If My Heart Could See You (19 page)

Twenty-four

For nigh unto a full day, Dristan pushed not only his men but their horses to their very limit in order to reach one of the farthest hamlets upon his land. He had at last called a halt to their flight the night afore and camped under the stars, knowing they could travel no further that eve. With the rising of the morning sun, they resumed their course.

As the day waned, Dristan held up his hand, and the men reined in their horses. Momentarily stopping upon a small rise, Dristan looked down upon the devastation with his dark brows drawn together as he scanned the area. The livestock had been slaughtered and left to rot around the once green fields. The huts had been burnt to the ground with only a few showing what remained of the timber that had once made up their frames. His lip twitched in rage. He pinched his eyes closed, trying to erase the horrible sight he viewed.

Dristan sighed and motioned his men to continue on. They proceeded slowly down the hill then dismounted once they reached the remains of the first dwelling.

“Rolf, Morgan, split up and scout the area.”  They nodded and ran off, cautious of what they might find. Whilst he had the notion that none of the villagers would yet be alive, Dristan still held some small sense of hope that his first impression of the situation would not be so.

He motioned for his men to keep an eye out as they continued towards the center of the tiny village. A grim and grisly scene awaited them in the center square, making even the seasoned warrior’s cringe; the memory would be forever etched in their minds. The villagers had been bound and burnt, their bodies scattered around the square. The pungent odor of burning flesh lingered in the air around them and several men covered their noses with their hands.

Dristan observed Devon’s eyes grow wide as he crossed himself afore turning aside, retching. He was not to blame for his weak stomach, for even a stronger man would barely tolerate such a sight and smell.

“
Thar’s a guid lad,” Nevin said, as he helped the poor guard to his feet, patting his back. Although Devin stood upright, he did so on wobbly legs and with a pale face.

“Who could have done such a thing?” Riorden asked quietly.

Dristan gave no answer. Instead, he scanned the square in thought, knowing the violence on these innocent people was a personal attack against him.
All these souls
, he bemoaned. ’Twas a sad sight to behold even for a man who had been in countless battles. Watching a man die beside him, after he fell defending what he believed in, he could take, but not this . . . never this.

He was pulled from his thoughts at the sound of his name being called.

“My lord,” Morgan shouted, running into the square.

“What news?” Dristan asked, their eyes meeting.

“I found a hut on the edge of the forest. ’Tis a gruesome site. A dozen or so bodies are hanging from the rafters. Women and children, my lord,” he finished reluctantly.

Dristan ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “For God’s sake, Morgan, cut those poor souls down. Bertram, Drake, go with him,” he snapped.

They followed Morgan, and Dristan looked over at Nevin as Rolf approached.

“My lord, there are riders spotted on the edge of the forest. They have been watching us.”

“How many?” Dristan demanded quickly.

“Mayhap eight. They entered the woods as I ran to get you.”

“May the bastards who did this pay for their transgressions,” he vowed and with a battle cry well known to his men, they turned as one from the square.

Mounting their horses, they kicked their steeds into a full gallop. As they passed the last hut, the men whose job ’twas to retrieve the innocent bodies ran out of the dwelling, hastened to retrieve their horses, and joined the group.

Dristan led the way, his face contorted in rage. He saw the three riders, who lingered on the edge of the forest on horseback. They quickly fled into the shadows of the trees as Dristan and his men fast approached. As they took to the forest, the light grew dim except for small rays of sunshine cutting through the treetops to reach the forest floor. And yet they rode on after these men with a determination to right the wrong done to his vassals.

The density of the wooded terrain opened up to a small clearing. Dristan brought his horse to a halt, keeping alert to a possible ambush. If he were to plan one himself, this would be just such a place he would lay in wait for his enemy. His men quickly filled the once empty space with impatience. Looking about, they saw no one around them in the darkness.

Dristan kept Thor firmly in place as his hooves pranced to be about some actively. Well trained, the stallion did as he was bid, although he shook and quivered to be about the oncoming battle.

“Where are you?” he yelled. “Show yourselves, you cowards!” There was no answer to his demands. “Show yourselves,” he attempted yet again with the same results.

Dristan looked at his men and with the briefest of nods, they pulled their swords from their sheaths. He watched in alarm when Devon foolishly dismounted his horse and made his way to his side.

“They wouldna just disappear, milord, would they?” Devon inquired hesitantly.

“Fool! Get to your horse,” he bellowed. Afore Dristan could further voice his concern with Amiria’s youngest guardsman, who had unknowingly put himself in danger, a warrior rushed from the darkness of the trees and thrust his sword completely through Devon’s stomach. Devon fell to his knees, tears spilling from his eyes whilst his cry of agony rang out in the once still forest.

Everything began to happen at once as Nevin leapt from his steed, letting out a yell to defend his comrade. Men rushed from the woods in a wave of humanity as now Dristan’s men also jumped from their horses to join the fray. Nevin engaged the man who had harmed his friend whilst Devon crumbled to the ground in pain. Perchance, ’twas the recent training with his new liege lord, but Nevin
quickly defeated his enemy and the man lay dead on the ground at his feet. He spat on him with a sneer, wiped his lip with his sleeve, and then looked about him on whom to take on next.

Scanning the area around them, Dristan could see a dozen or so men engaging his guards as sword rang against sword, allowing the sound to echo throughout the woods. Dristan’s brow twitched, anticipating the attack of one lone man, who charged him. He was about his own height and as the man gazed at him with a dirty toothed smile, Dristan raised his sword to defend against the attack.

Time and time again his sword sang out and he viewed the enemy begin to fall in defeat. During the skirmish, he swore he heard the distinct sound of laughter coming from the shadows. His sword slicing through the air, he felled his opponent only to have another take his place. This man took a swing at Dristan, who blocked it with ease. ’Twas a battle of strength and the man broke from the hold and stumbled back.

With a swoop of his sword, the unknown man crumbled to the ground dead. He looked around as his men conquered their enemy but he could see one standing off at a safe distance. He leaned against a tree, his arms folded across his chest, watching the fight. Dristan could see his demeanor was merciless, for he smiled in amusement whilst he watched the destruction of his own men. Some of the cowards began to flee and Turquine let out a roar of victory. Dristan saw his target take a step forward into the small light falling to the ground. Their eyes met across the field of fallen bodies and Dristan knew this was only the beginning of more bloodshed to come.

Distracted by the revelry of his guards, Dristan lost sight of the man, who took to the shadows once more. He pushed forward to follow but to no avail. The man was gone. Riorden had followed and laid a hand on his shoulder, as Dristan stood, staring off into the forest.

“What is it?” Riorden queried, his brows drew together as he looked at his friend.

“There was a man here. He stood, leaning against the tree, watching us fight his men. He smiled with their defeat,” replied Dristan, startled that one could be so callous towards those he rode with.

“Should we follow?”

“Nay. We still have much to do what with the burying of the villagers.”  He turned and began making his way back to the center of the circle. He gave a sharp whistle and listened as Thor whinnied in the distance.

“And what of the men just killed?” Riorden asked, as he followed, looking for his own horse.

“Leave them as a warning to those who dare to raise arms against me,” he returned sharply. Dristan leapt into the saddle and twisted the reins to head Thor through the forest.

The men began to look to one another ’til finally Finlay spoke up. “But what o’ Devon, milord?” he asked sadly. “He yet lives.”

Dristan pulled the reins but kept his unseeing eyes in front of him. “Bring him,” he said quietly in sorrow. “Perchance by some miracle Kenna can as yet save him.” He knew he would not be able to bare the look upon Amiria’s face if Devon passed on.

He scanned his men and for the most part they had come through the battle unscathed with the exception of a few minor cuts. The most noticeable injury to his men was to Geoffrey, who was being helped to his horse with an arrow protruding from his left thigh. Kenna would have more than enough work to occupy herself and Lynet once they returned to the keep.

“Geoffrey?” Dristan called with a silent question to his guardsman.

“A clean shot through my lord. Besides the pain and a stiff limb I should heal well enough I suppose to meet you upon the lists again another day,” Geoffrey said with a crooked grin despite his wound.

“We shall see . . . ” Dristan grumbled, kicking his horse and moving forward. His men began to mount up and all were solemn. There was no cause to be jubilant with their victory, not knowing the plight of Amiria’s youngest guardsman. Her guard was the last to follow. Ian took the responsibility for Devon as Cameron and Thomas helped place his body on Ian’s horse. Ian put his foot in the stirrup and sat behind Devon as he groaned in pain. They began to ride very slowly as Dougal brought up the rear, leading Devon’s own steed.

’Twas not a long way back to the village and as Dristan broke into the light he shielded his eyes from the heat of the sun. The afternoon began to wane and he left a small detail of men to deal with the chore of burying the bodies of the dead villagers in a nearby field. ’Twas a somber group that began to make their way back towards the castle, knowing their progress would be slow for they could not hasten their journey due to Devon’s injury.

Dristan nodded his head to the dead, giving his last respects when he rode by the villager’s burial place. He began to pray he would make it back in time to Berwyck Castle. He did not relish the thought of digging another grave.

Twenty-five

The lone figure of a woman high on the battlements gazing out upon her land gave those at their posts reason to pause at the unusual yet beautiful sight. In days past, she would not have been found in such a precarious place without her armor and sword for the high parapet was narrow and dangerous.

Today, however, found her dressed in her second finest gown. ’Twas made of the finest linen colored in a soft pale shade of green and flowed with ease upon her frame. A blue, green, and red plaid bearing the MacLaren colors was held about her shoulders with a broach to ward off the chill from the ocean’s breeze. A golden chain holding the keys to the keep hung low on her hips, attractively complementing the garment. Golden bangles jingled upon her wrists and rings of the same design adorned her delicate fingers. Mayhap the most flattering asset the young woman had besides the beauty of her face was her hair. ’Twas left unbound in a riot of curls and flowed about her as if alive and just begging to be caressed by a lover.

Her gaze this day did not as usual look over its usual position of the ocean that she so loved, however. Nay, not today . . . today her view was captured inland towards the horizon where she could clearly see dust rising up as horses drew ever nearer. The portcullis and drawbridge had already been drawn up to prevent entry, in the event yet another enemy drew near.

Her deepest hope was that Dristan had returned, hence, her current attire. She had dressed to please him despite the nervous knots in the pit of her stomach. Uncertainty consumed her with doubt, thinking he may not be pleased with her gown. Despite their differences, she felt she and her family were safer when he dwelled within the castle walls. At least she had not had the misfortune to run into Hugh again. She was sure she would not be able to resist the urge to slip a dagger in between his ribs for the liberties he had dared, should they come face to face this day.

Her eyes lit up with a smile of delight when the riders drew close enough that she could at last see Dristan’s standard. She had not realized the depth of her heavy sigh of relief ’til she heard Killian tsk tsking as he came to stand beside her. From the look on his face, she assumed she would be hearing a reprimand from the man she considered an uncle.

“Ye shouldna look so eager tae see ’
im,” he said quietly.

Amiria’s smile faded when she turned to meet his knowing glare. “Does it show so clearly then?” she asked, looking down the road again.

“Ye show yer feelings all tae well, lass, I’m afraid. Ye should take care, lest anyone figure it out, especially Ian. He willna like it,” he predicted as he smiled at her. His blue eyes twinkled as she met them.

“’Tis not easy,” she said quietly, looking around and hoping that none of the guards overheard their words.

“It never is, milady,” he said sadly.

“I canna help how I have come to care for him, Killian,” she remarked shyly.

“Yer father wouldna approve ye share his bed without so much o’ at least a simple ’and fasting. Nor do I, if’n that matters tae ye,” he grumbled.

“Lord Dristan does not seem the type who would honor such a Scottish tradition of hand fasting.” Embarrassed that all knew she had become no better than one of the castle whores, she began to wring her hands. “You are right that my father would not be pleased, nor my mother I suppose. All the time repenting on my knees in the chapel will not erase the mark and sin against my soul.”

Killian patted her shoulder. “God is forgivin’ child . . . ’twas not yer fault I’m sure.”

Amiria shook her head, knowing she could not pass a lie to the man next to her. “Mayhap my parents and God will forgive me if they watch over me from the heavens above,” she pondered and continued hopefully. “He has said he will take me to wife when I am well.”

“Ye seem fine tae me, Amiria, and from the looks o’ things, ye dress tae catch ’is eye.”

She shrugged off his comments but dismay again shook her confidence in her choice of dressing so obviously feminine. She placed her hands upon the gown as if to ensure the fabric was not creased. “He has been busy with training and seeing to the land and our people.”

“Aye, ’e ’as at that but thar’s still been plenty o’ time tae see the priest and wed thee. I feel ’tis me duty since yer da isna wid us to take ’is place to see ye properly settled,” he said with a fatherly tone.

Amiria smiled at his words and rested a hand on his folded arm whilst gazing up into his familiar face. “I give you my thanks for watching over us all these years. You knew my father better than anyone and were his most trusted friend and valued guardsman.”  She stared into his kind blue eyes and stifled the urge to weep upon his broad shoulders. “You remind me so very much of him,” she sighed with a small catch in her voice from her loss.

“I couldna do anything less, child,” he replied with a note of regret.

“I suppose I must resign myself to the fact that Aiden has passed from this earth. I must needs pray his soul rests in peace and is not destined to roam the earth with unfinished business.”

Silence stretched on between them. They watched the drawbridge and portcullis being lowered to allow the returning men to enter the inner bailey. The procession was long and ’twas certain Dristan would bring up the rear. Amiria’s brow furrowed in concern by the events unfolding afore her gaze. Chaos turned the once silent courtyard into a hectic sea of bodies bumping into one another to aid those in need. Knights dismounted hastily, horses whinnied and nickered as they were being taken by eager stable lads, and voices rose in volume calling for aid from Kenna.

With a brief glance to one another, they quickly made their way to the tower stairs and upon reaching the Great Hall, moved with haste to see what help was needed. Amiria threw open the doors, stood on the stairs, and awaited one man in particular’s attention to turn in her direction.

Killian put his hand up in greeting to their liege that was quickly answered in kind. Amiria took the rest of the stairs, pulling up the hem of her dress as she ran towards the one whom she sought in earnest. As Dristan dismounted, she went to stand beside Thor and rested a hand upon his neck. She gave the briefest of smiles ’til Dristan finally met her gaze. He looked down at her grimly, but did not return the welcoming she had hoped for. He simply stood there, giving her the slightest of nods, afore he took his leave of her and entered the keep.

Amiria stared blankly at the ground in front of her, her brows together in thought. She turned her head, the wind catching her hair, and looked after him only to hear the slamming of the keep door. Confusion ran wild within her head ’til she realized there was more commotion in the bailey requiring her attention. Her men formed a half circle whilst Kenna rushed to the man lying upon the ground. She turned to see Ian standing only a few feet away, looking grim, and quickly made her way to his side.

“What has happened, Ian?” she asked in a breathless whisper.

“The village was burnt, everyone murdered,” he replied quietly. He watched her closely whilst she covered her mouth with her hand. “There is more Amiria
. . . ” he began only to have his words cut off by a scream as she caught the sight of Devon.

She ran over and fell to her knees beside him. Grabbing his hand, she leaned over him and noticed his blue eyes staring up into the sky, his breathing eerily shallow. With a look from Kenna, Amiria sadly knew there was nothing her healer could do for Devon. There was no point in halting her from attending Geoffrey where she could do some good.

“Oh, my dear friend,” she whispered with a small anguished cry.

Her words seemed to penetrate his mind in recognition, for Devon turned his head to gaze at her. She took his hand and wiped the hair from his face and watched as a small trickle of blood came from the corner of his mouth.

“I-I wish it w-wasna like th-this, my l-lady,” he sputtered.

“
Shh. Be quiet now, Devon,” she said, tears forming in her eyes. “All will be well, you shall see.”

“At least I made it home tae see ye if only fer one last time,” he breathed.

Amiria could not suppress the tears that escaped at his words. “You have done well as my guardsman, Devon, and also served my father well.”

Devon gave a small smile in satisfaction at her words. “I w-would ‘
ave s-served ye forever, milady,” he said ever so quietly. His eyes fluttered but once afore he gave his last breath, staring at her now through sightless eyes.

Sobs shook Amiria to her very core as she grieved over her guardsman. “Oh, Devon, my dear, dear friend. May God keep you
safe. I pray you are in a better place.” She brought his hand to her lips and placed a kiss upon its back afore letting go. Quickly she turned away from the sight of his skin becoming an ashen grey. She would not remember Devon this way but alive with life.

Ian held down his hand for her and she took it. He gently pulled her into his arms, as she wept her sorrow. He continued murmuring words of comfort for her ears alone. He caressed her hair and in the back of her mind, Amiria kept the knowledge that this would be the one and only time Ian would ever hold her this close again. She continued her weeping not only for Devon’s death, but also for the feelings she had once felt for this man, who only wanted her to love him. She felt his arms tighten around her protectively whilst his lips brushed her forehead in a fleeting kiss.

“Hush now, Amiria. Dinnae fash yourself, lass. Our Devon wouldna wish tae see you so overwrought,” he spoke calmly to her in such a loving tone.

She shuttered at his words as reality slammed her back to the present. Drawing back from him, she was remiss that she had let her emotions get the best of her whilst everyone watched her every move. Where once afore stood a woman frail with regret, now stood a woman of determination. After all, she was a warrior at heart and had no time for such foolishness like falling in love or showing signs of weakness.

Amiria called to Garrick, who once more took up his pipes and played a tune that had unfortunately become all too familiar in the past few months. Everyone halted in their duties and bowed their heads in sadness for a boy who had barely known manhood afore he had become an honored guard of the MacLaren clan.

She watched as Ian took up the detail to see that Devon’s body would be laid to rest. She nodded only once to him afore she walked silently into the keep. None stopped her in her misery and she trudged up the flight of stairs to her chamber with a heavy heart.

There was no mistaking the distinct sound of the slamming of neither her door nor the bolt being shoved harshly into place. The sound of her weeping far into the night tore at the hearts of those who cared for her most, and they could only wonder if their mistress would ever be the same again.