Highlander's Winter Tale

  Highlander’s Winter Tale

  A Cree & Dawn Short Story

  by

  Donna Fletcher

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Highlander’s Winter Tale

  A Cree & Dawn Short Story

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright January 2016 by Donna Fletcher

  Cover art by Kim Killion

  The Killion Group, Inc.

  Ebook Design

  A Thirsty Mind Book Design

  Visit Donna’s Web site

  www.donnafletcher.com

  Visit Donna on Facebook

  www.facebook.com/donna.fletcher.author

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Titles by Donna Fletcher

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  The winter wind whipped around the keep howling like a banshee as the snow fell. It had started with a handful of flurries at mid-day and now near to nightfall, Dawn could not believe how much snow covered the ground. She threw the hood of her blue wool cloak up over her head and went to step off the top stair of the keep.

  “Where do you think you are going?” Cree demanded, stepping in front of her, his broad shoulders blocking not only her path but the snow that had been whipping at her face. He hated to see her upset, not that she displayed it for all to see, but he could easily tell when she was troubled. Her smile was not as bright and her gestures were less enthusiastic when she spoke, though he understood them more easily.

  She may have lacked a voice since birth, but she made herself heard in every gesture and expression and he was proud to have her as his wife, not to mention that he loved her beyond measure. She and their five month old twins Valan and Lizbeth were his whole world and he could not envision life without them.

  Dawn hunched her shoulders and gnarled her hands, then pointed in the distance.

  “You are going to collect Old Mary. I thought the same myself. There is no telling how long this sudden snowstorm will last and I would not want her stuck in her cottage alone.”

  Dawn raised her hand as if catching the falling snow and shrugged.

  “We have not had a late autumn snowstorm in some time, and I am glad it arrived before we departed on our journey to visit my sister. It would have been difficult and dangerous enough, though even more so with the twins and Old Mary joining us.”

  Dawn nodded, aware that her husband was right. Traveling in such a storm could prove deadly, especially for the young and old. Still, she could not help but feel that she was letting Wintra down. She had promised her that she would be there for the birth of her first babe. Even if the snow stopped soon, which did not seem likely, the roads would be too difficult to travel, some barely passable, and Wintra’s time was drawing ever closer.

  Cree slipped his hand past her cloak to rest at her waist as his other hand took hold of her chin that had drooped along with her shoulders and raised it slowly. “I know you promised Wintra that you would be there for the birth and it upsets you that you cannot keep your promise, but she will understand that it was the snow that kept you away.”

  Again her husband was right, but that did not make her feel any better. When she had given birth to the twins, she had had family and friends around her, including Wintra, and Dawn had been grateful to have them all there, especially when it seemed that one twin would not survive.

  She did not want to see Wintra without family there to help her when her time came. She knew Wintra felt the same, since she had reminded Dawn many times before taking her leave from her brother’s home that she was to come help deliver the babe. Dawn had promised her again and again and now...

  Dawn turned tearful eyes on her husband.

  Cree felt a punch to his gut. Dawn did not cry easily. She was a resilient and courageous woman who more often than not found a way to get what she wanted, though truthfully, more often than not; it was to see the right thing done. She had promised his sister and now she could not keep that promise and it tore at her heart, and seeing her like this tore at his. He yanked her against him and hugged her tight as he said, “If there was anything I could do to get you to my sister, I would.”

  Dawn’s arms went around her husband and she rested her head against his chest as she tapped it and then hers repeatedly.

  “I love you more,” he said gently before his tone turned to a command. “Besides, you belong to me and always will.” Cree was glad to see a smile spread across her face at his familiar remark when she raised her head to look at him.

  She gave his chest one hard tap, and then did the same to her own.

  He grinned and lowered his head and before his lips claimed hers, he said, “Aye, I do belong to you. We are one you and I, and we will never part.”

  His kiss was strong and possessive, as if it sealed his words, and if Dawn had not shivered, the kiss would not yet have ended.

  “You are cold,” Cree said, easing her away from him. “Go inside by the fire and I will go and fetch Old Mary.”

  She smiled again, though there was a hint of wickedness to it. She took his hand and shook her head slowly as she stepped closer to him and placed it in the folds of her dress between her legs, making it clear that the shiver had not been from the cold.

  He rested his cheek against her flushed one and whispered in her ear, “Tempt me, wife, and I will have you flat on your back in the snow.”

  She tapped his arm over and over. One tap signified yes, two taps no, so several...aroused him.

  “Go now,” he ordered with a snarl, stepping away from her. “Or we both will soon be buried in snow.”

  Dawn hesitated a moment before turning and heading toward the door. She wished her husband had taken her in the snow, at least then—for a brief time—she would not think on how badly she had failed his sister.

  Her arm was suddenly yanked and she was once again plastered against her husband’s hard chest.

  “Later tonight I will make you forget your worries.” Cree kissed her quick as he propelled her toward the door, opened it, and shoved her inside. “Do as I say and go warm yourself.” He shut the door and hurried off into the snow before Dawn could protest. He would see that his wife had a good night and later when they retired to their bedchamber, he would make certain that she fell into an exhausted slumber.

  ~~~

  The Great Hall was filled with those villagers who felt their meager cottages would not do well against the raging snowstorm. Sleeping pallets were arranged and warm wool blankets supplied for anyone who felt the need to spend the night in the keep. No one was turned away.

  There were more villagers than expected, but then many believed that the mighty Cree could protect them against anything, even a fierce snowstorm. Flanna, the woman in charge of running the keep, and good friend to Dawn, made sure food was plentiful. Ale, wine, and cider flowed freely as did conversation.

  Dawn watched the comradery with little joy. Try as she might she could not get Wintra off her mind. What would it be like for her to birth a babe without family at hand? Who was there for her that she could trust without question? Wintra’s husband’s mum had passed as did his one and only sister. So who would be there at this special time? Who would hold her
hand, mop her brow, encourage her when needed, and share in the joy of her first birth?

  Cree watched his wife with concern, wishing there was something he could do to help her.

  “Dawn is troubled that she cannot be with Wintra in her time of need,” Sloan whispered, leaning over to Cree from where he sat beside him at the dais.

  Cree turned and kept his voice low. “It has grown that obvious?”

  “To those who know her well.”

  “I wish I could distract her thoughts if only for a while,” Cree said and when he saw Sloan’s grin turn sly and his brow shoot up, he shook his head. ”I will be distracting her thoughts far more than a while later this evening. At the moment, she needs nourishment. She has barely eaten today.”

  “I have an idea that may keep her so engaged that any morsel of food you hand her, she will eat without giving thought to it.”

  “Tell me of this magic,” Cree ordered skeptically.

  Sloan grinned, stood, and walked around the dais and over to Old Mary who sat near the heat of the huge stone fireplace. He leaned down and whispered in her ear and the old woman seemed hesitant to his suggestion. Sloan whispered to her again and gave a nod toward the dais. Old Mary smiled and nodded. He fetched a chair and placed it by the front of the dais, then called out, “Time for a tale!”

  Cheers echoed off the walls of the Great Hall as Sloan extended his arm to Old Mary and escorted her to the chair. After sitting, she rubbed her gnarled hands while slowly nodding her head, as if gathering her thoughts.

  For an old woman, her voice was strong and commanding when finally she began. “The tale I tell is an old one, handed down through time. Some believe it is more truth than tale,” —she paused, her eyes looking as though they settled on each and every person there—“I will leave that for you to judge.”

  Cree saw interest spark on his wife’s face and he handed her a small piece of cheese. He was pleased to see her take it and nibble at it. He gave Sloan a nod of thanks when he returned to his seat and settled in to listen.

  “What tale is it, Old Mary?” a woman shouted out.

  Old Mary waited a moment before calling out for all to hear, “A Winter Tale!”

  A handful of gasps circled the room while others looked puzzled.

  “You will bring him to life if you tell the tale,” another woman warned anxiously.

  “Perhaps,” Old Mary shrugged and looked around, her eyes settling on Dawn, “or perhaps it is nothing more than a tale to tell when a snowstorm is upon us.”

  Dawn nodded eager to hear the tale she had not heard about until now and took another piece of cheese her husband handed her.

  Old Mary rested back in the chair and began the tale. “It all began over one hundred years ago when a witch cursed a mighty Highland warrior, though some say it is the woman he loved and betrayed who cursed him.” She looked around with wide eyes. “His name is not known, though there are those who believe his name is kept a secret, for if spoken during a snowstorm it releases him to walk the earth in search of—” She paused again, her aged eyes glancing over the spellbound faces. All eyes rested intently on her. The only sound heard was the crackling fire. “That is where the tale differs. Some believe he searches for love to correct the mistake he made and others believe he searches for—vengeance.”

  Dawn leaned forward in her chair enthralled by the story and took the goblet of wine her husband handed her.

  “They say the Highlander was a fierce warrior and that no one could best him in battle. It was believed that the old Gods and new God alike watched over him. Men wanted to fight beside him, knowing they would taste victory. Fine features and ample strength had women flocking to him more than willing to please him.” Old Mary coughed lightly and someone hurried to hand her a goblet of wine. She took a sip then sent the woman a nod of thanks.

  Silence hung heavy, everyone waiting for Old Mary to continue the mysterious tale.

  “It is said he was the last one standing in the middle of a battlefield, carnage all around him, his sword thick with blood, when he spotted movement. Someone had survived. He walked toward a stirring of bodies and that was when he saw it, a slim, bloody hand clawing its way out from beneath a pile of dead warriors. He hurried to the spot and what he saw had him lifting lifeless bodies and throwing them aside to reach...the woman who lay beneath.

  “Blood had soaked her garments, turned her blonde hair red and was smeared across her face. Her eyes remained closed even when he lifted her into his arms. He wondered what a woman was doing on the battlefield as he walked over the dead warriors away from the carnage. Another troop of his warriors arrived. He was given a horse and with the woman in his arms he rode to the camp not far off.” Old Mary paused to take another sip of wine.

  Cree refilled Dawn’s goblet. He was pleased that he did not need to place anymore food in front of her. She ate by choice or perhaps without thought, since her eyes remained fixed on Old Mary, waiting for her to continue. He had to admit the story did captivate and that was good, since it took worries off the wicked snowstorm.

  Old Mary resumed the tale. “Some claim she bewitched him as soon as she opened her violet eyes and looked upon him. Others insist that it was love that struck them both when their eyes met. He tended her and saw to her every need and they became inseparable. Her kind nature won the hearts of most of his clan, except for a few. All went well for several months and even the few who had been uncertain about her began to change their minds.

  “Summer passed into autumn and no vows were exchanged between the couple and the clans’ people began to wonder why. One day, he went off to battle and before he returned home word was received that he had wed and his new wife was returning with him. The lass, he had claimed to love, was moved out of the keep and into a small cottage at the far edge of the village.” Old Mary shook her head. “Thinking this union was forced upon the mighty warrior, the woman waited eagerly to see him and hear the truth. The warrior returned with his new wife and days passed into months and he never came to her. She gathered her belongings and moved to a deserted cottage in the woods. Villagers came to her for healing potions and amulets and such. Her only friends were the forest creatures. She was alone, unwanted, and unloved.

  “Tongues began to wag. It seemed that the warrior’s wife could not get with child and some claimed it was the woman’s doing. Many believed she had cursed the wife for taking away the man she loved. The wife, learning of the gossip, insisted that the evil woman had to die if she was ever to give the mighty warrior a son.” Old Mary wiped a tear from her eye.

  Cree saw the sorrow on his wife’s face and he covered her hand that rested on the table with his, giving it a squeeze. She turned to him and pressed her free hand to his chest and then to hers.

  He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I love you as well and I will show you just how much later tonight.” He was pleased to see her smile, though it faded as she quickly turned her head away from him as soon as Old Mary continued the tale. His ire stirred, a scowl beginning to form, when Dawn moved her hand away from his. It dissipated quickly when she entwined her fingers with his and held on tight.

  “The mighty warrior’s soldiers came for her that winter and imprisoned her in the keep’s dungeon, a dank, dark, and dreadful place. She was ordered to remove the curse from the warrior’s wife or she would be hanged and her body burned a fitting end for a witch. She insisted repeatedly that she had not put a curse on the woman nor had she ever bewitched the warrior as many had claimed. Her only mistake was falling in love with the mighty warrior and believing him to be an honorable man.

  “Snow began to fall the night before the hanging. All night the woman waited in her small cell, wondering if the man she had once believed loved her would come to see her. But he never came. Snow was falling heavily the next morning, but it did not stop the execution. The woman was taken to a tree, placed on a horse, and a noose slipped around her neck. The only one in attendance was the warrior chosen to car
ry out the execution, though it was not the falling snow that kept others away. It was the fear of being cursed by the witch that kept them locked away in their cottages.

  “The woman sat on the horse waiting for death when out of the falling snow walked the man who had once claimed to love her. He was even more handsome than she remembered and her heart soared, thinking that perhaps he had a change of heart and had come to spare her life. His words were not what she had expected and they cut much deeper than any dagger could.”

  “You bewitched me the moment your eyes met mine. Now I will finally be free of you.”

  “The woman thought her heart could not break any more than it already had, but at that moment her heart felt as though it shattered into millions of pieces. She had been a fool to believe he had ever loved her. Devastated, she lashed out at him, condemning him with her last words. “When death claims you, I curse you to walk the earth only when the snow falls heavily upon the ground and your name is called forth. You will know no peace, no rest until the power of love seals your fate.” The woman then shouted out his name and it drifted along on the snowy wind as the execution was carried out with a nod from the mighty warrior.” Old Mary paused for a moment before resuming, her tone full of sadness. “The warrior’s wife met an early death that winter from a fever as did many of the villagers and the mighty warrior himself. But when they went to bury his body—it was gone. The following winter when the first heavy snow covered the ground and his name was evoked in remembrance, the mighty warrior appeared. He had not known where he had been and many thought that perhaps he had not died and the fever had him wander off and now he had finally returned and the clan celebrated. After a few days, fear replaced joy, many believing the devil had returned with him. Women he touched turned ill as did animals he laid his hand upon. Men were too frightened to go near him and food stored for the winter began to rot. When the snow was gone, so was the mighty warrior. The warrior who had carried out the execution told everyone about the curse the woman had placed upon the mighty warrior, and all began to wonder. Next winter, fearful that the curse could be true and he would once again bring the devil with him, it was agreed that the warrior’s name would not be evoked. However, when a second snow fell a drunken warrior uttered his name with a laugh. The door to the keep flew open and in walked the mighty warrior, snow swirling around him. This time the people did their best to avoid him, but he was laird and his word ruled. Several women in the clan died as did animals, but not the mighty warrior. When the snow was gone, so was he. The next year his name never passed anyone’s lips and the warrior was not seen. His clan never spoke his name again. All portraits of him were removed, tapestries of his battles were burned and his name struck from documents and stones—where it had been carved—destroyed, until no remembrance of him existed. The tale, however, spread across the land and through time. Some foolishly evoked names, tempting fate, and the warrior would appear having been woken from his never-ending slumber, bringing the devil and death with him.”