Page 4 of Highlander’s Ancient Vengeance

“So Granda put a watch on it,” she said, smiling, “and discovered that the shepherds who worked for the Dunbars were bringing their sheep through the hole in dozens because the grass there was nice and lush, but Granda was a cunning and vengeful man, and he could not let this kind of mischief go unpunished. He had three sheep which had foot rot and were kept apart from the rest of the herd and marked for slaughter, so he took them across the water and put them on the Dunbar bank. There they wandered in the damp land around the water's edge and spread the foot rot amongst the Dunbar herd, half of which had to be slaughtered.

“Granda was a ruthless man, Paw,” Malle said sadly. “That was cruel.”

“To the sheep, maybe,” Kenneth agreed. “But they are bred for slaughter, Malle, and that man could not be allowed to get away with that bit of wickedness or much worse would have followed.”

“So what happened to the land, Paw?” she asked. She moved to sit at her father’s feet where he gently stroked her hair, then he laughed.

“There was a furious exchange of letters for a month before they negotiated a sale of the land to the Dunbars. This was not to say that hostilities had ceased, merely that each side was doing what was practical. From then to this day there has been no actual violence between us. They leave us alone and we leave them alone. It is a pity, because we have much in common and could help each other in many ways, but I doubt Malcolm Dunbar sees it that way, and I am sure his son does not, judging by what you have told me today.”

“He is a very unpleasant character,” Malle said angrily, frowning fiercely. “If I were a big strong man I would challenge him, but I am not.”

“The traditional way for warring families to make peace was for their sons and daughters to marry.” Kenneth laughed mischievously. “Perhaps we should try it!”

“Not even in jest, Paw!” Malle looked up at him, her expression one of complete revulsion. “I would not take him as a gift!”

“So I must not send the proposal I wrote to Malcolm Dunbar?” His voice was still teasing.

“If you ever do that, Paw,” she warned, wagging her finger at him, “I will tie you up, throw you in the piggery, and watch them eat you alive!”

Kenneth chuckled. “Then my ghost would come back to haunt you! Do not worry, my lovie.” He kissed her cheek. “You will always be safe as long as I am here.”

“Tell me another one, Paw,” she begged, as her mother came into the room bearing three cups of hot milk on a tray.

“Not more stories, Malle?” She laughed. “You have heard them all a hundred times already!”

Malle laughed and shrugged. “I like them!”

“And with every one you hear, your dislike of the Dunbars becomes worse and worse,” Margaret pointed out, frowning. “We should heal this rift—it has been going on long enough. It is very uncomfortable when we go to a ceilidh, then have to stand on one side of a room because the Dunbars are on the other. We should make peace.” She looked and sounded depressed.

Suddenly Malle felt very tired. She yawned and stretched then announced her intention to go to bed. She kissed her parents goodnight and went upstairs, but something was nagging at the back of her mind. She disliked Craig Dunbar intensely, and as far as she could see he had no redeeming features at all, so why was it that her mind kept dwelling on him?

She was glad that they had been on the other side of the river from her, because she was honest enough to admit that if he had put his arms around her she would not have had the strength or inclination to resist him.

Back in Dunbar Castle, Craig was thinking similar thoughts about Malle. How could she be so beautiful but so absolutely maddening?

Another thought occurred to him. What if Fergus had trespassed on MacEwan land to run away from someone who was chasing him and not to get his horse back? Fergus McDowell was not poor; he earned a fair wage but he had a family to support. He had a few acres of his own land, though. What if someone wanted that?

He decided not to pursue the matter any further. No one had been harmed.

Suddenly he caught himself thinking about Malle’s beautiful angry face. He laid down in his cold bed and closed his eyes, but for a long time sleep would not come, even though he was weary to the bone. He felt an urge to make her his—not in spite of her character, but because of it. He sent the thought away as if it was sinful and tried to sleep.

3

The Body

Malle’s daily ride took a rather grotesque turn that morning. She had decided to go return to the spot where she had found the trespasser so that she could look around and see if there was something there that might have attracted him and tempted him to make the crossing—perhaps one of the deer that roamed the estate.

Besides, it was a beautiful spot. She often wished that she had some way of recording the beautiful scenery and animals in this part of the Highlands, so that she could capture the moment when a stag raised his head while surveying his domain, or the sun going down over the jagged Cairngorm mountains.

She and Arthur meandered down to the Cut to have a drink, but when she reached the bank she recoiled, horrified at what she saw.

There, floating in the middle of the stream, was the corpse of Fergus McDowell.

His tunic was caught on a rock, his sightless dead eyes stared up at the sky, and there was a bright stream of blood leaking from his now useless heart and flowing downstream with the current. Glittering under the water beside him was a large broadsword.

Malle took a few deep breaths to calm herself down, then turned and rode back to castle MacEwan as if the hounds of hell were after her. She scrambled out of the saddle and raced upstairs to her father’s study, where she found him poring over his ledgers.

“Malle!” he cried, leaping up from his chair. “Whatever is the matter? You look as if you have seen a ghost!”