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Nay cowardice…this is perseverance in weakness. This is the will to dae what must be done to live and to fight another day.
He raced through the woods with an eye on the river just below him at all times. He rode upstream and it was only when his lungs cried for air that he drew the horse back into a canter. He wrapped an arm around his midsection, feeling the old aches from the first fight flare up with this second one.
Caelan knew he was in no condition to be in a battle but he had to make it to his home, even if he was dead on his feet when he got there. He came to a riverbank and led the horse over to drink. He tilted his head back and allowed the cold breeze to flutter his hair. After a month and some days, his auburn hair was so long it brushed the bottom of his shoulder blades.
He stayed there until dawn rose from above the forested hills and the pale pink was eaten by the growing pale gold. He slipped off the horse and splashed his face with c
old water and sank onto the gritty silt of the banks with quiet fear that his men had been overwhelmed by the attackers.
“Oh, Peter…” he shook his head. “I had sworn to keep yer secret but…” he grasped a pebble and flung into the swirling pools, “…all this distress…is it worth it?”
He stood with difficulty as his legs felt wooden. Facing the rising sun, he tried to take heart. If it was not for Peter, he would have never met Adelaine and that was something he was never going to regret. Holding Peter’s secret was still heavy but one day….one day soon, it would all be worth it.
Grabbing on the horse’s neck—a grey stallion that was Rogan’s—he led him to the forest to get out of the open. He found a spot in a glen and rested his back on a tree’s trunk. He did not know when his men would find him but he kept an eye and ear open. He had no weapons so the only option he had to defend himself if an attacker found him first was to fight with his fists.
This was the second attempt to capture him and though he had escaped again, he wondered if he would be able to escape a third time. Breathing deeply, Caelan tried to regain his strength without allowing himself to fall asleep. It was hard as his exhausted body and nonexistent strength were luring him to fall asleep but his will kept him awake and somewhat alert.
This…I must stay strong. Not only for me but for many others…me clan, me mother…me people…for Peter…for Adelaine…for justice to be served…
The morning drew on and though his strength was flagging he dug deep. He could not allow himself to sleep when danger was lingering around the corner. He forced his mind to think of how the Earl had found them a second time and realized his deduction that the man had sent messages to borderland and the middle marches were right.
The second set of hunters must have trailed them from the first attack and found them. If that was the case, they must be prepared for stronger forces and harder attacks as they forged on into the Highlands. His head canted to the side and his eyelids lowered. The sun was growing stronger but instead of sapping it, little by little his strength was coming back.
His head snapped to the side when he heard the crunch of a twig. He was halfway up, and his fist clenched at his side when Artur came into the tiny clearing. Following him was a horse, Caelan’s rightful horse. Their eyes met and mutual relief painted both of their faces.
He stood, glad that the deadness in his limbs was gone and went to his comrade. “Artur, where are the brothers?”
“Out scouting. We’ve made a meeting point on a hillock a few miles east of the main house,” Artur said as he handed over Caelan’s horse to him. “Me Laird, I’ve seen, we’ve all seen, how this trip is taxing ye. What if we ask the clan here to give ye asylum for a while?”
“And what?” Caelan asked as he went to the horse grazing near him and handed it to Artur. “Bring me fight to them? Nay, Artur. Me problem is mine and mine alone.”
“Well, we’re set back a while,” Artur said. “It will take us some more time to regain ground and pass the clan’s land and over the river.”
“Aye,” Caelan replied. “And then we have the Olivers to deal with. They are loyal to the King, or were loyal, but who kens. Daffield might have offered a sack of gold to peasants, but a mountain of it is a deep incentive to a nobleman to betray his own kin.”
“I’d love to say its isnae so but with the King dead and only his infant daughter as heir, who kens where anyone’s allegiance is,” Artur grimaced. “Still, we must make due. Are ye well enough to ride on?”
“As well as I can be,” Caelan replied as he mounted his horse.
The path they took was covered with snow-laden trees and the underbrush was scarce and brittle. They delved into the cover of the forest, where the trees blocked out the little bit of pale sun in the sky. There was little life and the temperature was cooler in the woods.
Caelan mourned the missing smell of heather and wildflowers as they climbed the gentle hills. Dead leaves crunched under their feet as they rode. Ice rendered the twigs on the trees into frozen sticks and they were in danger of getting a lump of snow on their backs if a breeze dared disturb the trees above.
They rode in silent companionship with the peaceful silence of the Highland forest surrounded them. Snow lay on every branch of the thin pine trees and made a blanket on the ground. Even with the dead of winter all around them, the trees still had branches and leaves at the very top. Caelan knew if he was to look down at it from the snow-capped hills nearby, it would look majestic.
The crisp morning air always made Caelan that much sharper. His hand scratched the rough stubble on his face as he grimaced. He needed a haircut and a shave the moment he was safe. There was a faint rustling of winter critters through the trees.
It was relatively calm but Caelan knew it would not stay that way for long. Twice now the Earl had lost and the Lord of Daffield did not strike Caelan as a man who cared to lose thrice. Caelan wondered when the next attack was bound to come, but he could not focus all his attention on it. He needed to get home as quickly as possible.
“—and that was how we found ye,” Artur replied. “A man named Duglas told our men ye were sent off to England.”
Caelan yanked his horse in too sharply and the horse reared back, as he snapped his head toward his clansman. “What did ye say?”
Artur looked at him quizzically. “When we finally tracked ye down we were told by a man named Duglas at Arnside that ye were sent off to England.”
“When was this?”
“About three weeks after the war in Solway Moss,” Artur replied.
