Free Night Visitor by Melanie Jackson

Black Bitch, staring into each other’s eyes. Freedom was only fifty strides distant had he the desire to strive for it. Through the gate, he could see the surrounding forest just outside the keep. Once in the magic wood, the secret ways would open up and he could disappear within them. He could escape Lady Dunstaffnage and her hatred.
    The Campbells on the ramparts had not understood the MacColla’s veering off at the last moment, but Lady Dunstaffnage had seen the Irishman salute the piper through her glass. Unfortunately, she too had recalled the trick that had once saved Colkitto’s father. She alone kenned what had passed. And she had decided to exact her vengeance.
    To harm a piper was to bring misfortune uponone’s clan, but ill-luck or no, the Black Bitch’s wrathful punishment would fall upon Malcolm for her humiliation. Her pride demanded it, whatever the cost.
    There was no time for lamentation. Malcolm had known he would not return from this assault on Duntrune. And should his death bring misfortune to Dunstaffnage and her men, gladly would he surrender the here and now for the better hereafter he believed would follow.
    A movement in the woods caught his eye. It was only the smallest flash of gold, but he knew it well. It was his spirit lass come to guide him! He allowed himself a small inward smile.
    “Are ye coming, lass?” he whispered.
    She did not reply at once, and immediately he could sense that she was somehow altered. She seemed solid and not wandering in some fathomless way, but studying the castle with determined eyes. Alongside her cheek, the flesh now bleached pale as linen, was what looked to be one of the Sassenach’s unreliable flintlocks.
    “Yes, Malcolm. I am coming,” said a soft, but determined voice in his head.
    Malcolm stared in disbelief, a sense of odd dizziness overtaking him. Exhausted indifference fled. Seeing his apparition—suddenly made in vulnerable flesh and prepared to rush into mortal danger—he found a reason to take up arms and rejoin the fight. Alarm pumped strength andquickness into his tired muscles, and his desire to die took flight.
    Suddenly there was an eruption of shots, louder than any he had ever heard. The man beside him leapt back, as though receiving a blow to the breast. His readied axe dropped to the ground.
    Without hesitation, Malcolm snatched up the weapon in his bruised and bound fists and swung it into the nearest Campbell’s chest.
    The axe pulled away only with difficulty as it had lodged somewhat firmly with the force of his blow. Thereafter, reluctant to lose his weapon to a careless cleave, Malcolm spent some time in nimble avoidance of the other guards’ dirks. Reversing his axe, he swung the blunted end up into his nearest captor’s bearded chin.
    There was another crack of flintlock fire followed by a sharp cry. Malcolm spun about, amazed that a path was being systematically cleared before him. Without hesitation, he sprinted for the gate, hands still tied in front of him, leaping over wounded Campbells with an agility born of sudden hope.
    He felt the tug of an arrow as it passed through his plaid but did not look back to see how closely danger followed, rather he sprang like a wolf after a fleeing hart and ran with all his strength.
    His eyes burning with some new inner fire that had slipped free of his control, Malcolm baredhis teeth in a feral smile that frightened the remaining Campbells into falling back from the gates rather than face the strange, inhuman power burning within him.
    He did not know what manner of weapon his golden savior carried, but it was more effective and grievous than any Sassenach flintlock he’d ever seen. And more powerful than anything he’d ever recalled wielded by the still-folk.
    The Campbells seemed confused by the repeated gunfire, Taffy was elated to see. Doubtless, they thought that a company of the MacColla’s men had come upon them through the covering forest.
    Her first shot had sent the