Page 22 of Highlander’s Ancient Vengeance

I cannot believe you can be so cruel. You have been everything to me since we were twelve years old. I loved you the first moment I saw you, and God help me, I still do. I know that I am poorer that Donnan Dunbar, shorter in stature, and not so handsome, but I thought you could overlook those things and look to the man inside, who is burning with love and desire for you, and love me for who I am. I am the man who would lay down his life for you, and give away everything he owns for you, and you have broken my heart.

In time, I may be forced to do my duty and be married, but there will never be anyone else to take your place.

Donnan Dunbar is a very fortunate man...so far. But he took you from me, and you belong to me. Rest assured he will not have you for long, for if I cannot have you then he will not either. Just as you are mine, I am yours, and no one is going to hold you at night but I. Think about this the next time he kisses you, Isobell, and enjoy your happiness, for nothing lasts long in this life.

Your devoted Mungo

Malle gasped in horror at what was written on the page, because not only did she know that the threat had been carried out, but she knew who was going to be murdered. The letter made no mention of the victim’s name, but the inference was that it was going to be Donnan. After all, why would a man kill the woman he loved?

A while after this letter her lifeless body was found facedown on the bedroom floor, and the feud began again in earnest. Malle was sure that Bruce was involved! Donnan had no reason to kill Isobell and she was very happy with him. Why would she commit suicide?

Bruce, she thought. Could there be a connection between Alan Bruce and Mungo Bruce?

Bruce was a very common Scottish name, but it was not inconceivable that the two men were from the same branch of the family. And it appears that the feud was not so big as to not be able to marry someone close to the Dunbars. After all, Isobell married a Dunbar.

Malle knew she needed to talk to someone, so she went in search of Margaret, then groaned as she realized that her parents had gone to the horse fair. Who else could she talk to?

Damn it! she thought desperately. The only person she could think of was Craig, but to get to him she would have to ride into the Dunbar Estate, putting herself in danger of being arrested. However, Craig would never let her go to the dungeons, and that was the thought that made up her mind. Craig had to see these letters.

She thought about asking a guard to accompany her, but she knew that they would stop her as she got to the Cut, so she collected Arthur and trotted casually out of the courtyard as if she was going for a pleasant amble around the estate. It was a warm day with a white hazy sky, and any other day she would have enjoyed riding, but today she just wanted to get to Craig. She waited until she was out of sight of the castle then urged Arthur into a gallop. This time, however, they waded through the Cut, and she told herself she did not mind having wet feet for a few hours.

I must look a sight, she thought. Bruises, scratches, bandages everywhere! She laughed aloud, then cried out as another rider sped out of the forest and stopped directly in front of her. Arthur reared up again for the second time in two days and she fell heavily on the hard ground, inflicting even more injuries on herself. She lay, moaning, unable to do anything to help herself.

Then someone was bending over her. She had a sense of familiarity, then shock. In her dazed and confused state, she could see the man the way she had seen him before. It was the figure who had been bending over her at Isobell’s grave: Alan Bruce.

His dark eyes were burning into hers and she recognized the glint of madness in them. Terrified, she instinctively hugged her arms around herself and tried to curl up into a ball, but it was no use. His dark beard was so long that it was brushing her chin and neck, and his breath reeked of whisky and fish; she almost gagged on the stench.

He saw the revulsion on her face and laughed, then deliberately breathed on her hard so that she shut her eyes and turned away in disgust. She gave a moan of pain as the bump on her head, still sore from the previous fall, began to throb again. When he grabbed a hold of her hair and began to drag her towards the pine trees, she screamed.

Pine needles scratched her skin and snagged her hair, tugging at its roots and making her howl with agony. She was in a nightmare of anguish. Her body was stinging and aching from her existing injuries and the new ones that were being inflicted.

The torture ended when he let go of her hair, then stood above her and drew his broadsword. From her position on the forest floor he looked even more menacing, seeming to resemble a thick, gnarled tree. She stared up at him, paralyzed with fear, while he did nothing but stare at her with an evil smile on his ugly face.

“Get up, Mistress MacEwan,” he said at last. “Ye have nae business on Dunbar land. Whit wid happen tae ye if ye were caught? There’s some awfy bad types roon here that wid jist love lae get their hauns on a wee bit o’ MacEwan meat!”

Malle saw the great broadsword at his belt and realized that if she were not going to die on its blade she had to keep him talking to her.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked with a puzzled frown. “What have I ever done to you?”

“You are a MacEwan.” he replied, as if that explained everything.

“And you are a Bruce, not a Dunbar,” she said, shaking her head. “As far as I know, you are close to them, but our families have no quarrel.”

“Aye we dae, Mistress, oor three faimlies hae had a quarrel for twa hunner years!” His voice was low and vicious.

“And Mungo Dunbar?” she asked, finally realizing the truth. “What does it have to do with him?”

At once, she realized she had said the wrong thing.

“Whit d’ye knaw about my faimly?” he demanded. “Whit has my faimly got tae dae wi’ you? Mistress, you have jist signed yer death warrant!”

Alan Bruce raised his sword and then he took a menacing step towards her. She took a step back, then realized that her back was going to hit a tree. She turned and fled as fast as her legs would carry her, but she was only a small

woman, and despite his bulk Alan could move very fast. He was gaining on her, but was still a few yards away when she tripped over a tree root and fell forward onto the carpet of pine needles.

Malle was too dazed to care what happened next. She wanted to do no more than lie on her face on the forest floor till Alan Bruce put her out of her misery.

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