Blood of the Clans Ch. 10

Arabella's words did little to stem the flow of grief pouring from Braedon and she knew just to hold him, until he was able to gain his wits about him again. The sounds of his wailing echoed through the keep and all who heard, felt the anguish he was feeling. The bodies had been carefully loaded on the cart and after several trips, they were all lain in the courtyard, covered with sheepskins. Robert and the three Stewart's stood with the others silently, paying their respects to the fallen.

One by one, the bodies were taken and washed, then re-dressed for burial. A site was at Cul Doirlinn on the mainland across from Tioram, one that had served to bury the dead for the past two hundred years. Men were put to the task of digging a large grave to bury all the men at once, the need for haste, only allowing it to be shallow in depth.

With great care and respect, the bodies were laid on carts and a procession of

MacDonald's, along with Lady Anne and Heather, led their fallen to their place of rest.

Gregor MacIntosh stood on a hill overlooking the site, as he played his pipes in a slow dirge. The soldiers and servants, villagers and farmers, along with the clansmen, circled the mass grave and watched, as body after body was carefully lain side by side. The sounds of sobbing and weeping cast the only sounds, as the hole became jammed with men. When the last man was lain, Arabella stood at the head and gave them the blessings and praise they deserved.

"Rest, ye brave souls, hard ha'e ye fought and paid the price, fer those who stand before ye. May God's rewards be great in abundance, may yer souls be at peace. Those of us left standing, and those who come after, will ne'er ferget ye, not now, not e'er. Yer sacrifice is no in vain, the honour ye deserve is yer's. Rest now my soldier Laddies, and let God's light guide ye tae him."

Arabella finished speaking and bowed her head. her right hand came over her heart and the homage was followed by everyone else. Gregor started playing again, standing on the hill above them, the sound of his pipes echoing far down the glen of River Sheil. As one, the procession returned to Tioram, while four men began to shovel the dirt back over the bodies. Gregor played, until the last shovel of dirt was placed, the men stopping and saying a silent prayer to them as well.

On the beach, the men had replaced the sail of the MacRae birlinn, with the red and gold

sail of the Stewart's. A small pyre was erected on it and awaited the procession to come to it. Braedon and his kin were already there waiting, looking at the last remnant of Cameron that they had. Braedon still wept and held his son and nephews to him, as they said their farewells privately.

As the procession gathered around them, Arabella stood to the side of Coll, trying to be as close to Braedon as she could. The others closed in around them, as men brought lit torches down to the shore. Arabella turned to look at Braedon, her movement catching Braedon's attention and he turned to her. The look on his face, told her the amount of his spirit that had been taken from him. Gone was the piercing blue, replaced with a pale wash of greyness to them. His face was set to break at the least amount of emotion and Arabella's heart sank heavily for him.

In a show of compassion that was never seen by her before, she stood in front of him, looking up into his eyes and then embraced him. Braedon's arms found their way around her and his tears once again flowed, as he shared his grief with her, His boys were crying as well, remembering now, that never again would Cameron be the leader of their small band. Arabella pulled back slightly and looked again to Braedon's face. She knew the ceremony had to proceed, but knew in her heart that Braedon wouldn't be able to speak through his sobs.

"Shall I pay him tribute fer ye, Braedon?"

Braedon looked into the green eyes of his saving grace and nodded, unable to find his words. Arabella hugged him close once more and stepped away. She turned and looked at the throng of people before her, gathering her strength and thinking of the words to properly say goodbye to Cameron and bestow the honour on him he deserved.

"We say goodbye now, tae a brave, young soul. One who gi' himself up fer the greater good of his clan and perished from us in that cause. It is our greatest loss, tae lose such a man, as Cameron Stewart. It was his great skills that gi' us back Donan and the Seat of Power fer his friends and allies, the MacDonnell's. Fer all that his life was short lived, he showed the mark of a great man and a fine leader of them. He'll be sadly missed by all, as it should be, his life touching the hearts and souls of those who knew him. God has asked fer him tae join his clan in heaven, his need there, being greater than wi' us. Farewell young Cameron, may God call ye tae serve as his right hand."

As Arabella finished, Gregor, standing at the castle wall, began to play his pipes once more, the echoing refrain carried far over the waters of the loch. Arabella signalled for the torch-bearers to come forward and gave them to the Stewart's. Braedon held his in his hand and stared at the flames blankly. Arabella could see he was reluctant to touch the flame to the wood and commit himself to the final act of farewell. She stood beside him and placed her hand around his waist, and her other on his hand. In the gentlest of persuasions, she helped guide the flames toward the oil-soaked kindling.

As the flames touched the wood, they caught and a small fire burst forth. The three younger members then touched their flames to the wood and it was soon spreading rapidly about the pyre.

"Let it him go, Braedon. Let him be at peace wi' God now. Yer a fine man and ha'e been a good father tae him. He goes now, tae be wi' the great Father tae us all and find his place at his side."

Braedon allowed the torch to fall from his hand, then Arabella took it in hers and held it, before placing a kiss on it. Braedon turned and looked at her, the feeling of distance growing between their eyes. It saddened Arabella to see it, but understood where his heart was heading. The four soldiers who had brought the torches, now pushed the flaming birlinn out into the loch, the gentle breeze carrying it along, taking it out towards

the open sea. Soon, the sail caught and the flames ravaged the material in a brilliant display of colour. They watched, as it made its way to the mouth of the loch, before it started to sink into the deeper waters and disappear.

"My blessings tae ye, Arabella. That was a fine farewell, ye gi'e my son. I'll be leaving now, tae return tae Stalker and be wi' my family and clan." his words mixed with emotions.

"Braedon, please stay wi' me. Don'ne leave me. Let me see tae yer needs here."

Arabella's request found a spot still left in his heart for her. He held her tightly to him for a long moment, before releasing her, looking deep into her soul, then walked away in silence. His boys followed solemnly behind him, as they made their way to their birlinns. Arabella's tears flowed hard, not knowing if he would ever return to her and share in the love they had just found together.

As the boats sailed past the people on shore, Swords were raised in their honour and the Stewart oaths, "Courage grows at the wound and Cormorant's Rock," were shouted out as they passed. Braedon weakly held his hand up as he passed, then turned away from them. Arabella's heart sank in despair, feeling the love she was so afraid to feel again, was once again being torn away from her as she feared. Seeing her despair, Anne came to her and took her to her, knowing the loss her heart was feeling, was much like her own. Anne and Heather helped Arabella back to the castle and up to her chambers, where Arabella bade them to leave her, her need to be alone, with her thoughts and heart.

The splendour of the region was lost on the MacRae's, who walked on in beaten lethargy, as they headed home. Approaching Inverlochy Castle the next day, James was leading less than two hundred and fifty men, from his original four hundred. As men succumbed to their injuries and died, they were wrapped together in robes, hung over branches and dragged behind two horses. The respect in death no longer observed, the men lost sense in themselves and tradition, further inflicting a palling misery on them.

James knew his men were becoming disheartened with him, their response to command becoming less effectual. Riding by the road to the castle, James gave the command to halt.

"Leith, Silas, tae me. Thomas, lead the men back tae Ballachulish and see tae their needs. I'm going tae the Earl and make plans tae avenge this. I'll return before week's end."

Waiting for Thomas to lead the men away, James turned to Leith and Cameron. "Those bastard clans will pay fer this. The MacRae's will ha'e a seat of power, God as my witness. That poofy, wee man'll make sure of it." James told them, as the ragged line of men marched pathetically on, towards their village.

The three rode to the fortress and waited at the gate, as the bewildered guards looked down at the men, still soaked with blood on their clothes and faces, their hair matted with it, awed by the gory sight of them.

"James MacRae and his captains, tae see the Earl of Huntly. Ye can tell him it's an urgent matter." MacRae told them, his rage held in check.

One guard remained, as the other hurried off to have a castle guard inform the Earl. The heavy gate swung open, pulled by two men, as James and his men rode through and up to the main house, then handing their horses to the livery staff. Seeing his reflection in the water of the trough, James dunked his head under and washed as much blood out as he could, while he swished the water in his mouth, removing the taste of battle. He scrubbed his bearded face with his large hands and wiped it off with them several times. Looking at his clothing, it was almost unrecognizable as a tartan, it was soaked with so much blood. He looked at his men, who were equally as bloodied and bade them to clean themselves as well. Still dripping, they walked to the house and were ushered in by the Earl's guard.

The Earl of Huntly sat at his desk, looking out the window at his dogs playing roughly with each other, finding it amusing, while paying no attention to the raven haired woman sewing in the corner. A knock at the door, had him bid entry, then having it opened to a bloodied James MacRae entering in, followed by his men. The Earl was stunned to speak, as he turned, seeing the sight of them. He watched them walk towards him, bloodied and dripping and forced himself to speak.

"James, what on earth happened?" The Earl asked him in disbelief.

"I was out done by they MacDonald's, MacLeod's, as well as they bastard MacDonnell's. I've lost o'er a hundred fifty men so far and my sons and two nephews are being held prisoner by them. They agreed tae a cease in battle, but they'll be petitioning the King fer their trial and likely a hanging. I can'ne allow that tae happen, Douglas." MacRae informed him, using his given name, instead of his title.

"James, I will do what I can to prevent your sons from hanging, but the King will still have a final say, no matter what. My worries for you, are a loss of your lands and holdings. It was our agreement to work together and take over lands held by clans not loyal to the King. But for God's sake man, what went wrong?" The Earl pleaded for an answer, looking at them all with a flagrant look of disgust at their sight.

They had sat for days on end, planning and discussing the right time and method to take Donan away from the MacDonnell's, discussing how to turn it into Crown controlled land, with the Earl broadening his domain of command and James MacRae increasing his strength and power.

What James MacRae wanted most was his castle. The Seat of Power for his clan. Long had the MacRae's dwelt in the highlands of western Scotland, indebted to one Laird or another to live on his land and it all came down to money. Money he, nor his forefathers ever had. With strength in numbers and a plan, he sided with the Earl and the Crown, in hopes of getting Donan back and be a clan with a Seat. One with a sizable castle and lands, as well as water control and a solvency in gold.

Eilean Donan had been built close to thirteen hundred years earlier. Built to fend off the attacking Norse Vikings. Over the centuries, the castle was added to by different clans that resided there. In its present state, it was formidable and well protected. Situated at the juncture of two lochs and a commanding view of a third, it held sway over any sea traffic that travelled them. The surrounding lands were fertile and the lochs teeming with different fish and kelp. The present residents had only taken possession just over two hundred years ago, after a lengthy battle with the MacRae's over it. It was with the help of the MacLeod's and MacDonald's once again, that turned it in favour of the MacDonnell's. The MacDonald's.

"It was they bastard MacDonald's that stopped us. Somehow they knew about my two and their men going ahead and taking the castle as we planned. Once we rode up, it was the wrong signal from one of theirs that had me guarded, then Blair confirmed it with the signal for a trap. Before we could retreat and get our men t'gether, they were swarming o'er us from all sides. We fought them off as much as we could, before we ended up in the loch and drowned. I want that castle, Douglas. They can get fucked in the arse wi' their conditions of truce. I want my sons back as well." James spewed it out with vitriol, his face glaring with the rage inside him, his actions becoming aggressive.

The Earl cleared his throat and motioned to the corner behind James. "I do understand the situation we're in James, but please hold your tongue, while Lady Therese is present. She may not speak perfect English, but I'm sure she understands the filth your spouting." He mildly chastised him, making him feel less in stature than he was at present.

Lady Therese deMornay had sat in shocked silence. The brute of a man standing before her, along with his two men, had given her rise to fear this new land she was in. Coming

from France, the cultural shock of being in such a savage land terrified her. These people here were primal, barely a sense of civility, compared to how she had grown up on her parent's estate in the pastoral countryside, outside of Paris. Being a Lady now, her upbringing was filled with manners and courtesies, a politeness far removed from where she was now.

"My apologies, M'Lady." was all James offered blandly, his face still set in readied rage and returned his attention to the Earl. "I want revenge fer this and I want it noo." James replied with force again, his booming voice filling the room, making sure the Earl understood his position.

Douglas Gordon, a diminutive man of five foot four inches, who always looked and dressed somewhat effeminate, was favoured by King James VI and as such, achieved his status and title by royal decree. Rumours were abound that Douglas and the King had shared a more intimate friendship in bed together and was rewarded with his title for services rendered to King and country. To improve his presence of refinement and upbringing, he practised speaking so his natural accent was almost gone.

In contrast, James MacRae was a large, burly man over six feet six inches and weighed at least 18 stone, his strength more than what the Earl wished to imagine. Rumours of his actions were clearer in detail than Douglas' past. It was common knowledge that James had murdered his wife in front of everyone, after catching her with another man. For her punishment, she was strung up spread-eagled naked and James first cut off her breasts and then shoved his sword inside her vagina to the hilt, before drawing it out and slicing her open from the chest down. The man faired no better and was tied down, while MacRae sliced the man's manhood off and crammed it down his throat, as he screamed in pain. He let the man suffer in agony, before he had his men chop him into pieces with swords and axes.

His blood soaked attire and past notwithstanding, James MacRae was in no uncertain terms, a very imposing man. Keeping his reserve in defence of his position, Douglas looked at Therese and bade her to leave the room. After waiting until she had left and the door closed behind her, he turned to James with as much manliness as he possessed and asked him to sit and lower his voice. After a brief pause for an effectual sense of command, he continued,

"I won't have you charging in here and making demands. I am the Earl of Huntly and you will remember my title and address me as such."

James stared at the puny, little man with contempt for his position, but relented to his needs for his castle and revenge on the MacDonald's. He sat without any grace and leaned forward aggressively to physically portray his demands.

Douglas sat and stayed stoic, looking at James and making his own demand of the situation.

"James MacRae, we made an agreement to take lands for King and country with you. I assure you, I will help you attain Donan Castle, the King feels it is a strategic stronghold, as we have already discussed. I have heard your pleas," diminishing the last word effectively," and I have already said I will do what I can to help your offspring. Exactly why should I also give into your demands for revenge?"

"Because if ye don't help me get revenge, ye'll be battling wi' more clans than ye ha'e men tae face them. They ha'e three clans massed together now. They'll ha'e all the routes tae Donan guarded. Even the sea routes will be watched. Exactly how do ye plan tae take Donan, Gordon?" James MacRae retorted with disdain, detesting the Earl trying to put him in his place by using his last name in a show of distancing their alliance verbally.

Douglas took stock of the situation presented quickly. He looked away thoughtfully, understanding what James was saying. Despite him calling it revenge, it was another obstacle he had to face. The other clans involved did present a problem in securing Donan. Since taking control, his one main concern was the MacDonald's. They were a large and powerful clan that controlled many vital areas along the coast and inland lochs. Their septs were many and they had power. They were also not loyal to the King, making matters grave for him. Turning back to James, he pondered what his solution to the situation was.

"What do you want to do then, James? With the strength of the clans you say are involved, you don't have enough men to raise a force strong enough to oppose them."

James almost started to say something and stopped. It was upon him to actually think of how to get the revenge he desired, rather than just demand it. He looked at Douglas with growing frustration in his inability to think of something, so Douglas ended James'

dilemma with his thoughts.

"I can think of one thing we must do right away, and that is to assemble more men. There are other clans who need more land and are willing to serve the King. We must contact them and set a meeting. We should be able to raise the needed men to over-power the MacDonald's and soon after, the MacLeod's. The MacDonnell's are already all but done. I can arrange for three hundred men to be used for land and sea, as well as one hundred battle-ready soldiers on horseback." The Earl said matter of factly, as though it was pre-arranged, should this occur.

"I'll ha'e riders oot tae the clans along the western lochs, I know the MacDonald's don't control. I know of one large clan that desires more land. The MacDougall's. Andrew MacDougall has been losing his lands aroond Dunollie and it won't be long before he's driven out of it completely. He'll be a good ally tae ha'e wi' us, his men are battle-ready now." James said far more calmly, seeing a plan formulate. He was adding the numbers in his head and knew his force would be sizable, if it came to pass. The revenge he sought, could be sweeter in victory, than he thought.