Morag's Tears (Celtic Storm Series Book 5)

by Ria Cantrell

  I, myself can attest to that, in the bringing of my precious son, Tavish forward in time in order to save him. But there were those who used these sacred blessings for the wrong reasons. I suppose that sometimes the line between White and Grey is very fine and it becomes further blurred from Grey to Black just as easily. In this regard, I believe that evil is just a much lesser degree of good and sometimes for the weak of spirit; it is nay hard to be lured to the least degree of the goodness we should all seek.

  One such soul, I learned was Arianne Campbell, the stepmother of Derek. Oh, how I wish I had a chance to be a companion to her because she had such a natural ability toward the Old Ways. Her Gifts were strong and I think had she a proper mentor, she could have been a great Seer or perhaps even a Healer. Because of clan division, I did nay know her. Alas, she was one who had embraced the darker side of the Ways. I suppose her years under the cruel eye of the Campbells weakened any resolve and her heart started to harden over time. I think the only one she grew to care about was her daughter, Gabrielle, but because of the torment upon her, she lost the trust in the Light and she sought to sharpen her craft through the Grey.

  I would nay think that she had embraced the Darker gifts fully, but she let her hurt and hatred follow her through to her own hereafter. I can attest to it for I saw the signs of it with my own eyes. I suspect that she was seeking the darker side of the Gifts as a way to offer protection to herself and to her only child, at the time, but because of it, when it was her time to leave the earthly plane, her desire to use those Grey leanings were part of her. Oh, how I wish t’were not so. With her husband gone and Gavin steadily aging, Arianne knew that she would need to work on charms of protection for herself if she could, so that she could see her daughter grow to adulthood. Sadly, it was nay to be.

  I know not how far she had sunk in the world of darker practices, but I was given a view of her departure from the Light upon pleading for Derek’s existence. While he was being tested and tried from the doings of his life, I stood by, rooted to my place in part fear and wonder. One by one as the Guardians hailed him, so too did other specters from his past. Arianne was one of these.

  I think, now, as I remember that fateful day, I was given the chance to see the consequences of what my supplications had begged for the likes of Derek Campbell. If I wanted to run, I could nay, and though Derek could nay longer see or hear me, I was praying for his deliverance all the harder at the sight of these frightful things. I was only a mortal woman, after all and though I had embraced my Path long ago, the doings of the Spirit Realm is not for the mild of heart.

  I heard with my own ears the curse from Arianne’s lips and it would be something that would cause great suffering and frustration to the man I had hoped would have a chance at salvation, in order to be granted a chance to fulfill his destiny. Arianne’s curse was so that Derek would neither a man nor a spirit be. I have tried to explain how his suffering came about and that he would be consumed with the human needs we all have; to eat, to sleep, to touch, to love. He would have the need, but nothing would satisfy him. If he tried to eat, food would be tasteless, yet the human part of him would crave the food he no longer needed to exist.

  The worst of these was the need for human interaction for though Derek would be able to see others, none could see him; at least none until his heart had opened enough to love. He would desire the touch of another, but it was not to be. He would wish to hear the voice of someone, to share his thoughts; anyone, but none heard or spoke to him. He was banished to a world beyond the grave that forced him into solitude and loneliness and even though he was nay a man who had sought much human companionship in life, he was still a man with a human soul.

  It was a cruel, cruel fate for the lad, and one I would nay have wanted for him. I begged Gavin to release him from it, but Gavin told me that he could nay undo what had been done by one of those seeking retribution for Derek’s deeds. I hadn’t thought that he would end up with a curse upon his head to carry him through the centuries. I clearly never wanted that.

  At that moment, I thought I had made a grave mistake, for perhaps Derek’s complete death would have been better than to suffer want and need so severely and for so long a time. Now, in looking back, I suppose those endless hours alone made him appreciate the smallest kindness and so when he was finally to be released from this punishment, he had grown greatly and had repaired the ruthlessness of his soul. Again, I sigh. It is nay for me to question the works of the Guardians or the rules they have set. Still, I wished the suffering would have not been so severe.

  For me, I watched as the specter of Arianne faded from view and I daresay, because of her own choices, she still walks between the veil, neither resting in peace nor finding the smallest amount of solace. I wanted to call to her and I longed to help her as well, but her path was not meant to cross mine and her rest and comfort was nay mine to give. I hope that she has found some relief in the hereafter and maybe she knows that her only daughter is safe and has thrived in a home surrounded by people who loved, protected and cared for her.

  I know ye’ canna’ save everyone, and Arianne’s walk with the Grey was her own choosing. Still, a woman, such as myself, who tutored many a lass and a lad or two as well in the Old Ways, wishes that I had the chance to counsel the woman who was lost to the Grey. To this day, I try to warn my charges and those under my tutelage about the dangers of flirting with the things of the Darker Path. Alas, sometimes the lure is too strong and the consequences are set for those who follow.

  Chapter Twenty-Four – My Cousin Andara

  Sometime after my mother was murdered at the hands of those who pretended to follow the Light of the One God, my mother’s sister decided that she needed to see to the protection of her only daughter. I was a goodly amount of years older than her, but because of the Gifts in our family that most of the women bore, my auntie thought it was too dangerous for my cousin Andara to stay where they had tried and condemned my mother to be guilty of witchcraft.

  Like me, Andara’s ties to the Ancients were strong, and even though I was also in great danger, I chose to stay because my mother had paid the price in order to save me. I could nay leave the only land I loved nor the people who filled my heart. Neither could I leave the home where my mother had lived and died. Nay, t’was ne’er an option for me! Besides, I was already in love with Ian, even though I was still a young girl, but Andara was quite a bairn at the time and so, my aunt sent her away to live in England.

  My cousin was eventually married to a man who was a knight. This knight became a guard under the employ of the house du Montefort and though she also did nay have any children of her own, like me, Andara spent her life as chatelaine to a thriving keep, helping to raise the offspring of others. Ye’ may ask what her story has to do with mine, and as I sit to tell it, ye’ will see the many threads that lead us to our heart’s journey.

  I had not kept in touch with my dear cousin as closely as I wanted to. Aye, we both were able to read and write, but I think that with the border skirmishes and the distance between our two lands, that time got in our way and we lost our link that now as I tell the tale reminds me just how important family is. She was my mother’s sister’s child and we should have grown up together, but because of the evil done to my mother, Andara’s path was different than mine.

  She spent many years with the man she loved as his wife and companion, where I was forced to endure my years alone. I believe her gifts were as mine were, though I dunna’ know if she could manipulate time. I dunna’ even know if she was able to hone her skills because of the lack of tutoring she could ne’er have, since her family clan was far from her. I had come to think that I would nay ere see my cousin again and I was surprised to learn about her life some years ago.

  I laugh at the way the Ancients weave their tapestries and I realize that we are all connected somehow, even if just by the thinnest cord. I did nay know it at the time, but I do now. It seems that the household where Andara was employed wa
s the very house where Drew Brandham had stayed upon the edict by the English king for one of his chosen knights to wed the young mistress of du Montefort Keep. Drew was the captain of the Elite Guard of Sir Erik Ragnorsen, who was instructed to wed the mistress. I have met Lady Rhianna and found her to be lovely and sweet. Her own mother was of the Old Ways under the Welsh Tradition.

  The interesting thing was that I had no idea that my dear cousin lived under Lady Rhianna’s roof as chatelaine and governess of sorts to the du Montefort children. In caring for these young charges, my cousin was able to teach Rhianna the Path in lieu of her own mother, who had been lost at sea along with her father when she was still quite a young girl. Her mother wished Lady Rhianna to learn the ways and traditions of those who had carried the Craft before her and in fact, she had become quite the experienced healer herself.

  Well now, the link to Sir Andrew Brandham, my beautiful Highland Rose’s mate had yet to be established. Sir Andrew resided in du Montefort Keep for some months while the courtship and wedding had been planned between Sir Erik and the lady Rhianna.

  There was a terrible misunderstanding that caused that mad English king to rescind his decree and even after Rhianna and Erik had been married, the king wanted to marry Sir Erik off to my Bronwyn. I can tell ye’, when Caleb MacCollum learned of such a thing, there was going to be more than a border skirmish, aye. Why, he was furious. There was a tenuous Peace at best between Scotland and England at the time, and my poor Bronwyn would be at the base of it to be used as a pawn to forge the treaty between the Highlands and England. She was requested to marry an English knight, but she had no idea that the man was already married.

  I do believe that king was addled and that to even suggest such a thing was pure madness. Caleb thought it to be the gravest insult, and rightly so. Here he was, a Highland laird, noble in his own right and his only daughter was being used in some twisted game created by the English king? Oh, I can tell ye’ it was nay going to go well. I can attest to that!

  Bronwyn, my dear heart, was none too pleased with the turn of events either and upon seeing Sir Erik, she was sent into a fit of dread and trepidation, for ye’ see, she had been visited by the visions of the man who was tall, aye, like Sir Erik, but he was dark and kind looking. Sir Erik was the image of a Viking god, with long blond hair that hung past his very broad shoulders and his visage held naught but contempt for my wee lassie.

  Now, I dunna’ fault the man, except for his dislike for us Scots, but that changed with time and once he actually got to know Bronwyn, he learned that he had been sadly mistaken about his way of thinkin’. Sadly, Bronwyn represented all the hurt and evil that his lady wife, Rhianna, had faced even though she had nay to do with the chess game that his own king had created.

  So, while Erik was in the Winter Court of the English king to plead his refusal to wed Bronwyn, after all--he was a married man already, Sir Drew struck up a friendship with the girl deemed to marry his best friend. It was more than a friendship really. Bronwyn was smitten with Sir Drew upon first sight. Though she had spent her life denying not only the ancient pull toward my chosen path, she also had denied that Sir Drew was the verra’ man she had envisioned in the prophetic dream all those years ago.

  It is in the love match forged between Drew and Bronwyn that my greatest tale still lies. I have yet to tell it, but alas, I have nay finished with this part of the story. Ultimately, in the separation of my cousin from my life, the Weavers of Destiny had a hand in keeping us bound through untold means. She raised the woman that Sir Erik would eventually marry instead of him havin’ to marry my Bronnie. My cousin Andara had honed the skills in the beautiful young woman who would soon have to teach Bronwyn how to accept those things that she had rejected from me, up to that point. Ach, I think of all the warps and wefts of this life of mine and how every single turn brought me to my greatest joy, that I had nay even dreamed could be possible.

  Now, I know that even in the face of adversity, and the loss of the companionship of my dear cousin, that all things eventually work for the greater good. I would have loved to have my cousin grow up with me, as I had nay a sibling of my own and Andara was the closest thing to one of those, but aye, she was needed to help raise a girl that would one day befriend Bronwyn in a time and place where she was the outsider. This woman, Rhianna, would encourage the love to form between Sir Drew and Bronwyn because she could easily see how they were drawn to one another, despite Bronwyn’s denial of just such a match. She would then encourage Bronwyn to embrace her rightful lineage and heritage; the Path I had given my life for.

  I was happy to learn of Andara’s influence in both Rhianna’s life and Bronwyn’s as well. I was pleased that Andara had nay given up the ways my mother had fought to keep as part of who we are. I felt, then, that my mother’s life had nay be in vain. Her sacrifice to keep us safe was well heeded and we could practice our Ways, in secret of course, but in relative peace.

  I was also pleased to learn that my cousin had lived to be a ripe old age, as I had and that she enjoyed the joys that the children of Rhianna and Erik brought when they raised their own brood of babes. Ye’ know, as women with no living children of our own, these babes became like our verra’ own grandbabies for us to love.

  It would seem that for Andara, it was nay different. With the young children thriving, Andara could be part of their lives and watch them grow. She could teach them the things so near and dear to our hearts and she found the love returned for her care of these charges. It gladdens my heart to know that her long life was filled with people who saw to her comforts in her old age and who surrounded her with love. I know it had to be hard for her to leave her own mother’s side at so young an age and to enter almost into a life of servitude until she found a worthy mate had been picked for her. Aye, I missed growing up with her, but life has a way of smoothing those minor hurts with good things that can act as a balm for a heavy heart.

  Chapter Twenty-Five – Holy Men and False Prophets

  I have alluded to those men of power in high authority who destroyed the beauty of my youth and I will speak of them now and ne’er mention them again. I hope that in telling my tale, I will finally banish their memory from my heart, or at the very least, purge them from the place that the pain still dwells; even now so many years after their scourge ravaged through our land.

  Pagans we were called; by the ones sent from the seat of power, which was the Church. At first, none of us cared what we were called, as names dunna’ make a person or change a person. While the names seemed to be cast as hurtful titles to make us appear lesser in some ways, they really did nay bother those of us who followed the Old Path. We knew who we were and we knew what we did was nay an abomination of nature.

  We did nay think of ourselves as witches or sorcerers. We simply used the laws of nature and combined the things that many tried to explain away with a strong faith that even those following the One God could not avow to. I would say that some of our sense of faith was deeper rooted than those who claimed their Christianity as a badge of honor. I am nay speaking ill of the Christian God, for in my life; I came to know Him and have learned to love Him, as well. I have learned that my Ways are gifts that come from Him and so, while ye’ canna’ actually call me Catholic, I am nay just a heathen because of the customs I practice.

  When I was still a verra’ small lass, I started to sense the tension in my parents when they taught me the things that made us different from those who called themselves holy men. While my parents tried their best to protect me from the nastiness of the words, I was an astute child and I knew that the words were nay what worried my mother and father. I did nay understand what made them appear with fear in their eyes when those men robed in their finery came through our lands. I knew it had to be something far more hurtful and dangerous than names or accusations against our kind. I had yet to learn just what sort of evil men could commit against one another and so I was naïve in the face of their unholy quest to route us out and make us
forsake the things that were really part of our very souls.

  When I was but a child, I remember my mother cautioning me to have a care when I spoke of the rituals and celebrations that made up my childhood. At the time, I thought it to be some sort of game and it made the practices all the more intriguing to me because of the secrecy we were sworn to keep. By the time I was nearly ten and two years, I saw firsthand the cruel and evil things these supposed men of God did in the name of the One Faith.

  One of the young girls in our village had been caught by a man who said he was sent to banish the devil where he lived; which was in the hearts of us pagans. The lass had been weaving garlands for a Sabbat, and had not been careful to hide the straw and flowers before the robed man grabbed her and hauled her before more like him. I will never forget him.

  I hid behind an elderberry bush and watched as he dragged her away. Slapping her to quiet her screams was the least that would be done to her before the day was over. As I wanted so badly to race to save her, my father grabbed hold of me and put his hand over my mouth so I would nay scream. Alas, the tortured sounds of that girl still haunt me, as did my own mother’s, years later. I remember crying angry tears of frustration when my father brought me back to my mother’s side in our cottage. I wanted to do something--anything, but my parents knew there would be nothing we could do; not for the young girl nor for our future. The die had been cast and our time of peace was soon to end.

  Och, I can still see that disgusting little man with his hair so black, it looked as if he had rubbed soot from the depths of hell into it. His face was soft and beardless, and he almost looked like a youth himself. There was almost a feminine quality about him and I daresay he knew how to elude us all because of it. He was small of stature, too, like that of a small boy. This priest was nay a youth at all, but his unnatural look about him was misleading and disarming. He used that against us; to his very advantage. He spoke with a voice that reminded me of a man not fully grown, but his demeanor could not hide his hatred for people like me or my mother and it could nay hide the evil that lurked in his black heart.