To Bewitch a Highlander (Isle of Mull series) (26 page)

In the beginning, the seasonal squall was an ally to the Scotsmen, the frontline of their assault. But as the Norse fighters spilled out of their long ships and moved beyond the coast, both sides struggled to hold a firm stance against the wind as they moved over slippery stones and were pulled into thick torrents of mud. The enemy was fierce, but their motives lacked principle; whereas, the Highlanders fought for the sovereignty of their land and the protection of their families. Their virtue was an added advantage against the Viking axe and shield, and Ronan held fast to his conviction as he swung his blade with speed and precision, cutting down foe after foe.

Hours passed into what must have been nightfall and then morning, but the sky never released the sun or stars by which to distinguish one day from the next. Ronan’s mind had become as black as the sky that hammered an unrelenting onslaught of rain upon his back. He no longer heard the death cries of the Norse who crumbled at his feet, nor did he feel fatigue or hunger. He barely perceived the flood of mire and blood through which he trudged. He did not see the faces of his friends or his enemies. He only discerned movement and whether to kill or not to kill.

He climbed atop a high rock formation, slicing his sword through the bellies of the men who gave chase. When he reached the top and stared out across the gruesome expanse, stretching out beneath his chosen precipice, his mind grew keen as if he had awoken from a dark dream, but what he saw could never be conceived even in the foulest nightmare.

 The ground was strewn with the wasting bodies of the dead, many of whom were draped in the varied colors of the Scottish plaid. Wounded men from both sides dragged their bleeding bodies over the soulless carcasses and through the thick mud. Ronan turned his head toward the sky and felt the wash of rain pour down his face. All at once, Fatigue clouded his mind and weighed down his bones until he felt as though he might collapse.

But then something wondrous touched his face.

Fingers of warmth spread over his cheeks. He opened his eyes and gazed at a ray of sunshine, pushing its way through the gloom. Golden cascades of light mingled with dark clouds, summoning memories of Shoney’s sun-kissed waves and stormy eyes. It felt as if several lifetimes had passed since he last thought of her, and then he froze as he remembered Shoney’s words:

Storms will rage, casting the land in darkness. Then the clouds will break, and the sun will stream down upon you as you stand on a great precipice
.

“God’s blood”, he swore. Her vision was coming true.

Chapter 24

“Sweet Jesus above, what ails you, Bridget?” Shoney lifted her head from her sick pan to look through bleary eyes at Morna.

“Good Morning, Morna”, Shoney muttered.

“Not good at all, it would seem.” Morna knelt down and swept Shoney’s hair back from her face. “You look green, my dear, and you’re as warm as an egg plucked out from under a hen.”

“’Tis nothing, Morna. I must have eaten something that soured my stomach.” Shoney began to stand but stopped as another wave of nausea sent her reaching for the pan. Morna soothed her back. “There, there, Bridget. You will feel better once you get it all up.”

Shoney groaned as she fell back on her pallet. If only it were that simple.

“I’m sure with a little rest, I will be fine”, she said.

“Aye, to be sure, Bridget. Still, I plan to keep an eye on you today.” Morna pulled Shoney’s blankets beneath her chin.

“Rest for now, and I will be back in just a little while to check on you.” She placed a kiss on Shoney’s brow, and then she was gone, leaving Shoney alone with the overwhelming madness of her thoughts.

She was drowning in desolation, and despite how she tried, she could not trudge through the mire of her thoughts to a place of peace. No longer could she discern where her true self ended and her alias began. She felt as much Bridget as she did Shoney. Her sense of self, tradition, and faith, given to her by her mother, were being stripped away, leaving her feeling weak and disloyal. Whether she should honor her mother and her heritage or Ronan was an unremitting battle that twisted her mind during the day and haunted her dreams at night.

Her mother was dead as was her past. Why should she cling to what had already come to pass when she could have a future together with Ronan, surrounded with family and friends, laughter and love? But then her throat closed, and she could not draw breath as her thoughts brought her back to that which she wanted most to forget—her vision.

 Over and over again, she saw her love crumble as swords penetrated his body. Nevermore would she see his face, and never would he know his child. She sat up and retched again as her body was racked with sobs. She could not breathe. She could not think. She had to find peace from her fear or, surely, she would lose her baby. Then she imagined her little hut on the cliffs and knew she needed to go home.

She was careful to slip away from the village unseen as she cut through the forest and stepped out into open land. The autumn wind whistled over the moors, rushing through her hair and pulling at her tunic. The stark hills had lost summer’s emerald hue, and the tangled patches of heather, which stretched their fingers over hill and jagged rock alike, had started to fade and wither. Shoney inhaled the crisp air, reveling in the wildness of the land.

When she finally glimpsed her hut and the cliffs beyond in the distance, she quickened her pace as a flutter of excitement pulsed through her. Soon, she was kneeling at the Dervaig Stones in the foreground of her home, hanging her head in reverence. She prayed to the Mother of all for guidance and for help understanding the mysteries of her heart. In that sacred place, she remained for some time, hoping to hear the soft croon of ancestral voices on the wind, but all she heard was the welcoming cries of the Black Backed gulls.

It was at the edge of the cliffs that she felt her strength return. The rich salty sea air assailed her nostrils, awakening her senses. The sharp winds rolling off the sea blasted her core with exhilaration, and her heart matched the pounding beat of the surf against the cliff side. She could not say why or how, but a peace settled over her then. Reaching her hands to the sky, she spun, laughing for the first time in days and days. The answers she sought were near. If she remained mindful and patient, she would find them. Smiling she turned from the sea and entered her home.

Her eyes welled with tears as she gazed about her quiet quarters. She could feel her mother’s presence in the room. Warm memories floated around her, soothing the last of her fear away. She wrapped her arms around her belly, and for the first time, she spoke to her child, telling her that she was loved and welcome.

Everything was just as she left it, except for the dust. With gladness, Shoney went to work, opening the door and window to invite in fresh air and checking buckets outside for rainwater to use for washing. She started with her table, cleaning each earthen bowl and tool. She thought of how useful many of the salves and herbs would be to the village if she decided to return.

Would she return?

Could she really abandon her new home and her beloved friends? Life without them seemed hard to imagine, but she shook her head and let her fear drift away. Somehow she would know what to do. Next, she decided to gather her tunics and kirtles to shake outside. She pulled her clothing from their pegs, including her cloaks, but her hand froze when she reached for what hung on the final peg—the cloak of the Witch of Dervaig.

She dropped the bundle of clothing on the ground, and stared at the cloak. Taking a deep breath, she reached a hesitant hand and warily pulled it off the peg. Overcome by the cloak’s two opposing powers, her hands shook as she held it. The cloak was her greatest protection. By instilling fear into the minds of the villagers, it allowed her to move unharassed over the isle. It represented anonymity and freedom, but that was not all. The dark, tattered fabric was also a prison. It shackled her to life as an outcast and a life without Ronan.

The cloak seemed to sneer at her, mocking her new found resolve. She moved to the center of the room and fanned the fabric out, resting it on her shoulders. Pulling the hood down low over her brow, she hunched her back and limped across the floor. Her friends would scatter with terror if she hobbled into the village, but what would they do if she suddenly stood straight and flung the cloak from her shoulders? It was too terrifying to consider.

“I knew I would find you here”, said a voice.

Shoney whirled around, astonished to see Ronan’s mother standing in the doorway, but Anwen did not seem in the least surprised to find her in the Witch’s hut, wearing the Witch’s cloak.

“How did you know?” Shoney uttered.

“Morna came to me in a panic, saying you were ill and missing. She is afraid you’ve come down with a fever and wandered off in your delirium,” Anwen chuckled. “She has the whole clan searching for you. When I could, I slipped away.”

Anwen reached toward Shoney and gently slid the hood back and swept the cloak from her shoulders.

“You see, Bridget, I knew just where to find you. From the moment I first laid eyes on you, I have known who you are”, she smiled.

“And you are not afraid”, Shoney whispered.

“Of you?” Anwen laughed. “My dear, who could ever be afraid of you?”

“Many people, otherwise you would not have come in secret.”

“Perhaps”, Anwen replied as she walked around the hut.

“How did you know?”

Anwen took hold of Shoney’s hands and smiled warmly, “Let us sit together by the fire, and I will tell you a story.”

Shoney sat across from Ronan’s mother. Her hands were tight fists of anticipation as she waited for the elder woman’s tale to begin.

“Many years ago now, when I was a young girl of six years, I wandered away from the village and into the woods. It was not long before I realized I was lost. Not knowing which direction to take, I sat on a fallen log and began to cry. It was then I heard a sweet little voice. I lifted my head and wiped my eyes and saw the prettiest little girl, the likes of which I thought only lived in dreams. She, no older than I, knelt before me and took my hands and told me not to cry. She was going to save me. Her hair shone like spun gold, and her eyes were as grey as storm swept seas.”

“It was my mother”, Shoney said knowingly.

“You have the look of your mother. I believed that one of the fair folk had come to rescue me. She gave me berries to eat, and then we ran and played together for hours.” Anwen closed her eyes. “I can still see her running ahead of me. Her golden hair bouncing and her strange eyes smiling as she looked back.” Then she again met Shoney’s gaze. “I always knew somehow when she was waiting for me. I’d make my way to the fallen log and there she would be.”

The fire began to smoke. Shoney added another cut of peat to the flames as Anwen continued her story.

“For three summers we met, and then at the start of my tenth summer, I went to our spot, and it was empty, but I was not surprised. And, I will tell you this, Shoney—I knew, somehow, that she was not going to be waiting for me. More than that, I knew she would never wait for me again. My faery would never return.”

“And?” Shoney urged.

“I told you. I never saw her again.”

“Well, how did you know who she really was—that her mother was the Witch? Did she tell you?” Shoney asked.

“One day, I bade her show me where she lived. She led me along the coastal route here to her hut, but we hid outside. She told me her mother would be angry if she knew we were friends.”

“And you were not afraid?” Shoney asked.

“Never—not even a little. I adored Brethia. She was a big sister to me even though we were the same age. I felt safe with her as though she would always protect me.”

“Why do you think she stopped meeting you in the wood?”

Anwen smiled and put her hand on Shoney’s knee. “We grew up, Bridget.”

“You know”, Shoney smiled shyly, “Bridget is not my real name.”

“I thought not”, she chuckled. “Well, out with it. Who are you then?”

“Shoney.”

“Ah, she named you after the god of good fishing. I’m not surprised as your mother loved to fish and often prayed to Shoney. Yes, that does suit you much more.”

Anwen leaned close and said, “When we are alone together you shall always be Shoney to me.”

Shoney turned away. She knew Anwen meant well, but she felt betrayed nonetheless. Would she ever know acceptance?

“I’m sorry, Shoney. I have injured you, but you must understand that we are all of us part of the same world, and this world is not always just. If it were otherwise, the men we love would not be out there right now fighting and risking all for our safety.”

“You must think my concern for my name frivolous”, Shoney began, “but I grieve for much more than that when I answer to the name Bridget.”

Shoney looked beseechingly to Anwen for support. Surely, she, her mother’s companion in youth, would understand.

“Aye, you feel as though you’ve brought shame to your mother. She gave you a strong name, and she taught you the ways of your people, ways which you reject by coming to the village.”

“Precisely”, Shoney began, but Anwen interrupted.

“Here me out, Shoney”, she implored. “A mother’s greatest desire for her child is life—to live. There are many villains that would slay a child and many ways for a heart to die. There is of course life stolen by war, disease, or accident, like my first son, Nachlan. But there is also death which comes when all joy is lost. In this case, the body may still breathe and move, but the heart is broken beyond repair. If you remain here, alone, under the darkness of your cloak, your heart will die. I know this, Shoney. I have watched you grow in joy since your arrival even though I know you have often been unhappy, but there is a difference. Joy is what sustains even when despair sets in.”

“I have found great joy, first Ronan and then the people of Gribun, you and Morna and Una. You all have come to mean so much to me. I feel loved and necessary, two things impossible to find in solitude, but…”, she trailed off, not wishing to acknowledge her fear.