by Cathy MacRae
“Baloo baleerie, baloo baleerie. Baloo baleerie, baloo balee.
Gang awa’ peerie faeries, gang awa’ peerie faeries. Gang awa’ peerie faeries, from our home now.”
Chapter 27
Gilda noticed the sparkle of silver among the rich red strands of her mother’s hair. Her ma smoothed a palm over the escaped curls framing her face, her grey eyes dark and troubled.
There is much to worry her when Da is not here. Gilda frowned. Mayhap Jamie and Finn should be fostered soon. Another jolt of conscience ran through her. Will and I are likely a source of her worry as well.
“I am not saying ye cannae marry him, Gilda. Have ye truly thought about this?”
She saw the concern on her ma’s face. “I am only telling ye how I feel about Conn and that he has asked me to marry him. ’Tis not something that is going to happen tomorrow. I will talk to Da when he returns from Troon. King Robert cannae keep him there forever, aye?”
Her ma peered around distractedly and stepped to a chair, patting the cushion of the one next to it in invitation. “Sit with me a moment, Gilda. Tell me what is in yer heart.”
Gilda seated herself beside her ma, turning so she angled close to her. “I know the MacLaurey clan doesnae border our lands, but it isnae so far that an alliance with them wouldnae be helpful. Mayhap Niall and the twins, and even wee Sara will marry into neighboring clans.” She laid a comforting hand on her ma’s. “Morven isnae so far away.”
“Och, ’tis not the distance, Gilda, though my heart would be lighter were ye settled closer. Once ye are married with a home and family of yer own, ’twill be difficult for ye to visit no matter where ye live.” She pulled her hand from beneath Gilda’s and clasped it, giving it a quick tug. “Ye were married to Ryan—”
“So briefly, Ma. I scarcely felt wed, and certainly wasnae in charge of my home.”
“Listen to me, Gilda. Ye were wed and have a son. Will is the heir to the Macraig lairdship. If ye marry Conn MacLaurey, what will happen?”
Gilda sagged in her chair. The happiness she’d carried with Conn’s loving words evaporated in a whoosh of reality. “If Conn adopted him, Will would inherit Morven.”
“I doubt Laird MacLaurey will be happy with such.”
“Nor would Laird Macraig. I still dinnae like him trying to use Will to manipulate the rest of us.”
“The Macraig is a verra sad man, a stor. He has made decisions he felt he needed to, but they werenae always for the best, and they have shaped his life. He is alone except for Lissa, now, and though he doesnae approve of ye, Will is his only link to his son.”
Gilda sighed. “Aye. I feel sorry for him, but he should learn to love. He makes everyone around him struggle to please him, and ’tis never enough.”
“I understand not wanting to raise Will at Ard around Laird Macraig, though he must get to know his clan and their ways. If ye marry Conn, ye take Will away from his birthright.”
Hot tears stung Gilda’s eyes. “Do ye think I should never marry, never have a husband or other children? Other women arenae asked to remain widows all their lives!” Gilda bit her lip to stem the bitter words and hurt churning inside.
“Other women arenae mother to the clan heir. I am not saying ye cannae remarry. Only, ye must consider all the consequences.”
“I dinnae consider the consequences when I married Ryan.” Tears threatened to build and she held the words in her heart, scarcely able to breathe. “I loved him so much! I couldnae imagine life without him. And now…”
“Och, Gilda. ’Tis not yer fault he died so young. Please think on this until yer da comes home. I want both ye and Will to be happy. Truly I do.”
Gilda nodded past the bleakness she felt inside. Her ma rose from her chair, a sad smile on her face. Settling a quick kiss to the top of Gilda’s head, she bustled from the room, leaving Gilda alone with her thoughts.
Long moments passed as Gilda stared at the open window across the room. Beyond the thick rock walls lay treasured memories of her childhood. Waves crashed on the rocks far below and the sound reminded her of the white shells which fascinated her as a child, drawing her to the beach. The memory pulled her gaze to the mantle above the fireplace where a handful of white shells still resided. Her old, tattered cubbie in the corner glinted with the residue of mineral shards and finely ground shell.
Angel shells. She drew in a quick breath as another memory surfaced. Is grandda an angel? Warmth filled her. Though he had died when she was a small child, he had been so loving and kind to her. She wanted that for Will, not harsh words from a man so embittered with his own past.
I was looking for faerie shells. Gilda’s lips curved fondly. The first time she’d met Ranald, he’d appeared as a hero to her, striding through the waves that had caught her unawares, trapping her on a rock away from shore. With calm assurance, he’d plucked her from the rock and whisked her back to the beach. Though she’d lost her shoes and disobeyed the rule against going near the water without an adult, he’d not scolded her. Well, only a wee bit.
Oh, how she wanted the same memories for her son. Braw, fair men ready to praise and correct in equal measure. Kind, indulgent women to laugh at his boyhood mischief and care for his skint knees with a kiss and a hug. She wanted Will to grow up loved, knowing the difference between leading and controlling, between honor and disgrace.
What will his fate be if Conn raises him as his own? Gilda stood and walked hesitantly to the window. She leaned against the open frame, the sun full on her face. She closed her eyes, feeling the warmth, breathing the sea-tainted air.
I dinnae want him to feel less a son. How to raise him as Conn’s son, and yet not? Ranald never treated me as less than his daughter—but I never stood to inherit Scaurness.
With a frustrated sigh, Gilda turned her back to the window and slouched against the stone, her arms hugging her waist. Would it be best for Will if she didn’t remarry? Her heart twisted. She couldn’t love again as she did Ryan. It still hurt.
Tears sprang from her eyes and she did not stop them as they slid faster and faster down her cheeks.
* * *
Gilda eyed the two men as each bobbed his head and endured her gaze. Tall, strong, stern and fully armed, the men appeared menacing, even standing still.
She turned to Finlay. “Is it truly necessary for me to have a guard to visit Tavia?”
The look he gave her was sympathetic, but he nodded, dashing her hopes for time to herself. “Ye know ye need to be protected. Ye are the laird’s daughter and mother to young William, the Macraig heir. I promised yer da ye would have a guard wherever ye went.”
“A guard?” She stared pointedly at the two soldiers. “I count two.”
Finlay’s face took on a long-suffering appearance as he lifted one brow and his lips threatened a frown. “Sweetling, dinnae fash with me. I’ve known ye since Ranald pulled ye from the water, yer hair in snarls and yer shoes lost to the selkies. Ye have me wrapped around yer little finger, but I willnae risk yer safety away from the castle.” He jerked his head at the other two men. “Yon lads will be discrete. Ye will hardly know they are there.”
Gilda rolled her eyes, knowing she would not win an argument with her da’s captain. “They take up entirely too much space not to notice them. I suppose they could be useful, though.”
Both men stared straight ahead, though Gilda was certain one shuddered, as though resigned to the task of playing fetch-carry for whatever she brought back from the healer’s cottage.
“I will be back later this afternoon. Hopefully before young William awakes from his nap.”
Finlay beamed at her. “The lad is growing. Two months old and holding his head up well. He has a strong grip, too.”
Gilda’s smile wavered. “Aye. He is a braw lad. He looks a lot like his da.”
Finlay placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “His da would be proud of him, lass.”
“Aye.” She took a deep breath. “I must head to the beach if I am to mak
e it back in a couple of hours.” Accepting his help to mount, she reined her mare toward the castle gates.
Urged by the longing for a bit of freedom, she kicked Fia into a gallop across the field to the head of the trail leading down to the beach. Ignoring the soldiers who flanked her at a slight distance, she clung to her mare’s back, relishing the crisp wind in her face, the snap of Fia’s mane across her hands, and the surging muscles of the horse beneath her. She slowed the mare to a safer pace as they plunged down the rocky path, then sped across the beach to Tavia’s cottage, nestled against the stark cliffs beneath the castle.
Slipping lightly from Fia’s saddle, Gilda stumbled as her feet hit the ground. Surprised at the tremor in her leg muscles, she straightened, smoothing her skirts as she reached for her basket. By the time she untied the wicker cubbie, her legs were steady and she gave a cheery wave to the soldiers who quickly posted themselves at each end of the cove.
“Auntie! Auntie Tavia, I’m here! And see what Cook sent you!”
The cottage door opened and Tavia’s wizened face peered out. “Come inside, lass,” she bade Gilda. “Leave yer guards outside.”
Gilda slipped inside and placed her basket on the table. Instantly the sights and smells familiar since early childhood calmed her, and she breathed deeply of the mingled scents of dried herbs, a simmering fish stew, and the milk goat tethered in her stall beneath the eaves.
She flopped into the nearest chair and began emptying the basket’s contents. “Cook sent ye bread, some meat pies, and pastries.”
Tavia slid another chair out next to Gilda and sank onto its seat. “Of course Cook sent pastries. Likely there is an extra one in there for ye as well.”
Gilda laughed. “Verra likely. She knows me too well.”
Tavia was silent and Gilda looked up sharply. “Auntie? Are ye well?”
A quick glance told her the old woman seemed smaller, older, more tired. Her hearty, no-nonsense manner had always made the tiny healer appear larger than life, and even the most dour man in Scaurness did her bidding. Today, the ancient woman seemed to have shrunk, her small frame barely supporting her wrinkled, leathery skin and stringy muscles. And when had her grey-streaked hair turned white?
Piercing blue eyes met hers and for a moment held Gilda’s fears at bay.
“A stor, I have lived longer than most women and certainly most men. I was yer ma’s nurse and her ma’s before her. I have had the keeping of ye more times than I can count. Mayhap I appear a wee bit tired today?”
“Mayhap ye need someone to help ye, Auntie.”
Tavia placed a feather-light hand on Gilda’s. “In this tiny cottage? I can care for it quite nicely, and another body just clutters up the place. Thank ye, lass, but I dinnae need help. Young Agnes and I can fend for ourselves.” She gave the goat a grimace. “Though, mayhap one of yer soldiers could replace the straw in her stall while he’s here. Useful things, guards,” she mused as she rose and gave the stew over the fire a quick stir with a wooden spoon.
Gilda laughed, only partly reassured with Tavia’s words. “I will send one of them in. I must run up to the berry patch and collect whatever is ripe for Cook’s pastries.”
Tavia waved her away with a flick of her spoon and Gilda grabbed her cubbie and headed outside. The soldiers exchanged glances at Gilda’s request.
“Nae, milady. We will both help Tavia when we return. One guard with ye away from the castle isnae enough.”
Gilda did not argue, sensing no way to change their resolve. Humming, she strolled down the beach, her basket dangling from one hand, the guards trailing behind.
As she reached the edge of Macrory land, she peered over her shoulder, wondering if her guards would object if she edged a wee bit over the line to the berry patches beyond the border. Deciding not to risk their immediate censure, she angled away from the beach into the brush. Perhaps they would not be so vigilant if she approached the previously forbidden bushes from the thicket. Asking forgiveness would go farther than asking permission. And she was a Macraig now, no matter she called Scaurness home.
She edged deeper into the brambles, picking berries and dropping them into her basket. The afternoon sun beat down and her dress began to cling to her back and shoulders uncomfortably as the dense undergrowth kept the ocean’s breeze at bay. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand and pressed deeper into the thicket.
Ow! Jerking her hand back, she stuck her finger in her mouth, soothing the injured digit. Drawing it forth, she eyed the pricked spot critically before moving to the next bush.
That must be enough for today. ’Tis too hot to hunt for more. Turning carefully to avoid snagging her gown on the prickly branches, Gilda tramped back through the foliage toward the beach. Both guards glowered at her when she broke through the bramble, but visibly relaxed when they realized she was safe.
“I realize ye dinnae fit well diving in the thicket. But that also means I am quite safe there. And think of Cook’s pastries at supper tonight!”
“Milady, ye need to stay closer next time.”
The older soldier’s stern words chaffed Gilda’s patience, but at least he mentioned ‘next time.’ She motioned to a large boulder overlooking a narrow ravine. “I am going to rest a bit on yon rock. ’Tis a lovely view and the breeze will cool me.”
Leaving the two men to do as they wished, she flounced up the slope to the outcropping. Seating herself on the rock, she settled her skirts around her, drawing up her legs and leaning her cheek on her knees. She scooped her hair to one side, allowing the breeze to caress the back of her neck.
She sat there quite still for several minutes, watching a hunting hawk hanging high in the clear blue sky. A rabbit hopped hesitantly across an outcropping part way down the ravine, and just a bit further, on a sunny ledge, a young cub gamboled near an older wolf that stared across the narrow rift right at Gilda.
Her skin chilled in sudden apprehension and she turned a bit to view both guards standing nearby, each keeping a watchful eye on the beach and sparse woodland. She slid her gaze back to the wolf, curious to have it observe her so fearlessly.
The wolf lifted its right paw, and recognition dawned. ’Tis my wolf! And he has a wee cub! Happiness flooded through Gilda as she watched the cub roll and tumble. The older wolf’s jaws slacked open and his tongue lolled to the side as he panted lightly in the heat.
I agree, lad. ’Tis an unusually sweltrie day. Ye have a bonnie cub, and ye seem to be taking good care of him. Teach him to stay clear of traps. I have a bairn of my own and cannae be spending my time taking care of ye.
A smile tilted her lips as she remembered the day she met the wolf—and Ryan. “I am verra pleased to see ye safe and sound and leading a happy life,” she murmured aloud, as though the beast could hear. “That, my friend, is what I want. A happy life. And I think I know what to do.”
Chapter 28
Gilda fisted her hands on her hips and gave the room a final look. A large, sturdy bag with a rope handle perched atop the bed, crammed full of baby blankets and clothing and other bits and bobs she might need quick access to on their trip to Ard Castle. A small trunk sat on the floor, its space divided between a few of her gowns and other clothing, and the rest of Will’s baby items.
Satisfied, she tipped the chest’s lid closed and pulled the bag off the bed, cinching its neck tight. She slipped the rope over her shoulder and held her arms out to Tavia.
“I can carry Will. Have one of the men carry the chest down.”
“I can do it!” Finn shouted as he grabbed the sturdy handles.
“No! I will!” Jamie cried, pouncing on his twin to knock him aside. He spread his arms wide, trying to grasp both handles, but his span was too short.
Finn shoved him away and squatted close, hugging the trunk to his chest. His reach was no better than Jamie’s, and his face reddened as he tugged ineffectually at the weighty box.
“A pox on the both of ye wee scunners! Grab one handle each and work together,
for the love of St. Andrew! And Finley will have yer hides if ye drop it.”
Tavia handed Will into Gilda’s arms. “The two of them are enough to turn a body’s hair an early gray.”
Riona entered the room. “Och, there they are. I thought I heard a stramash in here.” She gave the twins a stern look which they ignored as they hoisted the trunk between them. Muscles straining, backs arched against the weight, they held the chest a few inches above the ground.
“We are helping Gilda!” Jamie informed his ma on a pant of exertion. Finn beamed, his face still red.
“Och, dinnae hurt yerselves or the chest. I can have one of the men carry it down,” Riona pointed out.
“We can do it.”
“I dinnae want help.” Finn glared at his brother. “Pick up yer end. ’Tis dragging.”
Jamie squinted at his end of the trunk. “’Tisn’t.”
“’Tis.”
“Lads!” The Macrory captain’s voice cut through the bickering and the twins fell silent. Gilda rolled her eyes as she jostled Will in her arms.
With a warning scowl at the lads, Finley turned his attention to her. “Are ye ready, lass?”
“Aye. I dinnae plan to be gone long.” She glanced at the baby who settled as the twins’ noise subsided. “Will is old enough to travel to Ard, and I dinnae wish to deny the laird a bit of time with his grandson.”
Finley rested a hand on her shoulder. “’Tis generous of ye, lass. I know he isnae an easy man to deal with. Lissa will be glad for yer visit.”
“I am looking forward to seeing her. She is a wee bit short of friends at Ard. And I like her.”
“Ow! Ye smashed me against the door!” A thud echoed as Finn dropped his end of the trunk. Unable to hold the chest without help, Jamie dropped his end as well.
“Look what ye did!”
“Ye crushed my hand!”
“Dinnae!”
Finn shoved his fist beneath his brother’s nose. “See!”
Finley pulled the cloth bag from Gilda’s shoulder and strode to the doorway. Hefting the chest to his shoulder, he thrust the bag into Finn’s startled grip. “Away with ye. Carry yer sister’s bag.”
