Entwined

by Elizabeth Marshall

  “I know, little one, Ma is sore too,” she whispered, as an overwhelming and almost unbearable feeling of love and fear twisted inside her. The baby stilled and his eyes opened to focus on his mother’s face. Corran stared into the mysterious dark eyes and in that moment an unbreakable bond forged between her and her son and she understood that from this time on, she could and would never love another as she did this child.

  “He’s a proper little gem,” Rose said, drawing Corran’s attention back to the moment.

  “You have been crying,” Corran said, noticing Rose’s tear stained cheeks and swollen red eyes.

  “Yeah, just the emotion of the day. You know, I wish Harry and Kate and had come with us too,” Rose replied, fighting back another wave of tears.

  “I am so sorry, Rose,” Corran said, wondering as she did what had inspired her husband to let them stay behind. Kate she could understand, but Harry she couldn’t fathom.

  “Hey, it doesn’t matter,” Rose said, with a strained cheer.

  “It does, and I know how painful it must have been to leave them.”

  “Never mind, I’ll see my Mum and Gran soon,” Rose said, maintaining the façade and willing an up-beat tone to her voice. “Now, you can do it nature’s way or the modern way,” she said, channeling the conversation back to the baby.

  “I’ll try it nature’s way,” Corran replied, lifting the child to her breast.

  “Well done you,” Rose encouraged.

  As the little mouth closed over her nipple, Corran let out a wail of pain which left her momentarily breathless. Her face contorted and she sucked in a short, sharp breath.

  “The pain will pass,” Grace said softly. “It always hurts when they first start to suckle.”

  “She is right. Stick with it, Corran. The pain will ease soon,” Graham affirmed.

  Eventually as the baby sucked and the milk started to flow, Grace and Graham were proved right. The pain eased and the contorted muscles of Corran’s face relaxed.

  “Why did no one tell me that was going to hurt so much?” she asked, lifting her head to the anxious faces around her.

  “It’s worth it though, Corran,” Grace said. “Far worse is the pain of full breasts and no baby to suckle.”

  “I fed Duncan on goat’s milk,” Corran said. “I am sorry for all the years you missed with him.”

  “It nearly destroyed me,” Grace whispered. “First losing Jenny, and then the baby… It’s a pain you can’t imagine,” she said, lowering her eyes to the ground.

  “I am truly sorry.”

  “You didn’t take him, Corran,” Grace said, lifting her head and resting her eyes on the baby at Corran’s breast. “I don’t blame you. He would have died if you and Simon hadn’t found him.”

  “You don’t hate me for it?” Corran said, with genuine surprise.

  Grace shook her head slowly. “No, Corran, I neither blame nor hate you for it. How could I? You saved his life.”

  From the cab of the lorry, Simon noticed a sign up ahead for Scotch Corner. Eight miles and they would meet Ainsley Murray, a carpenter who had been gone from the village for five years. Simon wasn’t happy about the convoy Eilidh had arranged, but he understood the girl’s motives. Her people were hungry and deprived. He supported her wish to ease their burden, he applauded her stubborn and single-minded determination, but what he feared was that she had taken on more than he could deliver.

  In the back of the lorry, Graham diligently guided Corran through the early moments of feeding her baby.

  “Do you want to try and move the little chap to the other breast?” Graham said.

  “Oh, I didn’t think, sorry. How do I take him off?”

  “Just slide your baby finger into the corner of his mouth and break the suction.”

  Corran did as Graham had suggested but tried to pull the baby off way too soon. She let out a painful yell as the baby fought to hold onto the breast.

  “That’s the worst pain I’ve ever felt,” she said, trying to detach the child again.

  The roll of the lorry stopped and quickly the doors swung open flooding the dull flashlight lit space with fading daylight.

  “Even more painful than when you dislocated your shoulder?” Simon asked, pulling himself up into the lorry.

  “Simon,” she beamed. “We have a son.”

  “I know, lass,” he replied, dropping onto his haunches beside her.

  “Isn’t he beautiful?” Corran asked.

  “No, lass, he isn’t beautiful, but he is a handsome child,” Simon replied, kissing her gently on the lips.

  “Where are we?” Corran asked.

  “In the back of a lorry, parked up at a place called Scotch Corner,” Simon replied, dragging his eyes away from his wife and son to catch Eilidh’s attention. “I’ve got to go, lass,” he said, summoning Eilidh with a swing of his head.

  “Will we make it to the village on time?” Corran whispered.

  “Aye, lass, if we don’t hang around here too long.”

  Eilidh followed Simon out of the lorry, pushing the doors closed behind them.

  “Best not announce to the world that we have a lorry full of passengers,” she said, scanning the car park for Ainsley Murray.

  “Is he here?” Simon asked.

  “He is,” she replied, nodding in the direction of a lorry much the same as the one they were traveling in.

  “What’s he got in there?” Simon asked.

  “Furniture,” she replied absently.

  “Do they really need furniture?” Simon asked, raising his brows.

  “No, they don’t need it,” replied Eilidh, “but I can’t see anyone saying no to it. Ainsley had the stock, it is his by rights. Why leave it?”

  “Because it’s another bloody great big lorry. You don’t think we’re going to look a bit suspicious once we come off the motorway?”

  Eilidh shrugged. “I’m afraid there are two more big lorries to come.”

  A low growl of irritation escaped Simon’s throat. “It’s too dangerous, Eilidh. You are playing with fire, lass.”

  “If we get through this, Simon, it will be many years before we can leave the village again. We need all the stock we can get.”

  “So you have said but we can’t take everything.”

  “Perhaps, but that doesn’t mean I can’t try.”

  “Where are we meeting the other two lorries?”

  “They are here,” she said.

  “Here? Why didn’t you say earlier?”

  “I didn’t much fancy your reaction to the news,” she said, opening the doors to the lorry a crack. “Take the locket and go meet Ainsley. He can slide his lorry in behind Peter and the other two are over there,” she said, pointing to a feed lorry and another one filled with livestock.

  Simon turned his head to where the two lorries were parked. “I never put you down for the gambling type, Eilidh, but those two lorries are about as risky as it gets.”

  “I know, but if we make it, that’s enough livestock to keep the village for an eternity - or until your wee lad is old enough…” she broke off, hearing Amber scratching at the lorry doors.

  “Shh, Amber,” Eilidh whispered, pushing her hand into the lorry to pat the dog.

  Simon shrugged. “I understand why you are doing it, lass, and for the record, I would do the same.”

  Eilidh hooked her fingers around Amber’s collar, then, using her shoulder, she nudged one of the doors open enough to let the dog through.

  “Come on, Pudding,” Eilidh said, moving aside to allow Amber to jump from the lorry to the ground. She lifted her head to look up at Simon. “I spent six months filling this lorry with provisions and Kate added what she could in the past two days. Without these things our people will die, and that includes your son. Simon, I have done what I had to do,” she said, turning her attention back to Amber. “She needs a wee. I’ll just be around the side of the lorry if you need me.”

  With Amber safely back in the lorry, Eilidh
turned her attention to Rose.

  “Rose, can I have a word?” she said, bending her knees to crouch in front of her.

  “The Stag will not live beyond midnight tonight. If we had the time I would go back for the bodies of your father and Kate.”

  “I didn’t ask you to go back. I will.”

  “Then you won’t see your mother or grandmother again.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because at midnight those who are not in the village will be thrown back into their own times. Magic as we know it will cease to exist. You have only this one chance to get into the village, Rose. If you don’t take it there won’t be another.”

  “And if we make it to this village, what then? With the Stag dead, surely the Dark Circle will find us?”

  “They might, but it won’t be easy for them. Thrown back to their own times, divided and without magic – the Heather will offer us some protection from prying eyes and maverick trackers until the baby is old enough to help us,” Eilidh said, pushing herself up and moving to stand in the middle of the lorry. “But if the Dark Circle find us before we get to the village, we are all dead,” she said, clutching the crystal pendent in her hand. “And the baby might end up in the hands of evil shadows; immortal brothers whose greed will drive them to the destruction of all the Highlands.”

  “Knock, knock,” Duncan said, rapping at the side of the lorry as he walked along its length. He sported an awkward look, both humble and mournful. Eilidh and Rose stopped talking and turned their heads to face him. Rose’s expression crumpled into sadness. Duncan looked away from her, unable to face her pain. “I… errm… I didn’t mean to interrupt, I’ll go…” he turned around and began to walk away.

  “I’m sorry, Rose, we’ll talk soon, O.K?” Eilidh gently placed her hand on Rose’s shoulder, “If you need anything-”

  “I know,” Rose interrupted. “You go after him.”

  Following a nod and a compassionate smile, Eilidh jumped out of the lorry and chased after Duncan.

  “Duncan! Wait!” she shouted.

  He turned around and stopped in his tracks, waiting for her to catch up.

  “You should have finished talking, I could have waited.” Duncan said, when she had caught up with him.

  “How do you know that we hadn’t?” Eilidh joked with a playful smile on her face.

  Her joke was not met with the same enthusiasm from Duncan. Eilidh’s smile faded quickly.

  “So were you looking for me?” she asked.

  “I just wanted a chat…”

  “Let’s find somewhere to sit,” she suggested.

  They settled in front of the lorry.

  “We’re going to get our backs dirty against this-” Eilidh stopped as she realized how insensitive her comment had been and glanced over at Duncan’s blood stained jacket and hands.

  “It’s alright, Eilidh,” Duncan said, smiling comfortingly as he noticed her hesitation.

  She reached inside her back pack and pulled out a bottle of water.

  “Here,” she said, unscrewing the cap.

  He took the bottle from her and poured the liquid over his hands. The water ran red with the blood of his friends as it dripped onto the tarmac.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Eilidh asked, placing her hand on his shoulder.

  “Aye, I wouldn’t mind to be honest.”

  “Tell me what happened…”

  There was momentary pause as Duncan opened his mouth to talk, but no words came out. He bowed his head and calmed himself.

  “There was someone else there…” he began.

  “Someone from the Dark Circle?”

  “Aye. He used a crystal to get into the shop,” Duncan’s eyes filled with tears. “He had a gun.”

  “It’s O.K, Duncan, I’m here,” Eilidh’s words were warm and soft as she gestured him to lean on her shoulder. Her arm reached around him and she pulled him to her in a supportive embrace.

  “He looked so much like Pa, but now that I think about it, he didn’t sound much like Pa.”

  “This man spoke to you?”

  “No,” Duncan said, shaking his head. “He spoke to Harry.”

  “When? What did he say?”

  “After he shot him, he knelt down beside Harry and – it was weird, Eilidh, really weird. He said, ‘You appear to be dying, Sir’.”

  “Whatever happened, it’s gone, Duncan. Don’t think about it anymore.”

  “But that’s not all,” Duncan objected.

  “You don’t have to talk about it, but I’m here to listen if you do want to talk.”

  “I need to tell you,” Duncan said.

  “I’m listening.”

  “Well after he spoke to Harry, I made a sound and he turned towards me. He looked at me, Eilidh, straight at me, but he didn’t shoot me.”

  Duncan stopped short, trying to decide if he should mention the rubble. The eerie way in which it had sprung to life before his eyes. He couldn’t explain it. Perhaps he had imagined it. He couldn’t be sure of anything anymore.

  “He let you live, or did something disturb him?”

  “He let me live. The gun was pointed right at me, he could have killed me in an instant. He looked at me and for a moment I thought it was all over, that he was going to shoot me just like he did Kate and Harry. But his face changed.”

  “Like how?”

  “It softened, like he knew me, like… Oh I don’t know anymore. I just feel so guilty, so …”

  Eilidh held him tighter, understanding his pain, sensing his fear and empathizing with his guilt.

  “It’s called survivors’ guilt, Duncan. We all have it.”

  He shook his head and gave a sardonic grunt.

  A thought visibly crossed Eilidh’s mind.

  “Where were you whilst they were being shot?”

  “I was on the other side of the pile of rubble.”

  “Why was there rubble?” Eilidh asked, crumpling her face in a confused frown.

  “The tunnel collapsed around us. That’s why I couldn’t bring the crystal back, it was too deeply buried.”

  “Why did it collapse?”

  Duncan’s heart sank at the memory of his actions.

  “It was my fault,” he replied bluntly.

  “I’m sure that’s not true-” Eilidh began.

  “No! It was my fault. I pulled out this stupid bit of slate that was keeping the wall in place,” Duncan interrupted. “Wait… The slate…” he said, patting the various pockets of his coat looking for it.

  “Duncan, what are you talking about?”

  “I wanted to look at it because it appeared to be deliberately placed there… I didn’t for one second think that a piece of slate that small would be supporting anything.”

  He finally managed to find it and passed it to Eilidh. Together they traced the words with their eyes.

  ‘S.C.

  You have always trusted lady luck. The time will soon come when you are forced to take the biggest gamble of your life. Be prepared and trust your instincts. Sometimes, your instincts are all you have.’

  “S.C.? Could that be your Pa?” Eilidh asked, looking to Duncan.

  “Maybe. He does like a gamble but why would someone use a slate to send him a message?”

  “Be prepared and trust your instincts…” the words ran through Eilidh’s mind. “This message might not be for your Pa, but it certainly applies to him.”

  “What do you mean?” Duncan asked.

  Before Eilidh could reply, Simon came round to the front of the lorry.

  “We’ve got to go, can you two hurry up?” he said, turning towards the back of the lorry.

  Duncan pushed himself up with his thighs.

  “Pa, I think you should see this,” he said, passing the piece of slate to him.

  “What’s this, lad?”

  “Just read it…”

  They were all silent for a second as Simon read the words engraved into the slate.

  “
Where did you find this? What is it?” he asked, with an awkward embarrassment.

  “In the tunnel,” Duncan replied.

  “Have you any idea who wrote it?” Simon asked.

  Both Eilidh and Duncan shook their heads.

  “It could be for you, Pa.”

  Simon pursed his lips and lifted his hands to run them through his hair.

  “If it is, then it was written by someone who knows me very well,” he said, referring to the gambling references.

  “It may not have been written for you, Simon, but it might as well have been. Take those words into consideration,” Eilidh said, her eyes locking with his. “There will come a time, in the next few hours, when you will need to take the biggest gamble of your life. Indeed, the lives of each of us depend on you trusting me and your instincts.”

  “I hear you, lass,” he said, breaking the eye contact between them. “We are leaving. Get yourselves back in the lorry.”

  ******

  CHAPTER 24

  Scotch Corner, Motorway Services - 21st December, Modern Day

  “Jenny needs the toilet,” Grace said apologetically, pushing herself up off the bag of fertilizer.

  “It’s too dangerous,” Eilidh replied, with a sharp edge of fear to her voice. “You know what happened to Harry and Kate.”

  “But she’s desperate, Eilidh.”

  “Can you hold it until we get over the border and onto quieter roads?” Eilidh asked, turning to Jenny.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m bursting.”

  “The thing is, Jenny, your father is looking for you. You are easy to trace.”

  “What about if I go with her?” Graham suggested.

  “If she leaves the lorry she will need the lockets. If I give her too many then the lorry will be vulnerable. Not enough, and she will be traced.”

  “I’m really sorry,” Jenny apologized again.

  “It’s alright, pet. I’ll think of something,” replied Eilidh, scanning her eyes across the lorry.

  “Eilidh, how safe would it be for me to leave the lorry?” Graham asked.

  “None of us are safe, Graham.”

  “If I take my locket, will it be enough?” Graham asked.