Chapter Thirteen
After a bit of a cold snap, the following day brought a bit of late summer warmth.
The sun shining down on the loch gave it a beautiful jewel-like appearance. Annie decided to freshen up. Keeping Dunneld at bay, she spent far too long swimming in the loch, and didn’t come out until her fingers were pruned. But she was thankful for his show of trust. She shimmied back into her skirt, smiling over the reaction Callum had had to something so simple as a zipper. There was so much she had taken for granted…and hardly any of those things seemed important here. Televisions, who cared? All that was on anyway was news about war, politicians sleeping with porn stars and senators sending penis pictures to their interns. Here, there was the ring of children’s laughter in the air, men shouted jests at each other over their labor, and the women worked side by side with the men. At night, they sat about the bonfire, telling stories, laughing and sharing whisky.
After nearly two weeks, everyone’s hard work was coming together—buildings taking shape, and gardens being planned for the coming spring. A young lass by the name of Fiona showed her the seeds they would sow to plant their woad. Once harvested they would create their dye from it, as well as soap and a medicinal tincture.
In return, Annie gave Morag a tip about refrigeration. As she recalled, even the outer cave was freezing and filled with mist, especially where the cooler stream met warmer air. She explained the concept of refrigeration—obviously not in the context of electrical power, because that, she sensed, was more than these people could process. But she suggested they might want to use the cave to keep their cheese and other perishables stored. It was far colder in there than it was in a butcher’s freezer. And the prospect of having old Morag’s cheese stored for far longer than they were capable of doing now excited them. She was happy. At least she would have done some good here, considering the destruction she was about to create. All their hard work was about to come undone, but it couldn’t be helped.
She had a very devious plan, and she had an unsuspecting helper in Dunneld, so she sent him to work, promising to give him her socks. He’d seemed enthralled by them as he watched her wash them in the loch. Of course, he accepted…because, indeed, winter was coming and thank God for one-size-fits-all.
Callum had a bad feeling settling in his bones.
He hadn’t set eyes on Annie all day. Neither had he spied Dunneld’s brilliant red head lumbering about. It was growing late now, and he was sweaty and tired and ready to sup and then to lock himself away with his wicked little faerie with the magic tongue and hands.
“Ha’ ye seen Annie?” he asked Morag as he passed her near the pier.
“Storehouse,” she grumbled, despite that she seemed to have softened toward Annie since Annie had discovered a way to keep Morag’s cheese fresh.
On the way he asked Brude.
His uncle stopped and scratched his head. “I saw her last going into the crannog,” he swore. “Though I canna be certain. Ask Dunneld.”
“I would if I knew where the bastard be,” Callum muttered, more to himself. And then recalled that Dunneld had agreed to take the evening shift at the cavern’s entrance this evening and he hoped to hell the man knew enough not to allow Annie into that grotto. She was a persistent little imp, and she knew precisely how to get her way. It had taken all his willpower to resist returning her crystal, for fear that it might be the only thing keeping her in the vale.
Mo chreach.
He craved the woman…like a drunkard craved whisky—which, by the by, he had a taste for at the instant and since he was near there already, he kept moving in the direction of the storehouse, fully intending to procure a dram and then to locate Annie.
Tonight he wanted to show her the sack he’d fashioned for her out of his share of the leather from their most recent hunt. She had been so disappointed by the disappearance of her dry blue sack, so he dyed this one blue, using the last of his woad paint. No more could be made until the spring, when the dye plants could be grown again and then picked. He’d pissed in the vat for three days in a row, until he was certain the stain was good and strong, and then he had immersed the leather sack into the dye bath and the color had set very well. The bright blue sack was drying now in the sun, and the thought of showing it to her pleased him immensely.
“Ach, Annie Ross, ye’re my wee fae, indeed,” he said to himself and shook his head, wondering if his Da was smiling in his grave at the thought of Callum’s restless arse settling down at last with a bonny lass.
The setting sun brought back a chill. Out of nowhere, it seemed, a thin mist crept out over the hillside, peeking over the boulder where Annie lay hidden, waiting.
“Tonight?” the familiar voice asked.
Annie recognized it, though it wasn’t until she peeked over the rock that she realized exactly who it was. Still, she blinked in shock. It was Dunneld—Dunneld with some other man. But she had distinctly heard them mention Callum by name and she was pretty certain she heard someone say something about killing him as well. Oh, no! She’d thought they were friends! And Dunneld had been so helpful earlier today when she’d had him move all the foodstuffs up here into the cave. She’d managed to convince him that it would be a safer place to keep their stores, and whatever perishables were in there would keep longer as well. The rest of the items had been easy enough for Annie to move herself. She’d put them somewhere where they might be found later after she was gone. Luckily, for the most part, everyone else had been distracted by the construction.
As she watched, Dunneld shook his head. “Why can we no’ wait for Biera, Fergus?”
“The Crannog is nearly complete now. Once everyone is settled ’twill take the gods themselves to oust anyone from this god-forsaken place.”
Dunneld tilted his head, as though pleading. “’Tis no’ so bad here,” he protested to the man he’d called Fergus. “Mayhap Finn was right? Mayhap this is the right thing to do?”
Annie thought he must be battling his conscience.
“Nay!” Fergus exploded. He was even bigger than Dunneld, with hair as fiery red as Kate’s and a twisted bird painted on his arm and shoulder—one that looked a lot like the one on Dunneld’s back. She thought she recalled this man from her first night in the vale, around the fire, but he must have remained in the shadows, never speaking. But then, of course, with Brude’s drama that night, it would have been difficult to notice anyone else. His beard, like Brude’s was forked and long, falling halfway to his fat belly. “Máel willna come here, and I willna force her,” he said.
Dunneld’s brow furrowed. “Ach, Da, but…seems to me you’re putting your own good afore that o’ the clan?”
Father and son?
“’Tis too late!” Fergus snapped. “Only the gods may intervene now!”
Annie’s brain raced. Too late? Too late for what?
She was terrified for Callum. But there wasn’t time to worry. Suddenly, she heard a terrible sound in the distance—a roar that sounded nothing at all like the explosion she had planned, but that’s what it must be. It bounced off the hillside, echoing back and forth like rocks in a can.
Both men’s heads turned in the direction of the loch. “What is that?” Dunneld inquired, frozen in a position to listen.
Fergus grinned and pulled at his beard. “That, my son, is the will of the gods.”
Chapter Fourteen
One entire side of the crannog came tumbling down, spilling into the loch with a crash that sprayed water halfway into the twilight sky.
At the monstrous sound, Callum froze on his way to the storehouse, realizing instinctively what it was. At the same instant, a second explosion echoed through the vale—this one coming from the direction of the storehouse. He turned in time to see flames shooting into the dusky sky. Within seconds, the entire building was ablaze and there was naught he could do to stop it.
Uncertain which way to go, he knew that the storehouse was lost already and that if any of his kinsmen had been ca
ught anywhere near the crannog when it fell, they could be injured, or worse, dead. With nary a second to waste, he sprinted in the direction of the loch, and then a terrible thought occurred to him. What if, as Brude had said, Annie had gone inside?
When a second explosion came, Fergus and Dunneld peered at one another, and then, without another word both went racing down the hillside, leaving the cave unguarded.
Confused by the second explosion—this one sounding much more like a detonation of combustible liquids should—Annie sat frozen, uncertain what to do.
Her gaze sought the twilight sky, searching for any sign of the new moon. None was there to be found. And yet she knew instinctively it was time. Now. Tonight she must be standing up on that ridge in that field with her Winter Stone in hand—or else.
Or else what?
Or else she would be stuck here for all time.
She would never again see her cousin Kate again—nor any of her friends. Gone would be electricity and sushi and any chance of ever buying another awesome dry sack. Most importantly, the secret of the Stone of Destiny would be lost forever—or at least until another curious truth seeker came along. But it wouldn’t be her.
Knowing it was now or never, Annie bolted up from her hiding place and raced inside. By the light of the pitch torches hanging on the cavern walls, she made her way quickly through the maze of caves and down into the lowest grotto, seizing her Winter Stone from where it had been placed on a ledge in the corner. And then as fast as her feet could take her, she made her way back out, adrenaline shooting through her veins at the realization that this was going to work after all.
In her hand, the stone remained dark for the first time since she had discovered it. Maybe its battery was shot, she thought wryly, as she rushed back through the caves, grateful for the pitch torches in their braces because the stone gave off no light.
Once outside, her feet took her automatically in the direction she knew she needed to go. Only then did the Winter Stone begin to glow…
The loch churned as bits of the crannog’s roof slid into the water. Snapping under the pressure, another pile cracked, ditching more pinewood into the loch. Callum dove in, as immense logs continued to shoot like missiles into the water, not thinking of his own safety, only that of Annie’s and his kin.
The chieftain’s quarters were half submerged, and the roof was on fire, ignited by the burning pitch torches that were put in direct contact with the lowered thatch. Black smoke billowed into the bruised sky. Behind him, the burning storehouse sent more billows of smoke heavenward, and it seemed suddenly as though they had been sent to hell itself, for the skies turned ominous, and the waters of the loch blackened beneath a smoke-filled, moonless sky.
Once the churning waters stilled, he could hear the panicked voices of his kinsmen over the roar of flames. Those of his kinsmen who could swim continued to dive in around him, searching for poor souls who might have found themselves atop the structure when it collapsed.
By the sins of Sluag—it shouldn’t have come crashing down. The building had been near to completion, and Callum had personally checked all the piles himself. They were new and sound, with solid, coated pinewood that should have lasted more than a few years.
Time after time Callum dove under the water to see what he could see, but the unsettled loch was murky and dark and the light was swiftly disappearing. His head came up suddenly, “Annie!” he shouted. “Annie Ross!”
Panic shot through him as silence replied.
Many of those who could not swim had congregated along the shore. Others ran from the loch with buckets to put out the storehouse flames. That fire burned bright and quick through the growing darkness, feeding on more than kindling. Purple and angry, the sky darkened the horizon and Callum scanned the banks to see who he could see.
Annie wasn’t there.
His heart squeezed painfully in his chest. He didn’t want to lose her—not this way. Not at all! She was the only reason he could remain here. Without her at his side, he had no will to stay. There were far better men than he to lead these people and the Destiny Stone would create its own fate, whether or not he remained in the vale.
“Annie!” he shouted again.
And then he heard her—the sound of her voice calling for him in the distance. He spun to see her racing down the hill—not her exactly, but her glowing orb. It burned like a God’s eye in her hands. She ran toward him, shouting his name, and Callum swam back toward the shore with all his might, leaving his men to continue searching the area around the fallen crannog, drawn to Annie like a metal to a lodestone.
Chapter Fifteen
The damage was immeasurable.
Half the crannog had been destroyed, with many of the roof and floor joists having slid into the loch, unrecoverable. Most of the new thatch roof had burned away, leaving the interior exposed to the elements. More wood would have to be brought down from the forests, and with winter on the way, the work ahead of them would be long and arduous.
The storehouse was gone, burned to the ground, and it was fortuitous that its contents had been moved earlier in the day. Annie had apparently done that, though not alone, Callum was certain. She’d had an accomplice though she had yet to say his name.
The fire had been set apurpose, though far more grave was the fact that the piles on the crannog had been sabotaged. A few of the load-bearing columns had been cut below the water’s surface. The rest had snapped and come tumbling down simply from the weight of it all. It was fortunate that most of the work for the day had been done, but two men and one woman had fallen into the loch, one of them dead now. Angus. Drowned, Callum may have surmised, except that his bloodless body was bloated. As far as Callum could tell, Angus had been dead for a day or more. There was foul play at work here. That much was certain.
They gathered now around Clach Tolargg, their meeting spot, to discuss the crimes committed. Everyone was present—no one excluded from these discussions. The decisions made here tonight would have far-reaching consequences, especially in regards to the stone.
“I did move the stores,” Annie confessed. “And yes I did set a fuse to the kegs—I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “But I had nothing to do with the crannog!” she denied the charge.
He’d allowed her keep to her Winter Stone apurpose. It glowed softly in her hands—a muted shade of pink. If he was right about the stone, he thought she must be telling the truth, though no one else seemed to see what he could see. They were calling for her head, and if he didn’t find a way to prove what he suspected in his heart, she would die tonight by the blade. If it came to that, he would do it himself, for it only seemed right that it should be he who took her head.
The night was so black only the light from the fire and Annie’s keek stane revealed aught. Emanating from her hands, it shone softly over her white tunic with the strange little clear knobs she had called buttons. His cloak was fastened about her neck with the brooch he had given her. And she was missing those strange garments she called socks. He noticed, however, that they were planted upon Dunneld’s feet, looking a bit queer with his leather shoes. Callum didn’t ask about that…not yet…he wanted to know something else.
He met Annie’s liquid green gaze. He could see her clearly by the light of her orb even if no one else could. “Ye managed to get your Winter Stone…why di’ ye not go?”
“It was dark,” she said softly.
Callum tilted her a look, understanding what no one else could.
“That is…until I started running toward the loch,” she said, looking him straight in the face, her lovely green eyes swimming with unshed tears. “Then it turned red, so I kept running,” she said.
All sound seemed to fade away, save for the beating of Callum’s own heart. Even the wind held sway. His heart squeezed. He peered around at his kinsmen. All of them appeared confused by her words…all except mayhap Dunneld, whose gaze was centered on Annie’s socks on his feet.
A distant wolf’s howl intruded
, the sound doleful. That’s how Annie felt right now. Her heart beat so loudly she wondered if everyone else could hear it as well, but she sensed that, like the glowing crystal in her hand, it was something only she could detect…along with Callum.
He sat upon his boulder as though it were a kingly chair, staring at her as though he were willing words into her mouth. She just didn’t know what to say to make this right. She had done so much damage tonight, but the crannog wasn’t her doing. That must have been the first roar she’d heard, and she suspected Dunneld and Fergus had had something to do with that, but if she spoke up now, and Dunneld was innocent, then he too would meet that shiny blade Callum had unsheathed and in his hand—a sword with an edge that gleamed greedily by the firelight.
She peered up into the night sky, spotting the new moon—just a tiny sliver in the sky—but the only true disappointment she felt right now was over the fact that she had let Callum down and betrayed his trust. The night was so dark that she could barely see his face, but she saw enough to note the dissatisfaction in his steely gaze. To say he was disappointed with her was probably an understatement.
She had saved everything inside that storehouse, except for the building itself and the whisky, but she didn’t know what to say in her defense, so she said nothing. Seeing how hard these people worked, she realized it wasn’t such a simple matter of going to the liquor store to buy more whisky or hiring men to put up a storage. She couldn’t even hear anyone breathing. They were all waiting so still to see what Callum would say…what he would do…
Once Upon A Highland Legend Page 9
