Chapter 7
Three long days passed while Ella paced and fretted.
Muireall was only a little better, worried for her husband Euan, but confident that he could take care of himself in a fight.
Knowing Calum’s vision was not perfect, Ella couldn’t share her certainty, but took some comfort knowing that Euan would guard his left side if it came to a fight.
The lack of news worried all of them. At last, Muireall tired of her long face and dragged her outside, to where the lasses held their archery target practice against the inside of the keep’s outer curtain wall, something Muireall suggested several times, but Ella had refused to do in the year since she’d come to Brodie.
Ella was still reluctant, more interested in learning to heal than in injuring or killing.
But she’d seen in July how it felt to have most of the fighting men away from the keep with Domhnall’s army, and how the women, trained as archers, kept watch on the wall walk and made everyone feel safer.
If she needed more convincing, one look at Annie’s young lad and the idea of helping to keep the clan’s bairns safe soothed her qualms.
Had they lost many men at Harlaw, and thank they saints they had not, those women would have been even more important defending the clan until the younger lads and lasses grew older, stronger, and more skilled.
Now that Brodie was again without a number of their warriors, refreshing her observations from July, she decided it was time for her to step up.
Iain sent out all of their scouts and a third of their fighting men.
He remained in the keep, as did Annie. She drilled the women who’d already become skilled archers, while bringing up other lasses who wanted to join their more experienced sisters in defending the clan.
Ella wanted to learn to defend the keep, while hoping she never actually had to. So, she went with Muireall to a sheltered corner of the bailey where targets were set up, nervous but determined.
“Ye need a distraction, and this one is useful,” Muireall said as she took Ella to a stack of bows of varying lengths and began having her try them for size and pull. “Ye’ll train with the newer lasses,” she added. “Ye canna place a value on learning to defend yerself.”
“How long will it take me to learn to do this?” Each bow Muireall gave her seemed too large, and pulling it required more strength than she possessed. But Muireall was undeterred and when one bow proved to be too much, handed her another.
“That depends on ye. A day or two for the basics, but longer to practice and become an expert.”
“That could take me—”
“Sennights, or months, aye, but consider this, if ye get good at archery, Calum might respect ye more, since archery and fighting are things he understands and values.”
“That’s a good point. Helping Mhairi has no’ served me well with him.”
“Give him time, Ella. Yerself, too. Ye will find a way. And ye will want to spend some time with Iain’s lot as well.”
“I’ve watched them a wee when I passed nearby. This is hard, but what they’re doing looks harder. And more dangerous.”
Muireall hesitated, then said, “After what ye have been through, learning to protect yerself will make ye feel stronger and more confident.”
Ella nodded. She didn’t like to think about their time at Ross, but Muireall was right.
At her nod, Muireall continued, “The biggest danger in training is getting bruised. But every lass should ken how to protect herself. ’Tis easier than trying to shoot someone with an arrow when they’ve already got their hands around yer throat.”
“Ye have a point.”
Muireall nodded as Ella found a bow she could pull, then handed her a fistful of arrows. “Let’s do this first. Later, I can show ye some simple moves—”
“Aye, show me.”
“But after, ye must promise me to also learn from Iain. Or Calum.” She grinned, then sobered. “Either of them will teach ye more than I can. Especially Calum.” Her grin came back.
Ella ignored what Muireall likely thought Calum could teach her. “If I agree to work with Iain, why no’ go with me? Surely there is more ye wish to learn.”
Muireall considered for a moment. “Ye have a point,” she said, echoing Ella’s earlier comment.
“I hope everyone is back soon,” Ella said as Muireall chose a target for her to use and set her in place. “Even though we went through this in July, it seems strange to have so many of the men out of the keep at once.”
“So many men out of the keep, or one particular one? I recall how ye worried over Calum while he was gone this summer.”
Muireall helped Ella line up a shot, then she pulled and let it fly. She grimaced as it fell short of the target by several feet. “With good reason, as it turned out,” she answered while picking up another arrow and nocking it. “I took yer advice. Did Euan tell ye before they left?”
“That he made certain ye had a chance to speak to Calum, aye. But he didna ken what happened, except that he thought Calum needed the time to get over whatever the two of ye said to each other. Does that mean it didna go well?”
Ella lowered her bow, suddenly unable to summon the strength to pull it.
She was grateful to have a friend like Muireall.
Someone she could talk to. Someone who knew first-hand what she’d been through at Ross.
But with all of that, she wasn’t sure she could repeat what she and Calum said to each other.
She’d break down before she got very far.
“I see,” Muireall said before Ella recovered enough to have a chance to answer. “Ye will tell me when ye are ready. When ye are able.”
“I…he said he forgave me.”
“Did he? The bastard.”
“What?” Why would Muireall say that? Ella thought they all wanted him to forgive her. She certainly did.
Muireall planted her fists on her hips. “Ye had done naught that needed forgiveness.” Then she shrugged. “I’m disappointed in him that he continues to think so.”
“And so, naught has changed.” Ella pursed her lips. Nothing had changed, and likely never would.
“Nay. I think something has.”
“What do ye mean?”
Muireall patted her hand. “He bent enough to offer ye some ease before he left, in case he didna come back. His pride is a fearsome thing, but it showed a crack when he made the effort to comfort ye. And a cracked wall can be broken.”
The thing Calum hated most about scout duty was spending nights in the cold and often wet without a fire to warm him.
He and Euan couldn’t risk one being seen, and they were not far enough into a rocky area to be able to hide one behind boulders.
Daytime was no better. Smoke could be seen for miles.
So they wore layers of clothing and wrapped themselves in warm woolen plaids, with an outer layer of oiled wool to keep them as dry as possible.
It sufficed for a night or two. Longer than that and they’d normally seek better shelter, but their quarry might well be doing the same thing, increasing his and Euan’s chances of being discovered before they had a chance to find the raiders.
He spent their rest time while Euan was on watch trying to sleep and obsessing about Ella, rethinking everything that had happened between them from the moment he first saw her as a captive in the Ross camp with Muireall and the third Munro lass, Tira, who’d stayed with her Ross husband.
He recalled all Ella had said and done as herself and as Janet while he recuperated.
All the times she’d encouraged him, and kept him from wrecking his recovery.
He’d thought he knew her before he was injured, but his fears and anger affected his perspective.
The more he mulled it over, the more he saw her intentions for what they had been—good for him.
He’d been right to forgive her, even if he’d done so reluctantly at the time.
Could he accept that and move forward toward her? With her?
By the third night, Calum came to the conclusion that he had no answers.
Life was a gamble. He and Euan were accustomed to this work.
Proud of it, truth be told. And damned good at it.
And they were lucky. Someday that luck might run out, but they did all they could to hold off that day’s arrival by being smart.
And careful. And well trained. Their mounts, too, were trained to silence when it was needed, their tack oiled and checked constantly against rattles and clinks.
Hand signals sufficed when the sound of a voice might give them away to an enemy.
There was just enough starlight filtering through gaps in the tree canopy for Calum to use one now and know Euan would see it.
He’d heard something. A whisper of sound.
Perhaps an owl or a wildcat. Or a man. His signal stopped Euan and they waited, still and silent as the night.
The wind had died with the sunset, and the normal forest sounds like the calls and fluttering wings of birds, and the wind sighing through pine branches, had quieted, too.
He heard it again. The suggestion of a sound.
Perhaps something in the distance, but it didn’t pay to make assumptions.
It might come from something behind the next tree.
Or above them in the canopy. Without turning his head, he used his eyes to scan as much around them as he could.
But his left-side night vision was no better than his vision during the day.
His hearing would have to tell him where and what they faced.
Or would it? His nostrils flared. A sudden light breeze carried a scent.
Upwind was to his right. He concentrated, soaking in anything his senses told him came from that direction.
Euan was close enough to see him cant his head that way, so he counted on Euan to focus elsewhere, covering the other approaches an enemy might use to surprise them.
They could well be upwind of trouble, themselves.
They waited.