Caelen's Wife: Book One - A Murmur of Providence (Clan McDunnah Series 1) (13 page)

From over the din, a loud whistle rang out from somewhere behind her. Fiona spun to find the source of the whistle. It had come from Caelen! They were retreating!

Fiona ran toward him and sent her dirk sailing through the air. Caelen had seen her, had seen the knife, and moved out of the way before it could hit its mark; his heart.

They left as quickly as they had arrived.

Fiona turned to assess what, if any, damage had been done.

William was on one knee tending to Richard, who was bleeding from his head. She continued to look around as she headed toward her horse, fully prepared to give chase.

That was when she found Andrew.

He was on his knees.

Bridgett’s head was resting on his lap.

Bridgett wasn’t moving.

The world stopped spinning for the second time that night.

A
n overwhelming sense
of anguish fell over Fiona as the world slowly began to spin again. Numbly, she walked toward Andrew and Bridgett. Tears streamed down the man’s face when he looked up at Fiona.

“She’s gone, Fi,” he said, his voice catching on tears of anger and grief.

Fiona fell to her knees beside her friend. Blood oozed from a deep gash across Bridgett’s throat. Cold, dead eyes stared up, seeing nothing.

She was gone.

There was no hope for her. Bridgett was dead.

They hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye, no last words, no nothing. One moment they were standing around a fire. The next? Bridgett’s throat had been sliced, nearly decapitating her in the process.

A cry bubbled up from deep within Fiona. Deeper than her stomach, this cry came from her very soul.

“Caelen McDunnah,” Fiona cried. “Caelen McDunnah will pay fer this with his own blood!”

Tonight had been her first taste of real battle.

It would not be her last.

“
W
hat
?” He couldn’t quite believe what John McRamey had just told him. ’Twas just before dawn when McRamey and his wounded men came racing through his gates. With his healer tending to the wounded, he took McRamey into his office. He was wholly unprepared for what the man had to tell him.

John McRamey’s jaw clenched with frustration. “Fiona McPherson be dead.”

“I told ye no’ to kill her
!
” he shouted angrily, slamming his fists down hard on top of his desk.

“’Twas kill or be killed, m’laird. Had we lost any of ours this night, ’twould no’ take long fer it to lead back to ye,” he said with an air of nonchalance that was maddening.

“Bloody hell!”
This changes everythin’.

He sat back down in his chair and tried to think of a way to fix the mess McRamey had made. He had hired McRamey weeks ago. He had one simple job; reive some sheep and make it look like the McDunnah was responsible.

How will I get onto those lands now?
Fiona is dead. Bloody hell!

Some time passed as his mind raced for a way out. Slowly, hope began to break through the sea of confusion and despair. If the McPhersons believed the McDunnahs were behind these attacks, then soon, they’d call for war. They wouldn’t be able to do it alone. There was no way the McPhersons could win against the McDunnahs.

What they needed were more allies. Allies with more skilled warriors. Allies ready to come to their aid now that their chief was dead. Allies prepared to finally put Caelen McDunnah in his place, or in his grave.

’Twas the only way out.

F
iona refused
to let go of her friend. She sat on the wet earth as a gentle rain fell, cradling Bridgett against her chest. She cared not of the rain, only holding on to her friend.

Back and forth she gently rocked. Occasionally, she would brush back loose strands of Bridgett’s beautiful black hair and place a tender kiss on her forehead.

“I be so sorry, Bridgett,” she told her more than once. An unbearable ache, anguished and raw, settled in over her heart.

William, Richard, and Andrew left Fiona alone whilst she sang an old lullaby to her friend. In a voice scratched from crying, she sang:

W
illiam was finally
able to convince Fiona that they needed to take Bridgett back to the keep. “Fi,” William whispered softly. “We need to take her home.”

Home? Home. Home to God mayhap, but never again would Bridgett’s sweet laughter fill the air of the keep. Never again would she bounce into Fiona’s chambers to share a bit of gossip or sweet cakes she had pilfered from the kitchens.

Fiona refused to allow Bridgett to be tossed across a saddle. Instead, William held the cold body against his chest as they slowly made their way back to the keep.

As soon as word spread that Bridgett was gone, and how she had fought so bravely, wails of grief broke out across the keep.

Fiona was in a daze, unable to think of anything but the gaping hole in her heart.

Revenge.

She needed to avenge her friend’s death. Bridgett had never hurt anyone. Always kind and generous, easy to laugh, sweet and beautiful. The young woman did not deserve to die in a pasture whilst defending sheep.

Sheep.

Bridgett was dead because of sheep.

Fiona did not bother to wash the blood from her hands or face. Quickly, she went to a small storage room next to her private study. Pushing old baskets and things aside, she made her way to an ancient chest.

Dust flittered in the air when she lifted the lid. Digging inside, she found what she was looking for, something that hadn’t been used by the McPhersons in over a hundred years.

A banner of war.

Fiona shook the dust from it and left the room, not bothering with shutting the lid to the chest. Quickly, the cloak of grief lifted as anger and fury gave her much needed energy. She made her way to the gathering room. William and Collin were surrounded by their wives and McPherson men. Richard was at one of the tables having his head wound cleaned and stitched.

“I want every able-bodied man armed and ready to leave in half an hour,” Fiona announced as she entered. She directed her next order to Isabelle. “I want every woman armed, I want more arrows made, whatever weapons we need, I want them made.”

Mairi stepped forward with Symon in her arms. “Fiona, what do ye plan to do?” she asked, looking quite worried.

“I plan to avenge the dea—” her voice caught on the word, raw and painful. Her friend was dead. “I plan to avenge the death of me friend. I’ll no’ sit by and wait for Caelen McDunnah to attack again.”

William came to stand before her. “War?” he asked. “Ye plan to start a war?”

Fiona was furious. “I did no’ start this war, but I bloody well plan to finish it!”

F
iona had trusted him
. She had allowed him to charm her into believing he was innocent, that he was not behind the raids. For days, she had believed he might very well be in love with her. She might very well have been in love with him.

Now, now she knew the truth.

Caelen McDunnah was a lying, manipulative bastard.

The hurt at realizing he had lied, had made a fool out of her was second only to Bridgett’s death. She had lost more than just her dearest friend. Fiona had lost faith in herself, in her ability to keep her people safe, in her ability to lead.

All because she believed a man with a handsome face and smile.

Never again. Never again would she allow any man to make a fool of her. By all that was holy, she would spend the rest of her days alone if she must, to ensure that would never happen again.

For the entire four-hour ride to the McDunnah keep, Fiona thought about all the pretty words he had said to her. The more she thought on it, the more furious and outraged she became.

Collin and William begged her to reconsider. She refused.

Finally, they were able to make her promise not
to kill the man within his own walls. If she did, none of them would make it out alive.

So she promised not to kill him within his own walls.

She would wait until they were on the field of battle. Aye, she’d had a taste of it hours before. It disgusted her, angered her, the way her entire soul now felt, consumed as it now was with undeniable hatred. ’Twas a new experience for Fiona, for she had never hated anyone. Not once in all her five and twenty years on God’s earth.

But now, now she knew what it meant to feel betrayed, to feel hatred toward another human being. That was if Caelen McDunnah could even be considered human. Nay, a human wouldn’t kill an innocent woman. A human wouldn’t lie and tear another being’s heart from her chest. Nay, Caelen was not human. He was a monster.

Bridgett wasn’t dead because of sheep.

Bridgett was dead because of Caelen McDunnah.

C
aelen had not been
asleep long when he was awakened with the news that Fiona McPherson and her men were below stairs, demanding to see him at once.

“Should I wake Kenneth and Brodie as well?” the young man asked from the doorway. Caelen paid no attention to the worried look on the lad’s face and assumed the lad was simply nervous for waking him.

“Nay,” Caelen said. “Let them sleep.”

It had been more than a week since last he’d seen her. Mayhap she was missing him as much as he had missed her. Throwing on a green tunic, dark trews and his boots, he hurried below stairs.

He found William, Collin, Fiona and several men standing in his gathering room. He felt the tension in the air the moment he entered.

“Fi,” Caelen said with a smile, trying to hide the tension that was beginning to build. Then he saw her blood covered face and knew something terrible had happened. “What is the blood on yer face, Fi?” he asked.

Fiona glared at him furiously. For the life of him, he could not imagine why.

She stepped forward until they were but inches apart. There was no mistaking her anger. “Ye lied to me.”

“Lied?” he asked, confused as to why she would accuse him.

“Ye lied to me. Ye lied when ye said ye were no’ the one who reived our sheep. Ye and yer charmin’ ways, yer kisses, yer pretty words. ’Twas all a lie.”

“I did no’ lie,” he told her in a firm, steady voice.

Her hand struck his face hard enough to sting. Surprise and confusion kept him from speaking. He stared down at her, unable to comprehend this turn of events.

“Ye raided us again last night, Caelen.” She spoke through gritted teeth, her hands balling into fists. “Ye stand before me denyin’ it, but I was there. I saw
ye with me own eyes, wearin’ that bloody wolf’s head!” She pointed to the wolf head covered helm that hung on the wall over the mantel.

“I do no’ even care anymore why ye started this war, McDunnah. But if it is the last thing I do on this earth, I will end it.”

Stunned, he did his best to keep his tone even. “War? Ye will go to war over sheep?”

Fiona stomped toward Andrew and took the bundle from his arms. She unfurled the McPherson war banner. Before they had left the keep, Fiona had wiped blood from Bridgett’s neck onto the banner. She then pulled from her belt, the McDunnah dagger they had found lying near Bridgett’s body. Furious, she went to the hearth where she pinned the banner to the mantel using the blood covered dagger.

“I do no’ start a war over sheep,” she said as she turned to face Caelen.

“We are at war to avenge Bridgett McPherson’s death.”

A
fter returning
from her declaration of war with the McDunnah, Fiona made plans for retaliation. Three men were sent to the five clan chiefs who had made offers of marriage asking them to meet with her in a week’s time. Three additional men were sent to find Brodie.

After dispatching those men, she sat in her private study with Collin and William. The hour was late and exhaustion began to settle into her bones. A fire had been lit, but it did little to ward off either the chill in the air, or the one in her heart.

Collin and William sat in chairs across from her in the small room. Neither man looked pleased.

“Fiona,” Collin said, breaking through the stillness. “I speak to ye now, as yer brother as well as yer second in command. I do no’ think goin’ to war with the McDunnah is the right course of action.”

“It might no’ be the right course of action, but ’tis the right and only thing to do,” Fiona told him firmly.

“I ken ye be hurtin’ over Bridgett’s death—” Collin began, but was cut off when Fiona shot to her feet.

“Aye, I be hurtin’, but no’ as much as Bridgett was when they slashed her throat!”

He tried to explain himself, but Fiona was beyond listening to anyone who would say a declaration of war was inappropriate.

“Fi, I only meant to say that mayhap yer no’ thinkin’ as a clan chief right now, but as Bridgett’s friend.”

Fiona placed her palms on the top of the desk and leaned over to look Collin directly in the eye. “I am thinkin’ as Bridgett’s friend and as chief of this clan. How many more lives must be lost before ye
think retaliation justified, Collin? Do we wait fer more raids? Do we wait until more ruthless bastards steal onto our lands and slice the throats of every man, woman, and child within?” She allowed some time to pass before continuing. “Collin, I do no’ like the idea of goin’ to war. It makes me ill to think of it. But we canna stand by and do nothin’ while Caelen McDunnah raids and murders.”

“Are ye certain ’twas Caelen?” William asked in a low, soft tone.

Fiona’s mouth fell open as she stared at him, aghast. “Of course I be certain!” she exclaimed. “I saw
him.”

William gave a slight shake of his head. “Ye saw a man wearin’ a wolf’s head helm, Fi.”

The end of her patience had just been met. “I be no fool, William! I ken what I saw!”

Collin and William cast wary glances at each other before standing. “Fi,” William said. “Ye need to get some rest. We all do.”

Not waiting for further responses from their sister, the two men quit the room, leaving Fiona alone.

’Twas far too late to ask for a bath to be taken to her room, so Fiona heated water in a kettle and washed as best she could in the kitchens. ’Twas well past the midnight hour before she made it to her room, stripped out of her filthy clothes and fell into bed.

Her dreams were nothing more than haunting images of Bridgett with her throat cut, lying on the ground. She was trying to tell Fiona something, but her words were indecipherable. Whilst Fiona begged Bridgett not to die, Caelen’s face appeared. He was standing in the mist, at the edge of a forest. He looked so utterly sad and sorrowful and he kept shaking his head. In her dream, Fiona could feel her heart disintegrate, splintering into tiny specks of dust. Confusion ran rampant as she looked from Bridgett to Caelen, knowing not which one to go to, which of them needed her the most. Caelen began calling to her, begging her to come to him. She kissed Bridgett’s forehead and stood, walking slowly toward the man she thought she had loved. Just as she was about to take his hand, she was hit from behind. When she turned around, she saw the wolf’s head helm. It hung in the air like an apparition, taunting her as it stabbed her with a McDunnah dirk.

Fiona woke, soaked in sweat, tears streaming down her cheeks, and panic-stricken. The dream had seemed far too real, too painful to bear.

Her room was dark and cold, the fire in the hearth having burned out some time ago. Wrapping a blanket around her shoulders, she padded barefoot to the window and pulled back the fur. ’Twas difficult to ascertain the time of day, for the sky was filled with dark, ominous clouds. Rain fell gently, pattering softly on the cobblestone below.

Bridgett. Bridgett always loved the rain, saying it calmed her soul, though Fiona couldn’t believe Bridgett’s soul needed to be calmed. She was a vibrant, sweet woman. She didn’t deserve to die in a soggy, rain-soaked field, in the middle of the night, whilst defending a herd of sheep.

Cool, misty air blew in through the window. Shivering, Fiona let go of the fur and went to get dressed. She had a funeral to prepare for.

T
he land
around the McPherson keep was far too rocky in most places and too soggy in others. ’Twas why they did not bury their dead.

Yesterday’s rain prohibited them from saying goodbye to Bridgett. By dawn, the rain had subsided and the McPhersons woke to a beautiful, warm, sunny day. Fiona dreaded what was to come.

She wore her finest gown, made of green silk, trimmed at the hem, sleeves and bodice in a brilliant purple thread. Her hair she left unbraided to tumble down her back, with a bit pulled back on each side. As was McPherson custom, she, along with all the other women, wore wreaths of dried lavender and heather.

With her McPherson plaid draped over her left shoulder and held in place with a beautiful silver broach, she strapped on her belt and sword, and led her clan out of the gates of the keep.

Behind her, ten men carried on their shoulders the raft that held Bridgett’s body. She’d been wrapped in linen strips, as was their tradition. Fiona had placed a bundle of fresh flowers onto Bridgett’s chest.

The rest of the clan — minus those left behind to guard the keep — followed behind the procession. Fergus played a melancholy tune on the lute as they walked the near mile-long trek to Loch Rannoch.

Fiona had to be strong, to lead by example, therefore she refused to shed tears. Stoically, calmly, she led the way with her head high, her shoulders back. Inside, her heart was breaking.

Once they reached the loch, Fiona said a few words about her friend.

“Bridgett McPherson,” she began as she looked out at the crowd of people, “was the most warm, givin’ and kind person I ever had the pleasure of knowin’. She was more than just my friend, she was my sister.”

Fiona looked out at her people. William and Isabelle stood holding hands. Quiet tears streamed down her face. Mairi looked no better as she stood beside Collin, holding Symon in her arms.

Bridgett had been an only child, born very late in life to her parents who were now gone. Fiona and her brothers treated Bridgett as if she were one of their own. It mattered not that she wasn’t related by blood. Bridgett was the sister of their hearts.

“Bridgett will be missed,” Fiona went on, her voice choking on tears she refused to shed in the presence of her people. “A hole in my heart, in the heart of our clan, that will never be filled.”

There was much more she wanted to say, but not to her people. Later, when she was alone, she would talk to Bridgett and beg for her forgiveness.

Fiona gave a nod to the men that it was time to put the raft in the loch. Carefully, and with great reverence, the men walked into the water until it was well above their waists. Gently, they lifted the raft and set it upon the water, keeping a tight hold on it until Fiona gave the word.

“
Ag le Dia mo charaid,”
Go with God, my friend.

Taking a deep breath, she nodded at the men, and slowly, one by one they let go and gave a gentle push. Fergus stepped forward and began to play another sad melody. The music floated through the air adding to the heartbreak. Fiona was tempted to ask him to stop, for it was too difficult to listen. Deciding against it, she allowed him to play Bridgett off to heaven.

Collin and William stepped forward and each placed an arm around Fiona’s waist. They watched as the raft floated quietly, easily toward the middle of the loch.

Deana, along with four other women, stepped to the edge of the loch, with bows in hand. Without uttering a word, they each withdrew an arrow from their quivers and nocked them into their bows.

Next, Seamus walked in front of each woman and lit the arrows afire. He whispered goodbye to Bridgett and stepped away.

Moments later, the arrows sailed through the air, one by one, and landed on the raft. Before long, large flames flickered and fluttered before engulfing the entire raft and Bridgett’s body.

The clan stayed until the raft finally succumbed to the heat and flames and collapsed before sinking below the water.