Maisie wasn’t disappointed, but she understood. If Clyde were to return, it would be to discover that his older brothers and sisters had passed on, and the new bairns would not know him. She felt sure his people would welcome him anyway, but he loved the sea, and he loved what he held in his heart—that part of the Highlands that would always be his, no matter where in the world he was.
He looked at her for a long moment before he said goodbye. “I’m glad to have known you.”
“Even though I am a Jezebel?”
“You are far better than every other Jezebel I have encountered.” He chortled. The sound was a rare treat.
“I’m honored to have known you, too, Clyde.”
He bowed over her hand before she climbed out of the boat to wade the last few feet with Roderick.
When they sat down on the beach to put their stockings and boots back on, it occurred to her that Roderick had not said goodbye, which led her to believe they had already exchanged words, and the shipmen would know when to expect him back.
Shortly after landing, Maisie found herself engaged in conversation with the folk who came out of the cottages to see who it was that had come ashore. Hearing their Highland burr, and exchanging words in Scottish Gaelic, Maisie knew how close to home she really was now. Roderick watched, smiling over at her, as she explained to three of the local women the purpose of their journey.
“I asked,” she told him, “and they said we can be in Fingal by tomorrow morning.”
Roderick purchased supplies aplenty, cheese and fresh baked bannocks, a skin full of water and one of mead, and a brace of recently caught fish. With detailed directions and descriptions of natural markers on the landscape to look out for, they set off.
As they began to make their way along the narrow path between the peaks and crags, heading inland toward Fingal, Maisie could scarcely believe it. She was not only overcome by the beauty of the place, she recalled it—as if her memories were bringing it alive for her again.
As they went, she pointed out places she recognized from when they would walk about with their mother and their cousins, foraging and harvesting as they went. Roderick was eager to know all about it. He was every bit as fascinated with the landscape as she was, if not more so.
“It is so different to the Lowlands,” he commented. “Much more so than I would have expected. We had a good welcome at Kinlochbervie, though.”
“Did you not expect the locals to welcome us?”
“I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’ve heard some wild stories about this part of Scotland, and given that Clyde was the Highlander I knew best until I met you, you can see why I hesitate to claim understanding.”
She laughed. She noticed that he’d suggested he knew her better than he knew Clyde, who’d been with him for so much longer. It made her hope that was a good sign. She was nervous about what would transpire between them once they arrived in Fingal. Would he turn around after he’d spoken with his friend Gregor, and head back to Kinlochbervie immediately? She hoped not. She was also nervous about what lay ahead for her. The state of her nerves left her adrift in a sea of emotions, and if not for the sensible, solid man at her side, she feared she would have got lost several times over.
As daylight dimmed, Roderick found them a place to rest for the night. In a sheltered spot between two trees the thick grass underfoot made a good bed. The trees leaned together like old friends and were still laden with leaves, providing a thick canopy overhead. He collected soft scrub and ferns to make it warmer and more comfortable.
Then he set about collecting dry branches and kindling for a fire.
Maisie stood by, watching. “You can do this? You can make a shelter, on land?”
“I wasn’t always at sea, and my da believed that making a warm bed for the night if you’re out hunting was the most basic of skills a man should learn.”
He gestured. “Sit yourself down. I’ll prepare the fish for roasting once I’ve got a fire going.”
Maisie did so, and watched in silent pleasure as he kindled the fire, then arranged the fishes on a thin branch he scraped down with a dirk, building a trestle to rest the spit upon. After the sky dimmed it was the light of the fire she watched him by. It felt as if they were the only two in the whole world, and she felt content to enjoy that for the evening.
After they had eaten, and he joined her under the trees, they watched the glowing embers of the fire as they rested.
“Will you have to return to the ship once you talk to your friend Gregor?”
Roderick did not answer, just turned his head to look at her, staring into her eyes.
“When do they expect you back, Brady and the men? I mean, how long will they wait for you to return?”
“Are you wanting shot of me?”
“No. You know that is not true. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
In the firelight, she saw his expression sharpen. He looked at her longingly.
Maisie’s heart swelled in her chest.
“If they get even a hint of the navy being on their trail, I told them they must leave without me.”
He was as wary as she was, choosing his words with care, taking his time. It was as if they were stepping cautiously around one another, each afraid to say the wrong thing for the other person.
“But what would you do, if you went back to the bay and they had gone?”
“Live a different life.” He gestured around them. “As you can see, I can make shelter. It’s a good start, is it not?”
Maisie sighed. “Roderick, do not taunt me so!”
“Taunt you?”
“You jest...and I adore that. I have never been so happy. But sometimes I need to know if your jest has any basis in truth.”
“I know.” He nodded. “I truly wouldn’t mind being on land awhile, but I do not want you to feel as if you are stuck with me.”
“Oh, Roderick. I would never feel that way.” Her heart ached.
Without hesitation he shifted, moving toward her.
Instinctively, she lay back as he closed in, wanting to feel his heat, his weight, his possession of her.
He crouched over her, like a hunter, but also like a shield. “Never ever?”
She wrapped her hand around the strong column of his neck. “Never ever, ever.”
“We will see how you feel once you are reunited with your kin. You can let me go if you want to, or not, if that is your preference.”
Maisie kissed him, silencing him, then rolled him onto his back and straddled his hips, holding him down—holding him to the Highlands.
* * *
The midmorning mist filled the glen beyond, and Maisie stared across it, remembering this very sight from her childhood. She breathed in the familiar scents of heather and mixed foliage, and the heady scent of damp, mossy grass and mulch underfoot. They used to run through the mist and up the hill on the other side, chasing one another, the morning dew underfoot only making it more fun.
“We are close to Fingal now.”
“That we are.”
When she looked at Roderick, she saw that his brow was drawn low as he studied the horizon. Was he still thinking that she wouldn’t need him when she found home? “What worries you?”
He turned to look down at her, and broke into a smile. “Nothing at all. I was trying to see clearly. Look there, on the distant crag.”
Maisie followed the direction he pointed. Atop the distant ridge a figure sat on a large rock as if watching out, looking in their direction.
Even while he pointed, the figure rose to her feet. It was a woman, shrouded in a heavy shawl. Before she had even thought about it, Maisie knew who it was.
She felt her heart beat faster, echoed as it was in her twin. “Jessie.”
“If I had to wager on it, I would say you were right.”
Reaching out for his hand, she clung to him, then lifted her free hand and waved.
When her wave was returned, Maisie nodded. “She sensed me coming. She knew.”
In the distance, a bell sounded.
Then the woman grabbed her skirts in both hands, lifting them in order to run in their direction, disappearing quickly into the mist in the valley below.
“She’ll come up out of the mists, like a bird flying up from the clouds,” Maisie told Roderick, and nodded at the place.
Moments later, Jessie emerged. Grabbing Maisie into her arms, she danced about. “You’re here, you’re really home.”
Maisie laughed breathlessly, remembering that they did that, spun and danced, hand in hand. “Of course I am. I’ve come in time for your handfasting to this Gregor Ramsay I’ve heard all about.”
Jessie’s mouth fell open and she drew to a halt. “You knew?”
Maisie laughed, for it was just as it had been before, as if they had never been apart. “I did, and I will tell you all about it, once we are settled.” She gripped her twin’s hand. “Is Lennox here?”
“Oh, aye.” Jessie laughed. “And he has his own coven. A fine bunch they are, too.”
As if to answer her question, a tall man hurtled toward them, running fast, his long hair flying free, his shirt loose from his belt.
“Let me look at you,” he said, grasping Maisie by the shoulders. “It’s really you.” He shook his head, and his eyes shone with tears of relief.
He’d grown into a handsome man, and she felt proud.
“I hunted for you, for you both. Where did you go?”
“I was taken to England. I’ve been in London until very recently.”
“That accounts for the strange manner of speaking you have,” Jessie commented. “Like a fine lady you are.”
She shook her head. “I am Maisie Taskill from Fingal, and I’m home at last.”
When she said that she found herself locked in an embrace with both her siblings. She pressed her head against them, sobbing with relief. But when they drew apart and her brother encouraged them to head back toward the village, Maisie paused and put out her hand for Roderick, drawing him into their fold.
* * *
The morning before the festival of Samhain in 1715, Gregor Ramsay and Jessica Taskill handfasted to one another.
Gregor refused to put the autumn season to rest without having her as his wife, for he said there was no holding her, and the new season might tempt her to stray.
Jessie laughed at his notions, but Gregor insisted, anyway.
Maisie couldn’t have been happier for her twin.
The bond between Gregor and Roderick was a delight, too. It meant that Roderick settled much more quickly than he might otherwise have done. The men worked together, building neighboring crofts. On a nearby hill, Lennox had done the same.
Lennox and his woman, Chloris, planned to make their vows to one another after yuletide. Chloris said she needed the old Christian year to be left behind so that she might break with her past as the year turned over. Lennox agreed to her request, because it meant that they would be handfasted before their babe arrived.
The handfastening was done by Glenna, a woman from Lennox’s coven, together with the oldest living Taskill, their mother’s aunt Seonag.
Seonag was a wise woman, and peered at Jessie and Gregor for a long while before nodding and stating that they were meant to be together.
While her twin was exchanging promises with Gregor, Maisie put her hand in Roderick’s.
He nodded. He knew.
She wanted him to stay.
They would wed before the festival of Beltane.
So it was the Taskill siblings became part of their magical landscape again, as they were always meant to be, in tune with the seasons, the elements and the tides.
Lennox, who had a strong coven around him, could never be entirely at rest. In his most somber moments he reminded them that witch hunters, thwarted lovers and souls who believed they had been wronged, might yet still be on their trail. He also told them that they would deal with whatever might come, because they were strong and they were with their kin and their clan.
For in the hidden glens the Taskills were all around, welcoming in those three and the lovers they had brought with them—the lovers who had helped them find one another, and had hastened their path home.
* * * * *
Acknowledgments
This book would not have been possible without Cindy Vallar’s guidance. Cindy’s knowledge of the Age of Sail and her ability to share with others, inspired and informed me, and gave me the tools with which to write a story set aboard the Libertas. I am also indebted to the staff of the Maritime Museum in Liverpool for their willingness to answer questions.
My thanks also go to Portia Da Costa, for her friendship, support and encouragement during the writing of this novel.
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ISBN: 9781460309810
Copyright © 2013 by Saskia Walker
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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