Caelen's Wife - the Complete Collection (35 page)

F
iona sat
on a pallet in the war tent. She had divested herself of her helm, leather and mail, but she was still covered in blood. Blood from men she had killed.

After slicing the throat of the Farquar man, one of Caelen’s men raced toward her and pulled her out of the melee. Without saying a word, he brought her to the tent, sat her on the pallet and called for a healer.

She didn’t need a healer.

She needed a bath. A long, hot bath. And fresh air. Air that didn’t smell of blood and sweat and death.

’Twas not at all what she had expected. Growing up, she and her brothers had romanticized battle. Made it far more spectacular and exciting than it actually was. She didn’t feel victorious. Didn’t feel as though she’d saved the day or her clan or the world as she had fantasized as a child.

Instead, she felt sick. Sick that she had killed three men today. Men who were only doing what their chief had ordered.

In the more than two years she had spent as chief of Clan McPherson, she had never been forced to send men into battle. Aye, they had prepared for a day just like this one. Had trained until their bones ached, until they knew how to parry, defend and thrust. Trained until they were near sick of training.

But nothing had prepared her for this.

She sent the healer away to help those who truly needed it. She had no sense of time passing as she sat and replayed those terrifying moments over and over again in her mind.

How much time passed? She couldn’t hazard a guess. Had she fallen asleep sitting up? She didn’t know. All she knew was that someone was washing the blood from her face and hands.

When her eyes finally focused, she saw her husband kneeling before her. He had a basin of warm water on the ground next to him. Fiona glanced into the basin. The water ran red.

“I killed three men today,” she told him as he wiped a damp cloth across the backs of her hands.

“I did no’ count how many I killed,” he said. There was no humor in his voice.

She was numb, all over numb. ‘Twasn’t guilt she felt, for she knew it was kill or be killed. Nay, she couldn’t quite name what she was feeling. Shock? Horror? Disgust? All of the above?

“How do ye fare?” she asked him when she finally noticed he was covered in mud, grime, blood, and God only knew what else.

“I be fine,” he said as he continued to wash her hands. Did she detect anger in his voice?

“Yer angry,” she told him.

He finally looked into her eyes. “Aye, I am. Furious actually.”

“Why?”

He pinned her in place with a fierce glare. “Why? Why did ye no’ retreat when they attacked?” he asked.

She thought he’d lost his mind. “Ye told me to defend the rear!”

He let loose with a frustrated breath. “But ye were told to run!”

She could make no sense of their conversation. “Ye told me to defend the rear. So I defended the rear. Had I no’ done so, many more people would have died. I did what ye told me to do.”

He raked a hand through his hair. “When they told me what happened, I nearly passed out from worry.”

Fiona raised a brow. “Odd. I came close to peein’ me trews once or twice.”

He could not resist a chuckle. “Yer mad.”

“Aye, we’ve established that already,” she told him.

A long moment of silence passed between them. “How did yer battle go? Did we win? Did we sieze the keep?”

Caelen looked tired, even through his muddy face. “Nay, Fiona. We have called a cease to the fightin’ fer today and shall resume on the morrow.”

Fiona sensed there was more he was unwilling to share. “Caelen, how bad is it?”

He placed the cloth in the bowl, stood, and took it to the opening in the tent and tossed the contents out. He remained near the opening, the empty bowl dangling in one hand, his other resting on his hip. Something weighed heavily on his heart. The day had not gone as well as they had expected or hoped.

“How many did we lose?”

“Too many,” he told her.

She had no words of comfort for him. If she had, she would have used them on herself. Her heart filled with sorrow for those they had lost this day, for the wounded and for her husband.

“I be sorry, Caelen,” she told him. There was nothing else left to say.

T
he encampment had fallen eerily
quiet, save for the moaning of the wounded. The cease in battle was called so that they might clear the dead and wounded from the battlefield. Caelen had gone in search of Collin.

Fiona stepped outside her tent and watched as one litter after another was hauled up from the field. The odor of death permeated the air. Blood mingled with mud and sweat and death. ’Twas unlike anything she had ever witnessed before.

Her stomach roiled and she could no longer hold back. She stepped behind a tent and retched.

No one seemed to notice. There were too many men who lay dying who needed their attention far more than a woman who could no longer hold on to the contents of her stomach.

She went in search of water to rinse out her mouth. As she approached the base of the small hill, a call rang out. Men came running from all directions.

Good God, they’re attacking from behind!

F
iona raced back
into her tent, grabbed her broadsword, and raced toward the hill. She scanned the people for a glimpse of her husband and brothers. Her heart began to pound again, just as it had before. Though she had no desire to ever witness such carnage again, she was fully prepared to defend wherever she could.

As she reached the base of the hill, she glanced upward. ’Twas a most imposing sight. The hill was lined with countless men on horseback. It sent a chill up and down her spine.

She was ready to call out for arms, when her husband and brothers went racing toward the hill. None of them looked the slightest bit concerned or worried.

“Angus!” Caelen called out.

Fiona searched her mind for any memory of that name.
Angus. Angus.

Then it hit her.

’Twas the MacDougalls.

W
hilst her husband
and brothers greeted the MacDougalls, curiosity took hold of Fiona. Doing her best to stay out of their line of vision, she carefully made her way to the top of the hill.

The sight took her breath away.

Hundreds upon hundreds of mounted men, dozens and dozens of wagons spread out as far as her eye could see. How on earth had they known to come here? How had they known to bring so many men? ’Twas a puzzlement to be certain. The MacDougall keep was at least a three- or four-day ride from her own. While word often spread like wildfire, there was no possible way for them to have received the messages that were sent out only the day before.

In the end, it mattered not to her how they knew. They were here and hopefully they could help bring an end to the fighting.

F
iona made
her way back to the war tent and slipped inside. A moment later, her husband, brothers, and men she did not know entered the space. It suddenly felt quite small as she stood behind the table looking at the wall of men.

Caelen smiled as he held out a hand for her. “Fiona, I’d like ye to meet Angus McKenna, Duncan McEwan, and Nial McKee.”

Fiona swallowed hard, quite thankful these large men were on their side. She had met Angus once, many years ago. His hair was nearly white now, but that was all that had changed. He was still an impressively large man. She took Caelen’s offered hand and stepped forward.

Angus smiled at her, as did the other two men. “’Tis a pleasure to see ye again, lass.”

Fiona smiled, surprised that he remembered her. The last time they’d met she had been a girl of seven and ten.

“So this be the woman that stole yer heart, aye?” The shortest of the three men said. His blue-gray eyes twinkled mischievously.

Caelen chuckled and said, “Aye, this be me beautiful wife, Fiona.”

The shortest man stepped forward and bowed at the waist. “I be Nial McKee,” he said. “And probably the only man on God’s earth dumb enough to call
him
friend.”

Fiona knew the man’s name well for Caelen had often spoken of him. “I’ve heard much about ye, Nial. ’Tis a pleasure to finally meet ye.”

The tall, unbelievably handsome blonde man standing to his left nudged him out of the way with an elbow. “I be Duncan McEwan,” he said with a bow. “’Tis good to meet ye at last. Caelen spoke of nothin’ but ye when he was at our keep.”

Fiona felt her face grow warm as she glanced up at her husband. “What did ye tell them?” she asked him.

Until that moment, she didn’t think her husband capable of burning red with embarrassment. But he did. From his neck to the tip of his ears, he burned crimson.

Duncan and Nial laughed. “We shall save those stories fer another time,” Duncan said. “Fer now, we’ve battles to plan.”

Fiona made a mental note to find out exactly what Caelen had told these men.

T
hey had stayed
up late the night before, Caelen, Collin, Brodie and the men who had come to help them. Mercifully, someone had brought Fiona a small tub of hot sudsy water. She washed as thoroughly as she was able and donned fresh tunic and trews. After sharing a meal with their guests, she slid into her pallet and was asleep before she laid her head down.

At some point in the middle of the night, she felt Caelen crawl into the pallet beside her and pull her against his chest. He smelled fresh and clean. Were she not so exhausted, and the tent not filled with her brothers, she might have been tempted to show him how happy she was to be his wife.

Fiona woke the following morning to an empty pallet and tent. She pulled on her boots, tossed a plaid around her shoulders and left the tent in search of her husband. The search did not take long. He was standing near a fire not far from the war tent, surrounded by her brothers, Angus, Duncan and Nial.

Caelen looked up as she made her way through the mud. He looked far more relieved today than he had yesterday. Mayhap today would be the day they could finally free William and be gone from this Godforsaken place.

Though ’twas another gloomy day, the atmosphere in the encampment seemed more cheerful. She supposed it had to do with the fact that Angus and Nial had brought eight hundred men with them.

Caelen smiled as she neared. “Good morn, wife.”

“Husband,” she said returning his smile.

“What do ye have planned for this day?” she asked him as she took a piece of bread that Nial offered her.

A devious smile played out on her husband’s face. “I plan on killin’ Gelis Farquar.”

“Good,” she said as she popped a bit of bread into her mouth. “I only wish I could watch.”

T
he battle
this day commenced much the same way as it had yesterday. Flags dropped, roars and battle cries rent the air. This time, however, Fiona was more prepared and knew what to expect. Still, it sent chills up and down her spine as she watched another melee unfold before her eyes.

Today, she was surrounded by dozens of men, some her own, while others were MacDougalls and McKees. Though she felt safer surrounded by all these men, she still dressed for battle.

After some time, a sense of dread began to replace the hope she had felt. Men fought and fell and bled. Soon, she was unable to keep watching. It made her stomach churn, knowing that at any moment, her brothers or her husband could be the next to fall.

Speaking to no one in particular, she said, “I should like to return to my tent now.” Without waiting for a response, she returned her horse to the makeshift corral, unsaddled it, and went back to her tent.

Alone inside, she paced back and forth. Something kept niggling at the back of her mind. A forewarning of some sort draped itself over her heart, weighing her down. From inside the tent, she could still hear the clamor of battle coming from without. It began to drone on disturbingly.

She didn’t know what was worse. Being in the heat of battle or waiting for word. Each had its own unique and ugly qualities. She supposed it was a draw.

Deciding she’d go mad if she remained hidden in the tent, she went to offer assistance to the healers. As soon as she entered the tent where they tended the wounded, she wished she hadn’t. The cloying odor of blood and death filled the space. Men lay spread about the ground with wounds of varying degrees. The first man she came upon was missing a leg. The man lying next to him had lost an eye.

Breathing in through her mouth, she grabbed an apron from a table and went in search of someone who could put her to work.

T
hey put
her to work washing bloodied bandages. Fiona was grateful to be out of the tent that held the wounded. At least out of doors she could breathe fresh air, even if she was standing over a boiling cauldron of water.

Just when it seemed it would not end, one of her men approached. “Fiona,” he said, out of breath. “They need ye in the war tent.”

She finished wringing out the bandages and set them on a line to dry before hurrying off to the war tent.

Stepping inside, she found Caelen, Angus, and Duncan. As soon as she saw her husband, she knew that something had gone horribly awry.

Caelen stepped toward her and took her hands in his.

“Fiona,” he said, his voice sounded tight and constricted.

“What be wrong?” she asked. Had they received word of William? She was too afraid to ask.

Caelen worked his jaw back and forth before answering. “’Tis Collin. He’s been captured.”

F
iona felt
the world wobble under her feet. How she remained standing, she didn’t know.

Collin.

She took in deep breaths of air and she willed herself to remain calm. “What happened?”

Caelen shook his head. “I do no’ ken fer certain. We think he was wounded and when the Farquars discovered who he be, they took him. They’ve just sent a messenger to let us ken that they have him.”

Her shock was quickly replaced with anger. As Caelen tried to explain what happened, all she could think of was the different ways she could kill Gelis Farquar. Hang him? Nay, too quick and simple. Nay, he deserved something far more painful. Mayhap she could gut him, tie his intestines to a horse and have him drug through rocky terrain.

“Fiona, are ye well?” Caelen asked, his voice filled with concern.

She cleared her throat before answering. “Aye, I be well. Merely thinkin’ of ways to kill Gelis Farquar.”

Caelen glanced at Angus and Duncan before turning his attention back to his wife. “Ye may get a chance to do just that.”

Fiona was confused. Certainly she had not heard him correctly. She did not believe Caelen would let her get within spitting distance of Gelis Farquar. “What do ye mean?”

Caelen led her to the table and sat her in a chair. He pulled a rolled parchment from the table. “Gelis Farquar’s missive. He says if ye wish to see Collin or William alive again, ye will meet with him.”

Why the thought of coming face to face with Gelis sent a shiver of excitement over her body, she did not know. But she had to wonder why Caelen was telling her this or why he’d even consider it. She studied him closely for a long moment. What was he not telling her?

“Caelen, do ye truly mean to allow me to meet with Gelis?”

He gave a slight nod of his head. “Aye, I do.”

There was a glint of something in his eyes, something intriguing. Understanding soon dawned.

“Ye have a plan.”

He smiled. “Aye, we do.”