The Macorvan Curse — Florence Bowes

She looked up at the castle. In spite of its sun-softened glow, it had a brooding sense of remoteness; the mysterious waiting silence of ancient stone. Eighteen years! It had happened eighteen years ago! A chill ran through her as her mind pictured the horrendous scene; the tough, hard-bitten MacOrvan clansmen, their dark, fierce faces alight with excitement, sneaking up the path along the precipice and swarming silently over the hills to surprise the Clan MacRaeggan at their festive banquet. When they knew their surprise was assured, a spine-chilling war-cry broke from their throats and they beat on their targes with the flats of their swords, as they rushed the castle…

An agonized scream escaped Catherine's lips as she entered the huge courtyard, overgrown with grasses and brambles and filled with the hum of bees hovering over the rough-headed daisies. She stood as if paralyzed, the back of her hand against her mouth, staring horrified at the bleached skulls still impaled, here and there, on those spikes which had gone clear through the head and held the bony remains in place. Her eyes moved in terrified reluctance to take in the grisly heaps of whitened bones and skeletons around the court and the skulls that had fallen from the spikes…