Chapter Twenty
Moira felt as if she were dreaming. Together she and Errol had completed what they set out to do—find the treasure.
The final piece she held tightly in her hands.
She blew out a breath. What could the letter possibly say?
They had already uncovered the tragic ending to the love story of Thomas and Fiona.
Sadness covered her like a blanket at the thought of the young family that had been devastated by the actions of a sick, selfish bastard. What else could the letter tell them?
There was only one way to find out.
Slowly, carefully, she unfolded the square, the parchment old, frayed in the creases where it had been folded for years.
‘Thank ye. First and foremost, that is what I must say to ye, the one who fought to get to the end and uncover the truth. Ye have accomplished what I could not. I tried. Believe me when I say that. But I could not overcome the ire both families set upon my shoulders. Ye have found the final chest and therefore ye ken what my next steps are. Once I bury this final chest, I will walk upon the cliffs and join my dear husband, Thomas, and our darling daughter, Agnes, in eternity. I pray that the MacLeod treat Angus as their own and that he grows to be braw like his da. I have not seen him since my shunning from both clans. I can only hope that they tell him about his da one day. I hope he learns how much he was loved. I ken that I will not be part of that conversation. A part of those memories. I am no’ happy about it, but I have resigned myself to that truth.
As to our beautiful daughter’s killer, it was the MacPhail.
It was he who was infatuated with her. Did those awful things to her.
When Thomas confronted him, MacPhail and his brothers attacked.
’Twas too much for Thomas to defend himself against. It was also the MacPhail that went to the MacLeod, painting a story that I killed my daughter and my husband and in doing so set in motion a feud to last, well, I do not ken, but I am sure a long time.
When ye find this, I pray that the feud has ended, and the clans have reconciled.
If not, then please, let the items ye have found finally put an end to all the fighting that for certs has happened.
And finally, my wish is that the MacPhail pay for all they have done.
All the pain they have caused. They should pay.
Fiona M.’
Moira looked at Errol and couldn’t stop the tears that once again flowed down her cheeks. She swiped at them angrily. She was both sad and furious. Sad for all that happened to Fiona and her family and angry at the senseless cause of it all.
“The MacPhail,” she started. “Arenae they the clan that held a small parcel of land betwixt our lands?” She gasped. “Is that the land that was given to Thomas and Fiona? Did they no’ only take the lives of Agnes and Thomas, and Fiona in a sense,” she added. “But they also took their land?”
Errol frowned, as he rubbed the stubble on his chin.
“I believe ye may be correct. I havenae seen them for quite some time. I will have to ask my father if he kens, but I believe they moved on. Naught has been done on the land. But it must be the land Fiona spoke about. I ken of no other that would fit.”
The sharp crack of a branch breaking in the nearby woods caught their attention. Moira sat up quickly, her eyes scanning the woods as Errol stood straight, his hand going to the hilt of the sword at his side.
“What is it?” Moira asked nervously, fear settling deep into her bones.
“Could be just an animal.”
“Or?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to ken the answer, even though she kenned what the other possibility was.
Had more bandits tracked them down?
Would they attack them once again? Were they in the woods now collecting the items that she and Errol had pulled from the final chest?
“The artifacts,” she said with worry.
“Stay near me.” Errol’s voice was low, but strong and steady, his eyes searching the woods.
It was so dark once you passed the line of the trees, it was impossible to see deep into the forest. Ten men could be watching them.
Mayhap even more, and they would not be able to tell because they couldn’t see them.
Moira withdrew her dagger. “The blade from the chest. What if they have taken it?”
Errol shook his head. “I wouldnae fash about that just yet. If someone has come and they are here for the treasure, ’twill be there after they dispatch us.”
Moira gasped. “We are going to die? Nay.” She refused to end up like Thomas and Fiona.
“I didnae say that. Stay calm. I am just saying that that is more than likely their plan, whoe’er ’tis. ’Twould be easier to gather up the treasure if there was no one preventing them from doing so. Naught will happen to ye, Lass. I promise ye.”
A whir in the air sounded and Errol pushed her to the ground.
“Christ!” He swore as he lifted his head in the direction the arrow came from.
He took a deep breath. “An archer. And we are sitting out in the open. We can move to the other side, but if there are multiple archers, they will have all sides covered.”
Moira’s heart sped up, her blood pounding in her ears as her eyes searched the trees frantically.
She didn’t want to die at the end of an arrow.
Or any other way for that matter. Nay, she wanted to live and bring Thomas and Fiona’s story to light.
To solve the rift betwixt their two clans and move forward in peace and unification.
“I dinnae believe ’tis an experienced archer. We were sitting still, and yet he missed.”
“What if ’twas just a warning arrow? What if the next one pierces one of our hearts.”
He took her by the shoulders, dropping his head so he could look her in her eyes. Their gazes locked. “I willnae let that happen. I promise ye, Lass. This is no’ how we end.”
His stare was so convincing. Confident.
“Understand?” He asked, his fingers squeezing.
She nodded.
“All right. We are closest to the woods behind us. They are our best chance for cover. At my command, I want ye to run to them, fast as ye can.”
Was he daft?
“Nay! ’Tis a sure way to an untimely death.”
Errol kissed the top of her head. “Remember, lass. I said no harm will come to ye. I will shield ye.”
“So ye can take the arrow, leaving me alone to fend for myself? Absolutely no’!”
“Moira,” Errol drawled, his voice steely. “We cannae stay where we are. We must move.”
“I dinnae want to,” she said stubbornly, but also out of fear, which made her legs feel heavy. She wasn’t sure she would be able to run.
Errol took hold of her shoulders, giving her a slight shake to get her to focus on him. “Look at me. Listen to me. Naught is going to happen to ye.”
She started to speak, and he pressed a finger to her lips to quiet her.
“Nay. Listen. To. Me,” he said slowly. “This is no’ e’en close to the worst situation I have been in. Do ye trust me?”
She darted her tongue out, wetting her suddenly dry lips, and nodded.
“Good. At my word, I want ye to run to that copse of trees o’er there. See them?”
She looked over his shoulder and identified the spot he spoke of, and nodded.
“Good. Run as fast as ye can. Zig zag if ye want, just run quickly. Stay low. The boulder will help shield ye.”
“What about ye?” She asked, her lips quivering.
“Dinnae fash about me. I will be right behind ye. Understand?” He bent, staring into her eyes. “Do ye understand?”
Looking over his shoulder into the trees on the far side of the hollow, Moira tried to see whoever was out there, but she couldn’t see aught. It was too dark and shadows blended together making the landscape look creepy and foreboding.
“Moira?” Errol asked.
Taking a deep breath, she brought her gaze back to his. “I understand.”
He smiled encouragingly. “Ye are a strong woman, Moira Hart. The strongest I ken.”
She didn’t believe that, but she didn’t have the energy to fight with him about it right then.
“Stand up, but stay hunched o’er,” he ordered.
Doing as she was told, she waited, staring straight ahead to the destination she needed to run to.
“Now!” Errol urged. “Go, Moira!”
Off she ran, staying low, but pumping her legs as fast as she could.
Feeling the burn in her thighs, but she ignored it.
Ignored the heavy feel of them trying to slow her down.
She couldn’t hear Errol behind her. She wanted to turn and make for certs he was there, but she needed to concentrate on not falling.
The trees drew closer. An arrow whizzed by her, sinking into the ground to her right.
She screamed and hunched even lower, even though it made her advance clumsy, and pumped her legs harder.
Closer. The trees were right there. Just a few more steps and she would safe. The searing pain that lanced her side felt like fire. She sank to the ground, grasping at her side. She brought her hand up and saw that it was soaked in blood.
Nay.
They were so close. Where was Errol? She couldn’t see him, but she couldn’t stay where she was.
She needed to get into the safety of the trees.
Pushing off the ground, she moaned in pain, black spots appeared behind her eyes and she fought through the temptation to fall back on the ground and finally made it to the safety of the trees.
At the edge she dropped down into the darkness, her face falling into the pine needles and mud, but she didn’t care. She’d made it.
*
There was only one archer. That was good for them. Judging from the aim of the arrows so far, the archer wasn’t one that was well-seasoned. Nay, Errol believed it was someone that was either very new to the bow and arrow or someone that didn’t possess the skill to be a good archer.
Either way, that bode well for them. Whoever it was had loosed several arrows whilst they ran.
It was a gamble to not run behind Moira as she headed towards the trees and acted as a shield.
One that he would most definitely never tell her about.
But he figured since he was the bigger threat, he would draw the arrows to him and allow Moira to get to the cover of the trees safely.
He didn’t think she would ever forgive him for doing that and he wouldn’t blame her.
*
Applying pressure to her side to try to stop the bleeding, Moira scanned the trees looking around for Errol.
She didn’t see him. Her heart quickened.
Where was he? Had he been shot by an arrow as well?
She frantically searched the ground, looking for his prone body laying lifelessly in the clearing.
She heard footsteps behind her and turned best as she could.
Her dagger raised as high as she could manage, ready to strike whoever approached.
“Lass, ’tis me.” Errol had his hands up.
“I. How? I, I thought ye were behind me?” She wanted to rush into his arms and hug him close. She wanted to cling to him like he was her lifeline and not let him go. But she couldn’t even stand. Her energy was quickly ebbing and she fought the temptation to close her eyes.
“I took a different path. There is only one archer. He couldna shoot two places at one time.” He knelt beside her and grasped her hand.
It was then he noticed her injury, his eyes blowing wide and his forehead creased with concern.
“Jesus, Lass.” His eyes dropped to her side, looking at the side of her gown which she was for certs was now saturated with her blood.
“Nay, nay, nay,” he repeated and ripped off his tunic, wrapping it around her waist in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood.
“We need to go deeper in the woods and get ye to safety.”
She gave him a small smile—it was the biggest one she could muster as she tried to lift her hand to caress his cheek. The effort was too much, and her hand fell limply to her side. “I am safe with ye here, now.” Her voice sounded far away.
Scooping her up in arms, Errol was careful not to jostle her overly much and moved further into the darkness of the trees, moving fast but sure-footed. She was cold and couldn’t stop the shiver that overtook her body.
“Ye will be fine, Lass.” His words were quiet, almost pleading as if he were saying the words to convince himself as much as her. He laid her on the ground gently.
“I am sorry,” she said quietly as he pulled away his tunic and assessed the wound in her side.
“Ye need stitches. I need to get to the horses and our supplies.”
She clutched at his arms. “Dinnae leave me, Errol. I dinnae want to be alone,” she cried, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye. Images of death swam afore her eyes. She didn’t want to die. Not now. Not when she and Errol were so close to mending the strife betwixt their families.
Not afore she told Errol she loved him.
She could tell him now, but her mouth didn’t want to move. And her eyes wouldn’t remain opened. She was slipping into the fog that threatened to consume her.
“Moira.” Her name sounded so far away. As if she were being called from the other side of a long tunnel. “Lass, wake up.” Warmth wrapped around her and she welcomed it as the fog overwhelmed her and she slipped into black oblivion.