The Killing Moor

Part 4
****************

Riddick turned his back on the pub and stared down the road, the fog rolling heavy along the ground. Seconds passed and he stood there, watching and listening, for a split second certain he heard hoof beats in the distance. The sound thumped in rhythm along the hard packed earth of the road.

"Your loosin' it you stupid bastard," he admonished himself as he strained and heard nothing but the deep silence of night. He took several steps in the direction of the inn and stopped. Something wasn't right, out of place. He could feel it bone deep until he nearly cringed with the feeling of being watched, of needing to get away from this town, of needing to find what had suddenly started screaming to him from out of the mist.

Down the road Riddick slipped in a garage, the garage where he had seen the cabby park his cab. His stealthy steps took him to the cab's door. Trying it, he gave up on the subtle approach and picked up a shovel and slammed its glass like barrier at the window. Finally, it gave and he jerked the door open and slid into the driver's seat. Several moments later he had the access code hacked and the hovering cab lurched to life. He waited for a moment wondering if there would be an alarm raised and as minutes ticked by he realized there likely no one that would care.

He had a perfect memory and finding the turn on the moors was no problem for him, the lilting voice from the interior of the castle filling his head, getting louder and louder the father he drove, the closer he came. Then there it was ahead, the sheer stone walls jutting out of the fog, dark and foreboding. He stopped the cab at a distance and simply stared, every thought, every breath suspended. Shutting the vehicle off, he got out and took a step toward the towering ruins, pausing, then taking another ... and so he continued until he was at the gaping black hole that had once been a massive doorway. He stepped inside and immediately threw up his hand against the flare of light in front of him.

"Well, lad, it's taken you long enough to find your way here." The cackle of the ancient voice was only slightly louder than the fire. "Come, Richard Riddick. Join me." She bid. He jerked the goggles from his pocket stepping closer, the heat of the fire gliding along his limbs.

"You know my name." He growled. "Who are you?"

"You need not bother with who I am. More to the matter who are you Richard?" She laughed, the sound was like a serrated knife on rusty tin. "I know the whole tale, lad. Know it well indeed." She stood poking at the fire with a stick white with age. He got his first good look at her, gnarled hands, deep furrows etched her face, hair a halo of knotted snares. She was nothing more than a ugly ancient looking hag he decided. Probably delirious with age.

"What'd you think you know about me? Huh?" he prodded, her presence agitating him more than he would admit. The patches of color twisted around her waist, above her thread bare woolen skirt drew his attention.

"Ahhhh, It's this tartan ya be knowing is it? Seen it before have ya?" Again she laughed, and he steeled himself against the sound.

"Maybe." he admitted.

"Come now, boy. You're a telling a tale about that one. You know this as well as ya know your own skin." She whipped the material from her waist and threw it at him, hitting him square in the chest with the balled fabric. It tumbled to the ground with him gazing at it as if it would come alive at any moment. Mentally shaking himself, he leaned down and retrieve it and was surprised when a warm floral scent floated up to tease him, disturbingly familiar, filling him in equal parts with comfort and dread.

"It's your destiny ya know. That tartan you're a holdin, it's been your colors for longer than anyone can tell ya. You come a lookin for answers, lad, you best be ready to hear 'em." She wove the riddle tightly around him.

"I don't know what the hell you're......"

"Aye, you do. It's why ya came her this night. It's why you came her in the first place. It calls ya. And best that it did or ya never would have found her in time."

"Jack? You talkin about Jack?" he asked, stepping closer, hands balled at his sides.

"Jack, so that's her name? She's been many names before but she's always been yours. That tartan your holdin is hers too. It's your clan, Richard."

She sat as the story poured out of her, Riddick standing across the fire not believing, not daring to.

**************

Jack pounced on Jennifer almost immediately and was even now still trying to get her to talk. With the look of a child about to have a tantrum, she moved again to where the woman sat mulling over the night's profits thus far.

"Tell me, Jenny. What were you and Riddick talking about and what happened at the cottage?"

A slight smile curled Jennifer's face but she never once glanced up from her work. "And as I've told ya a thousand and one times, I'll na be telling ya." This time she did look up and her eyes were serious. "But I will say this, as I've said a thousand times also. The man is out of his mind." She put down the hand-held console that tracked the pub's money and rubbed her eyes. "Talk to him, Jack. He's pining for ya."

A chuckle that sounded almost like a snort came from Jack. "Richard Riddick? Pining for someone? That will be the day!" Pulling up to the seat next to Jennifer, the younger girl traced letters on the table with her finger. "Did he look okay?"

Now it was Jennifer's turn to laugh. "Any better and it'd be a sin, I tell ya." She turned an looked into the girl's eyes. "But he's missin' ya terribly. Came all the way here just to see that you're all right. Does that na tell ya something?"

Jack nibbled her bottom lip before allowing a smile to grace her face. In a surprise move, she threw her arms around Jennifer. "Thank you! Any idea where I can find him?"

Jennifer sighed. "Well, you could be looking at me own place later tonight."

Jack grinned again. "I'll go home and clean up a bit ... then I'll meet you there. Okay?" And before the other woman could respond, Jack was out of the door and into the dimly lit street.

"Nice night for a walk, lass. A fare beauty like you walks alone this time a night?" Duncan McTiernan saddled up beside Jack, his body possessing the inborn grace of his species.

A tingle of excitement grew inside Jack as she continued to walk. "To use the words of my boss ... you must be daft. I'm hardly beautiful!"

"Nay, lovely, I'm not daft nor am I blind. You're the bonniest lass I've laid eyes on in far to many years. What's your name?" He tilted his head, giving her the hint of a smile, careful to keep his secret hidden.

She took a deep breath and could swear that she smelled heather. "Jack." She turned to get her first look at the thin, elegant gentleman. Riddick would kill her, but she couldn't help herself. "And you are?"

"Duncan. Tell me, lovely, are you as strong as that name you carry?" His hand slipped along her back, working to draw her closer.

"When I need to be. Why?" She glanced at him again, her back tingling. "Do I need to be?"

His laugh was light and whimsical. "Not with me, Jack. I'm a lover not a fighter."

Another deep breath. "I'm a fighter. Never had an opportunity to be a lover."

"Perhaps, I could help you to change that." He leaned in whispering, the scent of blood just below the skin sending his head spinning.

She felt her heart beating in her chest as the blood rushed to her ears. "And you would want to do this because?" She tried to catch her breath.

"Nay, why wouldn't I?" He countered her, charming her with a every cell of his being. He lifted his free hand and ran a cool finger across her blood filled lip. "So beautiful," he whispered.

She felt the pulse beating in her throat as her very mind was being tossed around. Her eyes closed slowly. "I ... have ... to go ...home."

"Aye, lets go home, Jack. Take me home, my lovely," he whispered, with just the right amount of pleading inflected in his over bright eyes.

Eyes mere slits, she nodded and began walking toward her home.

*************

1298 - Ronnach Moor / Donvanshire Castle

"Come, Richard." The thin rattle of death came from the aged man in the bed. He held out his frail hand and motioned the man that was his son closer to the bed. He was dying and knew that left precious little time to make his wishes known, to turn this land over to it's new Laird.

"Father......." Richard, lowered his large frame down to Shaun Riddick.

"Hush, boy. Listen to what I've to say." A brief strength filled the voice, blind eyes still searching for the familiar face of his son. "Scotland will finally see freedom, lad. Go. I wish you to fight for that freedom. Make the Riddick name revered among the clans once more." Shaun halted his speech as a wheezing overtook him. "You're Laird now, boy," he managed. "I wish to see my grandson."

Richard shoved to his feet and strode to the door. "Mary!" he shouted down the hallway. "Mary, bring Johns." He smiled as he saw the giggling form of his son rushing towards him but the smile soon faded as Mary, his wife, came chasing after the boy. "I have him," he said, practically slamming the heavy door in her face.

Johns threw his arms out over his father's shoulder, whimpering. "Mum!"

"Come now, lad, you'll not be needing her. She's a woman and will make ya weak," he admonished the younger Riddick. Sitting the boy on the bed, he ruffled his thick red blonde locks. Shaun sighed and wrapped his arms around Johns pulling him against him and whispering.

"Dunna fault your father for what he must do, Johns. It's his honored duty to do as I've bid. Care for your mother and honor and respect your Laird." With that the failing Laird... father ... Shaun Riddick drew his last breath and closed his eyes as death claimed him.

Richard leaned heavy on the post of the massive bed, shoving all the sorrow and pain back, shoving it back so that he could use it when it mattered, on the battlefield. Turning, he lifted a crying Johns from the bed. Outside the door he shoved him towards Mary. "I'e lee leavin to fight the English. Don't be look for me to return soon. I'll fight till there's nothin left in me." He strode down the winding stairs and out into the chilled spring air, the mingling scent of stock and freshly turned soil filling his nose. He walked towarhe she stable and was met by Daniel, Mary's brother.

"Is it true. He's gone? Your Laird?"

"Aye. It is." He drew Bastion, the favored mount from his stall.

"Then you'll be warring with the English too?" Daniel continued his questioning, eyes growing wide as river stones.

"Aye. And you'll be looking over the keep while I'm at warring." Richard cut his gaze to the other man, watching his mouth work soundlessly.

"I.....I...What is it you will have me do? You have only to speak it and it shall be done." Trembling with excitement Daniel awaited his instructions.

"See to the burying of my father. Care of Mary. And above all else see to matters with fairness." Seating himself on his steed he kicked the beast toward the east, toward Ruenmire and Duncan McTiernan, his oldest and best friend. They would drive the English from Scotland side by side. The heavy broad sword slung across his back comforted him with the cold hard reality of his life, reminding him of his path.

*************

"Richard!" Duncan handed over the falcon perched on his forearm. The group gathered around him now turned their attention to his younger brother and the majestic raptor he now controlled.

"Falconry, a t fot for women." Riddick laughed, stepping away from his horse to meet Duncan.

"Nay. You are mistaken, friend. A sport to draw a woman's attention." He laughed clapping a hand on Riddick shoulder. A lithe frame, tall and broad of shoulders, hair the color of ravens wings, Duncan possessed everything in appearance that Riddick didn't. He was handsome to the point of beauty. Wide green eyes the color of the spring meadows turned to Riddick with a humored slant. "What's brought you all this way? I'm certain it's not to insult my falcon."

"Nay, were it that I could claim foolishness it would bring me here with a lighter heart." With a troubled sigh he met Duncan's concerned gaze. "My father travels to his maker. And I'm off to war against the English."

"Your father....." he gasped, not prepared for the news that the Riddick clan had lost their old Laird and gained a new that day. "Dead."

"Wallace?"

"Aye. I'll join him if I can find him." He smiled at Duncan then, mischief in his eyes. "I've come to collect you. We fight the English as one, clan Riddick and Clan McTeirnan united."

"Nay. Nay....." Duncan glanced over his shoulder making sure they hadn't been overheard."My father'll not hear of it. He speaks out against the English as all others do but has made plain that he'll not loose sons to fight them. He's forbidden me or Alec to take up the cause."

"He keeps you for his whipping boy. That is all, Duncan." Riddick snarled, looking to the battlement above them where he knew Laird McTiernan would be watching.

"Ya don't understand. He's turned frightful, Richard. Alec and I have both waken to him standing over our beds in the night muttering some odd prayer in the ancient tongue." He shook his head, trying to make the other man understand his position. "I'll not leave Alec alone with him. I fear for him."

Riddick's mind leapt to the tales of the dark calling, pagan times, pagan beliefs. Times that had not been forgotten or abandoned by many.

"Go, make war for the both of us. Shed more English blood than any other, brother. I'll watch over your family and make certain all is well among our lands." Duncan, watched Riddick mount his horse. "May god watch over you and protect you, Richard." Duncan raised his hand and waved away Riddick, sending him to a new life or his death ... he was certain of which.