{Connected to: http://winteringincaledonia.blogspot.ca/2017/12/part-six-young-knight.html}
On the second night, Maisie fell to the exhaustion of not sleeping well through the first night and riding through the cold winter day. It had certainly grown cold enough for it to snow, but thankfully it had held off, making it easier for her to navigate through the forest. The small fire she had created with what dry sticks she could find, had been enough for her to cook up a broth of herbs and dehydrated beef chucks for her and Ogma to eat, however, Ogma seemed more interested in the grass and licking the frost off of it than anything else. After Ogma became bored of the grass, she laid down behind Maisie, curling up around her in an attempt to get as close to the fire as possible, and with the falling steady breathing of Ogma behind her back, the warmth of the fire, and a filled belly, it didn’t take long for her eyes to close.
She didn’t know how long she had been sleeping, and as she tried to move the stiffness out of her muscles, she quickly found out that she couldn’t move. Slowly coming to a more conscious state, unfamiliar voices surrounded her and the rough material of rope at her wrists.
“Aye, but we’ll be takin’ the lad to the Laird. He’ll know what to do with this spy or whatever he is.” The voice was the closest to her, and very loud. It had a certain gruffness to it, and it sent her heart jumping into her throat. The rest of the voices all began to speak at once in a mixture of English dripping in an accent similar to hers and Gaelic to fast for her to translate. Too afraid to open her eyes, she laid there still trying to keep her breathing steady and not to scream out. “Èist do bheul! Tis decided we’re takin’ the lad and his horse! Roy, wake him and he’ll go on the saddle with ye.” The gruff voice spoke again, clearly the leader of the particular group, and his heavy footsteps reseeded away from her as another pair approached her. Suddenly, her breath was driven from her lungs as the second pair of boots were driven into her ribs with a jolt, and her eyes opened wide as she coughed. With a chuckle, a bearded face with brown eyes hovered over her as he grabbed her bound hands behind her and lifted her to her feet.
“Come on now lad, you’re comin’ with us whether you like it or not. The Laird will want to see ya.” The man who she figured was Roy, exclaimed waiting for her to finish coughing. He wore his tartan around his hips and draped around his shoulders to ward off the cold winter air, and he was at least a foot taller than her. An axe hung at each hip, and a sgian-dubh tucked in his long wool socks which reminded of her own that still hung at her hip. “Ah, I’ll be takin’ that for now. The last thing we need is for ya to be runnin’ away.” He chuckled again as her eyes fell to her sgian-dubh, and swiftly took it out of her belt with his free hand and slipped it into his other sock. His grip on her wrists grew tighter, and he watched her assessing if she would start to struggle, but she stayed still, her coughing done, the pain in her side her only reminder that he had kicked her. “Smart lad. With me now,” and with a tug, he began to lead her to where the rest of the party were. They already mounted their horses and waiting for them.
Glaring at all the faces looking down at her, she took in her surroundings, and it didn’t take long for her to realize that she was largely outnumbered and outmatched, and her only real escape was tied to a tether from the leader’s horse, Ogma. Each one of them wore the nine-yard kilt, but in a different preference to each one, and something about the tartan seemed familiar to her.
She was caught staring confused at their tartan, and their leader let out a deep laugh.
“What, lad? Never seen a kilt before? Man, you really are a wee barin,” All six of them fell into a chorus laughter. But there it was again, they had called her ‘lad’, and it only took her a couple more moments to realize she had still her hat on that covered her long red hair from her captors. They believed she was a boy, and she wasn’t about to correct them on it. She didn’t know much about surviving, but she did know that most of the time in a situation like this, it was best to be a boy. Females were not treated kindly.
Maisie dropped her eyes and tried to shrink deeper into her disguise, but there was only so much she could do when the man that had her by the wrists grabbed her by under the arms and lifted her to the saddle like she was a mere doll. His hands had brushed up against the side of her breasts and she couldn’t help but to flitch away and let out a shriek. Curling her arms around her torso, and her whole face quickly turning red, she avoided the stares of alarm from the men. She knew her facade was up, and she didn’t want to meet their eyes.
“Ah…what do we have here lads, eh? A lass in boy’s clothing? How about that boys! What do you think? Think the Laird would like a good laugh?” The head of the group spoke up, breaking the stunned silence, with all the confidence that she was currently lacking.
“She definitely shrieks like one…” a different voice spoke up. One that she didn’t really notice before now. He rubbed his ears and while winching as the others chuckled and nodded their heads. He was probably the youngest one out of them all, his curly hair a light ginger like hers and tired back with some leather. Through her quick glance at him, she could see a scar that marked one side of his face that went to the other, directly across his right eye to the left side of his jaw line. Upon him turning in his saddle, her eyes feel onto his, or at least his one. The eye that lay within the scar was white and clouded, hints of red tangling themselves inwards like lighting strikes within the clouds. What ever that had caused that scar made him blind in one eye. “It’s not like I kan see much of her or him, for that matter. I hope she doesn’t look too much like a boy, or the laird’s daughter won’t be able to keep her hands off of him. We all know what happened last time,” he joked, but something in his voice hinted at pity. He pitied her that she was there, with no hope of escaping, and he looked at her with what was left of his sight with a flash of concern. With her disguise shattered, she couldn’t help blushing under his gaze. He was different from the rest of them, and she didn’t know why.
Roy mounted the saddle behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist to keep her from either siding off or escaping, and with a nod from the head of the group, the seven of them started to move down the trail, leaving the only sign of their presence as the fire pit that Maisie had made during the night. As silence fell on them, Maisie looked up at the trail and forest around them confused. Nothing looked familiar, and the further they went, the more lost she felt.
Hours passed, and Maisie had came to the conclusion long ago that she had made a wrong turn onto a path that lead her straight to these men. However, no matter how much she stared at the sea of tartan in front of her, she couldn’t figure out which clan they were from and her surroundings were not helping. Around after mid-day, the silence was broken by the harmonizing of six tenor voices all singing a song that didn’t take her long to recognize.
Their voices echoed through the forest, the birds making their own melody along with it, and for a minute, Maisie forgot they were strangers. Their connection with the land and their passion for their history reflected her own, connecting them in a way she never thought would happen. And as their song came to an end, she found herself singing along with them.
They made camp sometime after, Maisie being restricted to the short length of excess rope from her wrists while the other end wrapped around a tree tightly. And from her seat at the base of the tree in the snow, she watched them prepare for the night ahead. A clearing was made out of the snow that created a walled circle of which they made their camp. Maisie’s tree just sat on the border of this circle, close enough to be kept an eye on but not close enough to be in the way. The fire was put up next, and their bed rolls laid out around it creating a horseshoe at where Maisie was at the opening. The efficiency of which the camp was made impressed her, and in no time, they had ate their fill of rations and began to settle down for the night. The half-blind man on first watch.
She started to shake both due to the cold and the recent events overwhelming her. The man beside her kept quiet for a few moments, and when he drew his eyes away from her he spoke again. “I’m Cian, that’s Duff, and Neil, then Gus,” he pointed each one of them as he spoke their names, and within the light of the fire, Maisie could see more scars that marked up his hand and disappearing under his wool jacket. She wondered why he was telling her all of this, her only knowledge of situations like this through stories told to her by her father or Connor. Cian was acting unlike the stories, and he spoke to like she was an invited guest not a captive.
“Why..why are you treating me nice?”
“Oh, and the lass speaks! Such a voice that contrasts against her looks. A boy on the outside, and a scared girl on the inside. Why is this?” He chuckled softly. “Ran from home I presume?”
Her head snapped to face him, her eyes wide suddenly as he figured out why she was there without a single word from her.
“I’ll take that as I’m right? Aye? Well, by the looks of ya, ya don’t know what ya’re doing out here,” he sighed. “You wouldn’t of lasted long…”
He went quiet then he began doing the unexpected. With a dagger suddenly in his hands, he began cutting at the rope at her wrists, and with only a few flicks, her she was free. Bringing her arms forward, her shoulders were stiff and she rubbed at the rope burn around her wrists while staring after him. He stood up and walked to Roy who mumbled in his sleep something about cows, and with careful precision, Cian produced Maisie’s sgian-dubh from Roy’s sock. Tossing it in front of her with a clatter, he pointed back to the path they had just came from. “If you follow that, you’ll be back onto your own land in no time. I suggest that you go through the night and do not stop. Cruim won’t be happy that you’d be gone in the morning and he might go after ya.”
Blinking at him, Maisie grabbed her sgian-dubh, stood up and walked carefully to the entrance of the path, stepping between the maze of sleeping bodies waiting for one of them to wake. When none of them even stirred she finally let go the breath she had been holding. “Why are you doing this?”
“Why? Because I had a daughter of mine own, and you remind me of her.”
“What, lad? Never seen a kilt before? Man, you really are a wee barin,” All six of them fell into a chorus laughter. But there it was again, they had called her ‘lad’, and it only took her a couple more moments to realize she had still her hat on that covered her long red hair from her captors. They believed she was a boy, and she wasn’t about to correct them on it. She didn’t know much about surviving, but she did know that most of the time in a situation like this, it was best to be a boy. Females were not treated kindly.
Maisie dropped her eyes and tried to shrink deeper into her disguise, but there was only so much she could do when the man that had her by the wrists grabbed her by under the arms and lifted her to the saddle like she was a mere doll. His hands had brushed up against the side of her breasts and she couldn’t help but to flitch away and let out a shriek. Curling her arms around her torso, and her whole face quickly turning red, she avoided the stares of alarm from the men. She knew her facade was up, and she didn’t want to meet their eyes.
“Ah…what do we have here lads, eh? A lass in boy’s clothing? How about that boys! What do you think? Think the Laird would like a good laugh?” The head of the group spoke up, breaking the stunned silence, with all the confidence that she was currently lacking.
“She definitely shrieks like one…” a different voice spoke up. One that she didn’t really notice before now. He rubbed his ears and while winching as the others chuckled and nodded their heads. He was probably the youngest one out of them all, his curly hair a light ginger like hers and tired back with some leather. Through her quick glance at him, she could see a scar that marked one side of his face that went to the other, directly across his right eye to the left side of his jaw line. Upon him turning in his saddle, her eyes feel onto his, or at least his one. The eye that lay within the scar was white and clouded, hints of red tangling themselves inwards like lighting strikes within the clouds. What ever that had caused that scar made him blind in one eye. “It’s not like I kan see much of her or him, for that matter. I hope she doesn’t look too much like a boy, or the laird’s daughter won’t be able to keep her hands off of him. We all know what happened last time,” he joked, but something in his voice hinted at pity. He pitied her that she was there, with no hope of escaping, and he looked at her with what was left of his sight with a flash of concern. With her disguise shattered, she couldn’t help blushing under his gaze. He was different from the rest of them, and she didn’t know why.
Roy mounted the saddle behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist to keep her from either siding off or escaping, and with a nod from the head of the group, the seven of them started to move down the trail, leaving the only sign of their presence as the fire pit that Maisie had made during the night. As silence fell on them, Maisie looked up at the trail and forest around them confused. Nothing looked familiar, and the further they went, the more lost she felt.
Hours passed, and Maisie had came to the conclusion long ago that she had made a wrong turn onto a path that lead her straight to these men. However, no matter how much she stared at the sea of tartan in front of her, she couldn’t figure out which clan they were from and her surroundings were not helping. Around after mid-day, the silence was broken by the harmonizing of six tenor voices all singing a song that didn’t take her long to recognize.
“'Sé do bheatha, a bhean ba léanmhar,
Do b' é ár gcreach thú bheith i ngéibheann,
Do dhúiche bhreá i seilbh méirleach,
Is tú díolta leis na Gallaibh.
Óró, sé do bheatha 'bhaile,
Óró, sé do bheatha 'bhaile,
Óró, sé do bheatha 'bhaile
Anois ar theacht an tsamhraidh.
Tá Gráinne Mhaol ag teacht thar sáile,
Óglaigh armtha léi mar gharda,
Gaeil iad féin is ní Frainc ná Spáinnigh,
Is cuirfidh siad ruaig ar Ghallaibh…”
{“Welcome oh woman who was so afflicted,
It was our ruin that you were in bondage,
Our fine land in the possession of thieves...
And you sold to the foreigners!
Oh-ro You're welcome home,
Oh-ro You're welcome home,
Oh-ro You're welcome home...
Now that summer's coming!
Gráinne O'Malley is coming over the sea,
Armed warriors along with her as her guard,
They're Irish themselves, not French nor Spanish,
And they will rout the foreigners!…”}
Their voices echoed through the forest, the birds making their own melody along with it, and for a minute, Maisie forgot they were strangers. Their connection with the land and their passion for their history reflected her own, connecting them in a way she never thought would happen. And as their song came to an end, she found herself singing along with them.
They made camp sometime after, Maisie being restricted to the short length of excess rope from her wrists while the other end wrapped around a tree tightly. And from her seat at the base of the tree in the snow, she watched them prepare for the night ahead. A clearing was made out of the snow that created a walled circle of which they made their camp. Maisie’s tree just sat on the border of this circle, close enough to be kept an eye on but not close enough to be in the way. The fire was put up next, and their bed rolls laid out around it creating a horseshoe at where Maisie was at the opening. The efficiency of which the camp was made impressed her, and in no time, they had ate their fill of rations and began to settle down for the night. The half-blind man on first watch.
The crackling of the fire and the loud snoring of the men kept Maisie from falling asleep along with her fear of what they would do to her. If she hadn’t gave away her sgian-dubh by looking at it earlier, this would have been the perfect opportunity to try to escape, but with nothing but ice covered rocks and protruding roots around her, she had nothing to try to cut the rope with. Another reason was that the half-blind man sat there staring at her from across the fire. She squirmed under his eye, and she attempted to become interested in little field mouse making its way across the snow, but her eyes kept drifting back to his. He made a quick glance to his sleeping comrades and upon deciding they weren’t going anywhere anytime soon, he stood up and made his way over to her.
“What’s your name, lass?” He scrapped at the snow beside her with his foot and when there was a big enough spot of clear ground he sat down.
Her body tensed and her words were caught in her throat unable to get past her fear of him. His question going unanswered, he asked again. “I said, what’s your name lass? I’m not going to hurt ya for giving me your name.” He added the last part as a reassurance.
With no where to escape to, Maisie had no choice but to answer him, his breath literally warming the air around them.
“Maidread MacPherson, of the MacPherson clan,” she swallowed back a quiver in her voice.
“Hrmm…” The tone of his voice wasn’t good. It was a ‘hrmm’ of bad news and she didn’t like it. “MacPherson you say? Well, it’s a good thing Cruim didn’t find out this when he first saw ya or else ya wouldn’t be here,” he gestured toward the sleeping figure of the man she named as the leader. With confirmation that her guess was right, her fear of him grew and she became thankful he was currently sleeping. “’Cause ya see…we’re of the Cameron clan, and our laird doesn’t take too kindly to MacPhersons. You’re trip there more than likely ending in your death regardless of your gender..." He trailed off watching her whole body curl inwards as all hope escaped from her mind.
“Why..why are you treating me nice?”
“Oh, and the lass speaks! Such a voice that contrasts against her looks. A boy on the outside, and a scared girl on the inside. Why is this?” He chuckled softly. “Ran from home I presume?”
Her head snapped to face him, her eyes wide suddenly as he figured out why she was there without a single word from her.
“I’ll take that as I’m right? Aye? Well, by the looks of ya, ya don’t know what ya’re doing out here,” he sighed. “You wouldn’t of lasted long…”
He went quiet then he began doing the unexpected. With a dagger suddenly in his hands, he began cutting at the rope at her wrists, and with only a few flicks, her she was free. Bringing her arms forward, her shoulders were stiff and she rubbed at the rope burn around her wrists while staring after him. He stood up and walked to Roy who mumbled in his sleep something about cows, and with careful precision, Cian produced Maisie’s sgian-dubh from Roy’s sock. Tossing it in front of her with a clatter, he pointed back to the path they had just came from. “If you follow that, you’ll be back onto your own land in no time. I suggest that you go through the night and do not stop. Cruim won’t be happy that you’d be gone in the morning and he might go after ya.”
Blinking at him, Maisie grabbed her sgian-dubh, stood up and walked carefully to the entrance of the path, stepping between the maze of sleeping bodies waiting for one of them to wake. When none of them even stirred she finally let go the breath she had been holding. “Why are you doing this?”
“Why? Because I had a daughter of mine own, and you remind me of her.”
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