by Alisa Adams
She stumbled out of the woods, catching herself as the rain hit her full on.
“I can run Mither. Ye are tired,” her little girl said fearfully.
She shook her head and hugged her daughter tightly to her, shielding her little face from the rain. She hesitated only a moment to get her bearings. Looking around desperately, trying to decide which way to run.
Just then the fog swirled, just slightly, but it was enough. She could see a cluster of stone buildings faintly in the swirling, foggy mist. She ran towards the buildings that she knew were ahead of her, running through the mist and fog, through the heather and tall grasses that clung to her heavy, wet tartan skirts. The fog swirled, moving like a living being as it enshrouded the buildings once again in the foggy mist. But she had seen what she needed. As she got closer to the small stone buildings, she spied the little kirk she had seen in an opening in the fog. She ran towards it, running through its open gates and into the parish kirkyard. She ducked down behind the kirk, under the overhang of its roof, and set her daughter on the wet ground.
“Kaithria, you must stay here. You must hide, my little jewel!” she said. Stark fear was threatening to overtake her as she tried to catch her breath and think. She pulled her black cloak up over her hair, concealing its sleek blackness and hiding her tawny eyes as she looked furtively around. She pulled her daughter’s little cloak up over her hair as well. The people here in the Highlands were frightened and suspicious of their unusual looks, so different from their own. But there was no one moving about in the miserable Highland weather.
“I want Caden!” the little girl said with trembling lips. “Father hit you Mither, I saw him.” She lightly touched her mother’s bruised face with her small hand. “Why is Father so angry at ye Mither?” she asked as she struggled not to cry. Her mother had told her not to, so she was trying to be brave.
“I know you want your big brother, my little jewel,” her mother explained in her soft, husky voice. “He will stay with your father,” she answered, trying not to cry at leaving her firstborn son behind with her mad husband. “Yes, he hit me,” she said as she covered her daughter’s hand where it rested on the dark bruise on her cheek. “He will hurt you too Kaithria. That is why we had to run!”
“But why?” the tiny girl asked as her bottom lip trembled.
Her mother looked at the little girl trying so hard to be brave. She was always such a somber little thing. She took after herself, with her silky black hair and those golden tawny eyes which had upset her Highland husband so.
“Do you remember when your father and I first met?” she asked her daughter with a sad smile.
“Aye. He saw you under the orange tree. It was very hot and the sky was very blue. Father said he had never seen another woman as beautiful as you, that ye were as beautiful as your name—Zahrah. So he took you with him on his ship back here to the Highlands.” Kaithria recited the lovely story she had heard many times.
“Yes, and my father was so angry he cursed him for stealing me away. But your father, Ronan, laughed and said he did not believe in the curse,” her mother said.
“And then Caden came and Father was vera pleased with ye for giving him a son,” the little girl said. Then her rosy lips turned down into a frown. “And then I came and he was not pleased.” Her lower lip trembled again.
“Yes, my jewel,” her mother continued softly. “You and I look different, and it frightens people.” She paused and bit her lip. “And there was the curse as well.”
“Did I make Father’s sheep die?” Kaithria asked in a small voice as she shivered in the rain.
“Of course not,” her mother said sadly. “Your father has just become suspicious and foolish.” She took off her cloak and wrapped her little girl in the black wool, covering her daughter’s glossy black hair much better with the heavy, full hood which was much too large for the little girl. The cloak puddled on the ground at the little girl’s feet as she clutched it tightly with her tiny hands.
Her mother raised her head, looking past Kaithria and peering around the corner of the kirk. The fog and mist was lifting now as the sun began to rise. She was watching to see if her husband and his men would come bursting out of the woods. She hoped they had gone in a different direction so that she and her daughter could somehow make it to a village with a port where there might be a ship. She could purchase passage back to the warm lands she so longed to see again. But would her father even welcome her and her daughter?
“Father doesnae love me like he does Caden,” Kaithria said in a quivering voice as her mother hugged her tightly.
“Och, my precious jewel,” she crooned to her little girl.
Ronan had been so pleased when she gave him a son after his first two wives died in childbirth, taking the tiny, still babies with them into death. Though Caden had dark hair and tawny eyes and creamy skin, it did not matter. Laird Ronan Keith finally had a son. A strong, healthy son.
But when Kaithria was born, with hair a pure, midnight-black and eyes a beautiful golden color, Ronan and the midwife had recoiled. Calling her a changeling.
And then his sheep had gotten scrapie. A terrible disease that affected their feet, and made them rub against the stone walls of their fields, trying to scrape the fur off their backs. They would stumble around, listless, not eating, and eventually die.
Ronan had wanted her newborn baby dead then.
But she had stood up to him, taking his fists in silence. Protecting her daughter.
She had won. That time.
Now, almost five years later, the disease was back.
His sheep were dying off once again.
Ronan was determined to end Kaithria's life and the curse that he thought she had brought to him when she entered the world. Nothing would dissuade him this time.
At a loud noise, Zahrah looked up, peering around the corner of the kirk once again, her breath held.
There they were! Coming out of the woods and heading this way!
She spun towards her daughter, fear stark on her face as she clutched the little girl’s shoulders.
“You must stay here, my jewel!” she said urgently, her voice made even more husky with her fear. “Do not come after me, no matter what happens. Stay here!” she said firmly as tears filled her eyes.
“But Mither, I’m scared,” Kaithria said as a tear rolled down her cheek. “We are far from home. I dinnae know where we are!”
“I know, my jewel,” her mother said. “We have been traveling many days and you are tired. But you have been so very brave!”
Her mother took the beautiful brooch off the tartan shawl at her shoulder. It was silver with a bright yellow jewel set in the center of an intricate design. She placed it in Kaithria’s hand and closed her little fingers around it.
“’Tis the pin from yer home, Mither!” Kaithria said as she opened her hand to look at the beautiful brooch.
“Take it, Kaithria.” Her voice shook as tears began to run down her face. She took the brooch and pinned it to her daughter’s dress, inside the too-large black cloak. “Remember me. Remember how much I love you.” She hugged her little girl and kissed her cheek, holding her tightly with her eyes squeezed shut. She breathed in the scent of her daughter, memorizing the feel of her precious little body. She stood up, wiping the tears from her face, though she continued to cry. “I have to go. Stay here, my darling daughter. Do not follow me! You must not make a sound! You must hide from your father! He will harm you if he finds you, Kaithria!”
With those words, her mother looked around the corner of the kirk at the men riding towards her. She pulled the satchel off her back and held it in her arms as if it was a child.
“Remember, I love you!”
With one last look at her daughter, she ran.
Kaithria silently watched her mother go, fear overtaking her shaking, little body.
Her mother was running towards the sea cliffs!
Kaithria wanted to call out to her mother. To tell her that
it was dangerous. She should not go near the edge. Her mother had always told her to stay away from the cliffs. But her mother had said not to make a sound.
She watched in terror as her father galloped his big horse straight at her mother!
Kaithria dared not call out, for her father was a mean man. She knew that, even though she was so young. She knew he did not like her. Her mother was always taking the beatings that her father wanted to give Kaithria.
Kaithria watched in horror as her father pulled an arrow out of the quiver at his back and nocked the arrow in his bow as his horse continued galloping towards her mother.
Just as her mother made it to the edge of the cliff, he shot her.
Kaithria put her hands to her mouth, stifling the scream that threatened to burst from her chest.
Her mother fell over the side of the steep cliff with an arrow in her back.
She never screamed. Never made a sound.
Neither did Kaithria.
Ronan and his men peered over the edge of the cliff, down into the turbulent sea.
Then they turned their horses around and went back the way they had come.
Kaithria watched them. The satchel! They thought she had gone over the cliff with her mother. She lowered her hands from her mouth.
There was blood on her hands from where she had held them so tightly against her mouth. Biting them to still the screams and cries that had wanted to come out.
Kaithria ran through the rain to the door of the little kirk.
An older woman, all in black, opened the door. She looked off into the distance, watching the men riding away. Then she looked down at the little girl there in front of her. She pulled her inside quickly.
“Ye are safe, little one. Have no fear noo. Thons bad mon are nae gaunnie harm ye.”
Kaithria looked up at her silently with tears in her eyes.
“Och, ye are noot from any village near here, ’tis sure of that I am. Ye look like ye are from some far off land. What is yer name?”
Kaithria stared at the woman’s kindly face. “I am Kaithria,” she said quietly as she sniffled back her tears. “I am not a changeling.”
“Och, of course ye are not. Such silly tales those are!” She smiled down at the little girl. “Who are yer kin child? What clan are ye from?”
Kaithria could only think of her mother. She did not want anyone to know that her father was Laird of Clan Keith. Even in her young mind, she knew she could not go back to him. “I am Kaithria of Zahrah.”
The woman frowned slightly. “Kaithria Zahrah? But who is yer clan? Is that all there is to yer name then?”
Kaithria swallowed and sniffled again. “Aye, I am Kaithria Zahrah,” she said softly. “That is my name.”
Chapter 1
14 years later…
“He thinks I am a nun?” Kaithria asked in her soft, husky voice as she rode her old black warhorse named Dummernech along the dusty road. She glanced up at the hills above them. The feeling of being watched was there again.
She pulled her woolen cloak more tightly around her shoulders and covered her head with the hood. She turned her attention back to what the young woman riding ahead of her had just said. She could hear her laughing. Kaithria urged her horse forward.
“Aye, he thinks ye are a nun,” laughed Lady Catriona McKay as she turned to her black-haired, tawny-eyed friend. “But Uncle Keir knows as much aboot ye as any of us do, save that ye are a true friend,” Cat said. She ducked her head down to peer at Kaithria’s face under the hood of her black cloak. “Ye have only just recently let us see yer face under yer hood,” she said with an impish smile.
Cat marveled once again at how breathtakingly beautiful and exotic her friend was. She had skin the color of sand that glowed faintly in the sunset at the end of the day. And her face had fascinating eyes that looked like she had been graced with her own sliver of the sun. Her high cheekbones glowed as if the sunrise kissed them sweetly each day, and the midnight-black of her hair was truly a gift of the night.
“’Tis warm and sunny. Ye dinnae need yer cloak!” Cat said with a grin.
Kaithria looked at her friend and said nothing, only clutched her cloak tighter around herself as she looked up to the hills.
“For one who is always so calm and serene, ye are a vera guarded and fearful woman,” Cat mused.
Kaithria looked at her again, silently. Then she turned to look straight between her horse’s ears, down the road.
Cat shrugged at her mysterious, quiet friend. She tipped her face up to the sun and smiled. Her unusually short blonde curls blew around her face in the breeze as she sat atop her horse, Old Inch. She let go of her horse’s reins and spread her arms wide with happiness as she closed her eyes with her head tipped back.
“’Tis the most beautiful of beautiful days to be alive, is it not?” Cat smiled, her wide, green eyes crinkling merrily at the corners as she tried to get Kaithria to talk. “I feel wonderful!”
“Aye,” Kaithria answered quietly. “I am glad yer sickness has passed, Lady Catriona.”
Kaithria glanced at her friend, whose hair was cut short like a lad. Cat had told Kaithria that the healer had cut it all off when Cat was too sick to stop him.
“Is there truly a need for a chaperone for ye, Lady Catriona?” Kaithria asked calmly. “He is your uncle, not a stranger.”
“Me uncle? Ye mean the great and most handsome Laird Keir Maxwell Gunn, who has been away for most of his life fighting the King’s wars and being a heroic warrior and having every female near him fall at his feet!!” Cat proclaimed. “This is the most time I’ve spent with him in me life. He’s going grey ye know. That last time I saw him his hair was all dark waves. Now, ’tis a little grey at his temples if you look closely.” She grinned. “Though I am sure the ladies think it makes him even more handsome. And there’s that dimple in his chin that they become silly aboot.”
Kaithria looked ahead at the big warrior riding in front of them. His legs were long and muscular in his kilt and tall boots. His chest was quite broad and his arms strong and powerful in his loose linen shirt. She watched as the wind ruffled his dark hair. He chose to wear it shorter than most men and stayed clean-shaven as well. His hair hung to just past his ears and curled over them. Though he liked to be clean-shaven, his strong square jaw always seemed to show a shadow of a beard. And yes, that cleft in his chin was intriguing. He was indeed the most handsome man she had ever seen.
But Kaithria did not trust men.
Any man.
They were riding along the winding roads in the Caithness Highlands towards Kinbrace Castle, home of Clan Gunn.
Kaithria stared up at the rolling hills of purple heather and green grasses. Beyond them were taller hills that looked jagged and flat as they reached upward to the sun. They too were covered all in green. Above them were even taller mountains, whose pointed, rocky peaks were capped in pristine, white snow.
The sun hit the landscape in such a way that the sky was full of golds and pinks. It made the green of the hills seem to glow softly in hazy hues of gold and green. The blankets of purple heather took on multiple soft hues of mystical pinks, purples, scarlet, and lavender.
Kaithria craned her neck left and right, breathing in the air as she took it all in. The landscape looked magical. Even though she felt someone was there, again, up in the hills. Watching.
A little white donkey was following amicably along behind the group of riders. It had long ears that pointed straight up. The big black horses had loved the tiny donkey from the first day that Kaithria’s friend, Lady Catriona, had rescued it from two thieves along the road. It accompanied them wherever they went now, never straying far from the big, retired, black warhorses that the women had adopted as their own.
Suddenly, the tiny thing made a loud braying sound.
“Hush, Bunny,” Kaithria said to the little female donkey.
Kaithria’s horse, who she affectionately called Dummy, looked back at their little donkey friend and
made a soft nickering nose.
Kaithria tensed as Dummy suddenly looked up to the hills, his ears pricking forward.
The tiny donkey brayed again. Kaithria knew the little donkey was sounding an alarm.
For there it was again. The figure on a horse, above them, up in the hills.
She had spotted the figure off and on all morning.
And so had the donkey.
And her horse.
She shielded her face from the sun and looked again.
Nothing.
No one was there.
Ever since she had made her way to Brough Castle with the six orphans many, many months ago, she felt like she was being followed. Now that the children were safe with her friend, Swan, and her new husband, Laird Wolf McKay, she should not be fearful anymore. But she had felt the hairs on her neck prickling in warning today, for the first time in a long time.
Kaithria could see why Highlanders believed in fairies and other creatures, for surely this magical place was where you could find them. Kaithria looked around again. She took deep breaths, stilling her feelings of apprehension, for despite what she was feeling, she thought this was the most beautiful place she had ever seen.
She pushed the vision of the figure on the horse out of her mind, for it was naught but a traveler like themselves, as Lady Catriona had said the first time that Kaithria mentioned seeing someone earlier that day.
As they rode on through the day, the air was getting cooler as the mountains receded. Kaithria thought she saw the figure again, up on one of the hills. Its horse was standing still.
Kaithria swore the rider was looking down at them.
“Lady Catriona,” she called out, trying to get the attention of the others riding ahead. She turned her head and pointed in the direction of the figure, directing Cat’s attention to it.
The figure was gone.
“Kaithria, all is well,” Cat said. “There is nothing there. Ye are just used to being on yer guard.”
