The Strength of Love

*Eilidh is pronounced Aye-lee

"They’re coming,” Angus MacDougal whispered, his face gray and haggard. “They’re coming… an’ we cannae stop them.”

His words struck Eilidh Craig’s heart like a dagger. The acceptance, the defeat in his voice made the pain and terror drive deeper. She gripped the sill as she leaned head and shoulders through the window, staring at the black smoke in the distance. That smoke was the ruins of Dunvegan, the nearest village… and they were on their way here… to this village.

“Dirty English dogs,” Arrin MacDougal spat out the words, his eyes filled with a raging fire. “Let them come, the slinking cowards. We’ll fight them.”

“Aye, an’ we’ll all die in th’ battle,” Angus turned to his son, his own eyes reflecting only a leaden sorrow. “There are too many of them for us.”

“An’ so what then?” Arrin’s voice rose. “We just sit here an’ wait for them to come an’ slaughter us?”

“I wish I knew, lad,” Angus groaned wearily. “Eilidh, lass, get back from that window. It’s no’ safe out there.”

“But they are still on the moors,” Eilidh protested, her eyes searching the distant horizon. “We are safe for now in the village walls… are we not?”

“We are not,” Angus’s body slumped as he sank into a chair. “I’m sorry, Eilidh. When yer father died, I promised him I’d always look after ye… keep ye safe, raise ye as m’ own. It seems that t’day I might fail that promise.”

“What in heaven’s name is wrong with ye, Da’?” Arrin cried angrily. “We still have this chance t’ fight an’ here ye are actin’ like we’ve already lost. Pull yourself together!”

Angus lifted his head, a burden too great for words etched onto his kindly face.

“Arrin, my son… Dunvegan is in flames.”

Eilidh choked back a sob at those words. Her fragile future, all she had ever dreamed of, was crumbling before her, and she could do nothing to stop it. Nothing. She glanced at Angus, tracing her eyes over his face, memorizing again the laugh lines in the corners of his blue eyes, the thick gray beard, the mouth that so often before had curved into that tender smile she loved so much. She hardly remembered her own father and mother… they had died so long ago… Angus was truly the only father she had ever known. To see him like this, weary and broken, shattered her own frail courage. She turned from him to his son… Arrin MacDougal, a giant of a man… he towered over her, the epitome of calm, quiet strength. Except when he was angry, as he was now… and his calm was shattered with the fire of his spirit. Eyes the color of a stormy sea… usually so gentle… glittered with fierce determination.

She was nothing. A mere slip of a girl that everyone overlooked… short, slight, with large dark eyes and a long, thick braid of dark hair. She cared little for her own reflection, believing herself plain. Dull. Undeserving of anyone’s attention. And yet she loved Arrin MacDougal with all her heart. He had been a brother to her… a best friend… her champion and protector all her life… and yet she longed for him to see her as more than a friend. 

There were times she had wondered. Times when he had clasped her hand in seeming friendly camaraderie… and yet not let go… reluctantly letting her hand slide from his grasp when she pulled away. And times when she had seen something flickering in his eyes and she held her breath in wonder… and yet he never had spoke.

“Arrin…” she breathed his name and he glanced down at her, a sudden desperation written on his face.

“Eilidh, lassie…” he murmured, reaching for her hand. She felt her heart skip a beat as his fingers, strong, reassuring, curled around her own. She felt safe… protected. But he only squeezed her hand and dropped it again… like a stone. In spite of his determined words, his call to action, she could sense through his touch that he already understood what his father had accepted, although he could not bring himself to admit it. The English were too many for them… their feeble resistance would be nothing. Like a tiny dog snapping at the heels of a powerful wolf.

The door of the cottage was pushed inward with its usual rasping squeak and Rory MacDonald peered in, looking pale and sick.

“Angus… Arrin… Eilidh…” he spoke wearily. “The chief has called all to the square. The English will be here within the hour, we need to prepare.”

Angus nodded and rose to his feet. He moved slowly, as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders.

“Come, my children, we must go.”

The entire population of the tiny village gathered in the square. The women and children huddled together, mothers murmuring desperate prayers as the men stood tall, resignation to their fate bound by their duty to their families, their firm resolve to protect those they loved to the bitter end.

“There is no hope for us,” the whisper rose and fell like the wind, rippling through the helpless group. “And yet fight we must… for we cannae let our women and children die before our eyes while we stand by like cowards.”

“And fight we must!” the cry was echoed by their chief as he faced them, fist clenched high in the air. “We are Scots and we will die fighting to the last breath. They will naw send us alone from this earth, we will take them with us!”

But it wasn’t cheers and battle cries that met this declaration… only the silence of broken men. The enemy was already upon them… they were surrounding the walls of the village…

And it was not long before a new commander stood in front of them… not their chief urging them to the battle, but an English officer with hatred in his eyes and a cruel sneer on his lips as he brought forth a chilling ultimatum.

“We do not want to kill all of you,” he announced as the feeble resistance was brought down, the men who had tried to fight now standing helpless at the bayoneted tips of English rifles. “Oh, blood must be shed,” he continued, his sneer widening wickedly. “But as this is our last village of the day, I shall be merciful. The women and children may leave. You may take only what you can carry on your backs. And the men shall stay. They alone shall be the sacrifice this time. I give you one hour, starting now. When this hour is over, all left in this village will die.”

Eilidh felt herself falling, her knees giving way beneath her. Arrin’s hand was on her arm, pulling her to her feet again, holding her steady.

“Eilidh,” he whispered, bending until his face was only inches from hers. She could feel his breath on her cheek, his hands on her shoulders, anchoring her in the midst of the terror. All around her she could hear weeping, and in the chaos, this one moment of calm…

“Eilidh, lassie,” he murmured again, his lips brushing gently against hers. “I hate t’ tell ye now… when there is no hope left, and I must die… but I cannae die without saying these words t’ye… Eilidh, I love ye.”

“Arrin, dinnae…” she breathed, blinking back tears. “Dinnae say ye will die. There must be some other way…”

“No. Not this time.” His eyes seemed to burn into hers, a calm, steady gaze… acceptance of his fate mingled with a desperate longing. “Just… dinnae forget me, lassie.”

“Never,” she sobbed, flinging herself against him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She nestled her head against his chest, feeling safe and comforted yet again in spite of the hopelessness of this miserable end. One moment longer… “Never,” she cried again. “Not while I’m breathing. I’ll love ye forever and ever as long as I live…”

Gently, he pulled her arms away from him, pushed her back, biting his lip to hold back a strangled cry of pain.

“Go, Eilidh, fly. Save yourself.”

She stepped back reluctantly, holding his gaze… and then shifting to see those around her. Women with their babies in their arms, wrapping their husbands and fathers in one last embrace. They were strapping household goods to their backs… food, clothing, pots for cooking… anything and everything they could think of that they would need in their desperate flight. Not a single eye was dry among the women and children… but the men stood firm in calm acceptance. 

With one last, long look at Arrin, Eilidh tore herself away, feeling her heart wrenched from her body at the same time. She couldn’t look back again, seeing him standing there, waiting to die. She gathered her skirts and ran, searching through the crowd until she found Angus. Another goodbye must be said.

She wrapped her arms around him, pressing kisses to his weathered cheek, all the words she wanted to say pouring out of her heart in a strange, garbled torrent. She hardly knew what she was saying. He held her close, laying a hand on her head.

“Go, my daughter, and be free,” he whispered. 

She could hardly make herself cross the threshold of the cottage. The aching familiarity of it pierced her heart. Everything so neatly in its place… Angus’s pipes above the hearth, Arrin’s hunting rifle propped in the corner. His bunk was in the corner farthest from the door and on the opposite side of the room, the door that led to her own little corner. She moved towards it, pushing it open, wondering what she could possibly take with her. She wanted to keep the pipes… but she could not bring herself to take them down from their place of honor. Even if Angus no longer had use for them… how could she take them? The pots and pans… they belonged in their cupboards. 

Her clothes… she didn’t have many of them… she changed into her warmest, sturdiest dress and reached for her length of Craig family tartan, bearing the colors of her clan… but she didn’t pick it up. She turned to the corner… MacDougal tartan lay draped over a chair by Arrin’s cot. It was his… and she told herself she had no right to take it… and yet she lifted it in trembling hands, draped it over her shoulders and clasped it at her waist with a leather belt. She had to wrap it twice to keep it from dragging the ground. It fell over her with comforting warmth… bringing tears to her eyes. She bent to bury her face in the scratchy wool, breathing in the scent of sunshine and wind and rain… a thousand memories danced before her eyes. How could she leave Arrin behind… to go on and never again see his smile, hear his laugh… wouldn’t death with him be better than life without him?

Her resolve was made in a moment and it never wavered. Anything they could carry on their backs, the English had said…

She would carry Arrin.

Time was ticking swiftly away. She found him where she had left him, standing like a silent statue etched against the gray sky. His father stood at his side now. He hardly seemed to see her at first…

“Arrin…” she whispered, her voice urgent. “They said we could take anything we could carry. I’m going to carry you.”

His eyes widened in disbelief.

“Eilidh… are ye mad?”

“No, and dinnae try t’ argue with me, my mind is made up.” She tugged on his arm. “Arrin, please. I can do this.”

“I’d crush ye, lassie,” he pulled back. “Just go. Leave me.”

“Arrin,” his father’s voice was quiet and yet firm. “Go with her.” He turned to smile slowly at the girl, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Ye are brave, lassie. Ye’ve got the heart of a warrior. God bless ye.”

“No!” Arrin cried out, and his voice rang like thunder. “This is madness, Eilidh, go! Get out of here! Let me die.”

“Arrin, please…” Eilidh choked out the words. “I cannae do this unless ye let me. Angus, please… help me…” she turned desperately and snatched at Rory. “Please… Rory… tell him.”

“Ye fool,” Rory glared at his friend. “Arrin MacDougal, ye’re giving up a chance none o’ the rest of us have. This girl is willing to give such a sacrifice fer ye and ye would deny it?”

“I cannae let her do that,” Arrin was pleading now, desperate to make Eilidh understand. “D'ye no' see what I am? I'm twice her size... I’m too big, too heavy, I would break her back. I must stay and fight.”

“Fool,” Angus echoed Rory’s words. “My son a fool. There is no fighting to be done, there is only left the dying. Do not scorn her love.”

Eilidh wrestled with inner panic as the men argued. Time was ticking away. The women were lining up at the gate of the city, filing slowly past the eyes of the invaders… the English soldiers were watching to make sure no one escaped that should not.

Rory swung back suddenly, landing a crushing blow against the side of his friend’s jaw. Arrin crumpled to the ground… stunned, but not unconscious.

“Quick,” Rory called to Eilidh, He pressed his knee down hard between Arrin’s shoulder blades as he fought to get up. “Get some rope. We dinnae have much time!”

Together they bound Arrin as he struggled, crying out in desperation, his voice a roar of anguish. Eilidh could barely see for the tears clouding her vision, but she moved quickly as Rory and Angus pinned Arrin to the ground, coiling the rope around his wrists and then his ankles.

“Let me go!” he cried out. “Leave me, Eilidh, let me die!” But as they finally moved off of him, leaving him helpless, his voice died away, his body stilled. He was silent now except for his ragged, gasping breaths. Eilidh’s hands trembled as she rose from her knees. 

“Rory…” her voice broke. “Ach, I hate to see him like this…”

“The fool wouldnae go of his own free will,” Rory shrugged. “I’d give anything if…” his face fell. “Bless ye, Eilidh, for bein’ willing an’ able… m’ own Iona is gone already… she was carryin’ our bairn.” He blinked back tears, forcing a half-hearted smile. “Thank ye, Eilidh, for savin’ my best friend.”

“I dinnae want t’ leave ye… either o’ ye…” Eilidh felt her heart being torn from her body as she reached out to Angus, gripping his hand. He shook his head at her, smiling through the tears.

“Ye must hurry,” he urged, helping Rory lift Arrin from the ground. “Before they close the gates.” 

They hoisted him onto Eilidh’s shoulders, steadying her as she staggered under his weight. He was heavier than she had even begun to fathom and already her back ached from the strain. But she could feel his heart beating against her as he lay draped over her shoulders and it strengthened her resolve. She could do this. Somehow, she would do the impossible. One foot in front of the other. She made her slow, painful way towards the village gates, her tiny body bent under the immense burden.

Every step was agony. She was trembling uncontrollably, gritting her teeth as she moved desperately toward the village gates. Arrin did not speak, did not move, lying limp against her as if he was dead… and she wondered what he must be thinking. But she could not spare the strength to speak herself… or the courage.

A low whistle, followed by a murmur of grudging respect rippled through the ranks of English soldiers that stood at the village gates as Eilidh stumbled through. Some laughed, some called out jeering words. She could feel Arrin’s body stiffen against her back… but he said not a word, although they called him coward.

“I’ll let it pass,” the chief commander grinned at Eilidh as the soldiers started towards her threateningly. “I said whatever they could carry and, by George, if she ain’t carrying a man!” He slapped his knee and roared with laughter. “A man twice her size, no less. That is guts for you. Girl, I would that my soldiers had your courage. But we shall see if your strength can hold out. If you put him down or accept help from another before you lose sight of the village, I will send my men to fetch you both and bring you back.”

Eilidh did not spare him even a glance. She struggled on, steeling her mind against the words that followed her as long as she remained in earshot. As she made her way down the rough road, she stumbled several times, nearly falling to her knees… and yet she kept going… an almost superhuman strength seeming to flood her body as she prayed desperately for help…

She focused on the sound of his breathing, on the endless rhythm of placing one foot in front of the other. She dared not glance back at the village. She just kept on and on, pressing, straining, pushing herself forward as hard as she could.

It felt like hours… days… before at last her strength ran dry and she could not move another inch. She collapsed to the ground beneath his weight, crushed and aching. He rolled off of her and she lay still, face pressed against the dirt. For a long, long moment she lay there, gasping for breath, unable to move. Her heart was racing. It felt like a dream somehow, that long, miserable struggle down the road from the village… but she could feel Arrin lying close beside her, a reminder that… this was real. At last she turned her face to trace her backwards path… she could no longer see the village… not even the smoke that she knew would now be rising from its ruins.

With one last burst of energy, she pushed herself up again, reaching for the dagger in Arrin’s belt. She managed to cut his hands free and fell back again, her head spinning in dizzy circles as the dagger slipped from nerveless fingers. She wondered dimly if she would ever be able to rise again.

Blackness was closing in on her, she no longer fought to keep her eyes open. She was just barely aware of Arrin’s arms around her as he lifted her from the ground, cradling her gently against his chest.

“Ye saved my life,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe. “Let me carry you now.”

She felt his tender kiss pressed on her forehead and then on her weary lips. With a sigh, she lay back against him, letting sleep claim her aching body, coming with the feeling of tentative safety. She had achieved the impossible. She had won the victory in a battle no one else had even tried to fight.