Malcolm MacDougall stood in Dunollie, looking at the brilliant display lighting up the early morning sky. The sun broke the horizon and lit the morning in golden brightness, but the brightness on Lismore outshone it, making those in and around the castle take note of it. What bothered Malcolm about it, was the closeness to where the birlinns were hidden.
After dressing, he made his way down the steep, stone steps to the hall and called the men together. Since the massacre of the Fraser's, the men held Malcolm in higher stead, his order to slaughter innocent people and lead in the killing, made them take note of his position with greater respect out of fear. Malcolm gathered with his men and made plans to set sail for Lismore and discover the cause of the display, as well as the state their birlinns were in.
Sloan stood with Kyla at his side, talking with Coll and Loman about the wrecking of the birlinn and the loss of the men on board. Sloan heard the names of the dead and showed a surprise on his face, realizing the blow to MacRae's leadership. He was hard-pressed not to show the vengeful joy at knowing who met that untimely end. Just as Coll was explaining how Griffin and he had rescued Eamon MacGregor off a small atoll just a mile away, Foster was carrying the crippled man down the stairs on his back. Eamon was learning to use the makeshift crutch and hobbled into the hall beside Foster up to the four.
"Sloan Fraser, this is Eamon MacGregor. He's the fisherman from Seil, the one who found the bodies of three Douglas boys off his coast, in his nets. The ones Harlan Douglas claims ye murdered them somehoo." Foster made no small talk about what needed to be cleared up.
"Me and my men? He says we murdered them? The last we saw of the Douglas boys, was after we stole the birlinns. We were sailing tae oor hiding spot and they were going tae theirs. We knew they wouldn't follow us and we had no desire tae follow them. We knew of four more birlinns we could ha'e the next night. We were allies and had no quarrel wi' them, so why would they think we killed his boys? Wi'oot conferring wi' me, MacRae ordered the slaughter of my clan and me. We ne'er wanted tae join wi' them, not after the murder of my father, McCauley. We were going tae use their attack against them. When MacRae started the attack, it would leave Dunollie close tae defenceless and we were going to raid it and take it o'er. They wanted us tae ha'e Stalker, but I knew we d ne'er set foot on this land. We were tae be used as fodder fer their lines. They had no intention of letting us ha'e lands, let alone a castle, so we had planned on taking them fer oorselves."
Everyone listened to each and every word Sloan spoke. He himself knew that one wrong word could end his plans and worse, his life and those of the remaining Fraser's. He could see the understanding and acceptance of his story taking hold and led them along further.
"We've known the Stewart's tae be a good and fair clan and decided if we were tae be anywhere as a clan, it would be beside a clan we could respect and trust. This is why we came tae ye today, tae warn ye's. It was all we could do tae show ye oor intentions of being peaceful wi' yer clan and offer oor aid."
Sloan saw the look of not only complete acceptance, but also a look of agreement in their course of action. Braedon went over the answers in his head, taking Eamon's story and weighing it against Sloan's. He couldn't put Sloan and his clan in complete connection with the death of the boys and that had him doubt the word of Harlan Douglas, that the Fraser's were the ones who had killed them.
For all his words, Sloan's actions thus far, had backed him in truth and in his deliverance of them. Braedon felt more at ease with the new alliance with him and hoped he could help establish a place for them to live once the fighting was over. Would it ever be over? Braedon pondered the validity of that thought and could come to only one conclusion. MacRae and his army must be stopped at all costs. Even a meagre victory for him couldn't be afforded.
"I can'ne say one way or the other who did what tae who, but I know fer a fact that they boys had their feet tied. E'en wi' that, they should ha'e been able tae swim, or stay afloat, so I ha'e no idea why they drooned?" Eamon finally spoke out.
That made sense to everyone instantly, with Eamon's account. Why couldn't the boys swim if their hands were free? What could have stopped them from swimming to shore or letting the tide carry them there? Only Sloan and his men possibly knew what caused their deaths and they weren't saying anymore about the subject.
Ten miles away, twenty men led by Malcolm MacDougall, were sailing up to the dwindling flames on the headlands of Eilean Musdile. They pulled to the shore and two men jumped out and held the lines tight, as everyone else jumped out. They lay heavy stones over the lines to hold it in place, then joined the others and climbed the slope to the top. They could see the numerous tracks of horse and men, going up and down the slope and began to wonder why such an effort went into this.
Reaching the top, the heat was still intense enough to keep them back a dozen feet. They peered through the flames and could make out shapes in them. When a few moved, it became apparent to them what they were. The charred bodies were twisting, as the flames melted away flesh and muscle, casting fear into the men that they were somehow alive. An arm rose and a finger pointed at them, as the body contorted. When it started to sit up, the men were horrified and ran back down, falling and stumbling, screaming in panic back to the birlinn. They boarded with all haste and pushed off, wanting to be as far away as they could, from whatever evil that lay in the flames.
Malcolm stared back and watched, hoping beyond all fear, that the demons weren't coming after them. They sailed north along the coast to the inlet they had hid the birlinns in, instantly noticing all were gone. They sailed into the inlet and pulled up to the shore. It wasn't hard to see that someone had moved all the branches covering them. Malcolm walked up the sloping land and into the newly planted fields. Seeing the smoke rising from the cottage in the distance, he ordered his men to follow him there. He wanted answers from them.
Iain MacLean sailed the four miles across Loch Linnhe with his men, keeping their distance from the shores of Lismore's northern point. They could see all the birlinns pulled tight on the shore and no one in sight around them. They continued on for a mile and turned to port around the point at Appin and once out of view, dropped sail and pulled hard to port into the small cove, pulling into the shoreline and a stretch of sandy beach. Iain and several others went over the side and climbed to the top of the hill and scanned the point across the channel.
"There, among they trees tae the left of those rocks. Horses, can'ne see hoo many, but quite a few of them. Stuart MacLean alerted them.
Eyes were trained on the area, as they came down the side of the hill for a closer inspection. As best as they could make out, there were only a dozen or so men sitting under trees close to the horses. Iain led the men back to the birlinn to assess their situation. Those were definitely the birlinns they had stole and secreted away. Who the men were, they had no idea, but they out numbered them and the element of surprise was theirs. The men readied their weapons and had bows and arrows set along side them, as they made their way back across.
Two lookouts watched, as the MacLean birlinn had sailed past and the men disembarking and scouting along the coast. They pondered what was going on and sent word for Laird Braedon to come up and see what was happening.
As Braedon stood with the lookouts, he saw the birlinn sailing across the channel and into the bay, running onto the beach at speed. Men could be seen running from it and towards the brush and trees. Braedon ran from the tower lookout and down the steep stairs to the hall. He came straight to Sloan and told him what he saw.
"Sloan, yer men are under attack. Tae yer boat at once."
"My men? On Lismore?" Sloan said back in confusion.
