“I have told all who are near so they might help to find them. I hate to say it, but I dinnae have a good feeling about it.”
Kristie wiped her hands off on the side of the house and looked over her shoulder to the loch. Deep in her heart, she agreed, though she would never say so. That would make it more real, and she needed Domnall to return alive.
Sacharie seemed impatient. “Well, show me the scoundrel.”
She turned to the open doorway of the byre and pointed inside. Sacharie had been a tenant in these parts since he was a lad, and if he recognized the stranger, it could be helpful. They stepped into the shadows of the animal shed. Creag was lying up against the outer wall, and she noticed his plaid had been cast aside.
“Have ye ever seen him before?” she asked Sacharie.
“Hmm,” the elder clansman hummed. He stepped closer and squatted beside him. “I cannae say that I have. Looks he has received a quite a scrape, but it does not seem to be from a blade.”
She leaned against the side of the house, watching him. “When he woke, his wits were about him—with no recollection of who he be or how he came to our shores. But earlier, he mumbled something about trying to help someone.”
Sacharie raised an eyebrow. “Does the lad have a name?”
“Aye, to be sure, but he has no memory of it. Jock thought Creag was fitting.”
The elder man chuckled. “If that lad does not drive his aunt to the hills in frustration, I will be plucked.”
She waited for Sacharie to say something more. He tipped onto one knee, leaning ever closer to the stranger, and muttered, “Time to wake him.”
Sacharie took hold of the man’s tunic, pulling him away from the wall and called, “Oy! Who ye be?”
He was submerged under water. Everything was quiet and still until a form sped up to him. Two round eyes stared into his face. When the seal’s elongated muzzle opened, a loud bark echoed.
Creag woke with a start. He tried to focus on the face before him while his heart raced. It certainly wasn’t Kristie or Jock, but a new person he hadn’t yet met. The older man’s eyes were focused on him, and his bushy eyebrows lifted toward his woolen cap.
“Good day, laddie,” the man said exaggeratedly slow, lowering him back against the wall and letting go of his tunic. “We have a bit of a problem. People dinnae take to strangers in these parts, and ye happen to be a stranger. Do ye know who ye be and how ye come to be here?”
Creag glanced at the opening of the byre and noticed Kristie standing in the lopsided threshold, frowning at him. She seemed to be waiting for his response. He looked back at the man who’d addressed him and racked his brain for the answer and came up disappointingly short.
“I cannae think beyond waking in this here animal shed. Creag seemed a name just as good as any, but I dinnae think Kristie likes it.”
She came away from the wall and questioned him with a raised voice. “Why would I call ye something that ye were not given at birth? Best not get too comfortable with names, for ye will not be staying long.”
“Now then.” The older man focused back on Creag and tried again. “Do ye know yer clan, laddie? What do ye picture when ye think of home?”
Home. Creag thought of the word, expecting that was something he should know. The sound of the sea filled his head, though nothing else. “I hear the sound of the sea when I think of home.”
“That be a mite closer to the truth than we were a moment ago,” the man muttered, glancing back at Kristie.
She threw her hands in the air and cried, “Aye, Sacharie, but much of the Highlands touches the sea. It does not mean the place he calls home is near water when I just fished him off shore. He could be thinking of how he came to be washed up. Do ye not share my concern at having him here?”
Sacharie’s eyes narrowed, and he shook his head seemingly to shoo away her voice from his ears as if she were a gnat. “We best get ye fixed up soon so ye may get on yer way. Is there anything keeping ye from standing on yer feet?”
Creag recalled that the last time he’d attempted it, his leg had pained him, but he was willing to try again. He sat up. Sacharie held out his hand, and Creag accepted the help. The gray-haired man pulled while Creag used his good leg to rise to his feet. His achy knee smarted, so he kept his weight off his right foot. He leaned against the wall as his head throbbed from the movement and effort.
“There ye be. Taller than ye looked on the ground. Yer tunic be a bit short on ye, rising above yer knees.” Sacharie made a face, then waved his hand. “Nothing yer plaid cannae cover. Ye will be needing a walking stick for yer travels.”
“Where am I off to?” Creag asked in confusion.
“To look for home, of course,” Sacharie answered.
A soft voice wafted into the byre. “Pa? Are ye here?”
Sacharie and Kristie turned to face the daylight that poured in through the wide doorway. A young woman appeared. Her light hair fell over her blue plaid that was pinned at her chest.
Sacharie spat toward her. “Moira, I told ye to stay home with yer brother, lass. Why must ye come looking for me? I am not a lost sickly sheep that needs tendin’.”
“Oh, I know, Pa.” She took a step inside the shadow of the byre with her arms folded before her waist. “I wanted a peek at the outsider.”
“But Rob be needing yer help with weeding and repairs,” Sacharie groaned. He looked at Creag and muttered, “She be a headstrong lass. Lord help the man she marries.”
Creag felt Moira look him over as she stood beside Kristie. Moira’s lips curled into a grin, and she pressed her hands against the flat of her abdomen. “The scrape on his brow be a sight, but I never saw such a handsome fellow. What be his name?”
“He can hear you, lass,” Sacharie scolded her.
“Aye, but Eileanor cannae,” she answered with an innocent grin.
A strange expression contorted Kristie’s face when the younger woman looped her arm through Kristie’s. Kristie tried to sidestep away from Moira, but the young lady brought Kristie with her, closer to Creag.
While Kristie tried to disentangle herself from the young woman, she spoke up. “Creag will be needing a walking stick. Ye do not care to help, do ye, Moira?”
“I know just the tree,” Moira answered and freed her hold on Kristie, walking toward Creag. She came up to him, stopping a breath away, and said softly, “The bough will have to be the right height and strong enough to hold yer weight, muscles and all. I will look after ye. Dinnae worry, Creag.”
“Yer dallying be wasted on this one.” Sacharie took hold of his daughter’s arm and pulled her away. “Once ye retrieve that walking stick, he will be on his way. So says Kristie.”
Moira’s grin turned to a pout and she protested, “But ye cannae turn him out. How can an injured man find his way home?”
“I dinnae believe that to be our problem, lass. Off ye go. There, there.”
Creag watched the young woman walk outside and frown at the sky. Then she moved out of sight with the skirt of her tunic dress lifted so she could trudge off in a stomp.
Sacharie took a step closer to Creag, who was still standing at the wall for support, and muttered with a growl, “Ye best be keeping yer eyes away from my girl. She dinnae know what is best for her like I do. And ye are not staying long enough to make any promises to such a foolish lass. Ye be hearing me clearly, or do I need to give ye a matching bruise on yer other brow?”
Creag may have found the young woman a pretty sight, but he kept his eyes on Sacharie. “I only wish to find my way back home, wherever that may be. I dinnae want to cause no strife amongst ye and yers.”
He didn’t know how he’d react if he’d found a stranger washed up beside his home, but he was thankful these people had chosen to offer him shelter and clothing instead of letting him perish. Their protectiveness of their kin and home was understandable.
Sacharie began to wander out of the byre but turned to say one more thing. “Ye seem like a respectable l
ad, and I hope ye be feeling better soon, remembering who ye be and all. But ye best believe none of us will stand by and let a stranger take what does not belong to him.”
Chapter 4
Creag was jostled as Kristie helped wrap the plaid blanket he’d been using to stay warm around his shoulders and waist, fixing it to him with a leather strap about his waist. She did so roughly, leaving no doubt in his mind she disliked his presence. He stood bearing his weight on his left leg, watching her work. The pale curls that broke free of her braid fell into her sad eyes. He wondered if she was worrying about her brother, the one she’d mentioned was expected to return.
She avoided looking at him, but when she was done, she straightened and said, “I have no belt buckle for ye. This will have to do.”
“I dinnae want to trouble ye. It is fine,” he answered, not caring how he appeared. He was covered and protected from the elements, which was a blessing in itself.
Kristie stepped back and put her hands on her hips and sighed. She didn’t seem very pleased. Her mind was clearly on something else. She didn’t strike him as the sort to share her troubles with a stranger, but he wanted to help if he could.
He looked her way and said, “I cannae help but notice ye seem a mite worried.”
Her brown eyes lifted to meet his. “It be nothing for ye to fret about. My problems are my own to be dealing with.”
“Is it to do with yer brother—was it Domnall?”
Kristie’s jaw clenched and her brows pulled together. “He never stays out this long. He should have returned by now. There be the plowing to finish and the seeding. Not to mention keeping a watchful eye on the calving. Then there be the stranger staying in our byre. But like I said, it is not for ye to think about. Yer leg will be right to walk on soon enough, and ye will be off to find yer home.”
“Kristie—” a woman called from outside.
“Here!” she shouted over her shoulder and turned around. “This is who ye have to thank for the roof over yer head.”
A woman holding a waist-high stick appeared. Her round belly showed between the folds of her plaid, and her walk was more like a waddle. She seemed about Kristie’s age, though the dark circles under her eyes made her appear far more tired. She stepped into the shadow of the byre and held out the stick to Kristie. “Sacharie offered this for the outsider. Said we are to send Moira home if she turns up.”
Kristie took the branch and handed it to Creag. At its top, the wood twisted sideways, forming a perfect handle. The stick wasn’t too thin or dried out to support his weight. He gripped it in his right hand and took a step forward. He was able to limp on his sore leg with the help of the simple walking stick. “Aye, that will do.”
Kristie nodded. “Good.”
“Were ye going to make yer visit today?” the pregnant woman asked.
Kristie shook her head. When she spoke, her voice sounded pinched. “Too much to be done, and I will not leave ye alone with the outsider.”
“I will be fine. All the work that needs doing will be here when ye return—a day will not be the breaking of us.”
Kristie remained silent as Creag was left wondering what the women were speaking of. It seemed clear Kristie wasn’t going to respond, so after the pregnant woman glanced at Kristie, she cleared her throat and addressed Creag. “I am Jean, and it is my byre ye be sleeping in. Kristie did not take to the idea of ye remaining, but I thought it only right to take care of whom the fairies brought to our shore. Tell me I was not wrong in doing so?”
“Who am I to argue with? The fairies or a woman with child? At present ye can call me Creag as the wise lad, Jock, named me after some rocks. Though I suppose there be worse things to be named after.” He smirked, thinking of the possibilities. Then noticed Kristie wasn’t amused. “I thank ye for yer hospitality. And I have no intention of meddling with yer livestock or ye and yers.”
Jean exchanged a glance with Kristie and spoke directly to her. “The fellow seems to be needing more rest—look at him limp. Kristie, the sun is chasing the clouds away. Might be a bonnie day to gather some flowering heather from the ridge, or some bluebells. Before things get too busy to take a breath—ye cannae tell me ye have not been thinking on it. I will keep my eye on the outsider.”
Kristie’s shoulders hunched, and she stared blankly out of the animal shed at the growing sunlight on the damp ground. Then she turned her eyes to Creag and pointed her finger at his chest. “I dinnae want to be coming back only to find ye took advantage of our kindness. I have enough to do without having to chase after a dunderheed.”
He didn’t respond. She didn’t give him the time to, for she brushed past him and grabbed a bridle as she left. Just outside a pony was feeding on a few fresh stalks of grass. Kristie trailed her hand down its neck before slipping on the bridle, flipping the reins over the animal’s head, grabbing hold of its withers and jumping on. Once she was settled, her feet were a few hands from the ground. She brought up her knees and gave the nag a gentle kick, sending them on their way. The shaggy pony started off, taking Kristie around the home and out of sight.
Jean’s gaze moved from outside to settle on him, and she asked, “She be needing this time away, so ye had better not give me any trouble, ye hear?”
“Of course. I dinnae mean any trouble for anyone, least of all ye folk. I just wish I could return the favor ye be doing me.”
Jean walked with him outside while she rested her hands on her belly. “Not much a fellow can do when he be lame, now is there? Not when it comes to harrowing and plowing fields. But dinnae fret. Rest yerself so ye can return to yer own family.”
His own family. He could not imagine any faces or names when he tried to dredge something out of the recesses of his mind. Maybe he was without any kin.
Creag pushed aside those thoughts for now. He couldn’t help but notice the beautiful view on the loch, the trees that nestled in sections along the shore and the sun gleaming off its shiny surface. They both hobbled around the home, and he looked at the half-plowed, sloping fields. He gestured to their surroundings and said, “Ye have a place to be proud of.”
She sighed and answered, “Always so much that needs doing. Once that run gets the plowing it needs, it will be sowed with oats. When Domnall returns.”
They were words of confidence, but the tone of her voice said otherwise. She knit her fingers under her belly, giving herself more support. Being as pregnant as she was seemed more uncomfortable than his wounded knee.
“How much longer ’til yer bairn arrives?” he asked.
She looked out at the shining surface of the loch and breathed, “No telling. Could be any day. But this little one better wait for his da.”
“Any child knows to listen to his mam. Ye know it be a lad?”
“Aye.” She nodded. “I dreamt of it.”
Jean’s smile dissolved, and she turned toward the house. He watched to make sure she made it safely inside before he found a place to sit with a view of the loch and hills. He’d barely gotten situated before he noticed someone coming across the field. He recognized Jock’s dark mess of hair from a distance away.
When the lad saw him, he started jogging. Once he reached him, he was out of breath and panting. “How are ye? Let ye out of the byre, did they?”
Creag shrugged and grinned, looking up at the boy. Jock was the only person to offer a pinch of amity, plus the child was the only one not to warn him off from being a thief or worse.
He grinned at the lad. “Well, they sure are an intimidating lot. I figured it would be wise to come and take a seat in plain sight so I dinnae get browbeaten in my sleep like Kristie threatened to.”
Jock’s eyebrows rose, and he breathed out, “Did they really?”
“Nay.” Creag nodded his head. When the lad realized he was being teased, he rolled his eyes. Creag said, “Though I did wake with a pitchfork in my face. I dinnae think Kristie would use it against me ’less I gave her cause. I thought I might enjoy this beauty about us whil
e she be collecting flowers—though she is not the sort I imagined to do such things.”
The lad frowned and then seemed to understand. “Oh, aye. It be that time again, I suppose.”
“Has Beltane arrived?” Creag thought of the festival that marked the end of spring and the beginning of summer.
“Nay, not for weeks yet,” Jock answered. “It be reaching the year’s passing of wee Seonaid—Kristie’s bairn.”
That explained her state of sadness. Creag looked at the heather-covered ridge in the distance. He thought he might be in store for another tale, so he patted the ground. “Take a seat beside me and tell me all about it.”
The lad plopped down on the ground cover and crossed his ankles. A thoughtful expression altered his face. “Kristie and I are similar, ye see. She came to live with her brother a short time after I was brought to stay with Auntie. She even had her bairn here—was exciting, it was. Her daughter was about six months when she became ill. Coughing ’til she could nay breathe no more. I remember Kristie would run round the fields chasing Johanna and me, but all that stopped after Seonaid was buried at the kirk.”
They sat in silence for a bit before Creag looked at Jock and wondered aloud, “There must be work to be done on yer own patch of land, what with yer uncle not being around. How do I find ye here?”
Jock glanced in the direction he’d come and the squat roof in the distance. “I just get in William’s way—he be my uncle’s cousin. And Auntie is in a right sour mood waiting on Uncle’s return. So I thought I might sneak away to see if ye were awake.”
“Glad I woke to see ye.” Creag grinned.
The lad nodded and squinted back at him. “I wonder if ye would like a swim.”
“A swim?”
“Aye, in the loch.” Jock pointed down the hill.
“Why not?”
Creag got up with the help of the lad and put his weight on the walking stick. Jock had a hard time leading the way, for he kept running ahead and forgetting that Creag had to move slowly. He would wait a bit for him to catch up, then the lad would dart over the slippery rocks.
Outsider (Time of Myths: Shapeshifter Sagas Book 4) Page 4