by Sandy Blair
Birdi’s hopes soared as she pushed open the door.
Inside, the croft was dark and musky, the air heavy with the scent of age, rosemary, and peat. Birdi took a cautious step forward and then another.
“To ye left, dearie.” She turned and found a wizened woman half her height sitting only a foot from her in a willow chair much like the one her mother had crafted.
Straining to see, Birdi asked, “We’re ye truly expecting me?”
Auld Maggie rose and took Birdi’s hands in hers. As gnarled as the auld woman’s hands were, Birdi was surprised to find them warm and strong.
“Nay,” she cackled, “but those here about expect me to say such, so I always do.” She waved to a stool. “Sit.”
Birdi’s heart sank, and she pulled her hand from the woman’s grasp. “‘Tis my mistake. I dinna...”
“Bairn, sit. I do sense that ye’re more than I shall ever be, which is why I didna lie when ye asked.”
“Oh.” Feeling a bit better, Birdi sat, but on the edge of the stool should she need to bolt the four steps to the door.
“Now, why would such as ye be coming to me?” the auld woman asked.
Birdi folded her hands in her lap, deciding it would be best to just be honest and be done with it. “I’m with child and fear this babe will be born blind but with a gift far more potent than mine.”
“Hmm. And why would ye believe such? Is this bairn’s sire a spae such as yeself?”
“Oh, nay. Angus is just a man. Nay, I dinna mean he’s just any man. I meant—”
“I ken what ye mean, lass.” Auld Maggie ruminated for a minute as she studied Beth. “Who told ye the babe would be born blind?”
“Minnie.”
“And would she have been Rowena of Loch Ard Forest.”
Birdi’s heart tripped. “How...? Did ye ken my mother?”
“Aye, long ago.” She shook her head in sad fashion. “‘Tis nay small wonder ye fash as ye do.”
Birdi frowned. “Speak plainly.” She’d loathed riddles since childhood. She also had too much at stake to waste time pondering.
“Yer mother was always odd, even by our standards. But after she fell in love with that Druid—”
Birdi shook her head. “What Druid?”
“Yer sire, lass, did she not tell ye?”
“Nay. Tell me now.”
Auld Maggie cocked her head and studied her for a moment. “As ye wish.” She then settled back in her chair, her arms crossed beneath her shriveled breasts. “One day yer mother was out gathering grain and her leg got caught in a snare, the Druid’s. He admitted he’d spied her on several occasions and had deliberately set the trap to catch her.”
“But why?”
“He told her he was from Eire land, from across the sea, and he’d never in his travels seen a more bonnie lass than she.” The auld woman looked at her fire. “Ye ken that our lives can be lonely, so it took nay great effort on his part to woo and tup her, all in short order. He was, according to yer mother, handsome beyond words.” She squinted at Birdi. “Given yer beauty I dinna doubt that he was. Since ye dinna have her eyes, ye must have his.”
Birdi had often thought so as well. “And then what happened?” Why had her mother grown to hate?
“He left her when she began to show with child...with ye. He told her his work was done—he’d planted his seed as he’d pledged. And then he just disappeared. Poof. Gone.”
Auld Maggie sighed. “Ye mother nearly lost her mind then. She loved the Druid as only a young woman could and now kenned that he’d done naught but use her for his own purposes. She continued to come to the gatherings for a few more seasons, but she no longer was as she once was. Then she stopped coming all together. I often wondered what happened to her...and ye.”
“She was gorged by a boar and died.”
“Ah, and when was this?”
“When I was but a bairn.”
“So who raised and trained ye?”
“No one. What do ye mean by train?
Auld Maggie leaned forward, her eyes narrowed. “Pardon?”
“In what should I be trained?”
Frowning, Auld Maggie reached for her hand. “Tell me what ye sense.”
Birdi shrugged and closed her eyes. “Yer hips and knees ache enough to bring ye to tears. Ye’re ready to die, but dinna wish for it. Ye’re waiting, waiting for—”
“Enough.” Auld Maggie settled back in her chair. “What would ye do if I asked for ye help?”
Birdi described her way of healing.
“And then?”
“I’d find my bed and wait out the pain.”
“As I suspected.” Auld Maggie heaved a great sigh. “No wonder ye fash. Lass, there’s nay need for ye to suffer so.”
As she came to her feet, she grumbled, “At least she had the decency to teach ye about Goddess.” She threw a block of peat on the fire, making sparks fly. “Birdi, there are ways to protect yer—”
A cry rang out, startling them both. Birdi came to her feet. The door blew open and Lady Beth stumbled inside, keening, “Hide!” The crash of steel on steel echoed off the walls of the croft before she slammed the door behind her. Panting, she threw her weight against Birdi. “‘Tis the Macarthur and his men.”
“Angus!” Birdi pulled from Beth’s embrace.
Beth latched on to her arm before Birdi could pull open the door again. “No! You can’t go out there. Not now.”
“How many Macarthurs are there?”
Tears welled in Beth’s eyes. “Too many, but more of ours will come.” She then prayed, “Please, God, let it be soon.”
Auld Maggie scurried to the right. A moment later she pressed a small blade into Birdi’s palm and long bone needles in Beth’s. “Help me tip the table. Hie!”
Beth pulled on Birdi’s arm. “Come, do as the woman asks.”
Birdi nodded, her mind pleading, “Please, Goddess, please help Angus, please...”
The shouting and clanging beyond the door escalated as Beth grabbed her end of the table. Just as they tossed the heavy plank onto its side, the sunshine suddenly shot through the room. Over the women’s screams a man of Birdi’s height shouted, “The spae, grab her!”
Birdi raised her blade in defense, but strong calloused hands grabbed her wrist and squeezed. Her fingers numbed, the blade fell as he jerked her forward and Lady Beth keened.
The Macarthur captain hauled Birdi, kicking and screaming, out of the croft. They’d not traveled three steps into the chaos when he grunted and suddenly arched. Beth had managed to drive her bone needles into the man’s back. Wavering, he swung his left arm back in an effort to clout Beth, but Birdi jerked to the right pulling the man with her. He growled deep in his throat as they fell. His grip loosened and Birdi wrenched free. She staggered to her feet and heard Beth scream, “Run, Birdi!”
Blood roaring in his ears, Angus pulled his gaze from the Macarthur and saw Birdi plastered again the croft’s wall.
“Run!” ripped from his throat as his claymore flew in low arch to counter the Macarthur’s left-handed thrust. As the Macarthur spun with the impact, a less skilled but no less determined warrior charged him. Angus dispatched the man with a swift slice to the chest. To the right he saw Duncan do the same to another invader. He then heard pounding feet crossing the bridge. As Ian’s MacKay battle cry rent the air, a trumpet blasted in alarm. Thank God.
He focused again on the Macarthur liege only to find the man’s gaze focus on Birdi. Angus bellowed, “Macarthur!”
The man refocused on Angus, his eyes gleaming black and his blade high in his left hand. Easing to his left, he made a come hither movement with the steel encased stump that had once been his right hand.
Their blades clashed. They pushed off and Angus swung right. The Macarthur countered with surprising dexterity.
Ah, he’s been preparing.
Needing to get to Birdi, kenning the Macarthur’s one arm would be no match for his two, Angus gripped his blade with bo
th hands. As he raised the claymore above his head, he saw something flash by to his left. He brought his blade down and the Macarthur staggered. He raised the claymore again with both arms for the killing blow and heard Birdi keen.
Startled and fearing the worst—that another Macarthur had grabbed her—he glanced left. To his horror, a huge wolf had Birdi’s hand in his massive jaw. Haunches pulling, shackles high, he was backing around the croft with her. Angus opened his mouth to shout and something tore through his middle.
He looked down in surprise to find the Macarthur’s blade had gutted him. Something hot and furious exploded in his chest.
Blind and deaf to all but the rage boiling within—that despite all, he still hadna been strong enough to protect Birdi, that a sloth like the Macarthur should be his undoing—his blade fell on the grinning Macarthur chieftain. When the familiar sensation of steel tearing flesh and bone vibrated into his hands, he let loose the hilt and he sank to his knees, his hands reaching for his gashed middle.
He looked down at the blood and matter oozing through his fingers, but saw only Birdi being dragged away. Ack, Birdi, please forgive me. I meant only to keep ye safe.
As he toppled to his side whispering, “Save Birdi,” he saw the Macarthur lying before him, claymore still trapped in his chest.
At a great distance he heard voices. Someone rolled him and the sun warmed his cheek, then that too faded.
Forgive me, Birdi.
Chapter 22
Huddled within the dense bushes behind Auld Maggie’s croft, with Wolf’s great head clutched to her chest, Birdi reverently prayed for Angus’s safety and for those she’d come to care about.
The Macarthur had come for only her, and now innocent men were screaming and dying. Crying out for help. Were the cries those of the MacDougall’s or Ian’s? If so, she would never forgive herself. Or they forgive her. So much need battered her head and chest, but she sought only one. She would heed only one.
Wolf’s head came up and he started to whine. As he pulled at her skirt she realized the sound of battle had ceased. Oh, Goddess...
She then heard someone calling her name. She dashed the tears from her cheeks and rose but kept a hand on Wolf. Who had called her? The Macarthur? Oh, Angus.
“Birdi! Birdi!”
‘Twas Lady Beth’s husband! Thank ye Goddess, thank ye. But where is Angus?
With one hand on the wall, her other on Wolf, she ran back to the front of the croft, Wolf whining at her side.
Beth was the first to spy her and screamed, “Wolf!”
Before someone could throw a blade as Angus once had, she held up a hand and yelled, “Halt!”
Wolf, his ears back, snarled as if Birdi’s life depended on it. “Sssh, ‘tis alright. They’re friends.”
Wolf only snapped his jaws and growled louder.
Hoping she sounded calmer than she felt, she said, “No one move. Stand right where ye are. He’ll not harm me nor ye...if ye remain calm.”
She heard a man’s heavy breathing and looked right, her hope soaring. “Angus?”
A deep voice murmured, ““Tis I, Duncan.”
Why wasna Angus the one coming to her? “Where’s Angus?”
“Yon. Beth tends him.”
She yelped, “Tends?” and Wolf began to growl again. She placed a hand on his head. “Sssh, dautie, sssh.”
To Duncan she said, “Bring me to him. Now.” If Angus was injured, why hadna he reached out to her? Why was the need not full upon her? What ailed him? Was he not awake?
Duncan took her shaking hand. With every step Birdi prayed. When they came to a halt, his voice cracked as he whispered, “Here he is.”
“Oh, Angus, nay!”
Angus opened his eyes when he heard Bird’s strident keen, then felt her cool hands rush over him.
Fearing what would happen next, knowing he was dying, he choked out, “Get her away.”
Lady Beth murmured, “But Angus-”
Eyes closing, accepting what must be, he again ordered, “Take her away!”
Duncan growled, “Let her help.”
Angus shook his head. “Get Ian.”
His liege and lady didn’t understand what would happen should Birdi be allowed to touch him. Angus had deliberately shaded the truth in an effort to ease Birdi’s way into the clan. Only Ian knew the whole truth, and he would haul her away.
Duncan said, “Ian’s with the men chasing the last of the Macarthurs.” He placed a hand on Angus’s shoulder. “Let her help ye if she can. She loves ye.”
Angus struggled to open his eyes. “Aye. ‘Tis why she must go.”
As the light and arguing voices faded and all turned black, Angus regretted not being able to tell Birdi a final time that he loved her. He then wished he could see his Birdi’s beautiful eyes just one more time before he died.
Birdi jerked with awareness. There. She felt it, the need. Aye, he called but weakly. Heart hammering against her ribs, she ordered Duncan and Beth away, fearing if they touched Angus, Goddess wouldn’t come. She pushed back Wolf where he lay by her side then squatted, her feet spread wide beneath her in firm contact with Mother of All.
Shadows moved and voices murmured in question all around her. “Only for ye, dearest Angus, would I give my life.”
Birdi bent toward his ear, “Believe and trust in me.”
Praying his response wasna truly necessary, she placed cross palms upon his horrid wound and closed her eyes. Tears coursed down her cheeks as she pleaded aloud in the auld language, “Mother of All, ‘tis I, Birdi, and I beseech ye to come and help this man I love. Come, please, I beg ye.” An interminable number of heartbeats passed before she felt tingling heat moved up her legs. Her heart then slowed of it’s our accord, and her hands stopped shaking. Mother of all was again within her, and all would be well.
Birdi studied the scar marring Angus’s broad forehead, admired the fine shape of his lips and jaw a final time. Kenning full well what would happen and kenning even Auld Maggie could do naught to save her she said, “I, Birdi, take upon myself this wound so that this man I love may live.” As she waited for what would come, a strange calm settled over her. Her bairn would die with her, aye, but ‘twas just as well. No bairn, no matter how loved or wanted, should have to suffer more than she already had as surely it would.
Pain—worse than any she’d ever experienced—suddenly tore through her middle. Birdi doubled over. Unable to breathe, she toppled. Loud gasps from those around her followed.
Strong arms hauled her up and cradled her. How kind. A gruff voice growled, “What the hell is happening?” She kenned the arms about her to be Duncan’s. Oh, she hadn’t meant to frighten him so.
As the agitated voices grew distant, she whispered, “Tell Angus...I loved him.”
~#~
Angus reluctantly let go of Birdi’s hand so Duncan and one of the oarsman could carry Birdi up Blackstone’s bailey stairs. As they entered the great room, he found Beth scrubbing her hands in hot water. She nodded toward the table while Birdi’s wolf howled as if his heart were breaking on Drasmoor’s shore. “Put her down there. Auld Maggie, get over here.”
Dear God, how had this happened? Angus, pulled back from a black abyss, had opened his eyes and found his gut closed and Birdi stretched out across Duncan’s arms, her middle bleeding and open.
Beth tore open the cloth bundles she’d prepare in the event of accident or war.
Angus, tears cascading down his still blood smeared face, reached for Birdi’s hand. “Can ye help her?”
“I’m sure as hell going try.” Lady Beth reached for her boiled cotton rags and began cleaning the edges of Birdi’s huge wound. After muttering to herself about something called a hosputal, Beth said, “Maggie, I’m going to need all the help I can get. Prayer, poultices, whatever else ye can offer.”
The old woman, pale and apparently as shocked as the rest of them, nodded and started crooning in a language Angus had hear only once before.
Afte
r a few minutes of watching Beth’s hands shake every time the damn wolf howled, Angus growled, “Will somebody please shut that beast up or get him over here?”
He still couldn’t believe the furry menace—what he now understood to be her pet—had tracked them such a great distance.
Duncan ordered two men to take a boat across the bay. “Try feeding it. As a last resort fetch it back.”
Recalling the angry farmers of Inveraray, Angus said, “Try giving it a chicken, a pullet.”
Duncan leaned toward his wife. “What else can I do?”
“Keep the boiling water coming. Birdi’s more likely to die from infection—festering—than blood loss.”
‘Twas also Angus’s fear. Birdi’s horrendous bleeding had, thankfully, already eased.
Finished with cleaning the wound, Lady Beth pulled silk threads and needles from her bundle. “Hold her tight.”
Angus wrapped an arm about Birdi’s shoulders and pressed his forehead to hers. Duncan moved to hold down her ankles.
When Birdi didn’t so much as flinch with the first stitches, Angus’s fear escalated.
After an hour Beth finally straightened. Birdi had a neat row of stitches—thirty in number—just below her waist. Now slathered in ointment and wrapped in clean sheeting, Birdi was as tended as Beth’s and Auld Maggie’s skills could manage.
Lady Beth stepped back from the table. “Now all we can do is pray.”
Angus murmured, “Thank ye.”
Holding Birdi’s flaccid hand, he bent his head. Please, dear God, please help Birdi.
He should have died. He’d have gone willingly and faced the fires of hell. Why hadn’t she been willing to let fate take its course? Her pulse only fluttered beneath his fingers. He didna deserve her. If she survived, he would bring her back to her glen as she’d begged him to do time and again. And if she so wished it, he would stay with her. This time he would protect her.
Chapter 23
Feeling a flutter of air repeatedly rush across her fingers, Birdi wondered at the cause and opened her eyes. She smiled seeing Angus, his head level with hers, her hand firmly clasped in his near his lips, as he lay sound asleep facing her.
