by Ria Cantrell
With an over exaggerated sigh, Morag relented. “Alright. I won’t meddle.” But I canna’ promise I won’t send the girl in the right direction, she thought. Gavin Campbell had known this woman a long time. He knew that nothing given was not without some twist. As a Guardian, he not only sensed it, he was absolutely sure of it.
Chapter 10
Kiera strolled along the grounds of the inn, familiarizing herself with the place. It was a beautiful day, despite it being a little chilly. However, there was bright sunshine and a clear blue sky that beckoned her past the other out buildings toward a meadow that was bordered with colorful summertime wildflowers. She thought to pick some and she ventured out into the freshly mowed field, breathing the crisp scents that seemed so much more vibrant in this place. There was a wooded area at the far end of the field that just called to her, but she thought she would speak to Moira about it before getting herself lost in the woods. She mused if there was a hidden tower among those trees and she almost let herself forget safety to see for herself. Kiera felt a chilled breezed waft over her as if to warn her against her impulsiveness. She would get a map or at least some directions from Moira after all.
Picking her fill of wildflowers, Kiera felt as if all her cares were evaporating one by one. She loved the sweet fragrance of air unpolluted with time. She had a vague feeling like she had come home for some reason. Towards midday, Kiera made her way back to the inn to find out about obtaining some lunch. She found Moira in the front of the inn and the old woman was carrying a basket of some sort. Kiera smiled at Moira, suddenly filled with the warmth that came from peace of mind.
“Ahh, Lassie, I was just lookin’ fer’ ye’. I thought ye’ may be hungry so I packed some lunch fer’ ye’.”
“You must have read my mind. I was going to ask you what folks do around here for lunch.”
With a wistful glint in her eyes, Moira said, “Well, without a car there are not many places to eat, but here at the inn, we pride ourselves on good country fare. Now, mind ye’, if ye’ want to go elsewhere, Duncan can drive ye’ where ever ye’ like.”
“Duncan? The man who picked me up this morning?”
“Aye, the very same.”
“Oh, does he live nearby?”
“In a matter of speaking, yes. He makes himself available fer’ my guests.”
“Hmmm, I think when he saw me, he thought he was seeing some sort of ghost...I guess from the painting and all.”
Morag chuckled at the irony of that statement. She then said, “Aye, Lass, perhaps. I suppose ye’ startled him in a way. Come now, have something to eat. I dinna’ know what ye’ liked, so I brought ye’ some bread and fresh cheese, some of the finest in these parts.”
“Perhaps you would like to join me. I am intrigued with the story of the painting.”
Morag smiled and said, “Alright, Lassie. I love the history of this place. Come, I know just the spot for a nice chat.”
“Thank you, Moira. I can’t wait to hear your story.”
The two women walked a short distance to a little copse of trees. There were large stumps situated around it for sitting. The two women sat with a stump between them so that they could rest the basket on it. Kiera felt a tingle of anticipation as she waited for the story Moira was going to tell her. As the old woman ate, Kiera was almost impatient for her to start talking. She sensed it would be something magical, but after many quiet minutes she cleared her throat.
“Moira, so what about this painting of this girl I look like?”
As if she had forgotten about telling it, Morag said, “Ahhhh yes. The Laird’s granddaughter. Well ye’ are the spittin’ image of her.”
Kiera didn’t want to seem too bold, but she thought for sure Moira would have had more of a story than that. “Well, do you know about her? Will I be able to see the painting? Is it in a museum?”
Laughing, the old woman replied, “Slow down, Lassie. Let an old woman catch up. I canna’ put my thoughts together as fast as I used to.”
The truth of the matter was that she had to choose her words carefully. She could not just say that not only did she know about Jenna Brandham, but she watched her grow up and she loved her as one of her own, as she had with all the MacCollum offspring. In time, the girl would come to understand, but she just was not ready for that information just yet. Morag had lived many years. Even she had lost track of how many. She had practiced the Ancient arts so long that she had learned things that many people were not prepared to process. It wasn’t that she was immortal exactly; it was just that she had learned to manipulate time and she could not tell the girl that she was actually from the 14th century and was just spending some time in the future to assure the redemption of one of her charges. With her “gifts” came very definite responsibilities and sometimes they weighed heavily on an old woman.
Dragging in a deep breath, she said, “Jenna Brandham was one of the many grandchildren of a very powerful laird and chief of the Clan MacCollum. For many years there was war and famine and clan division that wrought misery in these parts, but Laird Caleb MacCollum was wise and kind. He was also very strong. He and his sons helped to unify some of the clans that had warred so long, they no longer knew why they hated each other. Jenna Brandham was the daughter of his own beautiful and only daughter. To say ye’ resemble Lady Jenna would be an understatement. Ye’ look so much like her that if the Laird were here today, he would claim ye’ as his own.”
“Well, possibly. I really look like the painting. Perhaps the artist took some liberties.”
“Perhaps.”
No, he had not. He had created it in the very likeness of her sweet Jenna. Kiera noted that the old one’s eyes seemed to mist over at the mention of this Caleb MacCollum and his offspring. It was almost as if she had known them personally. Not wanting to upset the woman, she said, “How long ago did Laird MacCollum…I mean what time period did they live?”
“Lady Jenna was born in the year of our Lord of thirteen hundred and sixty-four.”
Kiera choked. She expected to hear that it had been a more recent time in history. She had no idea that it had been more than six hundred years ago. The way this woman told the story, it was as if it had been yesterday. The emotion that was wrought when she told it seemed so heartfelt. Perhaps, it was the fact that the Scots were so steeped in their own history that it truly seemed like it was yesterday to the people who lived in these parts.
“Are ye’ alright, girl?”
“Yes, I just thought that maybe she only had lived a short time ago. It almost seemed you actually knew her.”
I do know her. She is like another daughter to me.
Morag smiled sadly. It was hard to think of her beloved MacCollums and know that in this time they were long gone. But in looking at this beautiful girl before her, she knew that their legacy lived on and had spread wide throughout the world. That thought comforted her. She cleared her throat to cast away the lump that had formed there thinking of the Laird, who she loved with her whole heart. She had loved his five children after his wife had died and she loved all their offspring as if they were all her own.
Kiera watched as emotions warred on the very expressive face of this woman. She saw such sadness in her eyes that she almost wished she had not brought it up at all.
“I am really sorry, Moira. I did not wish to upset you. In my country, our history is very new and so it does not always have the same effect on us as your rich history so obviously has with you.”
“Shhh, lass. Ye’ dinna’ upset me. T’is true. I love the history of these lands and it is near and dear to my heart, but there is no point in history if it canna’ be told.”
“Well, do you know anything else about this Lady Brandham. Was she married to an Englishman? Her name does not sound Scottish.”
“Nay, she was the daughter of Lady Bronwyn nee MacCollum and Sir Andrew Brandham, an English knight of the Realm. I suppose that painting was created before she married.”
Now Kiera was intri
gued. This was the stuff romance novels were made of. “So she was part English.”
Morag laughed softly. “In name only. Sir Andrew Brandham, while born in England, had embraced the Highland way of life after falling in love with Lady Bronwyn. He became a full member of the Clan and lived more as a Scot than an Englishman. Ye’ might think that Scot and English were pretty much the same, but in those days, they were vastly different. The hatred between England and Scotland was worse than the hatred between the warring clans.”
“So what happened to Lady Jenna? You said the painting was created before she was married.”
Morag smiled and a far-away look played in her eyes. Jenna was more like her precious Rory than like her own parents. She was wild and stubborn and it had taken her much longer to settled down than it had even taken Rory. She finally did, though and brought her own brood of children into the world. She sighed thinking about the daughter of her highland rose.
“Lady Jenna eventually married. She was considered untamed and dinna’ act like a proper lady many times, but when she finally met the mate of her soul, she couldna’ deny her destiny and she brought many children into the Clan.”
Morag actually was not certain how many at this point. When she had left her own time, Jenna had just given birth to her fifth child. She did not know if she had any more so she hoped Kiera would not ask just how many children.
Kiera laughed softly and she said, “Miss Moira, I love how you tell the story. It is like you knew each and every one of them.”
Morag just nodded. “They are my kin…their history is part of mine.”
“Well, I shall love to hear more about them. Now, is the painting somewhere I can see it?”
Morag’s smile widened. “Aye.”
Kiera tried not to be impatient, but she felt like she had to pull it out of the old woman. Finally when no further information was forth coming, Kiera said, “Well, could you tell me where it is?”
“I can, lass, but I think ye’ may not have time to seek it.”
“Is it far from here?” Kiera thought to herself, it can’t be that far since both Moira and Duncan knew about it. Perhaps it was legendary for some reason and all people knew about it. Still, it sounded like just the day trip for her to explore.
Morag had to be careful. She was not certain the girl was ready to encounter all that came with exploring Castle Campbell. She had gaged the response of the girl as she told part of the story of Jenna and found Kiera’s interest to be a positive sign that she would be open to the possibilities that were part and parcel of exploring the keep. But Morag knew that this was more than just a jaunt exploring artifacts. A man’s soul was at stake and Morag had to see to it that after all these years, his isolation would not have been wasted. She feared he had reached the point of redemption or despair and now time was no longer on her side. Still, if this girl was the one to help him, she had to prepare her because the people in these times were not as open to the mystical things of the past.
Morag sighed and said, “The painting lies within Castle Campbell. The place is used as part museum and part is used for lodgings. There is a private event there this weekend so ye’ canna’ see it while ye’ are here this time.” Morag knew it was a lie, but she needed to hone the girl and prepare her. She hoped that she would not question the disparity in information as she had told the girl that there were not many visitors this time of year in this part of the Highlands and here she was telling her the castle had an event. Perhaps she would not have to make up any more stories and the girl would let it drop. Morag breathed a sigh of relief when the girl responded.
Kiera frowned. “Damn, I have to leave day after tomorrow. I would have loved to see it for myself.”
“Well, lassie, ye’ will just have to come back.”
“I don’t know if that will be possible. I work for someone who…well let’s just say he isn’t very open to having me leave for the weekends.”
Morag studied the beautiful woman before her. She saw sadness and a desperation of her own. Perhaps she needed redemption as much as Derek Campbell did. Perhaps she should prompt the encounter sooner than later, but she felt the warning of the Guardians to her very soul. She had to obey their laws or all would be lost.
“Well, ye’ shall just have to come back. I can save yer’ room fer ye’ for the next couple of weekends if ye’ wish.”
“Couple? Moira, I was lucky to get this time to come here. He practically threatened to fire me for taking the weekend off.”
Kiera wasn’t sure why she found it so easy to admit this to Moira, who was a stranger to her, but it had been easy to let that aspect of her life slip out. Suddenly, though, nothing was more appealing than to spend time in this place. Kiera had a sense of coming home from the moment she had stepped off the train.
Morag said, “Well, ye’ will find a way, if ye’ want to.” She tried to sound cheerful but she knew that suddenly this beautiful young woman had to make it back to the Highlands as much as for her own sake as for the sake of Derek’s soul.
Chapter 11
When Derek woke up, he felt that there was some sort of shift in his cognizance. He did not know what it was, but he thought that the time was coming for his reckoning. He had actually slept. Sleep was something ghosts didn’t do. Sleep was mortal, very, very mortal. First he tasted his own blood and then he smelled his mother’s perfume and now he had slept. And with sleep, he dreamed. There was a beautiful woman, with dark hair and captivating eyes that beckoned him on the edges of his consciousness. Where was she? Was she just another trick of the Ancients sent to torture him? While he had been disappointed with false hopes so many times before, something was different about this time. This time, he felt that it was not merely a trick. No, this time, he was being given a sliver of hope; true hope.
He tried to focus on the woman in his dreams. She was dressed strangely. He guessed she was dressed in the fashion of her time. She wore leggings of a dark blue, course fabric that hugged her form tightly. Her hair was worn shorter than women of his time, in fact shorter than his own, which hung down to the middle of his back, but it was lush and it framed her face in a perfect way. Her image stayed vividly in his mind. She was so very beautiful. Her eyes were a dazzling hazel color that reminded him of the underside of leaves in sunshine. She seemed to have a face like an angel and he wondered if he just thought that because she represented so much more than just a pretty face to him now.
She seemed so familiar to him. Where had he seen her before? Was she someone he knew all along; someone who had been right before his eyes? That couldn’t really be, as he was certain she was not from his time or he would have remembered her. Still, her face was imprinted in his mind and he was certain he had seen her image before.
He concentrated on the memory of his dream and he tried to call her memory back. She wore some sort of knitted woolen covering over those tight leggings but even with its bulk, it could not hide that she was curvy in all the right places. Pondering on her image, Derek became aware of yet another mortal reaction and a slow grin formed on his lips. It was like an old friend he had long forgotten. Yes, he thought, this time it was not just to torture him. This time, he was being given back his humanity. He vowed that this time, he was not going to ruin things. He was going to use the lessons he had learned and he was going to take the chance given to him. Redemption was on its way. He could feel it.
Making his way back to the main Keep, as he was wont to do, he passed the many people that walked in and out of it. There seemed to be more people streaming into the castle than normal. Who were all these people? How long had he been asleep because he could not remember so many people coming and going before. Many were dressed in the manner of the woman in his dream and he scanned them, looking for her. Was she here? The people were still unaware of him as they brushed passed him in leisurely strolls walking into or out of the castle. There was a group of people lined in a cue of sorts and he watched as they followed a uniformed woman into the ke
ep.
He trailed behind the group and he tried to understand what was going on. The uniformed woman pointed at objects within the keep and some of the people in the group aimed some sort of device at the objects. Derek shielded his eyes as flashes flew from the devices. What sort of witchery was this now? What were these people doing? He was still undetected, so placing a hand on the shoulder of one of the young men in the group, he peered at the device. There was a perfect image of the object in it, only smaller.
The young man seemed to turn abruptly and he glared at the girl behind him. Derek smiled. He must have felt his hand upon him. He thought to make sport of the lad, but he was more intrigued with the device that created miniature images of objects. Derek wished he could get a hold of one of these interesting things. He would have liked to add it to his stash of things he had acquired over the years. Perhaps he could scare the lad into dropping it so he could take it. No, there were too many people and a floating device would cause panic, no doubt. He would have to wait. Surely someone would forget such a small thing eventually. He was amused at the group’s interest in all the things of the Keep. Derek kept scanning the crowd for the girl in his dreams but he sadly did not see her. As he continued to follow the group, the woman in the odd uniform stopped in the great hall. She pointed out the various paintings of former inhabitants of the keep. The group of people walked from each one, seemingly studying the faces captured long ago by an artist’s hand.
Derek made mental notes of each painting. There was even a crude likeness of his grandfather. There was one of the usurpers of the Keep; the MacCollum spawn. Derek meandered within the great hall and stopped short, gasping. There on the wall, beside the MacCollum spawn’s image was the very image of the angel in his dreams. No! It could not be. She was a MacCollum! No, he screamed silently. The Guardians would surely not send him a MacCollum! Only this one was called Brandham.
