Chapter 33

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Catalina’s head was aching terribly, and her mouth was dry and tasted foul. She struggled to open her eyes. Her vison swam, but she could just make out a figure standing a few feet away from her. She frowned at it, struggling to bring it into focus. It was blurred, but there was something familiar about it. It came closer to her, the face large and round, with bulbous, pale-brown eyes. Suddenly, she knew who it was.

“Ye, ye bastard!” she spat, jerking forward and realizing she was tied to a chair by her wrists and ankles. She struggled to get loose, but her bonds held her fast. She soon ceased moving, for to do so sent knives of pain stabbing through her head.

“Aye, wench, ye ken me, eh?” Henry Chisholm said. He rubbed a palm across a livid scar on his cheek. “Remember this?”

“I remember givin’ it tae ye, aye, ye filthy coward,” Catalina shot back, injecting as much disdain into her voice as she could manage with her throbbing head.

“Aye, and I remember tellin’ ye I’d make ye pay fer it. And here we are.” He gestured at their surroundings, and she turned her head with difficulty to look

around her.

“What is this place?” she asked, squinting at the dripping stone walls that had moss growing out of the cracks. It appeared to be a monk’s cell or something very similar.

“It used tae be a house of God, but now ’tis given over tae the Devil,” Chisholm told her and gave one of his sinister laughs before adding, “at any rate, ’tis good ye’re wake. Ye’re just in time fer yer lover tae arrive.”

“What are ye talkin’ about, ye madman?” Damn him, he kens!

“Ye’re very free with yer insults fer such a well-bread lass. I dinnae ken why ye call me a madman fer doin’ all I can tae get that cheatin’ faither of yers tae give what I was promised. Have ye nae stolen yer sister’s man? Ye’re as bad as me, so ye should nae be so hard on me.”

Catalina was just forming another insult when the scarred wooden door was pushed open from the outside, its bottom edge scraping along the floor with a shrill shriek. The noise made her ears ring. A huge man, a grizzled warrior in a long chain mail coat. with a scarred face and dull, dark eyes entered. He went over to Chisholm and whispered something in his ear, making him smile.

“Ye’ll be pleased tae hear that yer family has arrived as planned. The exchange can now take place. Bring her,” he ordered the old warrior before going out of the door. Two armed men came in and, under the direction of the old warrior, they untied her from the chair and then retied her limbs.

“Bring her outside,” the warrior said, going out. The two men took hold of her arms and dragged her bodily after him. Her legs were like jelly, and she was so dizzy, she felt sick. She realized she had been given something that had knocked her out and weakened her, leaving her with the banging headache.

Nevertheless, she understood that by ‘exchange,’ Chisholm meant that she was going to be swapped for her sister, and cold dread filled her at the thought of Anastasia falling into his evil clutches despite everyone’s efforts to prevent it.

Inwardly, as her memories began to reform in her mind, she castigated herself for not having gone back to the camp with Ivar. If only she had listened to him, then this would not be happening, and both she and her sister would be safe. Once again, her headstrong folly had brought about disaster. And poor Anastasia, who had already been through enough, was going to be the one to pay for it!

She was manhandled out through another battered door and into the light. It hurt her eyes, but when she could see, she looked ahead of her. Ivar was standing a short distance away, with Arne, and Anastasia between them. Despair consumed her.

Herr sister’s face crumpled as soon as she saw her. She started forward, but Arne held her back. “Catalina! Are ye all right?” she called, her voice frantic.

“Aye, I’m all right, Ana. I’m sorry.” She turned to Ivar, seeing the lines of care on his handsome face. He looked exhausted, haunted, but his eyes were full of fury as he took in her bonds and then glared at Chisholm.

“Ye bloody swine. Ye had nay need tae tie her like that. If ye’ve hurt one hair on her head, I’ll?—”

“Ye’ll dae what?” Chisholm sneered. “If ye want the worthless little vixen back alive then ye’ll dae exactly as I say.”

“Stay calm,” Catalina heard Arne whisper to Ivar, who obeyed with a visible effort. Their eyes met, and she felt hot tears rolling down her cheeks to see so much love in his. “I’m so sorry, Ivar. I should have listened tae ye. ‘Tis all me fault.”

“Nay, lass, ’tis his fault,” he said shooting a hate-filled look at Chisholm. If

looks could kill, the man would have been a pile of ash on the ground. Ivar looked back at Catalina. “Dinnae worry. Everythin’s going tae be fine. Ye’re comin’ home with us,” he told her, his deep voice faltering.

“Nay, Ivar. I’ll nae let ye give him Anastasia. I’ll marry him in her place if he lets her go.”

“Stop it, Cat,” her sister told her with a sob.

“That’s nae happenin’,” Ivar growled, his hands curling into fists.

“But this is all down tae me. Ye cannae just give her tae that pig!” Catalina protested.

“Ach, how touchin’,” Chisholm sneered, standing next to her. “Who says I’d

want tae marry ye? Ye’re worth naethin’ tae me,” he sneered at Catalina. He pointed at Anastasia. “She’s the eldest. She was promised tae me, and ’tis her I’ll wed.”

“All right, I suggest everybody calms down,” Arne interjected. “We’re here tae make an exchange, so let’s get on with it.”

“I coudnae agree more,” Chisholm said. He gestured at the two men who had carried Catalina from the room. “Release her,” he commanded them. Instantly, they began untying her bonds. As soon as she was free, she lunged at Chisholm, raking at his face with her nails.

“Why, ye little wench!” he shouted, drawing back his fist, clearly about to punch her. But Ivar covered the distance between them in seconds and grabbed her by the arm, snatching her out of the path of Chisholm’s fist at the last minute, the power of which could easily have killed her in one fell swoop. He retreated swiftly, holding her against his chest.

“Well, ye have her back, and ye’re welcome tae her,” Chisholm said scathingly. “Now, hand her over.” He gestured to Anastasia with his eyes.

Thinking she saw Anastasia about to step forward, Catalina screamed, “Nay!” and went to throw herself in her path. But Ivar held her back, and the next moment, to her confusion, it seemed as if dozens of armed men suddenly came pouring into the space around what she could now make out was some sort of semi-ruined church. It took her another few moments to realize they were her father’s men, and several more to make out her father among them.

The fighting began in earnest then, and in the confusion, Chisholm launched himself at Anastasia and grabbed her by the arm. She screamed as he dragged her away, towards a group of tethered horses.

“Dunstan! Faither!” Anastasia shouted, doing her best to frustrate Chisholm’s efforts to take her by making herself a dead weight. But she was so small in comparison to Chisholm, it had little effect.

“Ivar, stop him!” Catalina shouted, alerting Ivar to the danger her sister was in.

“I see him, but I need tae get ye tae safety first,” he told her, tight-lipped as he held her close, protecting her from the fighting going on all round them. “Where’s Dunstan?”

“He’s over there, fightin’ that man,” she cried, pointing to where Dunstan was engaged in a furious sword fight with one of Chisholm’s soldiers.

“But he’s going tae get away with Ana! We have tae stop him,” Catalina screamed in desperation, pulling away from Ivar, intending to tackle Chisholm by herself.

“’Tis all right,” Ivar suddenly said, looking in the same direction. “Look.”

Cat looked, and saw her father, his sword in hand, blocking Chisholm’s way,

a look of dark determination on his weathered face.

Catalina watched as the two men exchanged a few words, yet over the din, she could hear nothing of what they said. But she saw it all as Chisholm thrust Anastasia cruelly to the ground and unsheathed his sword, just as her father descended upon him. As the two men clashed, her sister, who appeared to be unhurt, managed to scramble away from the fray and take shelter in a ruined archway, in relative safety.

“Ye’re needed fer the fight,” she told Ivar. “Take me tae Ana. We can shelter in there until the fightin’s done,” she pleaded.

“All right, hang on tae me tightly,” he replied, gripping her hand. They sprinted through the clumps of battling soldiers as fast as they could, her legs now collaborating again, Ivar barging a path with his shoulders. When they reached the archway, Catalina ran inside to her sister, and the pair clung to each other, sobbing with relief.

“Thank God ye’re all right. I’m sorry about actin’ the fool back there. I was a bit silly tae think they didnae have a plan and that they were just going tae give ye tae Chisholm,” she admitted, hugging her sister tightly. They had to shout to make themselves heard about the din.

“Nay, they had a plan all right. Ivar and Arne have been workin’ on it night and day since ye were taken. And me and Dunstan got Faither tae bring all these men. I was just the bait. This time, Chisholm will be finished fer good,” her sister assured her.

While they were speaking, they were watching their father battle it out with Chisholm a few yards away. Men were fighting all around them, including Ivar, who was battling ferociously with the grizzled warrior with the scarred face. They heard a hoarse shout and saw that it had come from Chisholm.

Their father had him on the ground, his sword poised above him. The madman had lost his weapon, which lay just out of reach. He scrambled backwards to try to retrieve it, but before he could do so, Laird Matheson put a heavy boot on his chest, pinning him in place. Then, he raised his sword vertically and brought it down with full force, stabbing the point of the blade straight into Chisholm’s neck. Blood gushed from the wound as Chisholm writhed and gurgled, his mouth working uselessly, his eyes bulging as if they would pop out of his head. After a few moments, the life ran out of him, and he lay still. The laird stood panting, looking down at his handwork with a grim smile of satisfaction on his face before pulling his blade out and wiping the blood on Chisholm’s body.

“He’s killed him. Faither’s killed him!” Catalina breathed, relief washing over her.

“Aye, and good riddance it is. He’ll nae be troublin’ us anymore,” Anastasia said. “Praise the Lord.”

“Praise Faither, ye mean,” Catalina corrected her, and they grinned at each other.

With Chisholm dead, his men lost heart and began to retreat to the trees, those that could at any rate, for many lay slain or dying around the ruin. By degrees, the battle ceased and gradually petered out.

The MacLeods and the Mathesons were victorious!

Slowly, as the field cleared and the Matheson soldiers regrouped, ready to leave, the two families convened in the shelter under the archway. Ivar, Laird Matheson, Arne, and Dunstan all came in from the battlefield, bloodstained, sweating, and weary from the fight but in a great mood nonetheless.

As soon as she saw him, Catalina ran to Ivar and leapt into his arms, hugging him and peppering his bloody face with kisses, elated to be reunited with him. “Thank ye, Ivar, fer comin’ tae save me, and fer helpin’ tae save me sister. I’m so sorry I put ye through all this! I should have listened tae ye,” she told him.

“Aye, ye will, fer I’m nae goin’ through all this again. I almost went mad when I found ye gone. The last few days have been a nightmare.” Then, he held her close and kissed her deeply. When they came up for air, Catalina saw her father staring at them with shock on his face. She gently disentangled herself from Ivar to rush to hug her father, flinging her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek.

“Och, Faither, ye dinnae how glad I am tae see ye. I’ve missed ye so much. Thank ye fer comin’ tae help us, and fer killing that horrible creature Chisholm.”

“Och, me wee lassie, I’ve missed ye too. I’m so happy ye’re safe now. Ye dinnae think I wouldnae come, did ye? I was never gonnae let that manic get his hands on either of me bonny lassies, and I would have done anythin’ necessary tae stop him.” He paused for a moment, looking over her shoulder. Catalina turned her head and followed his gaze. She realized he was looking at Anastasia, who was in a clinch with Dunstan and sharing a passionate kiss with him.

“I’m a wee bit confused,” Laird Matheson admitted, his eyes returning to hers.

“Aye, I expect ye are. We all have a bit of explainin’ tae dae on the way home.”

He went over to hug Anastasia, and Catalina returned to Ivar, hugging his waist and leaning her head against his chest, delighting in the steady beat of his heart.

“D’ye ken how much I love, ye, Ivar MacLeod?” she asked happily as he put his arms around her.

“I’m sure it cannae be as much as I love ye, Catalina Matheson,” he replied, his chuckle reverberating against her ear.

“What? Nay, I love ye more,” she protested.

“Nonsense. I definitely love ye the most.”

“Well, I’ll prove I love ye the most, when we get back home,” she said teasingly.

“Promises, promises,” he answered with smirk. “Ye ken I’m going tae hold ye tae that.”

“Mmm, I certainly hope so!” she laughingly replied and kissed him again.