The Secret of Skye Isle

by Dillon, Marisa

  Playing to Ethan’s ego had helped Ursula sway his opinion in the past. She prayed while his lips twisted in concentration, but he finally nodded his head curtly and grunted. “I shall go tell the men.”

  Ursula’s heart leaped with glee and trepidation. Her Uncle Cameron had always been kind to her. Even if he’d died and his scowling eldest son was laird, no Fraser clan member was ever turned away from Spurr Fhuaran manor.

  After a few moments, Ethan returned with the rest of the troops, and they were off in the direction of Shiel Bridge as the sun was setting ahead of them.

  The northwest journey toward Skye was one of the most beautiful parts of Scotland, and even in the dim light, the views of the mountains against the darkening sky took her breath away.

  Ursula found it bittersweet that this journey could reunite her with some of her clan and her homeland. And as they approached Spurr Fhuaran manor, with the Fraser flag flying proudly, Ursula sat taller on her mount.

  One of the castle’s parapet sentries called out. “State your business. State your clan.”

  Ethan hesitated, but Ursula did not. “Lodging. Clan Fraser.” That should be enough to gain entrance.

  When her request was greeted by the sound of grinding gate chains, Ethan turned to her and raised a brow. She shrugged in response. “We’re family.”

  Once the gate to the fortified outer wall was finally up, they were met by a regal-looking, silver-haired leader.

  Ursula let out a squeal when she recognized her uncle. She forgot there was a courtyard full of clansmen when she threw her arms about his neck and gave him a big kiss on the cheek.

  “Uncle Cameron,” she said in a long breath.

  “Ursy,” he croaked, his voice full of emotion. She gazed into his crystal-blue eyes as she hung on to his neck, remembering days when he’d lift her up just as they were now and spin her in circles while she giggled hysterically.

  He grinned at her. “Want to take a spin?”

  She almost nodded her head, but a group of clansmen standing behind him reminded her it would be a difficult invitation to accept.

  She winked at him instead. “Before we leave on the morrow.”

  He lifted her up by the waist a few inches to give her a generous hug, and then gently set her down. “I’ll collect on that promise, or you will regret it.”

  She laughed at the threat, then sobered, realizing she must introduce the contingent behind her. She swept her arm toward them. “These are Lord Conn MacDonnell’s men. Leading them is Lord Ethan Luttrell.”

  “Welcome,” Uncle Cameron said warmly. “We will sup in the dining hall shortly.” He turned to Ursula. “Your aunt will be thrilled to see you.” Then he whispered in her ear, “Let’s play a trick on her.”

  Ursula wasn’t surprised at her uncle’s suggestion. As long as she could remember, he’d pulled pranks on her aunt.

  While the men dispersed in groups, following servants in different directions, Ursula walked with her uncle toward the main entrance as he gave her the details of his deception.

  It seemed innocent enough, until she was finally in the dining hall a few hours later, balancing a heavy tray of quail.

  As Ursula stepped gingerly up the dais steps, she kept her head bowed under the dark-blue servant’s cap and prayed her arms would hold out until she could set the massive tray on the head table.

  Catching a wink from her uncle, Ursula smiled shyly and turned her attention to the food in front of her. Selecting a trencher, she filled it with the freshly roasted quail, then made her way toward Aunt Sophie.

  She was dressed in a gorgeous green velvet gown with emeralds about her neck, and her strawberry-red curls were piled on top of her head, secured with an emerald comb. To Ursula, she appeared not to have aged at all.

  Following proper protocol, the lord and lady of the house would be served first. Ursula set the trencher in front of her aunt, then gave her a big kiss on the cheek. When her aunt sputtered in surprise, Ursula hightailed it behind her uncle as he got up to make a toast.

  When Uncle Cameron raised his goblet in the grand, great hall before all the clansmen and women who’d gathered, Ursula heard her aunt complaining over the treatment she’d just received. While Ursula was hidden behind her uncle, she tugged off the servant’s cap, then slid off the gray frock that hid her finer clothes and waited.

  “Good men and women. I welcome you to Spurr Fhuaran manor, home of Clan Fraser in the heart of Glen Shiel.” He lifted his pewter vessel higher. “’Tis my pleasure this evening to welcome back one of our own.”

  He turned to Ursula and put his arm around her, then stepped back so he was no longer blocking her from where her aunt sat.

  A screech rang out before Uncle Cameron finished his introduction. He was shoved aside as Ursula was scooped up into her aunt’s arms. The great hall erupted in applause and hazzahs.

  Then one more shrieking female accosted her at the head table. Ursula’s teary-eyed sister, Ella, threw her arms into the fray.

  The pandemonium at the head table had Uncle Cameron roaring with laughter, and the rest of the guests joined in. After a few more moments of squealing from her aunt and sister, Uncle Cameron unwound them from each other and held up one of Ursula’s hands.

  “As you can see, this clan member was missed greatly by her aunt and sister. We welcome Ursula back to Spurr Fhuaran manor, where she belongs.”

  After Uncle Cameron finished a few additional introductions at the head table, one of the servants moved a chair so Ursula could sit between her aunt and sister.

  When she dropped in between, they acted like two bees sucking nectar from her petals. Ursula smiled as they talked over each other, questions pouring out before she had answers.

  Uncle Cameron must have noticed she was a bit flustered, for he came about to her side and placed his hand on the back of her chair. “Let her eat first, then she will answer all your questions.”

  “I only have one pressing question,” her Aunt Sophie insisted before her husband could overrule her. “Are you home to stay?”

  Ursula shoved a piece of shepherd’s pie in her mouth to avoid answering the question.

  “Come now, Sophie,” he chided. “Cannae you see the girl is famished. Let her eat.”

  Uncle Cameron had always looked out for her. If it hadn’t been Aunt Sophie or Ella wanting her attention, it was someone else in the castle. Ursula had been in demand for her healing skills at a young age and had sometimes worked long hours taking care of others.

  Aye, her uncle had done much for Ursula, and now he was making sure she could enjoy her food before she visited with her family.

  Of course, Ursula wasn’t home to stay, but she would have to be ambiguous about her plans for the future. She didn’t need to lie, for currently her plans were ambiguous.

  The last thing she wanted was for Ethan to pick up on her aunt’s urgency to marry her off to the first willing man, under the stipulation she live in Shiel Bridge forever.

  Ursula took a long drink from her chalice, washing the last morsel of food down. Over the rim, she glanced left, then right. She could delay the interrogation no longer.

  “Finally,” her aunt huffed. “Are you fed and satiated enough to give me your undivided attention?”

  “What about me?” her sister asked, sounding like a child.

  “Ladies, there is enough of me to spare between the two of you,” Ursula said.

  “But not enough for me to spare her,” came a provocative prompt from the man behind them.

  Ursula shuddered. She didn’t spin around in her seat like the other ladies, who twittered at the innuendo.

  Both her aunt and sister sighed before they turned back her way. Ella elbowed her in the ribs, and Aunt Sophie raised her eyebrows as high as they could go.

&nb
sp; Finally, to stop her aunt from nodding her head toward Ethan, she turned to him.

  Ethan clicked his heels together and, with a bow, said, “My love, I must whisk you away for a respite. We’ve had such little private time together.”

  The twittering between the ladies began again, and Ursula shrugged her shoulders. But as much as she did not want to be interrogated by her family, Ursula wanted to be alone with Ethan even less.

  “Ethan, you must understand, I’ve been away from my family for a verra long time. I can nae delay my reunion.” She turned to stand and laid a hand on his arm. “I am sure you will understand.”

  And with that, she stepped off the dais, expecting her aunt and sister to follow.

  As she started across the great hall, she could hear her Aunt Sophie apologizing and gushing over a potential union.

  Ursula rolled her eyes. She’d have to put an end to that notion.

  It wasn’t long though before all the three of them were settled in her aunt’s solar in front of a roaring hearth, sipping blackberry heather tea.

  “Ursula, I almost fainted when Cameron stepped back and there you stood.” Her aunt put a hand over her heart. “I’m too old to be surprised like that.”

  She waved her laced kerchief at Ursula. “You went along with Cameron’s prank. Kissing me on the check when I thought you were a serving girl.”

  Her aunt reach over and patted her hand. “I’ve missed you,” she said with a tinge of sorrow in her voice. Glancing at Ella, she amended her words, “We miss you.”

  “I have missed you, too,” Ursula admitted, her throat thick with emotion. “I did nae realize how much I’ve missed home until I walked through the manor gates and Uncle Cameron lifted me off my feet.”

  “Have you been happy?” her aunt asked, eyes full of concern. “As much as we’ve missed you, we would be less fretful about it if we knew you were living a blessed life.”

  “Is Ethan a lover?” her sister asked before she could answer her aunt.

  “He’s a scoundrel,” Ursula said, crossing her arms protectively over her chest. She couldn’t even begin to explain her relationship with Ethan. It was too complicated. Perhaps the ladies would move on to something more interesting if she asked the questions.

  “What have I missed since I’ve been gone?” she asked, hoping to steer the conversation where she wanted it to go.

  “Nae, you are not going to get away with that trick, lassie,” her aunt chastised. “You have been gone ten years. You have changed, but nothing here ever does.”

  Ursula raised a brow. How had she changed?

  “I see a self-assured woman. One who could lead an army if she wanted,” her aunt said, answering Ursula’s unspoken question.

  “One who could live her life without a man, because she could take care of herself,” her sister added.

  “A woman who could make a little magic happen or even a miracle if one was needed,” her Aunt Sophie finished with a wink.

  Kind words from women she loved brought more tears to Ursula’s eyes. And she never cried. No, the tears might well, but she quickly blinked them away, honoring the emotion that brought them to the surface, but not allowing the sentiment to drown her. She was different. It was true.

  For hours they talked. They laughed. And when the day began to dawn, the three of them piled on her aunt’s massive chamber bed in an exhausted pile of comradery.

  Finally, she told them about Alasdair, but only how he’d promised to help her find the needed flower for Rosalyn on Skye Isle. She told them nothing about an heir or her feelings for him. Alasdair confused her so.

  And just as Ursula was about to nod off, her aunt had a final thought. “Alasdair MacLeod. Your mother would be smiling down from heaven on you if you chose one as fine as the laird of Dunvegan.”

  Chapter 28

  The closer Alasdair got to Skye Isle, the less he liked the terms Ethan had set. The rogue was no Scotsman, even though he claimed his mother was of the land and she’d had the title of Lady of Eilean Donan Castle for years before her death.

  But a man was made by his father. And an English duke, even a dead one, still spoke to his kin from the grave. If anyone was a believer, it was Alasdair.

  Although his da had been gone o’er three years, whenever Alasdair had a major decision to make, he would visit one of the many standing stones scattered across Scotland. The one near Dunvegan was his favorite, but this one at the western side of Loch Cluanie would do for now.

  Alasdair had given Gordon’s men an early respite from the trail. They had set up camp along the loch and were already well into their mead. This was a favorite stop in a journey across the Highlands, and he did his best to spend time here whenever he was traveling through this part of Glen Shiel.

  Even though the stone was hidden from the trail, it was used frequently. Piles of scattered dry heather bouquets were strewn around the base like a well-tended grave.

  Alasdair wished the soldiers’ camp was a little farther from this resting place for he could hear their boisterous laughter from where he knelt. But if he hummed his favorite Scottish hymn under his breath, he’d drowned out most of the ruckus.

  The sky was clear, and the stars were burning bright. Alasdair gazed up at the stone from his kneeling position on the sacred spot. He imagined many like him taking the journey to the stone and asking it for blessings, forgiveness, and miracles, any and all.

  For standing stones were magical. Through them, other worlds could be reached. The dead could speak with the stones’ aid. He could reach his father.

  Alasdair did not care if the magic was real or imagined, for what did it matter as long as the ritual gave him peace and perspective?

  It was the same, he assumed, for all who sought the standing stones. The energy around them was unmistakable, more so after sunset. Not a cloud in the sky, nor wind to disturb the trees around the sacred place.

  Alasdair blinked rapidly, his eyes adjusting to the brightness of the full moon rising over the top of the stone. The alignment no accident.

  Just as he finished the last verse of the hymn, Alasdair noticed the camp had gone silent. Either the men had run out of their mead, or they were passed out from it.

  He shook his head and brought his concentration back to his purpose. “Uilleam Dubh MacLeod, Seventh Laird of Dunvegan, I seek your presence at this hour. Clan blood is thick. Family blood is thicker. A father and son’s blood thicker still. The House of MacLeod stands strong on Skye Isle, but only you and I know its secret. Come great laird of MacLeod. Speak the truth. Only you and I can atone.”

  Alasdair closed his eyes and listened. The sounds of the night were vocal. But the nocturnal chorus was comforting. Nothing in the hums, hoots, or hollers was out of sync. The racket was rhythmic, harmonious.

  “You pray for peace, my son, yet it eludes you.”

  “Father!” Alasdair stared at the stone. His father’s voice was as clear as if he were standing beside him, but there was no vision. Not now, not ever. But it didn’t matter, as long as they could communicate.

  “Aye. What troubles you, Alasdair?”

  He did not hesitate. “Father, the MacDonalds may have laid claim to Eilean Donan. I shall be able to confirm on the morrow. This is the closest to Skye their clan has taken hold since my great-great-great-grandfather ruled. We may nae have the numbers.”

  “You can never rely on the numbers, son. That’s why we have the flag.”

  “The flag. Aye. ’Tis safe at Dunvegan, but I worry. Is there nae only one unfurling left?”

  “That would be true, if the legend is true.”

  Alasdair paused, reviewing in his memory the tidbits that added up to the lore that was the Faery Flag. He’d seen it unfurled once in his lifetime.

  “’Tis nae too soon? Over eight ge
nerations, and we’ve used it twice? Would I nae be failing the clan, the MacLeod name, if I were to use it for the last time, father?”

  “You would nae be failing the clan if you saved them. A leader must use the resources he feels necessary at the time to protect the clan. Use it if you must.”

  Alasdair took in those words and weighed them. Getting permission from his father lightened the load of responsibility if he used the flag, but he was still not convinced.

  “Why do you question my recommendation?” his father asked, surprising Alasdair. He was still in awe that he’d found a way for his father to communicate with him, but this was the first time he recalled his father picking up on his thoughts.

  “Why should it be odd for me to hear what you are thinking, whether you are praying to me through a standing stone or from the hearth at Dunvegan? I hear you just the same.”

  “Well, that does surprise me for I can only hear you at a sacred stone.”

  His father chuckled. “You are nae listening closely enough. I am always giving you advice.”

  Now it was Alasdair’s turn to chuckle. “Just as when you were alive, I wasn’t always listening to you.”

  The laughter between them warmed Alasdair’s heart, and although his father had never been openly affectionate around his men, he’d shown Alasdair, even as a grown man, his love for him.

  “Remember, the legend promises three unfurlings, but this is not written down in any form. Perhaps the magic of the flag is never-ending,” his father suggested.

  “Then I will not be the one to give the flag any limitations,” Alasdair said.

  “Aye, my son. Belief is a powerful weapon. Trust it and yourself.”

  Alasdair was quiet for a moment. Even if his talk with his father were more the makings of a prayer to a higher spiritual power than a manifestation through belief, or an outright miracle, he had resolution.