The Killing Moor

Part 11
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Riddick stoodhis his best tartan in the soft gray drizzle staring down into the hole that was Johns' final resting-place. Inside he felt tired, old, defeated. But outside he remained the ever-strong Larid of the Riddick Clan. Duncan was covered with wet earth beside him, no words were spoken over his dead and cold body. He was simply lowered and covered. Glancing to the grave Riddick's eyes narrowed. "Make your peace with God now, Duncan, before you meet the fiery depth of hell," he spat, the pain and loss washing over him anew.
Guenivere ached with the emotions she knew were whirling inside the man she loved so. Hesitantly she lifted her hand to his bicep in compassion and tenderness. Almost instantly, she let her hand fall letting it move to her stomach, knowing that the Laird oclanclan would desire no show of weakness. She simply took a step closer, offering whatever warmth she could at the moment. "My heart is with you, my lord."

He nodded giving a final glance to Johns' grave, turning, his cut his eyes to her. "Come, woman, the warmth of the keep is awaiting you. Our bed needs filling." He strode toward his horse, the sound of the bagpipes grating raw on his nerves. He held out his hand to her, his woman, his wife, wed that very morning.

Taking his hand immediately, she moved with him willing to be and do anything he wished of her at that moment. She walked quickly, gracefully beside him and spoke softly, the sound of a woman speaking with her beloved, yet giving him the respect he deserved as Laird of a clan. "Let us leave the sadness of this moment behind. I know it can never be erased from your mind. But let me ease what I can for you … in the name of our love." Her hand stroked the palm of his in a comforting movement.

He fell silent beside her. This time he couldn't share with her, not the nagging guilt, not thiviniving sorrow, not the love he'd lost in one moment of folly.. He reached out to her and grasped her about the thickening waist and placed her across the back of his horse. "I shouldn't have allowed you on the moor this day. The rain will have you ill and put to bed," he comment absently as he swung onto the horse behind her.

She leaned her back into his hard chest and nuzzled close, burrowing in the warmth he elicited. "Ah, Lord Richard, you forget. I am a Scottish woman. How would you presume to keep me from your side at this moment." The smile faded slightly from her lips. "Riddick … my love … should I have left you to your own emotions at this time?" She turned her face to his, understanding washing her features. "Made it worse for you, did it, my love?" She moved her hand to touch his strong thigh softly. "Shall I give you this time?"

"Wife, you belong at my side but there are some things a man, a warrior, cannot lend voice to," he explained, dropping his face to the damp tresses of her hair.

Again she burrowed into his chest and sighed tenderly. "This I know, beloved. And I would not for the world ask you to change that which is you. I understand that you cannot speak of your feelings concerning this matter, nor would I ask such of a warrior." She took his hand and wrapped it gently around her middle. "I ask only that you tell me when you wish privacy of thoughts … time to yourself. I would not become a hindrance to you for all the wealth in the world." She raised his hand to kiss his palm. "Such is my love for you."

He gave her a curt nod and rode onward, arm wrapped around her holding her against him. He kept his silence until he reined the large stallion below to a stop. "Go to our bed, my love. Wait for me there." He lifted her from the horse's back as his feet touched the ground.

With a respectful nod, yet lovingly tender expression, she nodded and pulled the hunter green woolen cloak closer to her feminine form as she headed to willingly do his bidding.

He followed after her into the keep, glancing around the great hall and finding the two men he sought. Making his way through clans men and clansen hen he reached Damon and Daniel. "Take up the watch of Johns' this night. I would trust it to no other." He turned and strode towards the stairs needing the warm loving comfort of his wife.

* * * * *
Guenivere made her way into the large, comfortable chamber. The warm glow of the fire in the hearth made for a cozy feeling as she shook of the damp cloak and hung it on the back of a chair which she pulled near the flames.. Quickly she began the process of unlacing the bodice of her tunic, anxious for her husband to find herthe the warmth of the large, soft bed as per his desire. He would need her that eve, and she would be there for him in any way she could. Letting the tunic fall to the floor, she put it by the fire as well as she stood near its heat in bare feet and chemise letting her long, curly locks soak up the heat as well.

* * * *

Riddick strode quietly down the corridor to his chamber, to his marriage bed.. But as he neared, a desire took hold of him and he moved past his own chamber to a smaller but no less elaborate chamber than his. Pushing the door inward he stared at what should have been Johns'. He stared at the bed he had crafted with his own hands. He stood for a moment, arms crossed over his wide chest just beyond the threshold wondering if the rift between he and Johns could have ever been repaired, if his son could have loved him again. With a deep sigh of pained regret he turned pulling the door closed and made his way to Guenivere, the only relief to be had for his battered soul.

* * * * *

Even in the homey protection of the keep … of his chamber … Guenivere felt a sudden chill. Moving to the large window, she pulled back the thick material that hung over it and stared off into the distant moor. Wrapping a finger around a fiery tress, she absently twisted the lock around her finger as her mind became absorbed.

"Miss me, my lady?" The low hiss of a voice floated on warmed air. A form, ghostly pale, bloodless and white, eyes stinging needles of brightness, lounged carelessly on the wide high bed of the chamber.

Turning swiftly, Guenivere fell against the hard, thick window seat, her hand tight against her mouth and eyes widened with shock and fear. She tried ... tried to call the name of her champion … RIDDICK. But it came out a pathetic whisper, barely even audible to her own ears. Her free hand gripped the window tapestryil hil her knuckles were as white as the translucent vision she saw before her.

"No..No, I'm afraid not..." The fluid movement as he edged from the bed were unnaturally graceful, unnaturally quick. "Its simply your....." The figure paused in his steps tilting his head animatedly, a long thin finger tapping at his chin. "What would I be to you now, my love?" He leveled that unearthly stare at her, a stare that could take one apart from the inside out. "Love? No? Husband? I have doubts about that also. Corpse? Quite possibly."

She was breathless now, all the air sucked from her lungs in fear and trepidation.. Sliding from the seat, she was on her feet in a moment flying to the door, trembling hands trying to pull it open. But the latch was seemingly frozen in place and she reverted to pounding on the thick wooden postern screaming his name over and over. But the more she called for Riddick, the more she realized no sound was coming from her lips … nor her pounding hands. The room was a silent as a tomb … and as dark as a dream. Finally spent with exhaustion and dread, she turned again to the apparition, her back flat against the arched door, eyes trying to close out the vision but not allowing themselves to close.

"Have you had enough?" the vision of Duncan asked, crossing his arms over his chest that need not move at all, habit, breathing was for the living. "He'll not come, you know that now." A sneer slipped onto his blue lifeless lips.. "He blames you. Blames your for Johns. He's lost his son because of you."

"No," she breathed, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes. They were the words she would not tell herself … the thoughts she would not allow herself to think. She rushed to place the mammoth bed between them, her next words so low they were almost thoughts. "He would never blame me … knows that I did what I could to help Johns … to raise him." It sounded weak, even to her own ears as she struggled to keep from falling to her knees in a hysterical frenzy of emotion.

"You did nothing, Guenivere. You're the same simpering wench that I married just to ravish at my whim. You weren't fit to mother an orphaned cat and certainly not a precious life like Johns. Why do you think I never allowed you with child?" His words spat in a hateful stream, ripping at her like the talons of his beloved falcons. "He'll come to hate you. You realize that do you not?"

Her hands moved to her belly while tears began to flow in rivulets down her cheeks. "I … no." she whispered in slightly choked sobs. "He is my husband … married me … we are a family." Her words were pleading, more to convince herself than the vision before her.

"Ah, well, married you maybe. But still there are things that can befall a woman in a loveless marriage. And, loveless it will be, remember my words in emp empty head of yours." He began to pace again, eyes closed and humming to himself in lilting notes. "A fall down the keep stairs, poison in your wine of a night, or simply strangle you in your sleep. All ways to end your pitiful existence." He turned on her, gliding across the distance that separated them. "OR you could join me, become a part of..."

She inched back toward the wall behind her, head shaking vehemently from side to side. And yet there was something in his words … something in his almost musical tones that began to take over her will … to almost hypnotize her into submission. "No," she breathed repeatedly struggling to keep from believing his words, from reaching out and embracing the safety that he seemingly offered. But she must keep her faith in her love … in Riddick. "No, no, no……"

He stood shrugging. "Makes no difference really. You'll come to me in time, and with you will come the girl child inside you." As the words left his lips he tilted his head as if listening.

Falling to her knees, her hands gripped tightly, protectively, around her middle as her eyes slowly closed forming a tight seal, darkness overtaking her and the sob catching in her throat as she became entrenched in a vortex of emotions.

"....Guenivere!......Guenivere!" Riddick gently shook her, his rough hands gripping her arms. His eyes were filled with dread and concern at finding her huddled on the floor, clutching the soft swell of her growing belly.

Her eyes flew open as the voice of her beloved tore through the thick recesses of her mind's eye. She was shaking slightly, her hands trembling as they moved to press against the wall of his chest. "Tell me he's wrong, Riddick," she begged in a hoarse whisper. "Tell me that he's lying, my love. For you are the one whose words are law to me. The words I believe above all others." Her eyes stared into his begging him for something he could not understand as of yet.

Riddick pulled her trembling body against his, smoothing a hand over her long silken tresses. "I've not an idea of what your speaking, wife. What's happened here?"

"Duncan," she whispered. "Did you not see him?" she almost cried. "It was but a moment ago! He was here … you must have seen …" Her words trailed as she saw the confusion in his eyes. "God help me, you must have!"

"Guenivere, I saw nothing except you huddherehere on the floor." He wound his arms around her and lifted her to the bed.. "Duncan is dead, my love, cold in the ground. It's been a long day for you. Your are but tired and need rest." He caressed her cheek gently as he lay her on the bed and met her troubled gaze.

Her brows knitted in a state of bewilderment. Her fingers grasped at his shoulders as she burrowed her head into the depths of the down pillow. "Oh, my love … could it be? He was as real to me as …" Again her words faded as she sighed in frustration. "As real as a blamed woman's nightmare." She turned her face to hide the tears from his view. "That is all it was, was it not, Riddick? A nightmare in the light of day?"

"Aye, that it was. Now rest yourself and sleep," he commanded, leaning down and whispering as his lips trailed along her thin swan like neck. "Sleep for our child." He placed a strong hand over her abdomen, caressing the life below.

She nodded keeping her face strategically away from his eyes. He was a Scotsman, Laird of the most noble clan in Scotland. She knew it would disappoint him if her were to see her tears. She allowed herself to warm at his touch, but every time she closed her eyes she saw the vision in the darkness … taunting her fleeting happiness. Blaming her. And in the end … she knew that she must take a part of that blame. And the thought wrenched her very soul.

Just as Riddick lifted his head there was a hard rapping at the door to his chamber, insistent and loud. He stepped away from his wife with a thick feeling of destiny having a hand in this, closing in on him. Opening the door he was faced with a pale and shaken Damon. "A word with you, my laird?"

Guenivere slipped from the bed in a clandestine effort to hear what the men were saying, her bare feet stealthily moving closer without notice. A shiver trembled through her body again as her hands toyed with the ribbon at the neckline of her chemise which fell from one shoulder. A nervousness overtook her as her ears perked.

Riddick stood blocking the doorway, his body keeping the hall and the visitor beyond hidden. Glancing over his shoulder he noticed his wife moving closer and pointed a commanding finger at her, his voice gruff. "Back to that bed, woman."

She wanted to argue … to insist on knowing what secrets were being kept. But with a pleasing look in her eyes she backed away toward the bed and sat on its edge perched nervously as she waited and strained to hear.

He saw the curiosity in her eyes as he watched her retreat, knew she was straining to hear what was said and in truth he couldn't blame her for it. But with the wild look and the pale sweat sheened face of Damon staring at him from the other side of the door he knew this was something better left from her. He stepped into the corridor, closing the door behind him. "I've little patience this night, Damon. What news do you bring that would pull me from my wife's arms?" he growled, low and menacing.

Damon shook his head, dropping his eyes to his feet. The hard thumping of his heart continued to remind him of what he had witnessed and why he was here facing his laird with a wild tale as never he had heard before much less knew to be true. Finally, he opened his mouth to speak and at the first attempt a weak mewling issued forth.

"I...Riddick...." He cut his eyes back to the bigger man, entreating understanding with the dazed look in his eyes. "It's the graves ya asked us to stand vigil over. Its..Its.... Well, my laird, I've seen my share of oddities on the moors but nothing like this. Duncan's grave is empty and ....your son....Johns.." He hesitated, trying to push the words from his mouth. "Merciful lord, Johns' body has been ravaged, Riddick. It's unspeakable." Damon felt the bile rise in throat at the images the leapt into his mind.

Riddick's fists balled at his side, jaw clamped tight as he listened to his clansmen. "It's the bloody McTiernans. I'll see it for myself. Gather the others and ready my horse," he told Damon, turning back to the chamber.

"Aye, I'll do it but it's not Duncan's clan, Riddick." The other man made his retreat quickly without so much as a glance backwards at his laird.

Riddick strode toward where Guenivere lay on her side eyes wide and starring at him. His mind was turned to the last words that Damon had spoken. Not Duncan's clan? But who else would have cause and why would they take Duncan and harm Johns' body? "I've a matter that needs my attention, wife. I'll return when I can."

She sat bolt upright willing herself not to latch her hands to his powerful arms … not to beg him to stay. Fear, pure and unbridled, filled her entire being. Wrapping her arms around her middle for security, she nodded pushing the tears from her eyes. She would let them fall after he was gone from her sight and only then. It was always said that a warrior from the Riddick's clan would not tolerate tears as his last sight of his woman. "I … will await your return her, as you have commanded, my lord." Slipping her legs over the side of the bed, she took a cleansing breath. "Will you na' tell me what it is, my love?"

"Nay, you've no need of knowing, wife. What I do this night is for the good of all. Now, rest yourself and care for my babe in your womb," he admonished, leaning in to gently sample her trembling lips. "Now to bed with ya." Turning, he left her there, left her to ponder what took him away from their bed on this first night.

Below he threw himself quickly up on the spirited mount that knew only him and across the moor he ran the beast, no care for life or limb, no care for the furture or the past in that single fleeting moment. A pure moment of freedom that was seldom felt to any man, least of all a laird with the weight of his clan's well being upon his shoulders. Too soon their ground eating pace slowed and fresh graves loomed out of the mist.

"Where is Daniel?" Riddick cut his eyes to Damon and shouted as the horse below him came to a skidding stop on the damp mossy grass below.

"I left him here, Riddick. Told him to watch these graves, I did," Damon explained as he began shouting the other man's name.

"Bloody McTeirnan's" Riddick howled as he neared the grave and took stock of Duncan's empty resting place. This through a veil of horrified rage he stared at his son's body. Johns' chest ripped open and where his heart should have lain was a void. Eyes that should have been closed in death had been pried open and taken. "They'll forfeit lives for this. Not a McTeirnan man will be left standing when they meet with me next," he swore as Damon came forward shaking his head, hearing Riddick's oath.

"I cannot find him. Daniel's gone daft and likely walking the moors somewhere," he mumbled, his eyes going to the empty hole and then to Johns. He swallowed back the repulsion and lifted the torch he carried higher. "Nay, my laird, no McTeirnan's been here this night. Look to the ground around the grave. There be not one print in the wet earth."

Riddick looked his fill, walking a circle around the graves and was finally satisfied that Damon was correct. There were no tracks of any kind near the graves. Just as they came back to the edge of the gaping hole a soft whimpering could be heard from nearby. Riddick walked and listened and walked more until he came upon Daniel, pale and rigid the man sat with the gray mist near obliterating him. As Riddick crouched in front of him he could see the man's eyes were wide and filled with fear. "Daniel? By all that is in Heaven what's gotten into you?"

"I been hearing things, Riddick. I been hearing frightful things out here alone," Daniel rambled as Riddick listened carefully, deciphering the important portions. "I was standing there by the graves I was and there came the most vile laughter I've heard in me life. It sounded like a thing right from the pits of hell. Then the voice started calling me name, started with my kin, going back more than a hundred years naming my blood. Who knows such a thing, Laird? Not me…." he continued his rant, finally meeting Riddick's trouble gaze. "Seen him too. Seen him walking the moor just as well as if he were alive. Duncan, he even looks over to me and smiles. He smiles, but that smile ... it don't look quite right, Riddick. Don't look right at all."

Riddick's eyes narrowed. "What has you so shaken with that smile?"

"It weren't natural. Weren't even the smile of a living thing. I don't know what it was. It looked like Duncan that's for sure but I ain't never seen Duncan have no pointed teeth, Riddick." He pointed in his mouth where the needle like protrusions had been nestled. "Tell me how a man gets teeth like that? Tell me Riddick."