She had laughed without reserve the afternoon they had galloped across the heath, chasing the wind. He hadn’t heard anything like it in years. When they stopped and dismounted to walk the horses and give them a rest, her cheeks glowed and her eyes sparkled with joy. She gathered several sprigs of the purple heather that was so common on the moors in late August.
“Isn’t it pretty. Such a beautiful shade of purple,” she said in awe.
He laughed. “It’s just heather. It’s practically everywhere,” he said, sweeping his hands wide.
She shook her head and scolded good naturedly, “Just because it’s common doesn’t mean it isn’t lovely. In fact, it may be even more beautiful because of its abundance. God has painted this moor a color that is simply glorious. And He’s done it by dressing a humble weed in colors humans can’t easily recreate.”
Her sheer pleasure at ordinary things was infectious. He looked across the heath, which he had seen so many times before, it had become ordinary. Only now, he was able to see its breathtaking beauty through her eyes. “Ye’re right. I’ve never thought of it that way.”
He glanced around them again, his eye landing on a bit of white heather. “Now there’s something ye don’t see often.” He strode to it and broke off a sprig bringing it back to her.
“What is it?”
“Have ye never seen white heather?”
She smiled. “Not that I remember.”
“Well, ’tis extremely rare and it’s an omen of good fortune.”
“Really? I wonder why?”
“It’s said to only grow over the places where a faerie drew its last breath.”
She laughed. “I’m not sure I believe in faeries.”
He grinned. “I’m not sure I do either. But that’s not the only tale told about white heather. There is another tragic, but very romantic, legend about it.”
“Ooh, tell me.”
“Well, it’s said that ages and ages ago, before history was written, there was a lass who was very much in love with a great warrior. The warrior loved her just as fiercely, and they were betrothed. But as fate would have it, he was killed in battle. As he lay dying, he plucked a sprig of purple heather and bid a comrade to carry it back to his betrothed as his farewell.”
Perhaps he imagined it, but for a moment he’d thought he’d seen a deep sadness in her eyes. “That is tragic,” she’d said softly.
“Aye, and as ye can imagine, the lass’s heart was irreparably broken. Forever after that, she wandered the Highlands, weeping and clutching the sprig of purple heather to her breast. According to the legend, after her death, white heather grew wherever her tears had fallen. Those who knew her believed it was a sign she had been reunited with her beloved in the afterlife.”
Cassie had brushed the sprig of white heather against her cheek. “So it’s lucky because it’s a symbol of love reunited? That’s a lovely story.”
Looking back on it now, that afternoon, when he’d been forced to spend time with her, had been one of the most pleasant afternoons he’d spent in ages.
Now the idea of planning to do the things she desired left him feeling the same kind of excitement Boyd had shown at the feast.
“Today, sweet lass, ye’ll feel the sun on yer face and run barefoot beside the sea,” he said aloud. But if he had anything to do with it, her experiences wouldn’t renew her commitment to the religious life. It would feed her soul and help her choose a future outside the abbey walls.
At Mass, he kneeled beside her again, oddly warmed by her presence. After the final blessing, he took her hand in his. “Are ye ready?”
“For what?”
“Is yer memory so fleeting? Yesterday morning, I promised that as long as the weather was fine, we’d spend the day together today.”
Her musical laughter bubbled up. “I hadn’t forgotten that. I was just wondering what ye had planned.”
“We’re riding to the sea. Where ye can run barefoot in the sand, feel the sun on yer face, and perhaps touch the sky.”
She smiled broadly. “Then, I’m ready. Shall I go to the kitchens and fetch something for our midday meal?”
He touched her nose. “That’s already taken care of and our guard has been arranged. I only need to saddle our mounts. Wait in front of the keep for me.”
“Did ye say ye’re riding to the sea?” asked Boyd. “Can I come too?”
For no logical reason, Tavish was about to say nay. After all, he and Claire had an understanding—they were not courting because neither of them wished to be married. So why, then, did it matter if his little brother came too?
But before he could come up with a reason why Boyd shouldn’t come, Claire said, “I don’t see why not. As long as it’s fine with yer mum and da.”
So, to Tavish’s slight consternation, as they rode out of the keep, his little brother took up a position next to Claire and began his typical never-ending stream of chatter. But it didn’t take long for Tavish to realize this was actually a good thing.
Boyd kept Claire talking and laughing and Tavish quite enjoyed the sound of her laughter.
It took nearly two hours to cross from Castle Ranald and its sheltered harbor, through the rocky hills, to the broad sandy strand on the western tip of the peninsula. There were small sandy stretches on the southern side of it, but this one, on the Hebridean Sea would at least be similar to those she might remember from her childhood on the western edge of Lewis. He firmly believed this strand, more than any other, would remind her of what she would leave behind if she returned to the abbey.
As soon as they emerged from the hills and the coast came into view, Claire stopped her horse, gazing reverently. “It is so beautiful. I’ve always loved the sea.”
“I thought Saint Avoca’s was well away from the ocean.”
“Aye, but I grew up on Lewis. Just because I haven’t been close to it, doesn’t mean I don’t love it.”
“Nay, of course not. But if ye take vows, ye may never see it again.”
“Ye don’t want to get married—or have ye forgotten?” she said quietly.
Not wanting to be overheard by Boyd or the guardsmen, Tavish answered in an equally hushed tone. “I haven’t forgotten. But just because I don’t want to get married, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t,” he said, echoing her words. “After all, I’m not the only available man in the Highlands.”
She chuckled. “I’m certain ye’re not. Still, I suspect the abbey is the best place for me.”
“So far away from the sea that ye love?”
She shrugged. “The religious life requires making sacrifices.”
He wouldn’t argue with her now. It was enough that he’d made the point.
Boyd rode up to them. “Why are we just standing here? Let’s go.”
Claire grinned at Tavish’s bold little brother. “Aye, let’s go.” She urged her horse into a canter.
Boyd whooped and did the same thing.
Tavish laughed at their exuberance and followed them.
When they reached the sandy strand, she was off Belle’s back and removed her shoes immediately. She lifted her skirts and wiggled her toes in the sand, sighing as if it gave her the greatest pleasure on earth. She turned towards them and laughed before hoisting her skirts a little higher and running through the sand to the edge of the sea.
Boyd simply sat on his horse, watching her, as if she were something enchanted. And seeing her like this, Tavish could understand why.
After a moment of just soaking in her joy, he dismounted, handed off the both of their horses to a guardsman to tend, and joined her.
She approached the damp area where the small waves broke before rushing up onto the sand. She squealed and laughed as the water washed over her bare toes. “It’s so cold.”
He laughed too. “Aye, but I can’t imagine it’s colder than any ye’d find on Lewis.”
“Nay, I don’t suppose it is. I guess I’d forgotten.” She stood, looking around her, as if taking it all in. “It is t
ruly beautiful, Tavish. Thank ye for bringing me here.”
“Does it remind ye of home?”
An odd smile—one that he couldn’t quite interpret—came to her lips. It was warm and happy, and yet tinged with something else. Something that didn’t quite fit her joyful mood.
“Aye, it does remind me of home.”
He took one of her hands in his. “Does that make ye sad?”
She looked up at him. “Not really. Nostalgic, perhaps. But memories are wonderful things.”
He nodded and gave her small hand a squeeze. “Indeed they are.”
~ * ~
She gazed at him a moment longer, before looking out to sea again. She closed her eyes, thinking back to another shore, another time. It was the Tuesday of Thanksgiving week last year, months before Tom had gotten sick. Weeks before that, she had been invited to his home for the holiday weekend and that was where she wanted to go. But only a few days earlier, her parents had decided to spend the holiday at their home in the Hamptons. She’d received the text telling her this on Saturday. She’d immediately called her mother to explain that she’d already made other plans. But her mother refused to listen, insisting that Cassie spend Thanksgiving with her family.
“After all, Cassandra, we haven’t spent Thanksgiving together in years.”
And for Cassie, that was the point. If they hadn’t spent it together in years, why was it suddenly so important this time?
She remembered being so very disappointed and angry. Under the stress of it all, she had burst into tears in Tom’s arms just the night before. “Why do they do this? They have always lived their own lives with little regard to their children or holidays. They might attempt to spend Christmas with us, but I can’t tell you the number of other holidays or birthdays Sloan and I have celebrated with the staff or just stayed at school. Now that I actually have people who love me and want to spend time with me, why must they swoop in and insist I go to the Hamptons?”
“Cassie, I’m sure your parents love you. Maybe they are coming to realize how much and that you’re growing away from them.”
But distraught as she was, that hadn’t been what Cassie wanted to hear and it only brought on a fresh wave of tears.
When she had regained a measure of composure, Tom tipped her face up to look into his. “Do you have any tests or anything in your classes tomorrow?”
“I have a quiz in History of Religion at eight. But nothing else.”
“I have to be in my first class too, but after that I’m good. By nine-thirty rush hour traffic should be clearing out. It’s supposed to be a nice day. What do you say we ditch the rest of our classes and go to the shore? We can be in Ocean City by noon. We’ll walk on the beach, build sand castles…”
“Freeze,” she added.
He laughed. “And then sip hot chocolate in a cozy café to warm up.” At her skeptical expression he added another enticement, “We can have supper in the diner that has the fried chicken and sweet potato biscuits you love.”
She grinned. “Well, now you’re talking.”
“We’ll stay all day. If we leave by nine in the evening or so, we’ll be back before midnight.”
“My security detail will be hot on our heels all day.”
“You know it doesn’t bother me. Besides, they like the fried chicken too and we’ll get them a box of saltwater taffy for the ride home.”
That had been a perfect day. They had done all of the beachy things she loved, including walking barefoot, hand in hand, and letting the frigid waves wash over their feet.
Standing here now, with her eyes closed, she let the feel of the cold water on her feet take her back. The memory didn’t cause the sharp burning pain she had feared it would. She opened her eyes and turned to look at Tavish again.
“Were you lost in one of those wonderful memories?” he asked.
She smiled. “Aye, I was.”
“Care to share it?”
She shrugged. “It was just a happy day spent at the seaside.”
Boyd called to them from close to where the guardsmen had hobbled the horses. “Are ye hungry? Nancy sent the leftover roast capon from last night. And bannocks and cheese and fresh apples.”
“Are ye hungry?” Tavish asked. “If we leave Boyd to it, there might be nothing left soon.”
She laughed. “Aye, I’m hungry and I quite liked the capon last night.”
The guardsmen had spread the meal on one of the broad flat rocks that dotted the beach. While they ate, the men teased Tavish by telling tales of him as a boy. Cassie laughed until her sides ached.
“Aye, Tavish was a bold wee thing and it got worse as he grew older. But once he went into training that all changed. He took it very seriously,” said Hendry, one of the guardsmen.
“Where did ye do yer training?” she asked.
“I trained with Clan Matheson. Mostly under Laird Edward Matheson. He passed away during my last year there, so I finished training with his son, Laird Dougal Matheson. Dougal’s a good man. Every bit as skilled as his father. I’d very much like to return the favor someday. His eldest son, Tadgh, is in training with Laird Chisholm but Da has made the offer for Robbie to come here when he’s old enough.”
Cassie frowned, remembering that Claire’s younger brother Darach went into training the same year she was sent to the abbey, making him seven at the time.
Evidently noting her frown, Tavish asked, “What concerns ye?”
“Nothing.”
“Something brought that scowl to yer face and someone once told me ye can go to Hell for lying just the same as ye can for stealing.”
She laughed. “I wasn’t scowling. I was just…”
“What?” he prodded after her voice trailed off.
“Well, I know what it’s like to be sent away and I was just wondering what ye think constitutes old enough?”
His brow furrowed. “Like ye, I was eight when I went away to train. And while generally I think that’s too young, it was probably the best thing for me.”
“How could sending an eight year old child away be the best thing?” She had been sent to boarding school at nine and she didn’t think it was the best thing.
“I’m sorry about what yer father did, Claire. But I assure ye, in my case it was best. My mother had given birth to my sister, Margaret, that spring. And as ye’ve so recently heard from my da’s men, I was just short of wild and only growing more so. I took dangerous chances. One day when Margaret was only a couple months old, I thought it would be funny to hide her from my mother. I sneaked her out of the cradle where she slept and put her down in one of the storerooms. Before Mam realized she was missing, I was apparently distracted by something and went outside to play, forgetting about what I’d done.”
Cassie’s hands flew to her mouth. “Oh, dear God.”
Hendry said, “Worse than that, he returned to the keep several hours later and Lady Ann was absolutely beside herself. First, he’d tried to convince his parents that he didn’t know what had happened. Then he suggested that Hugh, at only three and a half, had done it. When he finally admitted it, he laughed, unable to see the danger in what he’d done. Laird Ranald tanned his hide and began making arrangements immediately for him to go into training.”
Seamus, another guardsman said, “Lady Ann didn’t want Tavish sent away so young either and was heartsick. But they had already lost two other bairns and fear for this one had the laird worried.”
Hendry nodded. “It seemed to be what Tavish needed because he thrived. When wee, baby Margaret passed that autumn, the laird considered bringing him home for a while. But things were going so well, Laird Matheson talked him out of it.”
Tavish captured her gaze. “So for me, eight was the right age. Laird Matheson’s older son is ten and he only recently started his training. Da didn’t send Hugh until he was twelve and I expect he’ll wait at least that long for Boyd.”
“It just seems sad to me.”
“And yet, a decision was made f
or ye at the age of eight which ye seem happy enough to give into for the rest of yer life.”
She canted her head. “That’s the second comment ye’ve made to me today about the abbey. Ye needn’t worry yerself over it. Just as ye took well to training, life at the abbey suited me.”
They were heading down a slippery slope. She didn’t like to lie and she couldn’t honestly say she would choose to join a religious order. But Tavish was happy enough not to marry her and for Lady Ranald’s sake, Cassie had to leave Castle Ranald before her sixty days were up. So returning to the abbey would accomplish that. A change of subject was in order.
She stood up, brushed the sand from her clothes and said, “I believe it’s time for a little more running barefoot in the sand now. It’s not likely I’ll have many opportunities to do that as a married woman or a nun.”
Turning away, she lifted her skirts and ran to the water.
Boyd followed her, running into the sea until he was waist deep, but she stopped in the wet sand. She twirled around, reaching her arms towards the pristine blue sky. She knew warm fine days like this were rare in Scotland and she felt truly blessed to experience one on the most beautiful, unspoiled beach she’d seen in her entire life. Even in the loveliest places she’d ever been in the Caribbean or South Pacific, there were still always signs of humanity in the form of plastic and other bits of refuse mixed with the shells, seaweed, and driftwood at the high tide mark.
Boyd splashed in the water, and she ran along the water’s edge, chasing the waves as she had done when she was a little girl. Running towards the water as a wave retreated, staying just behind it, then turning and running towards the dry sand as another wave broke and rushed to the shore.
When she finally stopped and looked up, out of breath, it was to see Tavish staring at her, an odd yearning in his expression.
She called to him, “Ye can chase the waves with me, ye know.”
He called back, “It’s more fun to watch ye.”
The Gift: The Pocket Watch Chronicles Page 9