The Gift: The Pocket Watch Chronicles

by Ceci Giltenan

  Lost in her thoughts, she had walked along the bluff until it began to slope more gently toward the northern tip of Loch Islich and the strait. Aware that she had come much farther than she intended, she started to turn toward home when the bright colors of his plaid caught her eye. He seemed to be alone, walking on the thick ice covering the strait. He wielded a wooden sword as he pretended to do battle with an invisible enemy. She was momentarily amused by his antics but became worried as he moved off of the thick ice covering the strait and farther onto the deep loch where the ice thinned dangerously. Anna had yelled at him to go back, but he hadn’t seemed to hear. There was nothing else to do; she lifted her skirt and ran headlong towards him, down the slope to the loch’s edge, straight into the disputed territory. Trying to get his attention, she waved her free hand and continued to shout.

  She was too late. As he lunged forward, thrusting his sword into his invisible prey, the ice gave way. He plunged into the loch, screaming and flailing, just as she reached the shore. She ran out onto the solid ice as far as she dared. Knowing she would need something dry to wrap him in, she pulled off her mantle and plaid, hurling them backwards. She threw herself onto the ice on her stomach, distributing her weight over as wide an area as possible before she slid to the broken edge. Her body weight pushed the sheet of ice under the surface of the water. It soaked her, but it didn’t completely give way. She was able to stretch far enough to grab the back of his tunic just as he slipped under the surface. Staying as flat as she could, she pushed backward, dragging him with her onto the ice, the edges breaking away as she moved.

  Finally reaching ice thick enough to hold their weight, she scooped him up, grabbed her dry clothes and carried him to the nearest shore, the east bank of the loch, MacKay territory. She whispered a prayer of thanks. The child was unconscious and blue with cold, but still breathing. Vaguely aware of the sound of horses approaching, she quickly pulled off his wet clothes, wrapping him in her dry plaid and mantle. She rubbed his limbs gently through the cloth, trying to warm him. His eyes blinked open and his little body began to shiver violently.

  She smiled at him. “Ye’ll be all right now, little one.” Looking up, she saw the source of the pounding hooves. Men on horseback thundered down the western side of the strait. In an instant a tall, broad-shouldered warrior with golden hair and angry crystal blue eyes was off his horse and had crossed the strait. Several of the others were not far behind him. The angry warrior pulled the child from her arms. These were clearly MacLeods, the clan with whom the MacKays had feuded for years. This was exactly why she wasn’t supposed to walk northward. In a moment of terror-filled realization, it became abundantly clear—she was staring trouble squarely in the face.

  ~ * ~

  While hunting, Andrew MacLeod, the eldest son of Laird MacLeod, heard the child’s screams coming from the direction of the loch and immediately turned with his men toward the sound. The screaming stopped after a moment, and his panic rose tenfold. When they broke though the tree line near the strait at foot of Loch Uarach, a lass knelt on the other shore. She was stripping wet clothes off of a small child. Filled with dread, he rode hard towards them before jumping from his horse and crossing the frozen strait on foot. It couldn’t be Davy; they were several miles from where the lad should be.

  Reaching them, his heart nearly stopped before anger supplanted his fear. The pallid shivering child, now wrapped in what appeared to be the lass’s plaid and mantle was his six-year-old son David, but the lass holding him was not Nessa, the maid charged with David’s care. One look at her fiery red hair and the terror in her green eyes told him she was one of the lying MacKays. In his panic he could not fathom how this MacKay wench had abducted David or how they had fallen into the loch, but he was not going to take the time now to sort it out. He wrenched his child from her arms, taking her plaid and mantle with him. He crossed the strait, shouting orders to the other men. “Cormag, Finlay, ride with me. Graham, bring her and see to the rest!” He mounted his horse, holding his half-frozen son to his chest. Wrapping his own plaid around David too, he leaned low over the horse’s neck, riding flat out for Curacridhe.

  As he rode, he tried to figure out what could have happened. David had begged for weeks to let him go hunting with the men. Andrew had finally given in. It wasn’t a real hunt, strictly speaking. It was really more of an outing for David. Nessa, the young maid who minded David, rode with them while they hunted small game in the morning. After securing a brace of rabbits, they built a fire in a sheltered clearing. Nessa and several men-at-arms stayed with David by the fire while Andrew and the other men left to hunt for larger game. How could a MacKay, a woman no less, have taken his well-guarded son in broad daylight, and what was she doing with him on the MacKay side of the loch?

  ~ * ~

  On her knees, wearing only a wet léine, Anna was frozen and confused. As the MacLeod warrior rode away, the man he called Graham looked down at her. She read pity in his eyes for a moment before they turned hard and angry. Clearly the MacLeod warrior who had taken the child from her was furious, but she didn’t understand why. How could they be angry with her? After all, she had pulled the child from the loch. But they are angry. Run.

  Graham roughly pulled her to her feet but, taking him by surprise, she twisted out of his grip, running towards the bluff. He easily caught her. “Nay lass, the only place ye’re going is Curacridhe.” He too had blond hair and blue eyes. Although he was shorter and had a slimmer build than the other warrior, he still had no trouble subduing her as she struggled against him. He lifted her and carried her effortlessly across the strait to his horse. “Things will go better for ye if ye cooperate and aren’t responsible for injuring any more MacLeods today. So, how many men are with ye?”

  “M-m-men?” What was he talking about? In her confusion she stopped struggling.

  He frowned at her, giving her a shake. “Aye, men, lass. How many men attacked so ye could abduct the lad?”

  She heard the question but her frozen brain refused to process his words. Why did he think someone abducted the child? Trembling with cold, she could only stare blankly at him.

  Graham growled. “Fine, have it yer way. Ye’re bringing on yer own suffering. Rory, ride with me. The rest of ye, go back to the clearing where we left David and Nessa. Be cautious. We have no way of knowing what happened there.”

  One thought crystalized in Anna’s mind. Dear God, I can’t let them take me. As he lifted her onto his horse, she started fighting again for all she was worth, hammering him with her frozen fists and trying to twist away.

  He grabbed hold of her, pinning her arms to her sides and practically crushing the breath from her. “Stop it! Ye’ll behave and ride without fighting me or, by God, I’ll bind ye and throw ye over the horse face down.”

  Petrified by the threat and realizing the futility of her efforts, she ceased struggling. He put her on the horse’s back, mounting behind her. She began shivering uncontrollably. Perhaps he took pity on her because he pulled her close against him and wrapped his plaid around her before kicking his horse into a canter.

  “The back of yer dress is dry.” He sounded confused. “Ye didn’t fall in with the lad?”

  She shook her head.

  “He fell in while ye were crossing the ice with him? By God’s teeth lass, how could ye be so careless? A dead hostage has no value.”

  “Hostage? I don’t understand. I wasn’t crossing the ice with him.”

  “I’ll warrant that MacKays are not overly bright, but this stupid act ye are putting on will only bring ye misery.”

  “I don’t understand what ye think happened.”

  “Ye don’t?” His mocking tone only served to confuse her more. “Then why don’t ye tell me what did happen.”

  “Clearly ye won’t believe me.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  Anna remained silent. She decided that the less she said the better. She was so cold she could barely form words anyway, but her captor di
dn’t accept her silence. He gave her another shake, “Answer me, lass!”

  She had never been so cold or so afraid. “I—I was on the bluff and I saw h-h-him walking toward the thinner ice. I tr-tried to get him to turn back but he didn’t hear me. He f-f-fell in before I reached him. I slid on my stomach until I could g-grab hold of him and pull him out. I removed his wet clothes and wr-wrapped him in my plaid and mantle to try and warm him. Th-th-that is when ye arrived.”

  “Do ye expect me to believe ye were on the bluff alone, this far from Naomh-dùn? And that Davy wandered away by himself? MacKays are stupid.”

  ~ * ~

  His son squirmed in Andrew’s arms, snuggling against him. Then Davy’s voice, penetrated the layers covering him. “I like riding with ye, Da, but I’m cold.”

  “I know, Davy, we’ll be home soon.”

  “Why did we leave the fire? It was warm.” His son clearly didn’t remember what had happened.

  That was a blessing at least, if he witnessed the ambush he wouldn’t remember the horror.

  “Hunting was fun but I wish ye hadn’t left me with Nessa. I’m big enough to go with ye. I would have liked that.”

  At that moment Andrew too wished with all of his heart that he hadn’t left the child, but he had believed his son was well-guarded. How could this have happened? “Rest now, lad, we’ll be home soon.”

  David was quiet again for a while but then he grumbled, “I don’t like staying with Nessa. She’s no fun. She just likes talking to the men and won’t play with me. I like dragon hunting,” he added sleepily. “That’s how I got cold. I went dragon hunting on the loch. The dragon must have broken the ice.”

  The lad looked as if he were trying to figure out what happened but clearly had no memory of it. Seeing his son’s furrowed brow, he said, “That must have been it.”

  Davy closed his eyes for a few moments. Andrew thought he slept until he spoke again. “Where is the angel, Da?”

  “Wheesht, Davy, everything is going to be all right.”

  “But where is the angel?”

  “There is no angel, lad. Rest now, we’re almost home.”

  “But where is the angel, the angel that pulled me out? She was pretty, only I didn’t see her wings. I wish I had seen her wings. Did ye see her wings?”

  “There was no angel. Wheesht.”

  David became more agitated. “Nay, Da, why would ye say that? There was an angel. Don’t ye remember? I got lost hunting a dragon on the ice and it broke. The angel pulled me out.”

  Andrew wanted to soothe his son’s agitation. “Don’t worry lad, the angel is fine.”

  David calmed. “Did ye see her wings, Da?”

  “Nay, I didn’t see her wings. Rest now, lad.”

  “I wish I had seen her wings. I wonder if they would be red like her hair.” With that Davy snuggled close to his father again and closed his eyes.

  When they arrived at Curacridhe, Andrew immediately sent for Isla, the MacLeod healer, then handed his son to Cormag just long enough to dismount. He rushed into the warmth of the great hall with his small bundle in his arms. He had barely reached his own chamber when Isla arrived and quickly checked David over.

  “Andrew, God must have great plans for Davy. When I heard he’d fallen through the ice so far away on Loch Islich, I feared the worst.”

  “It isn’t that far, Isla, riding fast it took much less than an hour.”

  “That may be, but wet and freezing that would have been too long for a wee lad in this bitter weather. I expected to find his hands and feet cold and waxy.” She rewrapped him in a warm blanket and moved close to the fire with him on her lap, gently warming him.

  “Will he be all right?”

  “Aye, Andrew, I think he will be. I need to warm him up to know for sure. It will help to get some hot liquids in him now, but drying him right away was his salvation. He might still take a fever but at least his limbs aren’t frozen. Frankly, I am surprised Nessa knew to strip the wet clothes off. That’s probably what saved his life.”

  There was a knock at the door before Andrew could correct Isla. He opened it to a serving maid who said, “Graham and Rory have just arrived with a woman. Graham asked me to fetch ye.”

  To Isla he said, “I have to see to this. I’ll be right back up.” He stroked Davy’s head once before leaving the room.

  When Andrew reached the great hall, their father was listening to Graham explain what had happened. Laird Dougal MacLeod glared at the bedraggled young woman who, still in wet clothes, stood before him shivering uncontrollably. Well woman was a bit of a stretch, he thought as he looked down at her. She appeared to be little more than a child herself.

  Dougal’s ice blue eyes shot daggers as he roared at her. “By God, wench, I’ll beat ye to death with my own hands if that lad dies.”

  ~ * ~

  Tall and powerfully built, Laird MacLeod resembled an angry Norse god with long grey hair and a flowing beard that still held hints of gold. He terrified Anna and she couldn’t understand why they didn’t believe her. Nay, that’s not true. The MacLeods hated the MacKays and the MacKays hated them back. They would naturally believe the worst about each other. At this moment she was fairly sure no MacLeod would have pulled a MacKay from an icy loch so they must assume the reverse was true as well. Even worse, they assumed she had abducted the child, allowing him to fall through the ice, and only saving him because of the ransom he would fetch. Piecing it together, she learned that the lad she saved was the laird’s grandson, David.

  The only blessing she could discern was they didn’t know her identity yet. Perhaps there was a chance she could escape without her brother finding out what she had done. He was the only person on earth who could possibly be angrier with her over this than Laird MacLeod appeared to be.

  The old laird looked up when the warrior who had taken the child from her entered the hall. His voice thick with concern he asked, “Andrew, son, how is the lad?”

  So that formidable warrior was Andrew MacLeod.

  “Isla thinks he’ll be all right.”

  “MacKay won’t get away with this, son.” He turned to Anna again. “Wench, what’s yer name?”

  “Eve,” Anna lied.

  “Who’s yer father?”

  “My father’s dead.”

  “Well praise God. The only good MacKay is a dead one.”

  Anna trembled and fought back tears at the thought of her dear father.

  “So, Eve, are ye the village whore?”

  Tears did slip down her cheeks at that. “Nay, Laird. I am a seamstress,” she whispered. It wasn’t a complete lie. She was skilled at needlework.

  “How many MacKay scum were with ye, Eve, the seamstress?”

  “No one was with me,” she answered barely above a whisper.

  “Why protect them? Yer clansmen have abandoned ye, but curs will do that, won’t they? If ye’re their whore, ye must not be a very good one.”

  “No one was with me, Laird. I didn’t take the child.”

  “Lying bitch,” Dougal spat and backhanded her with enough force to knock her to the floor. “Rory, toss her in a cell until we find out what happened. Then I’ll decide whether she dies quickly or just prays to die.”

  Before she could wipe the blood from her lips, Rory jerked her up roughly. Glancing around in a panic, her eyes locked with Andrew MacLeod’s for a moment and the venom she saw there sent another wave of fear and despair coursing through her. She could no longer hold the tears back. Dear God, please let me freeze to death soon so I never have to see these men again.

  The devil must have heard her thoughts because he said, “Give her something dry to wear.”

  “What?” asked Dougal. “Why?”

  “Isla said the only reason Davy will survive this is because this filthy MacKay stripped off his wet clothes and wrapped him in her dry plaid and mantle.”

  “Ye can’t ransom a dead child, Andrew. It was in her own best interest to keep him alive.”

&
nbsp; “Still, she did it. Give her something dry.”

  His father gave a curt nod and with that Andrew left the hall.

  Rory dragged Anna through another door. Taking a torch from the wall, he forced her down a flight of steep stone steps. At the bottom they entered a long dark hallway. She stumbled alongside him to the end of it until they reached another set of stairs, these even more steep and narrow than the first. When they reached the bottom, he pushed her through another door into a dark, cramped hall off of which were several small, dank cells with doors made of rusting iron bars. He shoved her roughly into one, slamming the door and locking her in. She had barely taken in the damp stone floor and the cell’s only furnishing, a wooden bed without a mattress standing against the back wall, before he left. Taking the torch with him, he left her in utter darkness.

  Frightened and colder than she had ever been in her life, she made her way to the bed and sat on it, drawing her knees to her chest, trying to conserve what little body heat she had. Dear God, what had she done? She should have just turned and gone home instead of venturing onto the ice. Nay, she never could have left the child to die, regardless of whether he was a MacLeod or not. I should never have walked the bluff in the first place. Nay, the child would have died then too. She could only believe that God had led her to where she needed to be, or at least to where the child needed her to be, but at what price?

  Rory returned shortly with a coarse woolen léine and a thin blanket. He tossed them into the cell before leaving again. With cold, numb fingers, Anna struggled to untie the laces of her garment, peeling off the damp heavy wool. The dress he brought her was much too large but it was warm and dry. She slipped it on, wrapping the thin plaid around her shoulders and over her head before curling up on the wooden bed. Still freezing, but overcome with exhaustion and despair, she fell asleep.