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| "The Ring of Brodgar" (Image from a Google search) |
Suggested by: Kileah McIlvain
The List:
A name: Iona
A place: Scotland
A time: Anytime before 1745 (Jacobite uprising)
An object: The Ring of Brodgar
The Result:
April, 1744
She watched the grey fog
creep over the green hills. It weighed heavily on the landscape like the
dread on her heart. Already, she could hear the clash of broadsword on
shield.
They were coming. She always knew she would see this day.
She
lifted her green eyes to the grey skies once more, and sighed. Green
and grey, like the tartan over her shoulder. She raised a slender, fair
hand and adjusted the brooch at her shoulder so the catch would not dig
into her collarbone so.
"Milady!" A young chambermaid cried from the doorway.
The woman turned from the window as a broad-shouldered man covered in battle-filth shoved his way past the trembling maid.
"Iona," the man grunted. "Coom, ye must leave!"
"I
canna!" Lady Iona fired back, tossing her long brown braid over her
shoulder. "Fagin, I told ye a thousand times, I'll no stir from this
spot!"
Fagin scrubbed his nose with a dirty leather gauntlet
in frustration. "Confound ye! He's well nigh here, and ye ken the one
he's after?"
Iona thrust her chin out, drawing herself to her
full height. Even then, her brother Fagin still towered head and
shoulders over her.
"He can try what he likes," the fiery
Scotswoman seethed. "Him an' all his Jacobite clan! He'll no get it, an'
there's an end to't!"
Fagin chewed his lip, keenly aware as
he was of the increasing shouts. Things weren't safe with the Jacobite
rebels crowing for Bonnie Prince Charlie and eager to tussle with any
person that did not immediately join in. That in itself was not the
threat; Castle Brodgar was well-fortified and not worth the effort it
would take to breach it merely for the handful of women that were left.
Fagin dropped his eyes to the fist now clenched at his sister's side.
She saw his gaze, and watched him till their eyes met. She nodded, as
they understood each other in the wordless speech between siblings.
Fagin loosened the sword in his scabbard. "He'll have to get through me, then," he said grimly, departing the room.
Lady
Iona remained rooted to the spot until she heard the heavy door at the
foot of her chamber stairs slam behind him. Her knees buckled, and her
chambermaid raced forward to catch her as she fell.
All daring seemed to seep out of the dauntless woman, and she trembled all over as the fighting grew closer than ever.
"I can hear the men shouting," she moaned. "They are coming, and they will not stop."
The
maid led her to the bed and bid her recline. Lady Iona wrapped her arms
around herself and curled into a small ball, willing with every fiber
of her being that the army would just pass by.
"He must not
come!" She gasped hoarsely, gripping the maid's hand with sudden
strength. Her eyes widened with horror. "He must not come!"
The clamor, the shouting, the clash—Iona cringed and buried her face in her arms. It will pass, they will pass...
"Milady."
The
voice, thick as haggis and deep as a black bog, seeped through her
fingers and into her ears. Rough hands gripped her wrists and yanked her
to her feet. She saw a dark, hulking figure, then she saw the ice-blue
eyes, desperate and wild. He said not a word.
"You have come for me, Callum McGowan?"
He pulled, but she resisted.
"Ye canna take me!" She shrieked. "I wilna coom!"
He dropped one hand to reach for his dirk, and Iona seized the opportunity to wrap one arm around the nearest bedpost.
"Go ahead, then! Cut me! Ye can hack me ta pieces if ye want ta carry me away! Ma brother will run ye doon, ye murderin' dog!"
Callum
did not hesitate. He kept a hold on Iona's wrist and wrapped the other
arm around her waist, hefting the keening woman over his shoulder.
Iona fought madly. She kicked, she beat him with her free arm, and most of all, she screamed.
Till they reached the foot of the stairs.
Fagin lay in a crumpled heap where he had stood, the crown of his head bent and bloodied.
"Fagin!"
Iona screeched. "No!" She stared at the grisly sight, unable to tear
her eyes away. "What did you do to him? What did ye do? Fagin! You dog!
You demon! Why did ye kill him? Why did ye take the life o' my brother?"
She fought, but it was too late.
Callum tossed
her over the saddle of his war horse. Her whole body had gone numb. She
did not feel the jostle of the galloping horse taking her away from her
home and her family. The sounds echoed in her ears as if coming from a
great distance.
Finally, the horse slowed, but Callum showed no sign of getting off or stopping.
Iona tasted blood. On one of the tosses from the horse she had smacked her face on the stiff saddle and split her lip.
"Sit up."
The
second time Callum McGowan had spoken to her, and Iona obeyed blindly.
He kept her on the horse while she slowly maneuvered her body into a
sitting position. Once she was settled, she saw that he offered her a
handkerchief. She accepted it and looked around as she dabbed the blood
from her mouth.
They were alone, and she knew the road they followed. She finally looked up at him in alarm.
"The moors?" She gasped.
He nodded.
"They say a monster lives there," Iona babbled as fear seized her brain.
"They say a lot of things," Callum agreed. "They say the Bride of Brodgar may walk freely on the moors."
Iona
shuddered, more at the way he stared at her than out of fear for her
situation. "Am I your protection then?" She demanded. "Do you intend to
cross the moors, and you are too much afraid of the legend to risk
crossing alone, without the Bride of Brodgar to ensure your safety?"
Callum's
face tightened. "Let us say for now that our fates are entwined, Lady
Iona," he mused darkly. Putting an arm around her, he coaxed the horse
onward into the murk.
Iona sought comfort in
the secret she had protected for so long. Yes, over the last century it
had faded to legend, but Clan Brodgar had taken great pain to make it
so. The monster was whispered about by some in horror, and scoffed or
boasted by others in disbelief, but Clan Brodgar—and particularly its
Brides—knew the truth. She knew the reason she had no cause to fear the
moors, and the reason the women in her family were called Brides:
because each girl, on her sixteenth birthday, underwent the ceremony by
which she "wed" the Brodgar family and became privy to its
secrets—sealed with a ring. The ring she knew Callum would probably kill
to get, for its powerful mastery over the monster of the moors. The
ring she now wore—
Iona blinked. On the back of
the cantering horse, she raised her hands and inspected her fingers one
by one. The ring, the precious Ring of Brodgar—was gone. Had it slipped
off when she fought Callum in her chambers, or had it been some time
during their flight from the castle?
"What is it?" Callum grunted.
Iona
did not answer. The thudding hooves gave way to muted splashes. They
had entered the moors. Callum reined his horse. The fog hung thick, and
all of Nature braced herself.
A roar sounded in the distance, followed by the noise of enormous wings.
Iona felt her heart go dead inside her. She had lost the Ring that was their only protection.
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