most hearty thank yae, Master Bryce. And how dae I find yae?”

“Oh, er... very well, thank yae.”

She started to move on, but he was desperate not to let her go, “Will yae be at kirk on Sunday, Mistress Sionag?”

“Waell, of course, Master Bryce, where else would I be on the Sabbath?”

“Aye, of course... er, aye, so will I.”

She smiled at him, “And will yae be at the ceilidh on Saturday, Master Bryce?”

“Oh, er, waell, I dunnae ken, I dunnae always feel like that sort of er... waell yae ken, A’m nae very guid at dancin’ and er...”

“Waell it wud be a great shame if yae didnae come. A’m sure I cud help yae wi’ the dancin’ if yae wanted,” she smiled again, so warmly he thought he might melt, then she turned away and continued up the beach, skipping along beside the waves.

On Saturday afternoon he washed his clothes in the sea and went for a swim. Dried off and dressed in his freshly cleaned garments, he set off for the village just before sunset. He arrived as it was going dark and entered the village hall as the ceilidh band began to play.

The dancing was subdued for the first hour until Tam, widely regarded as the neighbourhood rogue, produced a meat stew and a barrel of whisky. The stew was the best thing Bryce had ever tasted. Washed down with copious amounts of whisky, it was like nectar from the Gods.

As soon as everyone had eaten their fill, the dancing resumed, now far more energetic than before. Bryce was content to sit and watch the rest of the village enjoying themselves, until Sionag came over to him. “Are yae ready fae me tae help yae wi’ the dancin’ now, Master Bryce?” she smiled down at him as she stood with her hands clasped before her, swaying gently from side to side in time with the music.

“Er, I... I...” he stammered, but she reached down, grasped his hand, and pulled him to his feet. As his ear reached her lips, she whispered, “Come wi’ me, ma brave sir, I will show yae how tae dance.”

They danced for hours. He staggered as best he could, clumsily at first, but grew better by the minute with her tuition. She adeptly avoided his wayward feet and gradually coached him to step more gracefully. By the time the band was playing the last reel, they were moving in unison.

The ceilidh came to an end and the revellers began to drift away. “Wud yae like me tae help yae tak yaer faether hame?” he asked, looking across at the old man, who had drifted into a drunken stupor.

“Och, dunnae warry aboot him, he’ll find his way; yae can walk me hame tha,” she stuck out her arm for Bryce to take and they strolled out of the hall together. They walked in comfortable silence, their path lit by starlight and the luminescence of the sea. Finally, they reached the little house where she lived with her father.

“Waell, I bid yae guid night, Mistress Sionag.”

“Are yae nae gonnae kiss me then?”

“Waell, I, er... I, er... I wud like tae, aye, er... but am I nae a bit auld fae...”

His modest demurral was silenced as she reached up, grasped his face in her hands, and pulled his lips down to hers. She kissed him long and passionately. When she finally released him, she said, “Yae silly mon, A’m yaers if yae wan’. Here fae the askin’ if yae wan’ me,” she turned her face slightly downwards and looked up at him with her sparkling emerald eyes; “I will see yae at kirk tomorrow.” She held his gaze for a moment then skipped away into the darkness and disappeared inside her tiny house.

Bryce walked slowly back to his neighbouring croft, thinking long and hard about what she’d said, and what it meant for them both. In the morning he set off early, ready for Sunday worship. He knew people in the village whispered behind his back, saying things like, ‘He’s dangerous, he was in the war.’ He knew there would be a lot of opposition; her father would probably be against him most of all. But he’d made a decision and he was determined to see it through, no matter how much it would hurt if it went wrong.

Throughout the service, Bryce and Sionag exchanged furtive glances across the crowded pews. Whenever he caught her eye, she smiled broadly back at him, her eyes twinkling in the light streaming through the stained glass windows, her hair glowing like fire.

Finally, the service was over and the congregation filed out into the bright autumn sunshine. Bryce was a minute behind Sionag but, as soon as he got outside, he made his way to where she was standing next to her father. He glanced nervously at the old man then took her hand in both of his and got down on one knee, “Mistress Sionag, will yae...”

He stopped as he heard the familiar but unexpected sound of armed cavalry approaching. He stood up and turned to see Lord MacFinnan and six of his castle guard riding towards the kirk. Had the laird recognised him as a rebel? Had someone informed on him? If he was arrested for treason, anyone with him would be in danger. Quietly, he moved away from Sionag and her father, to the edge of the crowd.

MacFinnan and his men rode into the kirkyard, trampling the flowers lying on some of the recent graves. The laird held up a hand and the column came to a halt facing the anxious villagers.

“Three calves are missing from my prize herd. Does anyone know their whereabouts?” MacFinnan demanded.

A few people murmured and glanced around at each other. No-one dared look at Tam. Now they knew where the meat in the stew had come from... but they were too loyal to point the finger. Tam turned his face to the ground.

“Very well, you have taken three of mine; I will take three of yours,” MacFinnan turned to the captain of his guard; “put three of them in irons and take them to the castle.”

The captain and his men dismounted, then moved forward and seized three people from the crowd.

“No, you fools, not decrepit old men and ugly crones,” MacFinnan snapped, “take what matters to them most, take three maidens.”

The guards released their captives and seized new ones: Imogen, the baker’s daughter; little Ailsa, just sixteen, and recently engaged to Red Willie ... and Sionag.

The crowd pressed in around the unfortunate girls. The guards pushed them back hard, hitting out at anyone who tried to interfere. There was much snarling and muttering but everyone fell back. Each guard carried a lethal claymore battle sword, a weapon so mighty it had to be wielded two-handed to be effective. Few men could hold it in a single hand for long. By contrast, the villagers had been forbidden to carry weapons since King Edward had taken control of Scotland and, although Bryce knew Tam, Red Willie, and a few others had daggers hidden in their socks, their tiny blades were no match for the claymores.

He tried to reach Sionag, but he couldn’t get through the throng that separated them. He cursed himself for leaving her side; he thought he’d been doing the right thing, but instead he’d abandoned her when she needed him most. Finally breaking free from the crowd, he came face to face with one of the guards, a big, ugly man with a dark beard. Evidently sensing trouble the guard drew his sword and levelled it at Bryce’s chest. Bryce stepped back and held his arms out by his sides in a gesture of surrender. There was nothing he could do... for now.

As the armed men put the girls in iron manacles, MacFinnan declared, “I take these maidens as compensation for my stolen cattle. For each calf returned to me, I will release one of the maidens. You have until sunset tomorrow. Then the maidens hang.”

The guards tied ropes to the girls’ manacles and attached them to the saddle on one of the horses. MacFinnan took his place at the head of the column then led it away, with the captive girls pulled along at the rear. Imogen and Ailsa were crying, while Sionag stared at Bryce, her eyes filled with a sadness that struck deep into his heart.

As soon as MacFinnan and his men were out of sight, the crowd rounded on Tam. “Yae took them bloody calves, didnae yae?” demanded Imogen’s father.

“A’ll kill yae,” Red Willie lunged at Tam, ready to punch him in the face.

Bryce pulled the boy back, “There’s no use us fightin’ among oorsells, we hae tae save our womenfolk.” He stared down the angry mob, waiting for the fire in their hearts to subside enough for them to see reason. Then he turned to the thief, “Now, Tam, jus’ tell us wha’ yae did wi’ the laird’s cattle. Did they aw gae in the stew?”

“Aye,” confirmed Tam, staring at the ground, “we ate ‘aem aw last night, aw trae of ‘aem. A’m sarry, I didnae think anythin’ like this wud happen.”

“Nae, yae didnae bloody think at aw, did yae? Now ma sweet lassie is gonnae hang ‘cause o’ yae, yae bloody thievin’ fool,” the baker’s anger had turned his face a bright crimson.

“Look, A’m sarry. I said A’m sarry, didnae I? Wha’ dae yae wan’ me tae dae?”

“A’ll tell yae wha’ yae can dae; wha’ we are aw gonnae dae. We are gonnae git the lassies back,” said Bryce.

“How we gonnae dae that?” asked Red Willie.

“Yae aw gather as many weapons as yae can. Knives, clubs, rakes, wha’ever yae can git... swords if yae hae ‘aem. Meet me at the castle at low tide tonight. We are gonnae break in and free the lassies,” Bryce faced the gathered crowd, scanning the faces of the men, trying to look each in the eye in turn. Some met his gaze with chins raised, ready to fight alongside him; others avoided his stare and looked at the ground. In a corner of the kirkyard, an old man sat with his head in his hands, his scrawny back heaving as he sobbed. Bryce went over and put a hand on his shoulder, “We will bring her back, Alistair, I promise yae.” Sionag’s father stared up at him, his red-rimmed eyes streaming with tears. There was blood running from a gash on his forehead, where a guard had hit him as he tried to pull the man away from his daughter. The old man gulped and nodded but couldn’t find the strength to speak.

Bryce began to stride away. “And where are yae garn?” Red Willie called after him.

“Tae git ma sword, then tae the castle; A’ll meet yae there later.”

*

Bryce headed for nearby Beinn Dearg. He climbed the hill for over an hour, coming eventually to a secluded spot hidden among the crags. Kneeling on the ground, he dug into the peaty soil with his bare hands until his fingers touched cold steel. As he pulled his mighty claymore from the earth, he felt the strange mixture of fear and excitement that always came before battle. He’d missed that feeling, even though it was the prelude to pain and death. He’d never enjoyed killing for its own sake, but fighting in a good cause sent a thrill through his veins. Wallace had been a good cause. This was an even better one. He would fight to the death to free Sionag, hopefully with the help of the village, alone if he had to.

Shortly after sunset, he waded across the loch to the island where MacFinnan’s castle stood. At high tide, this crossing was impossible; at low tide it was an easy paddle. Just now, the water came up to his chin, and he had to be careful not to lose his footing in the strong current, nor to make any splashes that might alert the castle guards.

Reaching the island, he could see the castle was heavily guarded, but he knew from experience there was always a way in. He circled the tiny island and found it: a small, unguarded, gate on the far side, hidden from view on the loch shore.

Entering the castle, he made his way stealthily through the interior, occasionally hiding in the shadows as a sentry passed by. Eventually, he found the dungeons. He ached to go to Sionag, but he could make out the profiles of several guards in the dim light. He hid behind a corner and, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, took stock of the situation.

The girls were chained to the wall, hanging by their arms. Imogen and Ailsa were slumped forward, their heads bowed, chests heaving as they wept. Sionag held her head up, watching her captors.

Thick iron bars separated the girls from three guards sitting around a table. A further two stood either side of the door to the girls’ cell. All five wore battle armour. The two at the door had a claymore at their side; the three at the table each had one within easy reach.

Counting the sentries he’d passed made a total of at least eight armed guards defending the dungeon. Combining this with the narrow passageways and tiny entrance gate meant a direct assault would be suicide for the men from the village.

He considered his chances of freeing the girls on his own. He could probably dispose of the guards by the door before the others had time to react, and then maybe take out two more, but five? And that was assuming the guards were of average ability. It only took one to be more skilled and he would almost certainly be defeated. Even if he succeeded down here, he would still have to fight his way past at least three sentries on the way out. No, it was too risky. He was willing to die for Sionag, but not before she was safe.

Reluctantly, he decided to find another way to save the lassies. He looked at Sionag. The simple green dress she’d worn to kirk was torn. He could make out a bruise on her shoulder and a large, red mark on her face, beneath her eye. It looked like she had put up some resistance before they chained her to the wall. Glancing at the largest of the guards at the table, Bryce recognised him as the ugly brute he’d encountered earlier. His looks had not improved; there were three parallel scratches across his cheek, undoubtedly Sionag’s work. Good for her. Looking at her again, he felt sure she was staring back at him, but she couldn’t possibly see him in the dark passageway, could she?

He began to turn, ready to leave. The tip of his sword scraped the wall. The big guard squinted into the darkness in Bryce’s direction and started to rise to his feet. At that moment, Sionag began to scream at her captors and all eyes turned to her. Bryce could scarcely believe the savagery of the abuse pouring out of her sweet mouth. She had seen him, and she was giving him the diversion he needed to creep away unnoticed. He nodded in acknowledgement, then turned and made his way out of the castle.

At low tide, Bryce watched from his hiding place in the bushes near the base of the castle as a group of villagers silently crossed the shallows. He was disappointed to see only eight in the party. Red Willie led, followed by Tam, and Imogen’s father. Limping along at the back, on unsteady old legs, was Alistair. Five of the group had knives, two had clubs, none had a sword, and Alistair had nothing at all.

“Where are the rest?” Bryce demanded in a whisper.

“They wudnae come, the cowards,” hissed Red Willie.

“Wha’ are yae daen here?” Bryce asked Alistair, who could barely walk, never mind fight.

“A’m here fae Sionag. Dunnae try tae stop mae.”

“Waell, aw right then, I understand, but stay at the back when the fightin’ starts.”

 “Yae’ll nae put me at the back, laddie; tha’s ma wee lassie in there,” the old man fixed Bryce with a stubborn stare and he knew any further discussion would be pointless.

“Aw right, listen everywan,” Bryce began; “the lassies are in the dungeon. They are tae heavily guarded fae us tae git tae ‘aem. We’ve gae wan chance an’ tha’s when they bring ‘aem oot tae the scaffold in the courtyard. We will hae tae hide ‘til then, an’ then storm oor way in, straight up the main steps. Tha’ will nae be easy, but A’ll lead the way. Now aw git some sleep if yae can, an’ make sure yae are waell hidden, it will be dawn soon.”

The villagers took cover in the bushes. Bryce inspected everyone’s position to make sure they wouldn’t be seen when the sun came up, then found a place of his own and settled down to wait.

The day passed agonisingly slowly. His back began to ache from lying on the rough ground so long. He must be getting old; he never had this problem when he was with Wallace. He daydreamed about past glories: the raid on Scone, the victory at Stirling Bridge, storming the castle at Duncrennan... and many others. As the long afternoon finally drew to a close, he watched land, sea, and sky changing colour while the setting sun slowly dropped towards the horizon, bestowing its warm glow on everything. Just as the fiery orb touched the ocean at the entrance to the loch, he heard the sound of chains. The lassies were being brought up from the dungeon.

“This is it lads, git ready,” he whispered; “but keep quiet ‘til I gae the word.”

The villagers moved into a crouch, ready for the attack. They heard a loud voice coming from inside the castle.

“His mighty grace, Lord Duncan James Edgar MacFinnan, appointed by divine right of His Royal Highness, King Edward, governor of these lands, hereby decrees, inasmuch that he has rightly and justly taken these three maidens of the parish of Lochpool in place of his rightful property unlawfully taken from him by persons unknown, and inasmuch as said property has not been returned to his lordship by this, the appointed hour, that said maidens’ lives and liberties are now forfeit, and proper and just punishment for the crime shall be carried out on their persons. Maidens of Lochpool, you are hereby condemned to death by hanging, sentence to be carried out forthwith.”

“Wha’ the hell did aw tha’ mean?” whispered Red Willie. 

“It means the lassies are in place an’ we dunnae hae lang,” Bryce replied; “aw right lads, this is it, on the count of trae; wan... tae... trae... CHARGE!”

The villagers burst out of the bushes and ran for the castle steps. Bryce was in the lead, his claymore held high. Red Willie followed close behind, dagger in hand, then Tam, also carrying a dagger, Imogen’s father, wielding a club, the other villagers, and lastly old Alistair, limping along at the rear.

The men guarding the entrance were taken by surprise and slow to react. They turned to face the oncoming assault and began to descend the steps towards them, but they were unprepared and out of formation. Bryce thrust his claymore into the first man’s throat before he had chance to raise his sword. As the man fell to the ground, Bryce pulled his sword free and swung it at the next one in his path. The second guard had his sword raised high, ready to bring it down on the assailants. Bryce plunged his claymore into a gap in his armour and he too fell to the ground. Two more now stood ahead of Bryce, blocking his ascent. He ran towards them and continued fighting his way upwards, but the speed of the attack began to slow.

As Bryce engaged the guards, the other villagers rushed to join the battle. Red Willie moved fastest. He put his dagger into a guard’s eye before the man could turn towards him in his heavy armour. Willie’s victim fell over the side of the steps and lay dead on the ground below. Another heavily armoured guard lumbered towards Willie, but the boy quickly sidestepped him and ran through the main gate.

The guard Willie had evaded continued down the steps towards the other villagers. He swung his sword at Tam but the thief dodged beneath it and followed Willie. Next came Imogen’s father, swinging his club at the guard’s head. This time, the guard was swiftest and put his sword through the baker’s chest. The baker collapsed in a heap, clutching his wound, gasping for breath. The mortally injured man blocked the other villagers’ path and the guard turned his attention to Bryce.

Still fighting the others in front of him, Bryce was unable to bring his sword to bear in time as the man who’d struck down the baker aimed his weapon and pulled back, ready to drive it into his side. The man lunged forward, his blade heading straight for Bryce.

From out of nowhere, Alistair jumped into the path of the sword, taking it in his shoulder. The startled guard stepped back in surprise, pulling his sword free. He teetered on the edge of the steps. Alistair leaped at him and they both fell to the ground.

The other villagers were now able to move forward. Two of them attacked the guard on Bryce’s left, allowing him to focus on the one to his right, pushing him up the steps with the ferocity of his offensive.

But the villagers were poorly armed and inexperienced in combat. One of them soon took a fatal blow to the chest. The guard was getting the better of the other man too, sending his dagger flying into the bushes below, and forcing him to his knees. The guard raised his sword above the kneeling man, ready to strike him down.

Bryce saw his comrade’s predicament. Facing the man to his right, he took a pace back, dropping onto a lower step, then thrust his sword upwards, deep into the man’s groin. Swiftly pulling the claymore free, he swung it at the guard to his left, hitting his neck with such force he was decapitated.

Stepping over the headless body, Bryce picked up the dead man’s sword and handed it to the kneeling villager. “Here, use this, Fearghas,” he smiled.

“Thank yae… er, aye… I will.”

With the guards outside the castle now dealt with, the raiders broke through into the courtyard. They were greeted by a harrowing scene. In the centre stood two wooden posts, eight feet high, a crossbeam spanning the gap between them. Sionag, Imogen, and Ailsa were standing on a narrow bench beneath the crossbeam. Each had her hands bound behind her back, and a noose around her neck, tied to the beam above.

A cleric stood to the right of the scaffold, a scroll in his hands, obviously the man whose voice the villagers had heard. MacFinnan stood on the other side, behind six armoured guards with their swords drawn, facing the villagers. A seventh guard was wiping his bloody sword on the back of a prostrate figure in front of him. Tam was dead.

Far to the right, Red Willie was facing the captain of the guard. Willie had his dagger drawn; the captain had his claymore raised towards him. The body of another guard lay behind Willie.

Bryce assessed the situation. The cleric was no threat. Willie could take care of himself. That left him and three inexperienced villagers against seven armoured guards and MacFinnan. “My kind of odds,” he said under his breath, then shouted, “Come on lads, charge!”

Dodging to the right of the foremost guard, Bryce thrust his claymore at the man who’d killed Tam, finding a gap in his armour and pushing the sword deep into his chest. As he twisted the blade, he noticed with satisfaction it was the big thug with the scratches on his face. The man collapsed to the ground. He wouldn’t be beating any more maidens.

Advancing towards the scaffold, Bryce raised his sword high and, with one swing of the mighty weapon, he split the next man’s head in two. Then, sensing someone behind him, he whirled around, hacking into the neck of another man, killing him instantly.

Looking back, he saw one of the villagers was down, but Fearghas and the other survivor, Hamish, were still in the fight, each now armed with a claymore. Hamish was fighting ferociously, pushing back two of the guards. Fearghas was desperately fending off one man and another, the one who’d just taken down a villager, was about to join the fray. Bryce paused a moment, uncertain whether to go to Fearghas’s aid, or circle behind the scaffold to get to MacFinnan. The matter was soon decided as Red Willie came flying out of nowhere, leaped onto the back of Fearghas’s would-be assailant, and slit his throat.

‘My God, if we’d had Willie at Falkirk, Wallace would be ruling Scotland,’ Bryce thought. He turned and made his way towards the scaffold. The cleric had fled, leaving no-one between him and MacFinnan. The laird was not wearing armour, but he had a mighty claymore to match Bryce’s own and held it ready before him, prepared for battle.

“Let the lassies gae an’ yae live,” Bryce shouted as he reached the side of the scaffold, opposite MacFinnan.

“Never! They are my property now. Their lives are forfeit,” MacFinnan placed his foot on the rickety wooden bench and gave it a push. The girls cried out in alarm as the bench rocked, threatening to topple. They had to fight hard to keep their balance, save themselves from falling. The laird laughed at their distress; he stared at Bryce, “I knew you were here, I thought this might flush you out. Now let us see which one you care about most.”

Bryce started to run, heading straight for Sionag, furthest from him. He felt like he was wading through a bog; everything seemed to slow down. He watched helplessly as MacFinnan raised his leg, aimed his boot at the unstable bench, and kicked it over.

The girls screamed as they dropped, but their cries were cut short as the nooses tightened around their throats. They swung on the ropes, legs kicking, gasping for breath. Bryce leaped towards Sionag. He passed his sword into a single hand and grabbed her around the waist with his other arm, hoisting her up. He turned just in time to parry a thrust from MacFinnan. “So, she is the one,” snarled the laird.

As Bryce fought back, he saw Red Willie move like lightning. The boy jumped at the last guard standing between him and Ailsa, took him down with a quick slice of his dagger, then used the man’s falling body as a platform to leap high into the air. He cut through the rope above Ailsa’s head and held on to her as the two of them fell to the ground together.

Fearghas and Hamish were trying to fight their way through to Imogen. The two remaining guards stood in their way. Fearghas fell with a wound to his arm, leaving Hamish alone.

Bryce had to work hard to keep MacFinnan at bay. Although he was the superior swordsman, he was hampered by the need to hold Sionag up. The laird was furiously hacking and lunging at him. He could feel himself tiring. The claymore was meant for two hands, he wouldn’t be able to keep this up much longer. He made a sharp thrust at MacFinnan’s stomach and the laird fell back a few steps. It gave him a brief respite. He twisted around and swung his sword at the rope above Sionag’s head, cutting her free. Letting her fall to the ground, he quickly turned back to face his opponent.

MacFinnan’s sword, meant for his back, plunged into Bryce’s chest. He knew immediately he was a dead man walking. The sword had ruptured his lung; he would drown in his own blood within the hour. MacFinnan smiled, gloating in triumph, “Thank you for pointing Shebana out to me, I shall enjoy her company before she hangs.”

Bryce stared back at him. He didn’t understand everything MacFinnan was saying, but he knew well enough he was threatening Sionag. He’d be damned if he’d let the monster win. He wasn’t finished yet. His eyes reduced to slits as he firmed his resolve. Clenching his teeth, he grasped the blade of MacFinnan’s sword in one hand, pushed down hard with his feet, and propelled himself forward.

MacFinnan’s smile faded. He tried to pull his sword free but Bryce held it firm as he advanced towards him along the blade. “Guards, take this man down,” the laird shouted, but the last of his men were busy with Hamish and Willie.

Bryce pushed forward again, feeling the sword emerging from his back, protruding almost a foot. He let go of the blade and grabbed MacFinnan’s wrist, holding him fast, “I hae yae now, yae bastard.”

With a final push, he brought his own weapon to bear. “A’ll see yae in Hell,” spitting blood into MacFinnan’s face, Bryce thrust his mighty claymore through the laird’s dark heart.

MacFinnan fell, already dead. Bryce collapsed beside him, the laird’s sword impaling him through the chest. He lay in the dirt gasping for breath as blood began to flood his lungs. Sionag crawled to him, her hands still tied behind her back, “No, no, no-o-o-o-o! Ma love, Bryce, ma love, dunnae leave me, I love yae.”

He let go of his sword and reached up to touch her cheek, “A’m sarry ma love, I dunnae wan’ tae leave yae either, I love yae tae. But yae will hae tae be strang. Be strang fae me, ma love. Live a guid, lang, happy life. Fae me”

She leaned down and kissed him on the lips, tasting his blood, then lay next to him, their faces an inch apart.

A few feet away, Hamish and Willie finished off the last of the guards. Willie climbed up to the crossbeam and cut Imogen down. It was too late; her lifeless body fell to the ground. Ailsa was sobbing with a combination of horror and relief. The injured Fearghas found a knife and cut the rope binding her hands then knelt behind Sionag and cut her free too.

Sionag got to her knees, wrapped her arms around Bryce, and cradled him to her. She started weeping, and her tears mingled with the blood spilling from his mouth and chest. The mixture of blood and tears flowed onto the ground, forming a crimson puddle that slowly expanded and reached the claymore lying at Bryce’s side.

Struggling for breath, he somehow found the strength to speak, “Tak ma sword, sweet Sionag, tak it and sell it. It is worth a few crowns, it will set yae up. Tak MacFinnan’s as waell. Och look, here’s ya…”

He started coughing, unable to finish. She looked around to see her father staggering across the courtyard. The old man was bleeding from a wound in his shoulder but otherwise seemed unharmed. He knelt beside her, “Och lassie, it is wonderful tae see yae.” He reached over to Bryce and took his hand, “Bless yae, laddie; bless yae. Yae hae saved ma precious lassie. May aw the saints sing yae tae yaer seat in Heaven.”

Bryce tried to reply but only managed a few coughs and splutters.

“Save yaer strength ma love, dunnae speak nae mare,” Sionag gently lifted his head and kissed him again. She smiled down at him through her tears, “A’ll see yae again wan day, dunnae warry.”

“Aye,” he whispered.

She sat with him in the courtyard as he slowly ebbed away. The sun went down, the air grew cold, and so did he.

*

At low tide, the small group of survivors filed out of the castle. Fearghas and Alistair, both injured, led the way; Sionag and Ailsa followed, carrying Imogen between them; Hamish and Willie carried Bryce at the rear, his claymore and MacFinnan’s wrapped in a blanket and balanced on his chest. They crossed to the shore and made their way home to the village.

Sionag couldn’t bear to sell Bryce’s claymore, but she knew she couldn’t keep it either. They buried it with him, still bearing the stain of his blood and her tears, far up on the slopes of Beinn Dearg.

She did sell MacFinnan’s sword, and got enough to start a new life in Inverness. Before she left, she stayed to watch Willie and Ailsa marry in the kirk on Christmas Day. She smiled at the young couple’s joy, but cried to herself later.

In the New Year, Alistair’s health began to fade. She held her father on his death bed as he slipped away, just as she had held Bryce. She never forgot his final words, “Mak it worth it lassie. Hae a guid life fae Bryce, and fae aw the others tha’ died tae save yae. Bless ‘aem aw.”

After the funeral, she packed her belongings, ready to leave the village. She’d heard MacFinnan’s cousin was on his way to take over the castle. She wanted to be away long before the new laird arrived. The night before she was due to depart there was a knock at the door of her tiny cottage. She thought it might be Willie and Ailsa. She had decided to give the croft to them and they would be moving in next week. Perhaps they needed to check something before she left?

Opening the door, she was surprised to see Fearghas. It was pouring with rain and he was soaked to the skin, so she asked him in straight away.

“Wha’ brings yae oot on such a night, Master Fearghas? Yae’ll catch cold in this dreadful rain.”

He stood in front of her, looking down at the floor, his bonnet clasped in both hands before him. In the firelight she could see the anxiety in his face. She also saw how awkwardly he held his injured arm. It had healed since the battle at the castle, but it would never be quite the same, he would never regain his full strength.

“Mistress Sionag, I… er, I…”

“Wha’ is it Fearghas, wha’ dae yae wan’?”

“I… er… waell, yae see, er… Bryce, he saved ma life. I wud be dead if nae fae him. An’ I ken he loved yae an’ yae loved him. An’, waell, er, A’m nae Bryce, A’m nae e’en half the mon he wa’. But I dae think he wud hae liked it if yae had somewan tae look after yae. So I wa’ wonderin’ if yae wud like me tae come wi’ yae tae Inverness? Just tae look after yae, I wudnae expect anythin’ else o’ yae, if yae git ma meanin’, Mistress Sionag.”

She paused a moment then stepped towards him. She put her fingers under his chin and gently lifted his face so she could look him in the eyes. Then she kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Sweet Fearghas, I cannae think o’ anythin’ better, or anythin’ Bryce wud hae liked mare. If yae can accept tha’ a part o’ ma heart will always be his then I wud be glad tae hae yae look after me. In fact,” she softly touched his injured arm, “we can look after each other.”

Sionag and Fearghas left for Inverness the next day. They married two years later and raised a fine family. She learned to love him and he adored her, but they both understood part of her would always belong to Bryce. As Fearghas often said, “I think part o’ me belangs tae him tae, lass.”