September 1630
It had to be raining icy buckets today of all days making it seem like no sun ever shined upon this corner of the Scottish Highlands, Caledonia MacLeod thought to herself atop her mare, as she traveled along the narrow pathway she and her riding party were taking to escape her uncle's keep. The howling wind and near freezing temperatures turned the rain falling from the sky into pellets of sharp ice which hit the exposed, bare skin of her young face. It was nearly so painful to the point of being unbearable, but that wouldn't stop Callie from starting her perilous journey out into this dark, cold night. She pulled her cloak more tightly around her face to shield it from the storm. No one in their right mind would be out traveling in such foul weather conditions if they were given the chance to be home, safely ensconced in front of a roaring peat fire where they would be dry and warm with a cup of hot tea. The mere thought of something warm to drink sent a shiver down her spine.
It was the worst autumn that anyone in the clan could remember could remember for decades in the wild reaches of the Highlands. Her uncle's land was located in the northwest of Scotland where it was often necessary to journey two, full days to meet another living soul. The weather perfectly suited Callie's foul mood. This time of year was always depressing, as days were drawing shorter in the last weeks before the annual, clan gathering were ones filled with back-breaking work from before sun up and continued long into the night to ensure all the crops were harvested and everything was ready for the coming winter. Her maternal uncle was laird of their clan and he issued an order to have his subjects beaten if they didn't work hard enough to make his keep look like a showplace in time for the gathering this year. It wasn't uncommon for one or two of the older ones to die this time of year, but no one dared to challenge him. Not since the untimely deaths of her parents at the Campbell clan gathering ten, long years ago when she was nine summers old had her mood been this dark. At the time, their abrupt and sudden loss in her young life meant complete and utter heartbreak, plunging her into a depression which never truly lifted due to Callie never feeling at home in her uncle's castle. Now, her dark mood was due to her closest relative, her maternal uncle and laird, not caring a whit for her future happiness, since Hamish was willing to marry her off to a man reported to be one of the most vile in the region and her uncle's sole motivation was to gain a tidy profit from the match.
Her intense determination to escape her uncle's keep tonight under the cover of darkness and foul weather outweighed the fear of what he would do to her in retaliation if she was caught trying to escape his land, because she knew her very life and remaining future years depended on how far she could escape this night. She could feel some soreness in the bruises on her wrist he left there after she dared to say to him that she'd never whore herself out to any man for her uncle's profits. The bruises were physical reminders that Hamish didn't suffer insolence from anyone, let alone his dependent, female relative. It certainly wasn't the first time he left such bruising marks on her pale skin in anger; however, the number of times it happened was recently growing in frequency and intensity since her aunt died. He would surely skelp her arse within an inch of her life if she wasn't successful at escaping the keep, and indeed his land, this night. God help her if Hamish caught her and her fellow travelers in their attempt to flee without permission. She had to wonder if other Highland lairds treated members of their clans any differently. Her father had been laird of his clan and even though her memories of him were fading as she grew older, she never remembered him being cruel to anyone. Too many years had gone by without her feeling any sort of kindness from a loved one. Knowing the once strong memories of her parents already begun to fade in her mind, filling her with sadness and an emptiness that felt like nothing could ever fill.
Her mother's maid, Moira, was devoted to Callie since the deaths of her parents, even after she was demoted to a chamber maid. Her partner, Davis, felt the same sense of loyalty to Callie, although her uncle only agreed to keep him on as a stable hand and not the position of head groom he'd been for her parents at their bustling, friendly, and profitable keep. She had repeatedly told them over the last ten years that she would understand if they chose to leave the cold, miserable Campbell keep to return home, leaving her there on her own. Both Moria and Davis could have left her uncle's castle years ago, as they owed him nothing, but they felt too loyal to her and the memory of her parents to abandon Callie. He and Moira were both widowed with grown children who became a couple themselves a few, short years before her parents' deaths. Their plan was to wed when they returned to the MacLeod keep after the Campbell gathering ten years ago, having found a second chance at love with each other. Since they refused to leave Callie's side and stayed at the Campbell keep to watch out for her, her uncle hadn't even allowed their marriage to go forward and the older couple were forced to live apart to this day.
Their wedding would be the first thing Callie attempted to organise upon her return to the MacLeod keep. She tried to explain to them how much she wanted them to return home and see their children and grandchildren, but they stoutly refused her offer each time it was put forth, making Callie feel completely undeserving of their devotion to her and the memory of her parents. It didn't stop her from continually asking them to return to MacLeod land, her father's and their own clan, so they'd be free to marry once there; however, they always insisted their duty was to her before anything else and they considered her to be their adopted daughter. In any of their previous discussions about planning an escape, Moira thought the risk of them being caught by Callie's uncle far outweighed the reward of making their escape. Neither Callie nor Davis would leave without her, so they stayed put year after miserable year. After Hamish publicly announced his plans to marry Callie to Angus Cameron on the first night of this year's gathering to the assembled members of his clan, Moira finally agreed with Callie and Davis that it was the time to leave. Callie could have sworn there were many more clan members at the first gathering she remembered attending with her parents ten years ago when compared to more recent ones, but she guessed it could have been that it only seemed bigger than it was due to her being so young at the time. In the years following the first one she attended, it seemed the number of people shrank instead of growing. The clan suffered some bad harvests and it was likely the reason the clan numbers were not growing as well as expected.
Pulling her wet, woolen cape more closely around her shoulders, Callie shuddered when thinking of the possibility that she could be legally bound in matrimony to Angus Cameron. She didn't know much about the joining which took place between married couples, but she had enough sense to know the Cameron laird wasn't the kind of bridegroom that any sensible bride would ever want. He was in his early sixties, more than three times Callie's own age, a known drunk who drank cheap whisky by the bottle, and everyone in the Highlands knew no female's virtue was safe if left alone with him, no matter how young her age or her marital status. To make matters worse for Callie's impending nuptials, it was also whispered among the clans that Cameron was a violent, sadistic brute to everyone under his control, most particularly to his previous four wives. Anyone who crossed him seemed to mysteriously turn up dead soon thereafter including all of his wives who each seemed to die in some kind of accident if it wasn't childbirth. There were rumours the last one took her own life, but no proof was ever offered. Callie couldn't blame the girl if it was indeed true. After the death of each subsequent wife, Cameron was left without a heir, so he kept having to offer more gold each time. For her part, Callie was determined not to meet the same fate as any of the Cameron laird's previous four wives. She was going to avoid becoming his fifth wife no matter what it cost her. Callie's own parents had chosen to marry each other for love which was still quite rare in those days. She would be damned if she was going to be auctioned off by her uncle Hamish to the highest bidder like a prize heifer at the spring fair. She knew she'd rather face God's own punishment for killing herself in lieu of being married in such a sad, desperate manner. That is when she knew the time had come for her to escape and make her way back to her father's clan.
Hamish's wife, Laurie, died nearly a year ago leaving him an embittered, lonely man with no heirs of his own. He seemed to have no interest in finding another wife unlike Cameron who started to look for his next wife before his current one was yet cold in the ground. Hamish was the oldest sibling in the family, while Callie's mother, Morag, had been the youngest. There had been two brothers between them, but sadly both of them died before they were of age. Hamish was a man grown at nearly twenty when Morag was born, a late in life baby to her overjoyed parents who thought her mother was going through the change only to be surprised with the birth of their healthy, baby girl. Laurie had been Hamish's second wife after his first wife died in childbirth. Laurie was Morag's best friend in their childhood and they had been inseparable until Morag left the clan after marrying.
Even though Callie stood to inherit the entire MacLeod estate which had been her father's in his lifetime which a male uncle currently oversaw, it didn't stop Hamish from wanting to gain control of them by marrying Callie off to one of his allies. He was even desperate enough to consider waging a war against the MacLeod clan if needed. Planning to barter with the brutish Cameron laird by using her inheritance as a bargaining chip was the last straw for Callie. It was of no consequence to him if her paternal uncle currently ruled the MacLeod land in her absence or not. Hamish saw those fertile lands as his by right to rule, since he had proclaimed himself to be Callie's guardian after the untimely death of her parents. She refused to be the reason blood of her parents' clans was shed. Her paternal uncle, Douglas, tried several times in vain to get Hamish to let Callie return home, but to no avail. As a smaller clan, Douglas couldn't risk a large defeat at the hands of Hamish's warriors, so he hadn't tried after his last messenger came home in a box more than eight years ago. Callie didn't blame Douglas for not wanting to start a war he'd surely lose against her maternal uncle, but it saddened her greatly to not even know if Douglas was still living.
Life certainly hadn't been easy for Callie since her parents died. Her aunt Laurie had been somewhat kind to her, but it always felt forced. Callie thought she did it out of guilt for being coerced by Hamish to lure her parents to the gathering ten years ago in a letter that promised peace between them. Callie was never made to feel part of their family, as it was obvious Hamish and Laurie hadn't made a love match. They never supped at the same table unless they had important guests to impress; however, they never included Callie in those meals. It was soon clear they didn't sleep in the same bed once it became evident no child would result from their coupling. Laurie was the one who got Hamish to let Callie ride a horse for exercise. He refused the suggestion of Callie being able to continue her studies by saying it was a waste of time to educate any lass. Laurie did let her sneak books out of the small library in secret. Since Laurie's death, Callie was now forced to eat with servants in the kitchen on the scraps leftover after the meals were served in the hall. She was made to work long hours of menial chores around the keep and its grounds, reducing her to the status of an overworked maid. All the years in his care, her uncle refused any notion of Callie returning to MacLeod land, although her heart ached to see her her home again. She had precious few memories of her own keep having left home at such a young age. Her plan was to go there and lead her clan, as the sole and rightful heir to her father. She knew her Uncle Douglas would welcome her back with open arms if he still lived. If he had already died, then she wouldn't know what type of reception to expect, but she knew she had to try.
Davis had gotten a horse out of the stable on the first night of the gathering and stored him at an abandoned croft which stood a couple miles down the road from the castle walls. The croft was rumored to be haunted as sickness had claimed the family who once lived there, so nobody would go near it. He would meet them after the women left under the guise of Callie's weekly afternoon ride, the very last pleasurable thing she was allowed to do by her uncle. Luckily, it was dark by late afternoon thanks to the next wave of approaching thunderstorms when she and Moira caught up with Davis at the croft. Moira had managed to sneak some food out from the kitchens over the past week, so there was just enough bannocks and apple cider to get them to MacLeod keep if they rationed it well or had some luck hunting or fishing along their travels. Their plan was working thus far, as no one from Hamish's clan had seen the three of them together. Most everyone was busy enjoying the gathering activities, since the competition between the single, young men had started. Now, they had to keep riding into late at night to get as far away as possible before anyone sobered up to notice the three of them were gone.
Hours later, Callie was sore from riding so many long in a saddle of poor quality. She was struggling to keep her eyes open and stay upright on the horse. Her previous rides had been short and more infrequent in nature lately due to how much work she was forced to do, so her body wasn't used to spending hours in travel over such rocky, rough terrain. They were sticking to the lesser used trails instead of the bigger, known roads in hopes of avoiding any men who Hamish might send out looking for Callie once he finally noticed that she was missing from the gathering. If they were lucky, then he wouldn't notice anything was amiss until the next morning and they would have gained several hours of a head start in riding. The bad weather followed them for the first, few hours. It meant they couldn't travel as fast as they would like, since the occasional, booming claps of thunder were spooking the horses. Callie was very thankful when the icy rain and thunder stopped for a spell, but her clothes were already soaked and clinging to her chilled skin. The howling wind blew straight through her, freezing her to the bone and leaving her feeling exhausted and sleepy atop a horse, a dangerous and potentially deadly combination. As much as she wanted to stop and rest for a few hours, she knew they couldn't risk it for fear of them being discovered. Her single-minded determination to leave Hamish's keep meant the further they rode, the better chance they would have of getting away. Given how much money he stood to gain from her upcoming marriage to Angus Cameron, her uncle would not let her escape go unheeded. The rain would wash away the footprints of their horses and for that Callie was feeling grateful for that small mercy. It would hopefully give them a good enough head start to avoid capture by Hamish's men once they were noticed to be gone.
Her slim body was now cold, wet, and quite sore from sitting hours in the saddle. Her frozen hands could barely grip the reins and she could see her breath in the night air whenever she blew out a breath. Davis had taken the oldest saddles from the stables, ones which were due to be thrown away and he hid them until they planned their escape. He chose them in hopes no one else would notice them gone, so they were terribly uncomfortable with poor padding and cracked leather seats. As her green eyes felt heavy and slid to mere slits from overwhelming fatigue, a loud clap of thundering noise snapped Callie suddenly upright in her saddle. She feared it was the return of the storm, but it was far more dangerous. There were numerous Highland warriors in every direction she looked, surrounding their small riding party before she could have a chance to realise their deadly intentions. There were too many of them darting around to get an accurate headcount, but Callie was certain she saw a glimpse of a MacGregor tartan in the moonlight of the clearing. They were a small, neighbouring clan known for thieving. Her uncle Hamish would trade with them if it benefited his own pockets, leaving the MacGregors feeling cheated and then retaliating by attacking outlying farms and small riding parties. In her haste to flee her uncle's control, Callie neglected to consider them being attacked after leaving land owned by her uncle. It was soon clear their intentions were not honourable towards her and her friends, as they took control of Davis' horse with one of the MacGregor men plunging the sharpened tip of a claymore into the older man's side. It immediately caused Davis to cry out in terrible pain, as fresh blood sprayed out from his wound. He was soon silenced after tumbling off his horse, hitting his head against the rocky, cold ground with a lifeless thud. Callie watched the attack on her dear friend happening in complete shock and disbelief, as though it was a nightmare and not reality.
"Davis!" She screamed out his name in sheer horror, but didn't have time to yell a second time when another MacGregor rider tried to get Callie off her mare by forcefully striking her with the back of his gloved hand across her face, making contact with her cheekbone. She saw nothing but stars while intense pain exploded in her head. Dizzy with pain, Callie swayed on her mount, trying not to vomit from it and the shock of the scene unfolding in front of her. She continued to grip the worn, leather reins in a desperate attempt to remain upright on her already skittish, older mare. She knew that she had to get free of this fighter trying to control her and find a way to help Moira.
"Oh my saints! Help us, please! Somebody, help!" Moira was loudly screaming from shock of seeing her beloved Davis being attacked and killed. She yelled until another MacGregor rider struck at the older woman repeatedly in the stomach with a small dirk. Callie continued to fight against the burly one holding onto the reins of her horse, trying to get free in time to reach Moira. Hearing the painful yelp from her substitute mother as she fell from the horse onto the rocky ground, Callie feared that she was going to be too late to save her dearest friend. Moira's head landed with a loud thud on a sharp edge of a rock and the impact of her fall propelled the woman's small body forward, rolling it until her form was deathly still. Callie heard a loud, piercing scream, not knowing it came from her own throat and then she felt a second, heavier blow landing across her face. This time, the force of it was hard enough to rattle her teeth inside her head. She saw a flurry of bright stars dancing before her eyes and suddenly felt the urge to vomit returning. She struggled to focus all of her attention on the man trying to knock her off her mount or she would meet the same fate as Moira.
More warriors suddenly seemed to appear out of nowhere. A booming war cry was heard to be yelled by this approaching clan. The sheer force of their deep voices seemed to shake the wind in the trees at the edge of the clearing. They appeared to be from a different clan to her attackers, because the new warriors immediately began to clash with the MacGregor riders. The sounds of heavy, steel claymores clanging into each other soon filled the air along with the grunts of the men wielding the heavy weapons. Smells of freshly drawn blood and iron soon followed, along with the occasional thump of an inert body landing heavily on the ground. It was all Callie could do to keep herself from getting sick over the side of her mare between seeing the rivers of blood, hearing the agonising cries of the dying men, and the throbbing pain in her own head. Three of this new clan's warriors soon surrounded Callie, as she swayed again on her horse from the pain in her head. She futilely grasped at the pommel of her saddle, while trying to remain upright and stay conscious. She watched soundlessly, as the biggest of the men easily killed the MacGregor warrior who was holding onto the reins of her mare. Callie didn't feel any sorrow at seeing her attackers slain after witnessing the way they brutally murdered Davis. It hadn't yet dawned on her that Moira was also dead.
These new warriors made no movement which indicated they planned to harm Callie. Instead they corralled their strong mounts about her older mare, situating themselves with their broad, strong backs to her and risking their own lives to offer her protection while continuing to fight the few remaining MacGregors. Callie was relieved to see how much her rescuers out-sized and outmatched the men who attacked her small party. These large men battled with lightening speed and seemed to slay the rest of the MacGregors in a matter of minutes. Callie had never felt such a wave of gratitude in her life, as she did at seeing these new warriors arrive. A river of blood was flowing in every direction on the ground from the dead, as Callie tried to steady her vision and consciously worked not to vomit from the blinding pain in her head. This new group of Highland warriors barely seemed to suffer an injury among them for which Callie was grateful, since they graciously offered aide to her friends and herself. Suddenly, she realised why they were quiet for men who just won a battle, showing respect to her two, fallen friends. As soon as that thought dawned on her, Callie moved to push past one of her large protectors by elbowing him in the ribs and catching him unaware. While he clutched at his side in pain and let a surprised curse fly, she quickly jumped off her horse and stumbled in her efforts to run over to the spot where Moira lay completely still on the cold, wet ground. She fell to her knees to speak urgently with her friend.
"Can you hear me?! Moira, please wake up! It's over now. We're saved." Callie gently shook the old woman, tenderly moving a thatch of blood-soaked hair out of Moria's unmoving, brown eyes. She tried in vain to wake her dear, kind friend who acted as a benevolent mother figure all her life, particularly after the death of her parents. Quiet tears streamed down her thin, dirty cheeks unheeded, as the utter desolation sunk into her unwilling conscious surrounding her dear friend's untimely death. Callie spoke more softly in the dead woman's ear. "Oh, no! Moira, please stay with me! I can't lose you, too. You and Davis are the only family I have left..."
Moira remained deathly still and not moving in Callie's arms. A trail of blood already stained the leaves on the ground from the wounds on her head, ribs, and stomach. The blood was mixing with the falling rain and muddied ground, soiling the younger woman's clothes. She lost all track of time while she sat cradling the older woman's inert head in her lap with her eyes closed in grief. She wasn't paying any attention to anything or anyone until a deep, male voice began to speak softly from above her head, blocking the light of the moon which drew her attention immediately upwards and made her feel a fresh wave of dizziness with the concentrated effort it took to focus her eyes on him. At that moment, another rain shower began to fall again, the fat drops of water melding seamlessly with fresh tears sliding down her cheeks.
He spoke quietly, but firmly. "Lass, I'm very sorry for your loss, but we must bury them. It's gone dark and wolves will be headed this way."
"Pardon?" Callie looked up at the giant warrior who towered above her.
"We canna risk staying here any longer. The wolves have surely picked up on the scent of fresh blood, lass." Everything about his character from the rigid stance of his large shadow to his low, deep voice vibrated with authority. She couldn't tell what he looked like since everything was dark with his shadow looming over her, but the deep, husky timbre of his voice seemed to burrow straight into her very soul as he spoke.
"Oh, aye." She nodded in reply. Fresh tears gathered in her eyes. "I see. But..."
"I instructed my men to dig some graves for her and your manservant. We can bury them before we leave." He gently cut her off with a nod, explaining patiently in a soothing tone. His next words were softly spoken, shaking his head in disgust. "The wolves are welcome to feast on those damned, MacGregor bastards. They've been trespassing on my land for the past week and had no bloody right to attack you."
"Your land..." Her brows furrowed in confusion.
"Aye, it is." Laird Alexander Campbell gently placed a warm palm on her icy cold cheek, tenderly wiping away her tears after leaning down to crouch by her side. She looked back at him in shock at feeling the surprising jolt of electricity from the heated contact of his large hand on her face. Still carefully holding her cheek, Alex looked over her head to briefly nod his permission to an older man standing next to him with his hands clasped in front of his body, as though waiting for orders before making a move. After permission was granted, the second warrior reached down to gently remove Moira's lifeless body out of her arms and quickly walked away from them. Callie knitted her hands together to prevent herself from reaching out for her friend.
"Bury them together, please." She suddenly spoke, her hoarse voice barely above a whisper from shouting during the skirmish. Her cheek was still in the grasp of this large, young warrior. She looked up at him, pleading with her eyes as she made the request.
"Were they married then, lass?" The older warrior asked her.
"Nay, not yet." Alex was pleased to find she wasn't afraid of speaking her mind. Her melodic, soft voice was shaky with unshed emotion, as Callie carefully considered the words needed to convince these hulking strangers for the reason of her unconventional request. "They loved each other for many years and planned to wed, but their wedding was postponed due to circumstances out of their control. They deserve to be together in death."
Little did Callie know that Alex Campbell would never have refused her wish after seeing the initial look of grief on her young face. The older warrior paused, raising his brows in question to look at Alex for his laird's permission before moving further. He nodded his approval when replying. "Aye, do as the lass bids."
"Right away, laird. It shall be done." The older warrior hurriedly replied and he walked away with Moira's inert body in his arms, leaving them alone.
Alex slowly dropped his hand from her cheek, but stayed right next to her, continuing to crouch on his knees to avoid the wet, bloodied ground beneath his boots. He felt a strange, intense urge to protect her and not leave her side. It was a confusing emotion to feel so strongly for a complete stranger. Right now, it was something he didn't have time to analyse the reasons why, so he would reflect upon it later. Alex continued to gaze at this young woman expectantly, as he waited for the loud, keening noises of grief which women were known to exhibit in this type of scenario. Alex found himself amazed at her self-control when she didn't dissolve into an expected bout of typical, female hysterics at the shocking deaths of her two friends being so callously and brutally murdered. She did silently weep over the loss of her maid, but she had done it with a quiet resolve Alex didn't normally see in anyone her age. Tears, dirt, and rain still stained her wet cheeks. He found himself admiring how she managed it with such dignity, as though she didn't want to draw any undue attention to herself. Alex marveled how she continued to sit on the damp ground, soaked to her skin, yet never uttered a word of complaint about the harsh conditions.
She sat immobile for a few moments, as though needing time to steady her shaky breath after his uncle took away the body of her maid in preparation for burial. In all this time, she said not a word of her own injuries, yet Alex knew she must be in considerable pain. Her pale cheek was already showing evidence of bruising underneath the streaks of dirt and tears, so Alex knew she must have suffered a blow from one of the bastard MacGregors. Knowing her dearest friends were about to be buried, Callie decided to get off the ground to follow the older warrior carrying Moira's inert form, but she stumbled as soon as she attempted it. Her shaky legs simply gave way from the leftover stress of the attack, the pain in her head, and an inconsolable grief at knowing she needed to bury her only friends. The tall, dark haired giant caught her with ease before she fell back to the ground, bringing her flush against his warm, muscular side. She offered a hasty apology to him and tried to push away. "I'm so sorry."
"It's all right. I've got you now, lass." Alex answered.
"Thank you." Callie gasped at the flare of intense heat she felt whenever his large, warm hands touched her. She felt it all the way through her soaking wet, woolen cloak. His gentle touch felt like a poker fresh from a fire, hot enough even to brand her icy skin with his mark. Since he was so much taller than herself, she was forced to crane her neck up to get a closer look at him only to realise he was leaning down to do the same. There was visible worry etched in his incredibly handsome features.
"There's no need to thank me. As laird of this land, it's my duty to protect you."
"Oh." She unconsciously bristled at him using the word, laird, because it brought back so many unwelcome thoughts of her uncle whose wrath she was desperately trying to escape. Alex couldn't know the term meant only fear and unhappiness to her, but he noticed her reaction and wondered about it. As it was nearing time to bury her friends, he didn't broach the subject with her, but filed it away in his mind. It was something else for him to piece together after he sorted out the reason they were traveling during a storm. She shook her head, grimacing as the motion caused it further pain. "Thank you kindly, but I meant that I can walk on my own."
Callie couldn't decipher the simmering emotion in his blue eyes due to the darkness of the night. As his grip lessened a fraction, she felt herself swaying again, even as she attempted to move away from him. He shook his head no once more, pulling her close to his warm side again, wrapping one strong arm around her waist, and touching the curve of her face gently with the backs of his knuckles at the spot on her right cheek where she had been backhanded twice by a MacGregor attacker. His soft touch made her grimace in pain and she attempted to pull away from it. Alex immediately noticed that she still hadn't cried out, but this time he refused to let her go. "I'm sorry that it pains you, but there's no shame in needing my help, lass. One of those bastards gave you a fair blow to your bonny face. Didn't they?"
"Aye, a couple times." She gasped in shock at his gentle movements, unable to think about the surprise of him having just called her pretty.
"It's already begun to bruise." Alex frowned, as he looked her over for other injuries. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"
"Nay." She felt breathless, as his eyes traveled down over her body.
"Well, that's something." Alex answered. "I'm glad to have run them all through for this reason alone. No man should ever raise his hand in anger to a lass."
Shocked by the vehemence in his reply as much as the words themselves, Callie blurted out. "Not everyone shares your opinion."
"I ken it and I'm sorry you had to experience it firsthand." He frowned at the thought of someone hurting her.
"Well..." Carrie's voice trailed off. She couldn't tell him that her attacker wasn't the first man to injure her physically.
Motioning with his free hand to the clearing where his warriors were standing around the open grave, Alex continued. "Come with me now. We've got to bury them and leave."
Callie mutely nodded her head in resignation when hearing a few wolves howling in the distance which caused her to shiver and instinctively lean into his side. There was no words left to say at this point and she knew it. Nothing could bring Davis and Moira back to the living, so the best thing she could do for them tonight was to say goodbye and see them properly buried. She despaired internally at the lack of a priest for their brief ceremony, but it wasn't possible to delay the burial given where the attack took place and the approaching wolves. They must be miles away from any type of church. Callie resolved to have a mass said in their memory when she eventually reached MacLeod land. The couple walked over to the spot in the clearing where some of his warriors gathered in a silent circle around the freshly dug grave of her friends who were laid side by side, their battered bodies respectfully covered in a clean tartan of a clan she didn't recognise. It disheartened her to seeing them without the MacLeod colours, but this clan was kinder to her friends than her uncle ever treated the older couple and Callie took some solace in the knowledge they weren't being buried in the colours of Hamish's clan. She looked around the circle of the men, noticing the tartan covering her friends was the same pattern as the one these men wore themselves.
It pained Callie enormously to look at her friends laying together in death. Too little, too late for them, she thought morosely to herself, as she began to violently shake from delayed shock and fresh tears began to flood her eyes even though she remained unable to speak. Callie wiped in vain at the freshly falling tears, shaking her head in sorrow at seeing her friends' inert, lifeless figures. She felt a strong, warm arm come around her shoulder in a gesture that offered both comfort and support. Alex eventually pulled her into the shelter of his arms and covered her shoulders with his plaid once the rain began to fall in heavy, icy sheets. One of the younger warriors cleared his throat and offered a brief prayer for the departed couple.
Peace between kindred,
Peace between lovers,
Peace between wife and husband,
The peace of Christ above all.
As he finished speaking, the other men started to throw dirt on them. Alex felt the exact moment Callie began to faint. It was just as the first handfuls of dirt flew into the double grave. She gave a startled, little gasp, her body collapsing when dirt hit the plaid covering the bodies. He quickly moved to gather her up into his arms, preventing her from a fall onto the wet ground and injuring herself any further. Alex let out a curse. "God damn it."
His uncle nodded his head in sympathy, murmuring. "The poor lass. She's had quite the shock tonight."
"Aye, she has. Finish it quickly. We've got to travel far enough away from here to not draw any attention from the wolves before we make camp tonight, even if they'll already have enough choice here for their dinner." He commanded before walking off with Callie still cradled in his arms towards the direction of his horse. It was the same moment when Alex realised that she never told him anything about herself, not even her name. Alex asked aloud to the unconscious beauty in his arms. "Who on earth are you, lass? And what in the bloody hell are you doing on my land?"
The beautiful, unconscious woman in his arms offered no answer and laird Alex Campbell was left wondering what to do with her once he found out the answers he needed from her.