Page 16 of The Bells of Triumph (Highlands’ Lost Valley #3)

15

A COWARD'S WELCOME

I t was a fearsome sight to behold. Dozens upon dozens of men marched through the forest, their swords and shields clanging against each other. Every step sent off a cacophony that echoed through the trees.

Campbell sat atop his horse, watching his men pass by. They all avoided his gaze, just as he liked it. As it was, he was fighting not to grimace. His pause was made under the guise of wanting to inspect his army. But the truth of the matter was that he couldn't bear to take another step. His leg throbbed against the bandages that wrapped around the bottom of his thigh. He muttered another curse, wishing Seamus would wind up in the depths alongside his father for taking his leg.

They had left days ago. As soon as the healer had deemed Campbell fit enough to sit in a saddle, he had insisted they pack up and go. It wasn't like Campbell to run from a fight, but he had seen the writing on the wall. The rebels had managed to take Drummond Castle and then Glenkirk too. Word had reached him that the rebels had even gone so far as to infiltrate Murray Village. They had become more of a nuisance than Campbell had originally anticipated. He was going to need a bigger army if he was going to wipe them out for good, and that was what he intended to get.

He and his men rode on for five more miles, Campbell cursing Seamus nearly every step of the way before they reached the clan border. Though he had never been here in years, he knew what to look for.

Riding to the front of the procession, Campbell, and two of his advisors, crossed the rickety bridge that hovered over the river. He knew it would take time to get all of his men across it, but they could afford the time. There was no way that Seamus and his rebels could catch up to them now.

“S-state yer business with the MacKenzie clan.”

Campbell could almost laugh at the feeble attempt the guard made to sound impressive.

“And who are ye to demand answers from me ?”

The trio of men looked up at him, back at the mass of warriors so large that they blocked the view of the forest behind them, then at each other. Two of the men pushed the one who had spoken forward, deeming him the leader. It would have been amusing had Campbell's leg not been screaming at him to get off his horse.

“W-we s-serve t-t-the,” he swallowed hard, “We serve Laird MacKenzie. These borders are closed.”

Campbell nodded and pursed his lips as though he were contemplating the man's answer with great consideration. He glanced around, making a show of looking for any others to come out of the MacKenzie forest. When none did, he looked back at the pathetic show of soldiers.

“Is that so? And tell me, do ye three men intend on stopping my army?”

“Y-yes.”

The soldier hardly had time to finish his reply before Campbell drew his sword and swiped it across the man's neck. A deep red began pouring from the wound just as the man fell to his knees.

“Wrong answer.”

The two remaining guards' eyes went wide in shock and horror. That was Campbell's intended effect. He didn't want to waste any more time arguing with such unimportant people. He had better things to do.

“Dinnae fash,” he called to the men as he brushed past them. “Laird MacKenzie should be expecting us.”

There was no reply as Campbell marched on.

Leaves crunched and branches snapped under his horse as they carried on through the forest. By midday, the sky grew dark, covered in clouds that blocked out all the light. It wasn't long until those clouds let down their rain in a terrible storm, complete with booming thunderclaps and flashes of lightning.

Campbell's men knew better than to grumble at the cold, piercing rain on their skins or the mud that they now had to trudge through. They didn't complain either of the fact that their feet already ached from the seemingly endless miles they had walked to get there. But every single one of them was thinking about it.

On the other hand, Campbell was all too pleased with the turn of the weather. He found he rather enjoyed making a dramatic entrance, and the thunderstorm would help him to do just that. Lightning slashed across the sky, illuminating the village that sat in front of them.

“MacKenzie Village,” one of his council members informed him. “We are nearly there.”

Raising his chin and gritting his teeth, Campbell shut out the pain and rode on. There would be nothing stopping him from getting what he wanted. And Laird MacKenzie owed him a debt. It was a debt that Campbell intended to collect.

Her hand stayed pressed against the cold glass of the window pane, standing in the same spot, the same position she had been in for longer than she could remember. Some part of her felt the need to stand vigil and keep watch. The other part of her merely stood to keep her maid from badgering her about being in bed too much. Most of the time, she didn't register what she was looking at. Her thoughts wouldn't connect long enough for that to happen.

As it was, there was nothing to look at today anyway. The skies had turned from a light gray to a dark blue with a devilish green hue. Clouds blocked any sunlight that might have made the day warmer. And then they had let loose all the rain they held, drowning out the land in front of her. Streaks of water slid down the smooth glass, running so fast that it blurred everything beyond them.

The storm brought a chill to her room that seeped into her bones. There had long been a draft in her room but despite all of her faithful maid's protests, her father refused to do anything about it. He had first claimed that she was inventing a problem solely to be difficult, and then he told everyone that the cold was her own fault. She didn't bother arguing with him. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that the entire castle was crumbling without the funds to maintain it. She shivered and tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders, willing it away. For a moment, she considered moving closer to the fire, but then decided against it, not wanting to leave her post. She didn't deserve the comfort of the fire or the warmth it might give her.

Guilt had been her lifelong companion. Its presence was not a surprise to her now. But there was something more that willed her to stay in place, some sort of intuition. It was the same feeling she got the morning that her husband had ordered her away.

The commander had been summoned to join them in her favorite parlor. She should have known then that something was amiss. But when the guard appeared and Seamus had been kept away, she finally put it together that things were not going to go in her favor.

“Yer father has summoned ye for a visit. Ye are to leave within the hour.”

That was as much of an explanation as she was given.

“Summoned?” she had questioned without reply. “Perhaps Seamus could come with me. It has been far too long since he has seen his grandfather. And ye ken my brother's wife just had her bairn. It would be good for him to meet his new cousin.”

“Nay. Ye will go alone. The lad will stay here.”

Her stomach had twisted at her husband's tone, but she hadn't put up any argument. She simply did as she was told, and it had cost her everything. It had cost her watching her only child, her son, grow into a man.

And grown he would have been by now. She had spent the better part of almost two decades standing at her window, hoping that one day he would come riding up to the castle. He would have changed so much by now, but a mother would always be able to recognize her son. At least, that's what she told herself every time a stranger came riding up.

Thunder clapped, shaking the weary and weathered stones of the castle walls. Caitria shook with them. Her eyes slammed shut against the boom. It rattled her more than she liked to admit. She wasn't entirely sure when she had become this frightened, feeble, and frail wraith of a woman; she didn't know when she had stopped fighting. But it had been long enough that even a thunderstorm had her shaking.

Willing herself to calm down, Caitria opened her eyes slowly. She strained to look beyond the rain-streaked window pane, trying to focus on something more than the storm raging outside. Her eyes sought the tree line that she knew lay just beyond the castle walls. They were the trees she had grown up playing in and exploring. Down the road, a little ways, was the village her mother had taken her to on market days. She had done the same with Seamus on the rare trips he had made to clan MacKenzie before her entire world had fallen apart.

She looked there now, hoping to catch a glimpse of the comforting sight. Searching for the thatched roofs of the villagers' homes, she stared at the road.

“The trees are moving,” she muttered in surprise. “The trees are moving.”

If anyone had been in the room to hear her, they would have written her off as insane and locked her in her tower. But since she was alone, there was no one to question her claim other than herself.

“Why are the trees moving?” she asked aloud.

She rubbed her eyes, wondering if she had truly lost what little sense she had left. Vision cleared, and she searched the forest again. This time, she got an answer to what she was seeing. It was an answer that struck fear deep into her heart.

“Campbell.”

The name was a whispered cry of anguish. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the window as she watched the man emerge from the tree line, followed by men in droves. Though she had never seen him before, there was no mistaking the blood-red color of his tartan or the malice written across his face. There was no one else it could have been, especially not with an entire army cloaked in the same plaid riding behind him. If she didn't know any better, she would think they were being invaded.

She wondered if this was what Seamus saw the day that Campbell had invaded the Murray lands. She had already been halfway to her father's castle by then, but word travels fast. By the time she had made it to safety, she knew that Campbell had already overtaken her husband. She had never known fear like that before, not for herself or the clan, but for Seamus. It was unlikely that he should be allowed to live as heir to the clan. The day that word had reached her that Seamus was still alive, she had collapsed to the floor in relief and sobbed for hours. Her father had all but pulled her out of the Great Hall by the hair, claiming she was an embarrassment to the entire clan for her behavior. But she didn't care. Her son was safe and that was all that mattered.

She had tried for three years to escape her father's clutches and return to Seamus. Her plans never worked. She was always caught before she made it to the clan borders. And when she was returned, her father's punishments were brutal. He had starved her for nearly a week the last time she had tried to leave. It had taken her almost a month to regain her strength, but by then, her spirit was thoroughly crushed. She had never tried to leave again, fearing that it would cost her her life if she did.

As she watched Campbell and his army get closer and closer, she wondered if Seamus was safe now. If he had been able to drive Campbell out of the clan and that was what brought Campbell to their door today. She had heard the rumors. She knew that Campbell was not a kind man, nor was he a gentle leader. He only brought death and destruction.

The rain began to slow, and the skies started to clear. Without the water blocking her view, she could see just how close Campbell was to them. And as the weather continued to clear, so did the fog that had overtaken her mind. Her heart started to pound, echoing the beat of the hooves outside.

“I have to do something.”

For the first time in God knows how long, she felt a will to live, to survive. If Seamus had managed to oust Campbell, then she had the chance of reuniting with her son. She had to do something to stop this man from infiltrating her home a second time. She had to tell her father. Surely, he was unaware that their lands were being invaded. Surely, he would put a stop to it all.

Turning from the window, she picked up her skirts and dashed across the stone floor of her room. Her shawl fell from her shoulders, but she didn't notice it. Nor did she notice the coolness of the stones on her bare feet. All she could think about was finding her father as soon as possible. Caitria reached out for the door handle and gave it a hard tug, ready to wrench it open and sprint down the hallway, but the door didn't budge. She tried it again, thinking that the weather had made the hinges stick, but still, no luck.

“Hello,” she called out, her voice shaken by desperation.

Pulling on the door harder this time, she felt her nerves build.

“I need to see my father!”

She wasn't sure who she was talking to, she only hoped that there was a guard on the other side of the door who could hear her. She rattled the doorknob and threw her entire body into it to no avail.

“Help! We are being invaded! Ye must go get help!”

For a moment, Caitria stopped, listening for any sign that someone was there, that someone could hear her. When none came, she began to panic in earnest.

“Let me out of here! Let me out!”

But no one came. No one answered her cries.

“What does he want?”

“Why has he come here?”

“It is that grandson of yers, Seamus, who has caused this. Why could he nae leave well enough alone?”

Laird MacKenzie shot his advisor a warning look. Though he had not seen the boy in years, Seamus was still his grandson and his council would do well to remember that.

They had received word three hours earlier that Laird Campbell was marching into MacKenzie territory, bringing an entire army with him. Even with the size of his army, Campbell had not attacked any of the villages he had traveled through this far, making Laird MacKenzie that much more curious as to the man's intentions.

“We dinnae ken, that is why we are meeting,” Cameron explained, condescendingly.

“Now, now, son,” Laird MacKenzie reprimanded, “there is nae reason to be short. The council is merely asking the verra same questions we were asking ten minutes ago.”

“We did nae have any answers then, and we dinnae have any answers now. All we ken is that he is nearly on our doorstep.”

Laird MacKenzie glanced around the table, curious to see what the rest of his council was thinking.

“We ken more than that. We ken there has been an uprising in the Murray lands. The stories in the taverns are that Seamus has escaped from Murray Castle and joined forces with a group of rebels. These men have been hiding in the woods since Campbell first invaded, planning this coup.”

“That is quite a lot to get out of the tavern,” Cameron remarked.

“I heard that Seamus snuck back into Murray Castle under the guise of finally supporting Campbell, only to double-cross him and free some captured rebels.”

“Aye, and then Campbell attacked their wee village, nearly wiping it all out.”

“I heard that the rebels put up a good fight. If rumors can be trusted, then Campbell lost his leg in that fight.”

Laird MacKenzie grumbled, irritated to be dealing with Campbell again. He had made his deal with the man a lifetime ago; he wanted nothing more to do with him.

“What does it matter what the rumors say? I want to ken why he is on our doorstep.”

“Is it nae clear? Campbell has been bested by rebel soldiers and is coming to us for aid.”

“Why us when we have never done business with him before?”

Laird MacKenzie didn't bother correcting his son. As far as Cameron knew, their relationship with Campbell was nonexistent. But there was much that Cameron didn't know about this clan.

When Laird MacKenzie was a younger man, a more ambitious man not quite so worn down by life, he had made a risky decision. Using his only daughter, he had strengthened the bond with their allies, the Murrays, by marrying her off to the Laird. It didn't take long for her to have a son and complete her duty, ensuring the alliance would remain strong for decades to come. At least, that is what MacKenize thought until Campbell approached him.

Claiming to only be after a warm meal, Campbell came without invitation. Several mugs of ale and one too many glasses of whiskey later had Campbell divulging his plans to take over Murray lands. It wasn't until they met again the next morning that Laird MacKenzie understood just how conniving Campbell was. He had built an army large enough that it would wipe out Murray soldiers and MacKenzie soldiers completely. It wouldn't be a war but a slaughter, and he would be on the losing side. Campbell had come to make Laird MacKenzie an offer.

“I will send word, once I am ready to attack Murray lands. Ye will have enough time to get yer daughter out of the castle and back to ye before the fighting begins. In return for my warning, ye will nae get involved. Ye will nae help the Murrays. Ye will nae open yer borders to them. Should I find out that ye have gone back on yer word, I will attack ye next. I hope ye are wise enough to ken that any attack would result in the demolishment of yer clan. I am nae the sparing type.”

“Why would I help you?”

Campbell gave him a sickening grin.

“Two words; the English.”

MacKenzie's stomach fell out from under him, threatening to toss up the contents of his breakfast.

“Why are ye doing this? Why are ye making me this offer?”

“Because, Laird MacKenzie, ye are the first person the Murray Clan will turn to for help. I want to ensure they will find none here. I will rule their lands absolutely. And,” he had said with a sly grin, “there might come a time when I will need yer allyship. I trust that when that day comes, ye will remember my generosity in allowing ye to save yer daughter.”

He had felt sick at what Campbell was asking for, but he didn't see any way around it. At least with this deal, he would be able to save his daughter and his people. And his reputation.

“She is young. She can always remarry someone else.”

Laird MacKenzie had been foolish to think Caitria would ever recover from losing her husband, son, and home. She had, instead, withered away, becoming a complete embarrassment. He resented her for it, and never seemed to be able to stop himself from showing her that. Every time he looked at her, all he could see was his failure and guilt for the choices he had made. But he had been a younger man then, a more trusting man, a more cowardly man. If Campbell had approached him today with the same offer, he wasn't sure he would take it. But he wasn't coming to make an offer, rather he was coming to collect what was owed to him.

“I will do it,” Laird MacKenzie's promise ran through his head once more, as it had done so many times before, “but only on two conditions. The first, ye will nae harm the lad. He plays nay part in this.”

Campbell thought for a moment before nodding, if a bit begrudgingly.

“And the second: we agree to keep this between ourselves. Murray does nae need to ken what has happened here.”

They had shaken hands. Campbell had offered a toast and then drank three more glasses of MacKenzie's best whiskey. And then his note came two months later.

MacKenzie had spent those two months questioning if he had done the right thing and if he should have warned Murray ahead of time. But when his daughter made it back home, when they received word of the damage Campbell had inflicted on the Murray Clan, MacKenzie had convinced himself he had done what he had to to protect his clan. Now, as he waited for Campbell to arrive again, he was questioning himself all over again.