Chapter Five
Being this close to Keith lands made him nervous.
Nikolaus remembered this vale well because long ago, it was where he first met his first love.
She’d been petite and fiery, with hair much like the red-haired lass he’d seen with Cam.
She’d had an unruly tongue from what he remembered but it had only made him laugh.
He could still recall her name even if the passing time had blurred her face a little.
Clova.
He hadn’t recalled that name in a very long time.
There had been moments in his youth, after he’d married Cam’s grandmother, that he’d thought of Clova, but it had been nothing more than a brief thought followed by a flash of regret.
He’d been forced to forget about the spitfire of a lass who had enchanted him for that moment in time.
He’d stopped wondering a long time ago what their life together would have been like.
It simply wasn’t meant to be.
But he hadn’t told his grandson any of this and he wasn’t sure why.
Perhaps it was because, deep down, the memories were still ached dully.
It wasn’t something he wanted to relive.
But now, he found himself in the same vale where he’d known Clova, recalling those memories whether or not he wanted to as he waited for a lass who might very well cause the same pain to his grandson if he didn’t do something.
The morning passed into the afternoon and still, he waited.
Once or twice, he thought he heard voices, but whoever it was had passed him by as he sat near the brook at the base of the vale.
He was camouflaged down in the greenery until the sun began to set and he was coming to think he had missed the lass.
He wasn’t sure when he’d get another chance to seek her out, alone.
Perhaps he’d send Cam off on another errand that would take him away overnight.
Just enough time for Nikolaus to try again.
With regret, he made his way out of the foliage, his bad hip causing him pain as he hiked up the slope of the vale and to the trail at the top.
From this point, it was nearly a straight line down to the flatlands below and on to Netherton.
He was thinking on the supper he would make this night and wondering fleetingly if Cam had already come home to discover his grandfather missing.
Their stall in town had been cold and dark all day, which would make Cam suspicious.
He would wonder where his grandfather had been.
Nikolaus wasn’t sure what he was going to tell his prying grandson but he would have to think of something. Perhaps he’d tell him that he’d gone out to hunt for more birds’ eggs but he doubted Cam would believe him.
It was worth a try, anyway.
And then, he smelled it.
Smoke.
Odd that he was suddenly hit with a heavy whiff of smoke, and not from a cooking fire, either.
This smoke was carried on the breeze that blew in from the ocean because it was heading west, meaning it had blown over the flatlands where several villages, including Netherton, were situated.
Menmuir, Finavon, Fern… those were all villages around Netherton and as Nikolaus headed toward a viewpoint along the trail, he was curious as to where the smoke was coming from. Smoke this heavy meant a big fire.
Unfortunately, he received his answer.
In the distance, he could see a great fire at Netherton and his heart sank.
Netherton had many stone structures, but it also had structures of wood in the center of the village and from what he could see, a great fire had spread.
More than likely a cooking fire, as that had been known to happen, but he was concerned for his stall.
It was made of stone because of the forge, but it was better to check on his livelihood to make sure it was intact.
Better still to check on the village who looked up to him as a wise elder.
He would be needed.
The old man with the bad hip began to run.
*
It wasn’t a cooking fire.
It was a raid.
Nikolaus came to the edge of the village about the same time as a group of riders came charging through one of the smaller avenues, swinging lit torches onto the thatched rooves.
Women and children were screaming and running, and men who were trying to defend their homes were summarily cut down.
Nikolaus saw evidence of that with his own eyes.
He managed to avoid a group of marauding riders by ducking through an alleyway, but as he came out on the other side, there was another, smaller group waiting for him.
Caught off guard, Nikolaus avoided having his head smashed with a pike. As the pike whizzed past him, he reached up in a surprisingly deft move and yanked the man off his horse. As the man hit the ground heavily, Nikolaus kicked him in the stomach and tore off the kerchief he had around his face.
Nikolaus realized, with shock, that he recognized the man.
He was a Lindsay.
“Ye?” he spat. “Ye’re Drostan’s man. What are ye doing? What is happening?”
Even though the man was winded from having been kicked in the belly, he still had the strength to kick out and take Nikolaus’ legs out from underneath him.
As Nikolaus went down, the man lumbered to his feet and reclaimed his spike.
He was about to bring it down on Nikolaus’ head when a shout stopped him.
“Angus! Nay!”
The man came to a halt in mid-swing, turning to see the approach of several clansmen.
They were clad in finer tunics and fabrics, not the lowly woolens that the majority of the raiders seemed to be wearing, something that was indicative of the clans from the hills.
In fact, the Clan Keith of Auchnacree wove that very type of fabric.
It was well known in the hills. As the finer-dressed raiders approached, Nikolaus had a sneaking suspicion that all was not as it seemed.
He was frightened and confused.
“Ternan?” he said to the man at the head of the group. “What goes on here?”
A man with dark hair and pasty skin watched him emotionlessly from atop his mount. “Nikolaus,” he greeted him. “I will admit I dinna expect tae find ye here. Someone said ye went tae Brechin this morning.”
Nikolaus looked to the host of grim faces around him. “Cam did,” he said. “But I dunna understand what is happening. Are we being attacked? Are ye helping tae defend us?”
Ternan Lindsay sighed heavily, looking to the men around him. “It is most unfortunate that ye’re here,” he finally said. “’Tis most unfortunate that ye’ve seen us.”
Nikolaus had no idea what the man was talking about. “If ye give me a pike, I can help defend the village,” he said, listening to the screams around him. “Who has attacked us?”
Ternan was kin to the chieftain of Clan Lindsay, Drostan Lindsay. In fact, Ternan was his close cousin, like a brother, though he didn’t have Drostan’s unscrupulous manner. He was more of a follower than a leader, someone who carried out orders rather than questioned them.
There was indecision in his eyes as he looked at Nikolaus.
“Someone has,” Ternan said after a moment, a vague statement. “That’s all ye need know. Get out of here, Nikolaus. Go find yer grandson and leave Netherton this night. Dunna return.”
Nikolaus was growing increasingly upset. “What do ye mean?” he demanded. “Let me help ye defend what is mine. These are my people, Ternan. Let me help!”
Before Ternan could open his mouth, another man astride a fine, dappled horse suddenly rounded the corner, nearly running into Ternan. Nikolaus found himself looking at Drostan Lindsay himself.
Drostan seemed quite interested in Nikolaus.
“Where did ye find him?” he asked, indicating the old man.
Ternan appeared both remorseful and resigned. “Here,” he said simply. “He found us, I suppose.”
A tall man with wispy hair and a look about him that suggested madness, Drostan Lindsay appeared older than his forty-odd years.
He was one of those men who had been wicked since birth, an evil that had been in his veins the moment he was conceived.
His eyes narrowed as he sized up Nikolaus, the leader of the village of Netherton by all accounts.
A man who could cause them trouble.
“He has seen us,” he said to Ternan. “Ye canna leave him.”
Ternan looked at his cousin. “He doesna know, Dros,” he said. “He thinks… there are other raiders. He wishes tae help us defend Netherton.”
Drostan looked at Ternan in surprise. “He wants tae…” he said, trailing off as he realized what Ternan was saying. “We’ve not time for such foolishness. Ye know what needs tae be done. I’ll say no more.”
“But, Dros—”
“He’s seen us, Ternan. Ye know what that means.”
Ternan did, indeed. As Drostan charged off again, taking several men with him, Ternan remained with only a few, including the one that Nikolaus had originally assaulted.
Perhaps Ternan knew what needed to be done, but he wasn’t heartless like Drostan was.
He had some limitations. Murdering a man who only wanted to defend his village, a man Ternan had known many years, was one of those limitations.
But he knew Drostan was right—Nikolaus had witnessed the identity of the raiders of Netherton.
They couldn’t leave him alive.
But Ternan couldn’t do it. Call it weakness, or conscience, he couldn’t give the command. Waving his arm at the men around him, he gave the only order he was capable of giving.
“Take him,” he commanded quietly. “Take him tae Kirkburn and put him in the vault. Lock him up and tell no one, not even Dros. If ye do, we’re all as good as dead.”
His men did his bidding, taking the kicking, biting old man and dragging him off.
At one point, Nikolaus put up such a fight that they had to bind and gag him, and it was bound and gagged that Nikolaus was taken to the seat of the Lindsay stronghold, Kirkburn Castle, and placed in a dark, musty hole.
That night, Netherton burned to the ground.