Highlander’s Evil Side by Shona Thompson

Chapter Fourteen

Fraser

Fraser’s horse galloped through the fields. He heard his men following behind him. The gasps of their horses met his ears. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw dust being kicked up. Scott sidled up next to him, his golden locks whipping in the wind.

“Do ye think it was the brigands from before?” Scott shouted over the wind and horses.

Fraser shook his head. “It cannot be so. They would have to be in two places at the same time.”

“Perhaps they are working together? Perhaps they are a bigger group than we are used to.”

Fraser clenched his jaw, his gaze going skyward. The clouds hung lower, appeared darker. Rain drizzled down from the heavens, pelting him in the face as he urged his horse faster, harder. He could see the straw rooftops, the thick smoke rising into the sky. Fire raged over the cottages, licking the stone. A rooftop fell in, followed by another. Women stood outside their houses, their farms, watching in shock as their husbands and sons threw dirt on the fire. Several men gripped their sickles, shouting amongst themselves as they saw Fraser’s approach.

Fraser’s frown deepened as his gaze settled on two little girls hovering outside the remnants of their home, now burnt to the ground. Their mother sobbed near them on her knees while their father consoled her, holding her close.

“It’s gone,” the woman wailed. “It’s all gone. What are we to do now?”

Fraser jumped down from his horse, striding further into the town. “Everyone grab a shovel!” he shouted while grabbing a discarded tool in the grass.

“Fraser, be careful!” Fraser heard Scott call.

Fraser stalked towards one cottage stepping around a young boy no older than ten summers watching his home in shock. The boy’s hands shook. Tears streamed down from his cheeks.

“Help me, lad!” Fraser shouted to the boy.

The boy’s eyes widened, and his mouth gaped open. He stumbled backward, falling onto his bottom and scrambling to get away from Fraser. “Nae!” the boy shouted. “Nae!”

Fraser watched the boy push his body from the ground and run towards the men in the distance. His frown deepened, watching as the boy pointed in Fraser’s direction. The boy must be in shock, Fraser thought, turning away and shoveling the dirt onto the fire. The heat flushed his skin, making him drip with sweat. If only it would rain more, he thought as he continued shoveling. It would be easier with the rain.

“Help!” a woman shrieked.

Fraser stopped, turning towards a woman running towards her burning home. A man grabbed her, preventing her from reentering the cottage. “My baby!” she shouted. “My baby!”

Fraser’s grasp tightened on the shovel, and his feet took him towards her, running as fast as he could.

“Fraser!” he heard Scott’s shout but ignored him. There was a child in that fire, and he would do everything he could to help his people.

Using the shovel, he slammed it against the door, sidestepping around the flames. He winced as a cloud of smoke brought tears to his eyes. It was difficult to breathe, difficult to see. He coughed violently while he searched through the darkness, unable to hear anything other than the roaring fire.

“Where are ye?” Fraser rasped, using the shovel to poke around the room. He stumbled into a table. His insides burned. His throat felt as if he had eaten ash.

“Help,” a small voice sounded to his right.

Fraser jerked towards it, finding a little boy hiding underneath the bed. The boy poked his head out. His cheeks were covered in soot. A red, puckered rash covered his arm. Fraser reached for him, grabbing his uninjured hand and dragging him out from the bed.

“We need to hurry,” Fraser rasped before bursting into a fit of coughing.

The child clutched to him as Fraser carried him towards the door. Something thudded behind them. Fraser flinched, glancing over his shoulder and finding the roof beginning to fall in. The flames licked the wood, flickering and destroying everything within its path. Another large beam fell in front of them, making Fraser jump back.

“Fraser!” Scott shouted from outside. “Fraser, ye better be bloody alive!”

“I’m in here,” Fraser coughed.

“Blast it.”

Scott entered the door frame, scowling at Fraser from the threshold. “Hurry!” He reached a hand towards Fraser. “Take my hand.”

Fraser grimaced, taking it and leaping over the beam. The boy cried in his arms, burying his head in Fraser’s chest. Fraser gasped, breathing in the fresh air. He took two steps before falling to his knees. The woman ran to him, taking her child from his arms.

“Thank ye,” she whispered. She kissed her son’s head, cradling him close to her while retreating behind the crowd of men surrounding Fraser.

Fraser opened his mouth, catching the raindrops. His body was still heated, feeling dried and shriveled like an apple lying out in the sun for far too long.

“Yer daft,” said Scott, pacing in front of him. “Ye know that? Absolutely, daft.”

Fraser chuckled, which led him into another long bout of coughing. Scott smacked his back, his worry laced in his every touch. “We need to get ye a healer.”

Fraser shook his head. “We need to stop the fires.” He frowned at the men approaching him, carrying their shovels and sickles, all pointed towards him. “What’s happened?” Fraser pushed himself up, wobbling on his legs while he stared at the growing crowd.

He stumbled in a circle, his gaze widening on the unharmed fields surrounding the village. The wheat rustled in the wind, waving mockingly back at him. The smell of it permeated the air, mixed with the softness of fresh rain. Only the village suffered; only the people’s homes were destroyed.

“Why?” Fraser breathed, looking amongst the thickening crowd.

These people had nothing. No money, no precious goods; the only thing they bartered with was their crops, which fed the clan throughout the year. Why would anyone wish to harm them? It didn’t make any sense.

“Ye!” shouted a man, jutting a shaking finger in Fraser’s direction.

Fraser paused, his gaze widening on the man. He was not much older than Fraser. His leine was dirtied and wrinkled, his head covered with dark, matted strands. He stumbled towards Fraser, his trembling finger rising higher as he closed the distance between them. “Ye,” he said, his voice accusatory as he stopped before Fraser.

Fraser’s frown deepened as he stared at the man’s finger, seeing the welted and puckered red skin. The man was injured.

“‘Tis him,” Fraser heard someone whisper.

“The man from before,” whispered another.

“Has he come to finish what he started?”

A woman wailed in the distance, cradling her unblinking lad to her, still staring at the remnants of their home. The boy’s hands fisted at his sides. Dirt covered one side of his face, and his leg puckered with an angry red rash from the fire.

“What happened?” Fraser called out to the people. “How did the fires start?"

The man before him scoffed. “What happened?” he shouted. “What do ye mean ‘what happened’?”

“Ye will speak to yer laird with respect,” said Scott, moving between the man and Fraser with his hand on his hilt.

Fraser reached for Scott, pushing him to the side and stepping purposefully towards the villagers.

“My laird,” Scott said harshly, his hand grabbing Fraser’s shoulder. “Do ye think this wise?”

Fraser ignored his friend. These were mere farmers. If they were unable to stop the men who burnt their houses to the ground, they wouldn’t be able to harm him, a man trained in sword fighting since he was a lad of seven.

“Please,” Fraser urged. “Tell me what happened.”

“Ye were here,” the man said forcefully, tears glimmering in his eyes. “Ye were here with an older man, lighting yer fires nae matter how we begged.”

“Ye laughed as ye did it,” a woman whispered, her voice cracking on the words. She inhaled deeply, her shoulders shuddering to contain her sobs. “Ye said it was a means to an end.”

Fraser shook his head. “It’s not possible.”

“Ye were here!” another man shouted, jutting his finger at Fraser. “I saw it with my own eyes.”

“Aye, I saw it, too!” shouted an elderly woman.

Fraser couldn’t believe his ears. It wasn’t true. He had been with Beitris at the falls. His gaze fell on an elderly-looking man with white hair. He recognized the elder as Angus, the village head. Angus stepped forward, raising his hands. With the slight movement, the shouts dissipated. The people watched their elder approach Fraser. He gazed back at Fraser with sorrow in his eyes.

“I saw ye, as well, my laird,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I did not want to believe it, for I know ye. I knew yer father, and I knew ye since ye were a young lad. But,” his gaze turned hateful, his tone dark, “ye were lighting yer fires and laughing as ye did, not caring who of us got injured.”

“I swear to ye, I was never here,” said Fraser, glancing around the crowd, whose gazes darkened with anger and hate. “I was not,” he insisted.

“It’s true,” said Scott while stepping forward. “I’ve been with him all morn.”

“He looked like ye!” shouted a man with a sickle, shoving it towards Fraser.

Fraser jumped backward. His men dismounted from their horses, withdrawing their blades and pointing them at the villagers. Fraser held up his hands, shouting, “Wait!”

“Sheath yer swords!” Scott shouted angrily. “What has come of ye, lads? Yer laird did not give orders to draw yer blades.”

The soldiers sheathed their swords, and Fraser lowered his hands. “I was with the lady at the falls in the wood. ‘Tis near Castle Dunnegan,” he said calmly to Angus. “I couldn’t have been here.”

“The laird destroyed our homes!” the man with the sickle shouted.

The men edged forwards, shoving their farming tools at Fraser. They stared at him with hate, with anger. He didn’t know if they would listen to him, but he had to try. What was more important was putting out the fires and getting the women and children to shelter quickly and safely.

“Please, listen to me,” Fraser said calmly, holding the villager’s gaze. “I understand yer fear, yer anger, but we must work together to save this village. I will help ye.”

“Ye have done enough,” said a man bitterly, shoving his shovel forward.

Angus raised a hand. “Listen to him, Fergus.”

The crowd stared at Fraser. Only the sounds of the flickering fire and the pattering rain greeted Fraser’s ears as he searched for the words he needed to say.

A woman stepped forward, cradling a baby to her. “How?” she asked softly. “How will ye help us?”

“How can ye help us when yer the one who took our homes?” asked another.

“My men and I will help ye,” said Fraser. “Together, we will rise above this. Until yer homes have been rebuilt, I will find ye lodge at Castle Dunnegan.” He watched as the makeshift weapons lowered. The people glanced at one another, mumbling and whispering, yet their gazes remained shrewd, questioning.

“And if there is not enough room for everyone, I will ensure ye find proper residence within the safety of the clan. There are cottages nearby. My servants would be happy to house ye, and my guards will provide fabric for a tent near the castle walls. Whatever ye may need, I shall provide.” Fraser took a moment to catch his breath, his gaze turning sorrow-filled as he gazed out at the destroyed cottages. "My men will see to yer homes, rebuilding them anew. This I promise ye.”

“I will go with ye,” a woman said, stepping forward with her two children.

“And so will I,” said another woman.

Fraser breathed a sigh of relief as he watched one villager after another step forward, promising to follow him to the castle.

“I will remain behind and help yer men,” said the man with the sickle. Several men strode towards him, nodding in agreement.

“Kenneth, Gavin,” Fraser called, waiting for his soldier’s presence at his side. “Please help these men with their homes. I will return with more in the morn.”

“Aye, my laird,” said Kenneth and Gavin in unison.

“Scott, ye will join me in helping the others to the castle.” Fraser stalked back towards his horse, mounting quickly and turning around.

“Aye, my laird,” said Scott, following him to the front. “Do ye have any idea who might have done this?”

Fraser frowned and shook his head. “Nae, not at all.”

However, the man looked like him. This wasn’t the first time he had been met with such confusion. He recalled Beitris’s slap, the anger in her gaze as she confused him for another.

Perhaps, there was someone out there who looked like him.