Page 4 of The Lone Wolf's Bride

Duncan glanced back at Ailsa. ‘Don’t fret my love. Murray will cool down and drag himself back home with his tail between his legs, as he always does. A good whipping will show him the error of his ways, and then it is settled.’

Ailsa watched Murray ride away with a heavy hearty. Duncan and he were matched in stubbornness and, whenever they were at odds, it was like banging two barrels of gunpowder together, eventually, there would always be an explosion. She could see what Duncan could not, something that had been coming for a long time and, when he realised it, his heart would break.

***

Murray saddled the horse hastily. He had returned to Cailleach castle as darkness fell and had been warned that once his wounds were healed a whipping was in store for him.

Duncan had been monumentally angry, and this in turn merely fuelled Murray’s rage, for there was no contrition in him. He had raided the McDougalls’ cattle with little thought for his own safety because they constantly thieved at the edge of Duncan’s territory. He had led the others, it was true, but they were all of an age when they wanted to test themselves and were eager to a man. It was not up to him to stop them coming along. But of course he had been blamed, the outsider, the bastard orphan, he who had fought more fiercely than any of them to get all of the lads clear once things had gone awry.

The unfairness of it clawed at him. He could bear the whipping as it would be one of many he had received thus far and most he had deserved, but this time he would not stand for it. The stolen coin would get him south and away from this damned place.

A furtive movement in the shadows had him whirling around.

‘Who’s there? Show yourself.’

She emerged from behind a stall and into the moonlight streaming in through the cracks in the barn door. Her little face was grim, nose red with cold. It took courage to brave the dark to come after him and it didn’t surprise him a bit that she had done it.

‘Go back to bed Ilene.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘Away from this miserable place.’

‘When are you coming back?’ she asked in a tremulous voice, moving closer to him.

‘Never.’

She flinched at the word. ‘No, you have to come back, Murray. Father will not be angry forever and …’

‘I am sick of it Ilene. I’ve had a belly full of his rules. I hate my life, I hate Cailleach and everything about it, and all I want is to be far from here.’

‘And what about me?’ Her bottom lip started to tremble, her face going slack with distress.

‘What about you?’

‘I can come with you,’ she whined in her small voice.

‘Don’t be stupid Ilene, you’re just a little girl. I don’t want you dragging after me, slowing me down.’

Ilene started to cry, great, loud sobs. She flung herself at him, clinging tight to his jacket, her fingers like little crabs claws. Murray’s anger flared for she was making him feel bad about going, so he tore free her hands and pushed her away.

‘I am leaving Ilene.’

‘It is your pride which is speaking, not your good sense Murray,’ she pleaded.

He knew deep down that she was right, but her words, spoken with a wisdom way beyond her seven years, humiliated him instead of calming him. As he mounted his horse Ilene got before it and clung doggedly to his bridle, though she could barely reach it, and the horse was stamping impatiently, trying to jerk free of her grasp.

“I won’t let you go.’ she sobbed,

‘I’m going, whether you like it or not, so get out of my way Ilene or I will ride over you, I swear to God I will.’

‘But you are my brother. You promised you would always look after me.’

‘Aye, well, I was wrong to say it. I am not your brother and I never will be. Better for you, for me, and for all of us if they had left me to die on the moors where they found me.’

It must have been the bitterness on his face that made her relinquished the bridle and step back. She sobbed and wiped the snot from her nose with the back of her sleeve.

He took one look at her sad, sweet face, thinking his heart might break and then he rode out quickly. The thud of the horse’s hooves did not quite manage to drown out the sound of her wailing after him, ‘Come back Murray. Please.’

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