“Aye, my lord,” MacTavish answered. Braemuir took his leave of them, and MacTavish escorted them out to the side of the house where a cart awaited them. They collected all they had left with Jeannie for safekeeping, and then MacTavish took them to the cottage, deep in the wood. An area of trees had been cleared around the cottage, and a small, neglected vegetable-patch had been made to one side. MacTavish and his helper unloaded the cart and disposed of the bundles as directed by Flora. There were several that didn’t belong to them.
“Those aren’t our belongings,” Mairi said when she saw them being carried into the house.
“Braemuir directed Sinead to supply household linen and a supply of food,” MacTavish informed her.
“Please tell Braemuir that we are so very grateful to him,” Mairi managed to get out. Tears were clouding her eyes. This was more kindness by far then she’d expected to be shown. The cottage was in good repair, and according to MacTavish it had been the home of a charcoal-burner, until a widow in the settlement had caught him and taken him for her second husband. He grinned and took his leave, promising to call in a few days to bring them a few hens and to see if they were in need of anything. Before he left, he pointed out the stack of firewood, reminding them that it was theirs to use.
“Mairi, just look at the beautiful sheets and drying cloths, not to mention the baskets of bread, eggs, vegetables, and such. It’s past noon, so I shall make a meal. Do sit you down and rest for a wee while,” Flora said.
Mairi was very tired, so she sat at the table in the kitchen and watched as Flora assembled a cold meal of bread, cheese, and fruit. She fetched water from the well, and soon they were both replenishing their energies. After the meal, they set about exploring. The cottage was indeed small, but it was more than adequate for their needs. The beds, like those in the fisherman’s home, were but alcoves set in the walls and concealed by curtains. The kitchen could be made cheerful with a fire in the hearth and a new rag rug which they could make between them. They had oil lamps and candles for light, so all in all they could make themselves comfortable. Flora arranged their possessions and the few treasures that Mairi had brought to remind her of her home. By the time that was done, the light was fading. Flora and Mari made the beds. Flora made a fire, and they sat in the kitchen sipping a hot drink. Mairi was more contented than she’d expected to be.
I’m glad he took my word for it all. He never asked any awkward questions, and with him as a protector we shall do much better than on our own. I’m so very tired now, Flora is trying to hide her yawns. We must go to bed and see what tomorrow brings.
The life they established was very different from that Mairi had led on Skye. The cottage was much smaller. Added to that, she and Flora had to do all of the work. Mairi’s mother had provided her with some coins, but Mairi was determined to save them in case her son needed anything later on. Her mother had promised more support whenever Dougie had to go to the mainland. Mairi had no doubt that it would be forthcoming, eventually.
They got up with the dawn. After breaking their fast, they tended to the house and the hens which MacTavish had brought them. Both Mairi and Flora were good with their needles, so a growing pile of small garments, both knitted and hand-stitched, was put on one side for the baby.
“Flora, I’d like to learn all you know about herbs and remedies,” Mairi said. Flora beamed.
“I’d be delighted to show you. I never married so have no child of my own to pass the knowledge on to. Many plants and herbs are useful for curing aliments. I will take you out into the woods, and we will gather supplies tomorrow.”
She was as good as her word, and soon Mairi absorbed a lot of knowledge. The people of the settlement came to seek advice and cures for their ailments as Flora’s fame spread. It certainly helped to pass the time. Small gifts of vegetables or fruit and sometimes fish were given in exchange for the advice, and they were a welcome addition to their diet. Mairi was an apt pupil. Soon she was treating the locals under the watchful eye of Flora. The months of waiting passed relatively quickly, and Mairi was finding it difficult to bend or walk long distances. Never once did Mairi or Flora tell anyone that Mairi was a shape-shifter. Everyone knew that Hamish had been, so the child she was carrying would most likely be a shape-shifter, too. Only time would tell.
Chapter Seven
Hamish awoke with a start. He wasn’t alone. Who were these people who intruded upon his privacy? He lay still in his dragon-form and listened. There were two of them. What were they here for? The torches flickered in the tunnel as they approached the cavern. Hamish lay still and waited. They came out into the cave where he lay, and stood looking around. One was thin and the other stocky.
“We need to find a shelf near the tunnel. We want to be able to find it again easily, after all,” the thin one said.
“Well, they won’t be getting it back unless they pay what we ask,” the stocky man replied.
“It’s so ironic that they will pay anything to get it back. They’re a superstitious lot. It’s been used in marriage celebrations for so long, they will all be convinced no marriage can be happy if the bride doesn’t wear this thing,” the thin one said.
“There’s a ledge here. Put it up there and let’s be off. I don’t like this place at all. I feel as if I’m being watched.”
“Don’t you go all old woman on me. There’s no one here and no one but us knows about this cavern. Just make sure you don’t go and blab when you are in your cups.”
“I can hold my drink better than you. Just you take your own advice,” the stocky one retorted.
While they were arguing the thin man reached up and placed a bundle on a ledge, and then they went back into the tunnel, still arguing, and their voices faded in the distance. There was too much rock between them and Hamish for even a dragon’s ears to catch their words. Hamish changed into his man-form. It was well past time to go and get more supplies in any case. His stock of torches and food was low. Taking his tinder-box, he lit a torch and made his way carefully to the ledge. He didn’t want to risk a fall, the sound of which might well bring the two men back into the cavern. He opened the wrappings, uncovering a golden torc. It was heavy and beautifully made. He rewrapped it and moved it to a ledge on the other side of the cavern. He would go and find out what it was, and why the two men were so convinced they could hold it to ransom. He walked along the tunnel, dousing the torch before he reached the exit. He hid his torch and tinder-box on the high ledge he usually used, and walked out into the sunshine. His eyes took a while to get accustomed to the glare. He’d been underground for a couple of weeks. He moved a safe distance away from the tunnel-mouth, and then he changed into his dragon-form. His powerful wings and sinewed hind-legs thrust him into the air. He circled the mountain, which he now knew to be Galdhopiggen. Then he flew off to Alesund. Outside the settlement he changed to his human-form, and, clothed in his plaid, he went into the market square. There was a large crowd of chattering women buying food for their families and catching up with the local gossip. Hamish stood looking at the piles of vegetables on the stalls and listened to what was being said.
“I tell you that any marriage celebrated without the torc will never prosper,” one plump matron said. Her companions nodded in sage agreement. A spare and bent older woman shook her head.
“We didn’t always have the torc. My generation married without it,” she stated.
“Yes, and a fine example you and your man are. No love-match there,” the plump matron said.
“We’re as happy as many of those who did get wed wearing the torc. Marriage is a matter of chance, and no golden gewgaw can change that,” the older woman said.
“I heard that whoever took it is wanting a large sum in gold and silver before it’s returned,” a young blonde said. The talk began to centre on whether the ransom ought to be paid, and what the high-council could do instead to ensure the return of the torc. Hamish had heard enough. He purchased his supplies and carried them out of the settleme
nt. Assuming his dragon-form, he seized the net of goods in one of his front claws and soared into the air. Once back at the tunnel into Galdhopiggen, he returned to his human-form. He lit the torch he’d left on the shelf, and then he carried his net of food down into the cavern. He crossed the uneven floor to his lair and arranged his food on the ledges. Then he sat down to think.
This torc has already been missed. They will pay the ransom, and then those two will come back to get it to return it. So shall I allow that? No. They won’t find it. They aren’t going to profit by their theft. Shall I return it then and tell their secret? No. I’m pretty sure that no one would believe the word of a stranger against two of their own. So what am I going to do? Dragons are supposed to have a hoard of gold, and this can be the start of mine. I have no life now. My love is lost to me. Why should I help others to be happy? Hamish lay down and assumed his dragon-form. He would await events. After all, he’d nothing else to do and this might just be amusing. He had need of some entertainment to brighten his life, even if only for a little while.
One week later the same two men came down the tunnel.
“I told you they’d pay up,” the thin one said.
“Well, we have to get it and replace the money with it, without their finding out who we are,” his stocky friend said. “There’s the ledge. Get it down and let’s get out of here. I still feel that we are bring watched.”
“There’s no one here watching. I can’t find the torc. I know I put it on this ledge, but it’s not there now.” The thin man was searching the ledge frantically. He searched the floor beneath. Then his stocky friend pushed him out of the way.
“Let me look. You were never very good at finding things.” In his turn, he searched the ledge and the floor. “I could have sworn you put it on this ledge, but maybe we’re mistaken. Let’s search other ledges.”
Search away. You’ll never find that torc. If you get too close, I’ll give you the fright of your lives. Hamish was enjoying himself for the first time since he arrived here.
The two men spent a fruitless hour searching along the cavern to either side of the tunnel.
“You idiot. Where did you put the torc?” the stocky one said.
“You saw where I put it, fool. Someone must have been here and moved it.”
“No one knows about this cave but us.”
“That’s what we thought. We were wrong and someone does know. Maybe someone followed us and wants the money,” the skinny one said.
“Well, we’d best search further in the cave. It’s a huge place, and there are plenty of places to hide something you don’t want to be easily found,” the stocky one suggested in a half-hearted way. They began to search, and all too soon got close to where Hamish lay. Time to have some fun. He stood and opened his jaws. The bellow echoed back and forth in the confined space. The two men clutched one another. Then Hamish let forth a stream of flame, and the two of them fell over themselves in their haste to get away. They scrambled back to the tunnel and tried to run down it but kept on falling over and banging their heads. At last they must have reached the surface because the noise grew faint. Changing to his man-shape, Hamish went stealthily along the tunnel and peered out. He chuckled as he saw the two of them. They’d slid down the slope of Galdhopiggen and lay in a dirty heap at the bottom.
“What are you two doing here?” a man’s voice asked. Damnation. Let’s hope they can keep their mouths shut, or I shall get no peace at all. He was to be disappointed.
The skinny man poured out the story, or a garbled version of it. He didn’t say they’d stolen the torc but that they thought it might be hidden under Galdhopiggen. He didn’t say why they’d thought that, but as most of what he said didn’t make sense, it seemed the man was willing to believe. They all looked back up toward the tunnel, and Hamish’s heart sank. Now what? I can see I shall live to regret this.
Chapter Eight
Mairi awoke in the middle of the night in agony. She shouted for Flora, who came running.
“The baby’s coming, Flora,” Mairi gasped as another sharp pain took her breath away.
“Now, Mairi, love. We discussed what to do. You follow my instructions, and I will go and brew some herbs to relieve the pain. She turned on her heel and left. Mairi tried to remember all that Flora had said and rearranged herself according to instructions. She tried not to tense up as the next painful contraction tore through her. She managed to master her feelings so that all that came out of her mouth was a grunt. Flora came back and nodded in approval.
“My brave lassie. Here, drink this.” She held a cup of fragrant liquid to Mairi’s lips. Mairi sipped cautiously, but it was not too bad as Flora’s herbal remedies went, so she sipped at it until she’d drained the cup. Certainly the pain was easier. Flora mopped her brow with a cloth soaked in lavender water, and then she went over to the fireplace and lit a small fire. She placed a pan on the trivet, and then she bustled about getting out cloths for binding the infant, a small bath she’d had the travelling tinkers make for her, and the warm blankets they’d made ready. When she’d finished, she came back to the bed and sat beside Mairi, helping and encouraging her through the next few hours. As dawn began to lighten the sky, and the beautiful azure and rose of the new day could be seen through the window, Mairi’s little son came into the world. Flora cleaned the baby in the tin-bath, and then she helped Mairi. Soon the infant lay suckling contentedly at his mother’s breast as tears of joy rolled down Mairi’s cheeks.
“He’s a fine wee man, with his father’s colouring. He’s strong, too. What will you name him?” Flora asked.
“I want to call him Seamus, for his father. He will be a shape-shifter, too, and soon we shall have to see to his education, as such.”
MacTavish came to the cottage later in the day, ostensibly to inquire after her health, but Mairi suspected he had a different object in view. He was a widower, and he was casting his eyes in Flora’s direction. Flora had said nothing, and Mairi didn’t want to be inquisitive, but she hoped for a happy outcome. MacTavish was as delighted as she’d ever seen him when he was shown the baby. He promised to return the next day with some comforts for the two ladies. He took a glass of Flora’s elderflower wine to toast the infant, and then he left.
The next day Flora came in from the garden. She was flustered and at first made no sense.
“Flora, what it is? Is there something wrong?” she asked.
“Mairi, ‘tis the Braemuir. He’s out in the garden. He’s come to see you and the infant, and his son with him,” Flora managed to get out at last.
“Oh, my goodness. Flora, am I decent? Is the house tidy? What will he think?”
“He will think that you are a lucky woman to be blessed with a son,” the deep tones of Braemuir stated.
“This is my son, my eldest son, and friend to Hamish. He wanted to come and meet the child of his best friend,” Braemuir said. A tall, well-built young man came forward. He was the image of his father and had just as much presence. Judging by his appearance, he’d soon be the Braemuir when his parents retired in favour of the first-born son, as was the custom. This was to ensure that the leader of the Clan was always a vigorous warrior in the prime of life.
“May I hold the infant?” he asked. Mairi handed her precious son to the young man. Flora hovered in the background, and Mairi watched as he bent and kissed the baby’s forehead.
“What’s his name?”
“Seamus, my lord,” Mairi said.
“That’s a good name. Hamish would have liked that. For the love I bear your father, I promise to look after you, Seamus, as if you were my own son,” he stated. Flora gasped. That was a promise not often made. It meant that if anything were to happen to Mairi, Seamus would be taken into the Caisteal and reared as the son of the future Braemuir. He wouldn’t inherit, but he would be safe for life.
“My lord, I’m so very grateful,” Mairi said.
“He’s the son of my best friend,” was the reply. They’d brought gifts
of food and wine and a sturdy cow, which was a welcome addition to the little family’s stock.
“I need no reminding that you were considering moving to the centre of the settlement once your child was born. I have a proposal for you. I have a cottage just now come vacant. It lies on the edge of the settlement, but it has some land that can be cultivated, and it’s sufficient to maintain the cow. If you wish, I can arrange for MacTavish to have it prepared, and when you are recovered from the birth you may move in there,” Braemuir said.
“My lord, you overwhelm me with your kindness. It sounds ideal. I’m not sure now that I could live in the middle of the settlement. The peace of this house suits me well. A cottage on the edge would give me the best of both worlds. I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
“I will speak to MacTavish, and he can prepare it and help with the moving. I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to assist you.” This was said with a smile. So he knows, does he? I’m not surprised. Nothing much escapes him as the Clan Chieftain. Flora is a widow, and as such he’s responsible for seeing to her welfare. A marriage will be arranged for her eventually, and MacTavish is a good man. I do hope he doesn’t think that I shall be marrying anyone at all. If so there may be trouble ahead.
* * * *
Within a few weeks all was arranged. This cottage was larger than the one they’d occupied before, and MacTavish saw to it that they had all they needed. He took to calling in on them “every time I’m out this way,” and he seemed to be out their way every other day. Flora said nothing, but she blossomed and went about the house and garden singing. Mairi continued to learn all that Flora had to teach, and soon they were the people to be consulted for every ailment.
“It’s fortunate that the Braemuir has extended his protection to us,” Flora said.
“Why is that?” Mairi asked puzzled.
“Why, lass, haven’t you seen the odd looks we get and the muttering that stops as we pass by? If it were not for the fact that they know the Braemuir and the heir protect us, we could find ourselves chased out of the settlement as witches,” Flora said.
For Auld Lang Syne [Cairngorm Dragons 4] (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 5