The Secret of Skye Isle

by Dillon, Marisa

  “Here, drink this,” Kenneth insisted and shoved a full goblet under Alasdair’s nose.

  With his free hand, he took the goblet and drank some of the dark liquid. A welcome diversion, the comforting taste of a strong wine lingered on his lips.

  “Crotach, I did nae think you’d make it through that skirmish. Ian MacDonald had you cornered,” Kenneth reminded him.

  “Without your help, I would be a dead man. First I had him cornered, but I must admit the moment when he knocked my sword away . . .” Alasdair closed his eyes. “If you hadn’t tossed me yours.” He shuddered. The images of the battlefield and the axe coming down on his shoulder flooded his memory. He took a deep breath and shook them off.

  “I wasnae going to stab him in the back, but it was time for the MacDonald rule to end at the tip of my sword,” Kenneth MacKenzie declared.

  “We both had vindication. My hand and your weapon,” Alasdair said, raising his chalice. “I’ll drink to that.” Then he guzzled down the rest of the strong wine.

  “Now that Ian is in the dungeon with his clansmen, I can get this castle right again,” the MacKenzie laird said with a stubborn resolve. “You are welcome to rest here until your wounds heal,” Kenneth added.

  Alasdair sighed inwardly. The rage was still inside him. Ursula gone? He could not believe it. Refused to believe it. Wouldn’t his heart tell him if it were true?

  Perhaps the only way to satisfy his uncertainty would be to search the lochs for her body. If she was pushed off the seawall as Ethan had been, that would be the natural place to look.

  Although Alasdair had made it to land, he’d had plenty of experience in the waters around Dunvegan.

  It was still light when Alasdair stood at the seawall and gazed out over the lochs. After some serious consideration that afternoon, he decided instead of looking for Ursula’s body, he’d honor her instead. He would take up her quest to find the guelder rose for her friend Rosalyn.

  Talking long strides back to the keep, Alasdair reviewed his plan. It would call for the services of only a few of his clansmen. He would deliver the flower to Fyvie for Rosalyn, then journey to Edinburgh to meet with King James and report on his recapture of Eilean Donan for the MacKenzies. After gaining the alliances of the key Highland clans, Alasdair was one step closer to becoming Lord of the Isles.

  Once he’d reached the great hall, he joined Kenneth Mackenzie at the head table, ready to bid his farewell, stronger in his resolve to honor his lost love.

  “Sláinte mhaith,” Kenneth called out, raising his challis.

  “To your good health as well, my friend,” Alasdair concurred. He followed the salutation with a long guzzle of the sweat mead. Whilst he was tempted to accept the reinstated MacKenzie laird’s hospitality, he was ready to honor Ursula and needed time for solace.

  “The mead cannae be that terrible,” his host said, breaking through Alasdair spiraling thoughts. Then he gestured to the filled trestle tables. “Any unmarried Highland lass can be yours, my friend.”

  When Alasdair balked, Kenneth exploded in laughter. With a heaving chest and sputtering words, the laird claimed, “I’m not insisting on marriage, although a union between our clans would be mutually beneficial. I suggest only a distraction from your . . . well, em, concerns.”

  Alasdair laughed like a man who hadn’t done so in a long while and rose from his seat. Grabbing his host’s forearm up to the elbow and giving it a tight squeeze, he replied, “Consider our alliance as strong as one bound by dutiful marriage. I thank you for your offer of female distractions without matrimony, but I have promises to keep and a sovereign who requests my presence.”

  Kenneth eyed him like a knowing father. “Suit yourself, Crotach,” his host replied, completing the parting salutation, their arms clasped in farewell and friendship. “My good steward will see you to your horse in the morn when you are ready, and my loyalty will follow you to our king.”

  After leaving the great hall and his host, Alasdair gathered his men, instructing half to return to Dunvegan and the rest to join him.

  The next day, his group of loyal clansmen reached Glenbrittle at the foothill of the Cuillin Mountains by late morning. Alasdair knew Skye like a mother knew her children, but he’d not been to this place where the faeries dwelled. In a way, it was odd that he hadn’t, considering his family’s history. But he’d always felt the faeries would do his bidding when necessary.

  The legends of the Faery Queen and his great-great-great-grandmother could be highly exaggerated, but he entered the glen with confidence, the family flag wrapped in a protective satchel and tucked in his sporran.

  Although he trusted his clansmen, Alasdair chose to leave the group and venture into the falls alone.

  Following the River Brittle, Alasdair stopped when he reached the first place where the water ran in large torrents down the low cliff walls into the aqua-colored water below. It was mesmerizing to watch the water cascade into the pool from the lofty ridge above. He marveled at the speed the water traveled until its thundering crash in the calm pond below.

  “Are you brave or ignorant?”

  Alasdair spun around, seeking the person belonging to the query, not surprised he was not alone.

  “Brave,” he answered confidently.

  “We shall see,” promised the squeaky male voice.

  Alasdair did not budge but stood tall and ready for whatever came at him. From what he knew of faeries, they could take any shape and most would rather do harm than good.

  He was prepared to fight for the guelder rose and slowly withdrew his sword from its scabbard. Assessing his surroundings, he waited, weapon in hand.

  “Over here.” The words were whispered in his left ear. But in addition to the roaring of the water, he could hear something breathing beside him.

  He shifted his gaze to the left without moving his head. Nothing.

  “Over here.” Now the voice came from his right. Again, without moving his head, his eyes skirted across to the far side of his vision’s range. Nothing.

  Then out of nowhere an imposing wolf materialized before him, blocking his path. The animal’s brown fur was a stark contrast to its glaring fangs. Alasdair took a measured step backward.

  “I come for the guelder rose. Will you let me pass?” He’d been told by Ursula it grew in the cave behind the falls.

  “That depends,” answered a tiny female voice.

  Alasdair waited what seemed an eternity to defend against an attack from the wolf or to hear an answer from the faerie.

  “What do you have to barter?” she finally asked.

  “As Laird of—”

  “No, wait,” the male voice called out “You will have only one offering. You must choose something near and dear to your heart.”

  “Or else?”

  “Or else you shall be deemed ignorant after all and will have only your bravery to save you.”

  Alasdair wanted to laugh, but at the same time, he knew Faery magic to be an unpredictable and powerful thing. He didn’t want to mock them, and although he was certain he’d never find a woman like Ursula again, he would rather honor her legacy with the quest for the guelder rose than die trying to fight a magical beast.

  With his decision made, Alasdair sheathed his sword, then reached for the Faery Flag. Once the silk family heirloom was in his hands, he spoke.

  “This is the Faery Flag of Dunvegan, given to my great-great-great-grandfather by his Faery Queen.”

  An audible gasp interrupted Alasdair.

  “You are an imposter, sir. That cannot be,” the tiny female voice accused.

  “Nay, spirit, the flag is true. He laid it on the ground with the satchel underneath. “Examine it, but do not unfurl it completely, or you will release its magic.”

  A buzzing noise sounded in
front of Alasdair. He imagined petite, gossamer wings beating frantically.

  “Let him pass,” the breathy female voice said clearly.

  “Yes, my queen,” was the response from the other spirit. Perhaps it was a wee bit of Faery magic, but in a blink of his eyes, the menacing wolf disappeared along with the flag. All that remained before Alasdair was the empty satchel.

  “What are you waiting for?” said the male voice.

  Alasdair blinked again and started around the pool. He was not sure how long he lingered after the flag disappeared, but he certainly did not want to remain long. He was ready to find the guelder rose and be on his way from the glen.

  With quick strides, he made his way to the falls and behind them to the cavern. His sacrifice a worthy one, to honor his lost love.

  Chapter 40

  Johnathan had insisted she get a good night’s sleep, then a large breakfast in the morn, before the two of them saddled the farm’s only horses and took off for the faerie pools of Glenbrittle.

  The teary goodbyes were bittersweet, with hugs and good wishes, as the two sisters sent them off with a satchel of worthy traveling food for their journey.

  The road through the Highland heather had not changed since her last visit with her mother over ten summers ago. Ursula shivered with some trepidation as they approached the glen early that afternoon.

  Following the river, it did not take long before they arrived at the faerie pools and the ridge of the falls covered in mist. As she stopped before the largest pool, filled by the perpetual waterfall, she was taken back to the moment when she’d come for the first time with her mother.

  Standing before the roaring water, Ursula remembered her mother’s warning. Do nae be afraid, for the Fae can sniff out fear. ’Twas advice she would put to use now that she was within range of her goal.

  “The guelder rose is known to grow in the cave behind the falls,” she said to Johnathan, pointing to where she could make out the shape of an entrance behind the curtain of water that shielded it from view. “If you did nae know it was there, it would be difficult to spot,” she added.

  Ursula turned toward the cave opening but screamed when her right shoulder was jerked back by such a force she was almost knocked to the ground. She spun around to accuse Johnathan, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  Vanished into the mist?

  Before she had a chance to call his name, a high-pitched male voice spoke to her, “Are you brave or ignorant?”

  A trick question? She thought for a moment before she answered. “The ignorant believe they are brave, so they are both. For real bravery is not named, and real ignorance is not claimed.”

  “Then are you ignorantly brave?”

  “I am Ursula of Clan Fraser, witch and lover of the Fae,” she announced with a slight curtsy.

  “What do you have to barter?”

  “A broken heart,” she said honestly.

  “We accept souls, not hearts,” the male voice snapped. “That you should know, witch.”

  “What I know and what I want to accept are not the same. Do you nae have pity for a broken heart?”

  “We do not understand pity,” a female voice piped in. “Human emotions are stupid. The Fae mate for life. When our mate dies, we die,” the faerie said in a heartless tone.

  Ursula was numb from the loss of Alasdair, but her purpose had been fulfilled by healing others before she’d met him. Now she needed to focus on bringing the guelder rose back to Fyvie for Rosalyn’s sake, so Ursula would push through her sorrow.

  “My broken heart will mend, and I will honor my mate, not die for him,” she promised. She reached into her herbal bag. “I have frankincense. ’Tis said when mixed with myrrh, it will turn rocks into diamonds.”

  “Diamonds?” The faerie woman’s voice rose on the end of the word.

  Could she be the queen of the faeries? Ursula was encouraged. “Aye, the most precious gem to own. Only kings and queens have access to diamonds,” she said, knowing diamonds were something the faeries couldn’t produce. “You might make a crown for your queen,” she suggested.

  “I do not believe you,” the female voice shouted. “You aim to trick us,” she accused.

  “If you do nae believe me, then I’ll show you,” Ursula said. This was a talent that had served her well. The alchemy skills she’d learned from her grandmother had been passed down for generations.

  “In the arts I practice, the seed of an item is needed to manifest it,” Ursula said. “All I do is speed up nature’s process.

  “Diamonds are mined and are buried deep in the ground, but they are only stones at their birth,” Ursula added.

  “When nature and the art of alchemy embrace each other, art is not denied what nature requires. The soul of a stone is germinated when rubbed with this root. Just watch.”

  Ursula selected a few stones from the path before her. She crouched low, and after unfolding a square of black silk cloth, she laid the stones in the middle. Taking the frankincense in her hand, she rubbed the surface of each of the stones vigorously.

  Next, Ursula took the myrrh and sprinkled it over the stones. Then she sat back on her heels.

  “In just a few moments you will witness diamonds growing from the seeds of themselves. But if the seed of a diamond were not in the rock, it would not be possible.”

  As she waited, she held her breath. This was a trick she’d learned as a girl and the reason her mother had been burned after being called a witch. She always carried the root with her, expecting a day when she might need its magic. As much as it frightened her to have this knowledge, now was the time to use it.

  When shocked oohs and aahs came from the faerie voices, Ursula’s focus sharpened. Yes, she still had it.

  “You see, diamonds,” she said, scooping up the glittering gems that had been gray stones moments ago.

  “You have earned the guelder rose you seek. Go and pluck it from the cavern behind the falls,” the female faerie told her.

  Ursula wavered. “What of my friend, Johnathan? He must be returned to me.”

  “Is he not Molly’s husband?” the faerie male voice asked.

  “Aye he is, but he did nae come here to follow her fate, he came because he owed me a debt.”

  “He owes us a debt. We wanted his baby, and we settled for his wife.”

  “He does nae owe you if you settled for his wife. The baby Eliza is now a grown woman. Do you forget that babies grow to be adults?”

  The Faery Queen revealed herself, perhaps because she wanted to or maybe because Ursula was not fearful.

  “I know you, Ursula,” the queen said, hovering before her. Dressed in a mossy green gown, a golden crown of vines atop her head, the petite faerie flew on gossamer wings.

  “I know you, too,” Ursula whispered.

  “Make your home here with us. We cannot mend your broken heart, but once you join us, you shall forget your pain.”

  Tempting. But that was what the Fae were good at, tempting humans to join their beautiful world with promises of living forever.

  “Please do nae think I’m not grateful for the invitation, but I’ve a noble reason for stopping here and gathering the flower. A friend of mine is in need.”

  “The guelder rose has been popular today, for a brave Highlander was here earlier wanting the same.”

  Ursula’s heart skipped a beat. “What did you say?”

  “Is there something wrong with your ears?” the Faery Queen asked, flying over to inspect one before Ursula retreated.

  “Stop tickling me,” Ursula protested, laughing against her will and serious about knowing more. “Tell me about the Highlander.”

  The Faery Queen zipped back in front of Ursula like a bee inspecting the heart of a flower. “What is the Highlander to you?�
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  “Must you ask questions before you answer them?” Faeries were difficult to converse with. They purposely loved to lie, play tricks, and misdirect humans. She needed some answers.

  “Remember, I’m half-Fae,” Ursula said. “Stop the shenanigans. Tell me about the Highlander.”

  The queen huffed. “You do nae have to be so bossy.”

  “Please,” Ursula amended.

  “All right. A tall but bent over Scottish laird came to the pool this morning with a broken heart, telling of a lost love and promised redemption.”

  Without warning, the Faery Queen flew off to Ursula’s left, then snapped her fingers.

  Ursula blinked and rubbed her eyes, surprised to find Johnathan standing next to her. He appeared a bit bewildered but smiled when he looked at Ursula.

  “Thank you for returning Johnathan to me. But this is not the Highlander. What did you do with him?”

  “Do you mean what did we do to him?”

  “Either, or.”

  “Neither, nor.”

  “’Tis not a game.”

  “’Tis a game,” the Faery Queen confessed.

  Ursula blew out a frustrated breath.

  “We sent him on his way with the flower,” piped in the male faerie. “He was not ignorantly brave,” he said, revealing himself. A handsome wisp of a man with golden hair and transparent amber-colored wings. He was flying by the queen’s side.

  “He was half-Fae like you, Ursula,” the Faery Queen admitted. “Do you know him?”

  “Perhaps.” Ursula’s answer was vague, but she wanted to shout to the heavens her gratitude. Alasdair was alive. At least it appeared to be so. As much as the faeries were tricksters, it appeared they didn’t know her connection to him.

  “My heart has been repaired. Perhaps you can mend broken hearts after all.”

  “Not on purpose,” the Faery Queen mumbled. “But I must be kind to one who is bearing a child.”