Page 3 of The Refuge

Angus helped her to mount.

What they found when they reached the bottom of the hill confirmed what they had seen from the crest, only now they could smell the bodies ripped asunder. Covering her nose, she stared at the field of dead. Her eyes smarted from the smoke billowing into the air around her.

She stepped around the bodies lying on the blood-soaked ground, listening for a groan or a sound that would tell her some still lived. She avoided looking at their faces, for she would know them and that would be worse. She looked for auburn hair like her own, relieved when she did not find Niall.

Assured her brother was not among the fallen, she went to where her father lay in front of the palisade, knowing by the blood covering his chest and the vacant look in his eyes he was dead.

Catrìona wanted to scream but no sound came from her throat. Her heart sank with her knees as she dropped to his side. Tears filled her eyes and coursed down her cheeks. She wiped them away and kissed his forehead, paying her last respects to the father she loved. No one else called her “little cat”. In her mind she heard his voice as he told her the stories of Ireland from long ago.

She got to her feet. Inside, she felt numb and hollow.

“I will see to him,” said Angus coming alongside her.

She looked back at the bodies. “There are so many…”

“Aye, but Domnall’s men will help when he arrives.”

Nodding, she slowly walked through the open gate, dreading what she might encounter. The palisade’s timbers burned but the flames had not yet reached this point. The acrid smell of smoke filled her nostrils, but she forced herself to keep going. She had to find her mother.

Just inside the gate, Catrìona spotted her mother lying on the ground, a knife not far from her open hand. Her dark hair was loose and tangled, her throat slit.

Oh, Mother.

Catrìona kneeled beside the woman who had given her life and kissed her cheek. In death her mother’s face was peaceful. She picked up the knife. The blade was still clean. Her mother had not been able to deliver even one blow to her killer. Securing the knife in her belt, Catrìona rose, vowing to draw Norse blood with it, if given the chance.

Staggering back through the palisade gate, she searched for Angus, wanting to be assured he was close.

Movement drew her eyes to the edge of the trees. A figure ran toward her, bow and arrows slung over his shoulder, his bright auburn hair flying out behind him.

“Niall!” She broke into a run. When she reached him, they embraced. She clung to him, drawing comfort from his familiar scent. New tears she could not hold back poured from her eyes. “Thank God you were not here.”

He pulled back to face her. “Who did this, Cat?”

“Northmen.” She looked around but saw none of the dead raiders. “Oh, Niall, ’twas ghastly. Angus and I had just reached the crest when we realized the hillfort was under attack. I can still hear the screams of the women.”

“Father? Mother?” His voice faltered as he looked toward the bodies scattered upon the ground.

“Dead. Father fought bravely, as did his men, but they were greatly outnumbered.” When the rush of words ended, she paused and then said, “All the men were killed.” Remembering the small bodies scattered among the others, she added, “Even the children. The only ones taken were some of the women.”

“Deidre?”

“Taken.” Her pretty handmaiden had lived sixteen summers, older than Niall by only a year. The two had grown up together as friends. Catrìona could still see Deidre’s smiling face when they had talked of their coming journey to Atholl.

Niall clenched his jaw and shut his eyes as if to gain control. When he opened them, his face was set in stone, much like her heart.

Angus approached, wiping soot from his forehead with the back of his hand. “’Tis glad I am to see ye’re safe, Niall.”

Her brother’s face twisted in anger as he clenched his fingers around his bow. “I wish I had been here to fight the whoresons.”

“Cormac would not have wanted that. He would want ye to live to one day father sons of yer own.” He turned to Catrìona. “None are alive, milady. I have moved yer mother away from the hillfort to lie next to yer father, just there.” He pointed to a patch of grass some distance away where two bodies lay apart from the others. Angus had covered their faces. “The wind will feed the fire,” he said. “Soon the hillfort will be gone.”

She could not bear to think her home was being consumed by fire, but the pungent smell of burning wood filled the air, making it all too real.

Glancing toward the bodies of their parents, Niall said to Angus, “I will help you bury them.”

Once her parents’ bodies lay in the ground, she and Niall stood over the two graves, her brother speaking the words from the Psalter they had learned as children. Catrìona barely heard them. Instead, images filled her mind: her father smiling at her as he had wished her a good hunt; her mother reminding her not to be long; and Deidre excited for their journey.

She could not believe they were gone. Guilt overcame her for remaining unscathed while so many had been butchered. Overlaying the guilt was anger, pain and regret for being unable to save those she loved.