WindSwept Narrows: #7 Francine Kendall

by Diroll-Nichols, Karen

  “If you take Mac up on his offer, you might enjoy the shooter type games…a lot of guys I know use them as stress relievers. Again, some are straight forward mission type things,” she explained, trying to keep it simple.

  “You can enter this same game and solve puzzles together?” He asked curiously.

  “I could…but because you built that on my account…you would have to install the game and get an online account on your own computer. But you can level the toon very quickly. They have new ones coming out the first week of December. Werewolves,” she whispered dramatically. “On the Alliance side. As in most conflicts, there are two sides, good and not so good,” she explained with a shrug. “I couldn’t get into the not so good side. My girls are all on the Alliance side.”

  Donovan pushed the keyboard back and sat back in the chair, his wrist tipped up. “I can’t believe I was doing that for over an hour.”

  “It’s relaxing…and simple fun. It takes your mind from the trials of the day and can be quite relaxing. Every minute of every day doesn’t have to be filled with something that will save the world or be other wise redeeming. Sometimes your mind just needs to do nothing…for your sanity and your health,” Frannie put her palm up over the yawn that broke free. “Excuse me…there’s a Highland Festival tomorrow evening. Would you like to come with us? They have excellent games to watch and food and booths with all sorts of fun things. It’s Friday night…”

  “I’d love to, thanks for inviting me,” Donovan stood up and went to the door, trying to remember why he’d come to her study to begin with. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Good night, Donovan,” Frannie nodded and turned lights out, climbing the stairs to her bedroom.

  ****

  She kept thinking she would be prepared for the power of his anger and anxiety; the sensations of his fury bursting into her sleep and sending her bolting upright in the center of her bed.

  Donovan was positive he heard her voice. He could see her, standing with her palm out to him. Yet he felt himself holding back. He didn’t want her to see him like this, dressed in kevlar and camo, carrying weapons. He didn’t want her to see the death at his feet; the death he was unable to stop.

  He had been too late. He translated and questioned as fast as he could but the answers were never quick enough. He felt her palm touching his face. She didn’t mind the dirt or tears. She ignored his hesitance and took his hand in hers, the gentle words he could read on her lips telling him he wasn’t to blame. Telling him to allow the dead to rest in peace. To let them go.

  Frannie felt his body slowly sink into a deeper sleep, the tension in his shoulders and neck fading as the anger in his dreams evaporated. This time, he didn’t wake until just before dawn. She breathed a sigh of relief as she slid from his room, heading to a long shower.

  Donovan rolled to his back, his palm stretching out and once more landing on the long stretch of warmth that ran on the opposite side of the bed. He swore he heard the door close and sat up, pushing his feet over the side by the window. In the darkness, he saw the small towel sitting on the floor next to two narrow ballet slippers.

  He set them both on the window bench, inhaling the herbs. They had been in his dreams the last few nights. Since he first began sleeping at the house. Since he started to feel like he had a decent nights rest. He wasn’t surprised that the evidence was gone when he came out of the shower, dressing quickly and heading to breakfast.

  Frannie wandered into the dining room a few minutes later, a small yawn breaking free as she poured juice and took a long swallow. Her dress was a deep green plaid today, with a small pouch hanging at her waist. The dress stopped mid calf and she was wearing a pair of feminine looking hiking boots.

  “I’ll be ready to go at one, Francine,” Alister told her before dropping a kiss to her head and wandering to his study.

  “We’ll be here, father,” she said instantly, carrying a slice of toast with her to the front, her cloak draped around her shoulders and tote in her other hand.

  “You’re running late this morning,” Donovan commented lightly, scowling at the expanse of chest betrayed as she climbed into the SUV.

  “Just a little,” she agreed, buckling her belt and pulling the cloak around her.

  “Not sleeping?”

  “Oh, no…I couldn’t find the boots I wanted and then I…I misplaced something else I was searching for…” She shrugged absently.

  “What kind of herbs would you use to help a person sleep?” Donovan asked as he started the car, watching her expression. She stared straight ahead as she talked.

  “There are several soothing herbs and numerous ways to administer them. Candles are the most common, though the more soothing type herbs generally aren’t used in candles and you really don’t want to go to sleep with a candle burning,” she explained easily. “Some come in capsules to take before bed or even a nice tea can be made from many soothing herbs. They generally have an effective length of four hours, depending on how much the person needing sleep fights the effects. I prefer using strong oils on a light cloth. It works amazingly well since it’s taken in while you breathe. I worked for a year in an elder hospice and used oils a great deal,” she said softly.

  “A year…” He repeated in amazement.

  “Death is part of life. It can be peaceful and simple. It can be a choice. When the choice is taken away…that’s when it’s wrong,” she said quietly. “The people left behind…it can be very sad…so many don’t want the people to live in pain, yet they are afraid to live without them.”

  “You believe dying should be a choice?” He asked very quietly.

  “If living is my choice, why should a state or father or husband have the right to make that choice for me? We only recently passed the death with dignity law,” Frannie closed her eyes tightly. “So many terminally ill people in the hospice…so many only want peace without pain. Yet we have a society that says no…you must suffer or be mindless on drugs until your last breath.” She drew in a long, slow breath, drawing her cloak tightly around her.

  “I’m guessing I’m dressed wrong for the Highland Games?” Donovan asked after a few quiet minutes.

  “Not wrong…it’s your choice. Lots of walking…so much to see…music and food and drink and dancing,” she said with a bright smile. “I leave at noon so I can get home in time to change, but this morning, I dressed right to begin with to save time.”

  “I noticed the boots.”

  “Well worn and some of the events are on open ground…grass and hills…I’m just glad there’ll be no rain this weekend for them,” Frannie straightened up and lifted her bag from the floor.

  “Do you have your phone handy?” Donovan asked when he pulled into the parking lot. He watched her open the small pouch she was wearing and pulling it out. “Tap this number in, please…” He gave her his cell number. “That’s me. I’ll see you here at noon, sharp.”

  “Sharp,” she repeated and jumped to the ground, making a run into the health center without looking back.

  Donovan watched the flying skirts and cloak, his mind telling him time with Frannie was spent in another decade. And a part of his conventional self was shouting that it wasn’t a very bad place to be at all.

  Administration people began leaving the buildings just before noon. Mac met Donovan on the way to the SUV.

  “Got weekend plans?” Mac asked casually, the sight of flying plaid making him grin.

  “I’m being taken to a cultural event,” Donovan said carefully, wincing as he watched long blond hair and flying cloak weave between cars and larger vehicles.

  “Let me guess…the Highland Games?” Mac stopped at the SUV with Donovan, both of them watching Frannie make her way through the traffic. “Frannie always dresses for occasions. You missed Halloween week.”

  “I caught glimpses during the interview process and paperwork,” Donovan recalled the stunning fairy in all black and the princess in shimmering crystal.

  “
We’ll be out there this weekend. It’s a fun time…great ales…good food and music. Suits definitely not the attire of the event, though,” Mac told him, striding off to find his car and Cassidy.

  Frannie came to a stop next to the SUV, eyes wide and waiting patiently for the chirp that told her it was unlocked. “Did you have a nice morning?” She asked politely, her palm up and on the handle.

  “It was productive. Wait a minute, Frannie,” Donovan came around the front and pulled the door wide, his hands immediately on her waist and lifting her to the seat.

  “Thank you. But I can…”

  “I never realized how high it was until I watched you getting in and out,” he shook his head, the door closing on her reply.

  “I can manage,” she said again when he moved easily behind the wheel. “I’m quite accustomed to climbing. Been doing it all my life. I’m very good at trees.”

  “I imagine you are…and somehow it doesn’t surprise me. Does your father usually drive to the event?”

  “Yes. This is one of the smaller ones. A sort of Celtic and Scottish celebration. I’ve been going each year since I was very small. Father has a lot of friends who are part of the travelers who set up and sell and cook and participate in the games themselves,” Frannie explained. “Donovan, just because you live there doesn’t mean you must attend things we go to. I don’t want you to feel at all like I’ve pressured you into something that’s not to your liking.”

  “You don’t think I’ll fit in?” He asked casually, easing them along with the departing traffic.

  “Donovan, there are so many different people at these events…you will be one of the less noticeable, believe me,” she said with a soft chuckle. “There are costumes and kilts and jeans and…just anything, really. Comfort is what’s most important. Delicious meat pies and puddings…..father likes sampling the ales people brew. He usually stocks up the cellar with quite a few. The really big event is during the summer in Enumclaw. There’s at least a dozen bands and drummers and bagpipes…and dancing.”

  “I’ll run change into jeans and sneakers,” he said aloud as he drove.

  “And a light jacket. If you want to follow us, you can. This way if you don’t like it you can leave,” Frannie told him.

  “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

  “No.” She answered firmly. “But I think you might do something because it’s polite and not because it’s what you want to do. You’re very…conventional that way.”

  “I’m looking forward to the cultural experience, Frannie,” he responded with matching politeness. “It’s the one thing I enjoyed in the military. I was in South Korea for a time and the middle of Europe. Both are very diverse and vastly different than the US.”

  Frannie studied him as he drove. “Just…if you wander off…if you have a stomach that doesn’t…” she frowned, struggling to find the right words. “Don’t eat anything unless you’re positive what it is…”

  Donovan’s laugh was deep and relaxed. “I’ll stay with you, that way I know it’ll be safe.”

  “That would be best,” she agreed, meeting his eyes and smiling with him. Chimes made her open the small pouch, her phone to her ear. “Hello, Father…yes, we are…almost outside…hold on and I’ll ask…would you like to drive today, Donovan?”

  “I can and we have plenty of room,” he answered.

  “He said yes…but he has to run change and then we can go. Alright…bye…” Frannie dropped her phone back into the little pouch. “Thank you. I think he’s become fond of you. It must be terribly boring to have a daughter. I never thought of that…”

  “Frannie, I don’t think he finds you the least bit boring,” Donovan said with a laugh, maneuvering the SUV for an immediate exit.

  “I meant conversation wise. I’ve listened to you two…I’ll put this in the house and wait here for you,” Frannie carried her tote inside, made certain she had a lot of cash and climbed into the back seat of the SUV, buckled in and waiting like an excited child. She smiled and waved happily when her father came out. “I told Donovan that you oft times buy ales for the cellar. There’s plenty of room back here.”

  Her gaze caught on him as he pulled the door closed, pale, short hair sparkling and a pair of sunglasses in place over the blue eyes. He kept his cotton shirt, but was rolling the sleeves up as he walked, a thick downy vest open down the front and a pair of blue jeans. He is quite handsome, she thought, smiling at him when he glanced back at her.

  “As you can tell, Donovan, Francine can barely contain herself,” Alister shared with a fatherly grin. “She’s like this on Christmas morn, as well. Pacing and wringing her hands…it’s all quite dramatic at our house. The decorations will be out before the weekend ends,” he predicted with a dire sigh.

  “She…is going to pretend not to hear either of you at the moment,” she declared loftily, ignoring their laughter. “But I have found my decorations this morning.”

  Alister handed Donovan a sheet of paper, the address punched into the dash guide and they were off. He watched her in the mirror, her head bobbing as if to music going on inside her head and then he saw the single ear piece and just smiled. She had been right about the weather. Bright sunlight sparkled off the gold and red leaves dangling on the trees and off the morning dew that had been left behind by the cold night.

  It didn’t surprise him that Frannie was out of the car before he had the engine off, running at a light hop around the front of the car excitedly.

  “I’ll see you children later…I have your number, Frannie…but if we miss one another, close at the vehicle,” he said with a nod, wandering off to the back of the entrance.

  Chapter Seven

  “Father has a lot of friends here,” Frannie told him, falling into pace with him as they wove through the vehicles to the main entrance. She put her palm up when she saw him reaching into his pocket. “No…please…my treat,” she announced, pulling money out and paying for them both, holding her fist closed for the stamp. She turned and smiled up at him, looping her arm with his. “Do you see? The outfits are incredible!”

  Donovan realized she was right. His attire was far in the background to the people around him. Young and old; dressed in period pieces and some he wasn’t quite sure which decade they were from. The smell of food caught them both and Frannie headed them to the two dozen tents and cook stoves all going at once.

  “The meat pies are delicious!” She whispered, small hands clinging tightly to his bicep as they walked among the people. She came to a stop, head up and swiveling around at the name that repeated itself loudly.

  “Fancy! Hey, Fancy girl!”

  “Gerald!” Frannie released Donovan and ran to the very large man of about forty, his knees bent as he lifted her by the waist and twirled them both in circles a few times. His hair was bright red, his bread and moustache dappled with silver and his kilt a beautiful tartan in red and blue.

  “I swear you keep getting more lovely, lass!” He declared setting her down finally after a huge bear hug.

  “It’s been a year! I missed you at the gathering,” she announced with a slight frown.

  “We couldn’t travel because of the baby,” he beamed broadly. “Mary will be happy to see you. She’s at the tent with Bella and Junie…you brought someone with you,” he asked in a lower voice, his gaze on the man watching them intently.

  “Oh! I did!” She looked around, running back and taking Donovan’s palm, pulling him along with her. “Gerald, this is Donovan Banner. Gerald is one of the long time winners in the caber toss. And Mary makes the most divine breads!”

  “Nice to meet you,” Donovan accepted the palm, aware of the hands that held his arm close to her. “Frannie’s told me a lot about the games.”

  “Never been before, have you? Well, it’ll certainly be an experience for you, especially with Fancy as a guide. Girl knows everything and everyone,” He patted her lightly on the shoulder. “Later, girl, I’m off for something to strengthen the soul.”
>
  At first, Donovan was prepared to chalk up the sound of her name as part of some of the accents he heard. Most were various places in the US, but there were others from Scotland and quite thick. The third person shouting out, “Fancy!” Had him looking up as she beamed at the younger man striding up to her, long legs betrayed by the kilt and a greeting of Frannie he was getting accustomed to. She was lifted high in the air, pale lashes wide and laughing as she was spun and set on the ground before swallowed in a bear hug.

  “Toby! Goodness…I think I need some air…”

  “Sorry, lass, forgot how delicate you are,” he teased with a wink and chuckle, his palm extended toward Donovan without pausing. “Toby Graham, old friend of the little Fancy here.”

  “Donovan Banner…new friend,” he returned with a friendly shake.

  “You know I’d never miss the games, Toby,” she couldn’t stop her gaze from sweeping the colors, sounds and scents that assaulted them. “I’m starving…I’ll buy us meat pies, Donovan…beef or pork?”

  “Pork,” he answered instantly, watching her wait in line several feet from them.

  “You’ve broke a few wild dreams showin’ up with Fancy today,” Toby commented casually.

  “Oh? She never said…”

  The large man laughed. “She wouldn’t, now would she? Being Fancy I doubt she’s even aware that the boys chase her,” he remarked. “For most of them, she’s always been the daughter of the high lord landowner. She’s kind and generous and lord, she cares way more than some deserve…you always have the feeling she’s going to vanish with the mist in the mornings.”

  “Were you one of them?” Donovan asked, listening curiously.

  “A long time back…” He admitted honestly, a trace of whimsy in his voice. “Perhaps when she was barely twenty. Can’t imagine a man on the circuit that didn’t have a crush on Fancy.”

  “How’d she get the name?” He finally asked.