Kristie found herself holding her breath as the mother nudged the calf with her muzzle. It didn’t move, cry or blink. The heifer kept trying to revive its bairn, but it didn’t do any good.
A gasp broke from Kristie’s lips, and she turned away from the scene. She shoved past the outsider, gasping for breath. The lives and deaths of their livestock hadn’t affected her so deeply in the past. It was the normal comings and goings. But she empathized with the sad cries and futile efforts of the heifer.
She pinched her eyes shut, trying to seal the tears from flowing. Kristie didn’t want to remember those painful moments after she’d realized Seonaid had taken her last breath, her pleading prayers to God and the helplessness she’d felt. It was too much for her to take.
“Kristie, where are ye going?” the outsider called after her.
She whispered, “I cannae take any more death.”
“But ye have to see this.”
His urging turned her around. She stared at him standing near the limp body of the calf in the blooming gorse. Kristie wiped the tears from her face and walked closer, prepared to give him a matching lump on his other temple if he was up to mischief.
When she arrived by his side, she discovered the heifer was back on the ground, straining and flexing. Another set of hooves pointed out her back end. In moments, a sodden calf slid from its mother’s birth canal. Like the time before, the cow got to her feet and called to its young, licking its fur dry.
The calf shook its head, flapping its long ears, and cried. The heifer continued to clean off her young, never stopping until its fur was fluffy and a light-brown hue. It lifted its snout to its mother and stared up at her as she continued to lick it. The calf collected its hooves beneath it in an attempt to stand, but it tipped forward onto its face.
Kristie held her breath as she watched, completely enraptured. The small calf was tiny compared to its mother, who stood chest high. It persevered until finally, it wobbled to its hooves and stood up.
The heifer led her calf from the clearing and onto the grazing pasture. The animals walked past them. The mother waited patiently as its young trembled and swayed. The bairn blinked up at Kristie, who couldn’t help herself. She reached down to touch its thick mop of fur. The calf stumbled, but Kristie was quick to lift it back to its hooves.
“On yer way, wee one. Yer mam is waiting for ye,” she said.
A high-pitched moo broke from the calf’s lips as it tottered after its mother. It reached the heifer’s side and found her udders, drinking its first meal.
She watched in silence until the outsider interrupted the moment. “Where did yer ring go?”
Kristie looked down at her dirty hands and discovered that her ring was, in fact, gone. She ran back to the clearing and searched the ground. The limp body of the stillborn calf still remained. Nowhere did she find the gleam of her wedding ring. Panic set in.
She whipped her head around to stare at the heifer nursing her young and remembered putting her hands inside to pull the stillborn out.
The outsider seemed to be thinking the same thing when he leaned heavily on his walking stick and said, “That be a truly dark place to be leaving yer valuables.”
She gritted her teeth together and growled back, “Aye, dark indeed. Ye best be keeping yer comments to yerself.”
The smile slipped from his face, and he stepped toward her. His amusement was no longer detectable in his voice. “I only try to make ye smile. Sorry to upset ye. I cannae seem to say the right thing.”
Kristie had no words. She sniffed and stared down at the lifeless calf. Maybe the cost of killing the creature was losing her ring. If Domnall had been here, he might have saved it. The truth was she didn’t know what she was doing, and she was scared of losing everything else of value in her life.
The outsider was watching her closely, and all she wanted was to be left alone. She breathed in the unique aroma of the gorse flowers and let her shoulders droop.
“Ye cannae blame yerself for the wee one’s death,” he said. “Ye did what ye could for it.”
“Aye, well, it was not enough, was it?” she answered and started back toward home.
Chapter 6
The westerly winds picked up and swept over the hills. They whistled through Creag’s hair, teasing it away from his face as he made his way toward the loch. He was glad to have a break from pretending to be injured. He gripped the walking stick loosely as he went.
Creag glanced toward the peaked roof to his right. Kristie had mumbled something about returning home to clean up after assisting the calving mother. She’d never struck him as the talkative sort, but following the stillborn’s emergence into the world, he’d noticed a change in her. She’d become quiet and melancholy.
His attempts to lighten her mood went poorly. In fact, he’d made things worse. He was confident she wasn’t fond of him or his manner, which wouldn’t serve him well if he wished to remain here. He would have to restrain himself better.
While Creag walked, he spun the silver ring around his pinky with his thumb. It had taken effort to find it in the clearing. The search resulted in the mess that covered him now. The front of his plaid needed to be washed of the afterbirth, as did his hands and Kristie’s ring. He hoped regaining the ring would give her some peace of mind. But he didn’t want to give it back smelling or looking like it did.
Over the course of the day, the sky filled with more clouds and the temperature dropped. His bare feet carried him down a slope between shrubs, over rocks and under the tree lined gravel beach. Once on shore, he untied the strap of leather that served as his belt, and the lengths of his plaid touched the ground. He lifted it from his body and set it in a pile on the rocks. Finally, he removed his last stitch of clothing, his knee-length linen tunic.
Creag stepped into the cold waters of the loch with the ring cupped in his hand. It didn’t take much effort to rinse it clean. He set it on his tunic and then focused on his woolen plaid. With handfuls of fabric clutched in each fist, he scrubbed them together in the loch, watching the reddish, discolored runoff swirl away in the dark waters.
After ringing his plaid dry, he laid it out on the shore before returning to the loch. When he’d been in these waters last, he’d made a surprising discovery. He’d changed into the form of a seal without knowing he could. Creag wondered if he would be able to again if he tried. Maybe it would help bring up memories or clue him in to who he was before washing up on this very shore.
He waded into the chilly water, submerging himself up to his chest, and thought back to the moments before the transformation took place. He’d been remembering his seal dreams. It seemed the logical place to start.
Creag thought of how it felt when he’d sped through the loch, how his body rolled and moved through the water. He imagined the round, wide eyes that stared expectantly at him from his dreams, and his skin began to prickle and sting. He lost his footing on the rocks and dunked down, bobbing above the surface. Without having to look at his fore flippers, he knew the change had taken place.
The coldness of the water no longer affected his blubbery exterior. He could barely feel it. Creag sped through the loch, enjoying the freedom this form provided. He waited for something, anything, to jog his memory about his life, but he was left disappointed.
The remainder of the afternoon went by quickly. It wasn’t until he noticed the sun hanging low on the horizon that he reluctantly went back to his clothing on shore. Moving his heavy body onto the rocky beach was awkward and tiring.
Hunger gripped his belly as his fuzzy vision settled on the silver ring that sat undisturbed on his linen tunic. He remembered Kristie and the day she’d had. The heaviness of her situation dissolved his focus on his own problems. He wanted to get back to return her wedding band.
He thought of the dark shadows of the byre and Kristie’s melancholy face. It might not be his home, but it was the closest thing he knew.
A tingling sensation coursed through his body and witho
ut warning, he was lying facedown on the rocky shore with his hands stretched out under his head. He took a deep breath and lifted himself off the ground.
His arms felt strange following their transformation from flippers. He raised them over his head to stretch his back. Then he settled onto his heels. He stood under the gloomy skies, the wind whipping around his naked body.
Creag rubbed his jaw and looked up the slope in the direction of the farm. He slipped Kristie’s ring onto his pinkie as he put on his clothing. The plaid was still damp, but at least it didn’t smell of afterbirth. He tightened his makeshift belt and arranged the tartan fabric around his shoulders before grabbing hold of the walking stick.
He couldn’t let them find out he’d miraculously recovered or he would have larger problems than not having a roof over his head. The people of the Highlands were a superstitious lot. Although they believed in fairy magic, darker forces could be blamed if his healing was discovered. He would have to keep up the lie as long as he could.
Creag ran through the trees and across the field toward the home. When he got near enough, he slowed to a walk and caught his breath. He went up to the front door and knocked, looking out at the setting sun over the loch as he waited.
He heard movement inside, and Kristie’s voice called out, “Who are ye?”
“Creag,” he answered. “I have something for ye.”
The door swung open, revealing a stack of peat bricks lying beside the entrance. Kristie stood with a blanket wrapped around her. Her wavy hair was down about her shoulders. A halo of golden ringlets glowed from the firelight within. She waited with her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed.
He slipped the ring from his pinkie and held it up for her to see. The scowl on her face softened, and for a moment he thought she was going to cry. She took a long, slow breath and took it from him. “Thank ye. Where did ye ever find it?”
“Oh, it took me a time, but I found it in the clearing. I washed it in the loch.”
She put it back onto her finger and avoided looking at him. “That be kind of ye.”
“It was only right after all ye have done for me,” he answered.
Kristie held up her hand, gesturing him to stay as she turned around and walked toward the small hearth fire. She bent over and busied herself. When she returned, she held out a bowl of pottage and a steaming bannock. “Yer meal for the evening.”
“Thank ye,” he answered with a grin, accepting the food.
“Jean’s cooking should have ye well in no time.” She stepped back to close the door, and he swore the faintest smile played at her lips as she gazed at the silver ring that had been returned to her finger.
Kristie didn’t need the songs from the waking birds to help her rise in the morning. She was already awake. Her night had been spent staring at the rafters, listening to Jean’s soft snores and worrying. Kristie was relieved her sister-in-law’s exhaustion had caught up with her and that she’d finally gotten some sleep, though rest had been elusive for Kristie.
She climbed down the rickety ladder from the loft as quietly as she could so as not to wake Jean, knowing the woman was fatigued and over-stressed. Domnall’s continued absence was never far from either of their minds. This would be the fifth day since the men had drifted away on the currach with a great catch on their minds.
Kristie stood in her tunic dress, its trim nearly touching the packed earthen floor. Her hair spilled in a tangled mass over her shoulders, and she was quick to grab hold of it, split it in sections and braid it down her back so it was out of the way. She shook out her plaid, noting her efforts to clean it off yesterday had worked. It no longer smelled of newly born cattle, nor bore any stains.
It would be a long day in the fields. She would have to finish the plowing, but she didn’t know how she’d do it alone. Domnall had Hendrie to give him a hand in times like these. Kristie knew what needed to be done, though she’d never been called on for the task. She couldn’t ask Eileanor to send William to help, for she’d made it clear she thought Domnall responsible for Hendrie’s disappearance.
She didn’t want to wear her plaid down to the trim of her skirts. Not today. So she wrapped it carefully around her, lifting it from the ground and belting it at her waist. Rather than wearing it around her shoulders, she left it sagging freely behind her, creating extra layers to her hemline. Now she would have room to move her arms about. Lastly, she tucked her dirk under her belt at her back.
Kristie grabbed a peat brick, placed it in their stone hearth and gathered what she needed to start their morning cereal. It took her a moment to get the fire going with the flint and steel, and soon their breakfast was cooking over a flickering flame.
Just as she ladled two bowls full and poured weak ale into a pair of awaiting ceramic cups, Jean began to stir. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and muttered, “Is it morning then?”
Kristie wiped some spilled ale from her hand and grabbed a cup and bowl. “Aye. The sun always be leaving us wanting more time with the stars and dreams of a better life. Here ye go—best take care of yerself. All this fretting cannae be good for the wee bairn.”
Jean sighed and adjusted on her bed of hay, sitting up against the wooden frame. She yawned, stretched and had no complaints when food and drink were handed to her. Kristie didn’t waste any time filling her belly, though she didn’t feel hungry. She needed sustenance if she was going to be hard at work in the fields.
“What are ye planning on for the day?” she asked her sister-in-law.
The pregnant woman took another bite, then rubbed her belly before answering, “I thought it a good time to finish sewing the wee one’s tunic. He feels like he might slip free any day, he be sitting so low.”
“Ye so sure it will be a laddie?” Kristie asked, taking a sip of her ale.
A melancholy grin touched Jean’s lips. “Oh, aye. The fairies brought another dream last night of my child toddling about the fields, chasing rooks away with his little chubby fingers waving about. We were both there, cheering the lad on, though there was no sign of Domnall.”
Kristie’s throat closed up, and sadness filled her chest so she could barely breathe, but she forced herself to swallow her worry. She didn’t want Jean to see her fearing the worst, so she waved her hand and said, “It be just a dream. If I know my brother, we will be seeing him hike over the dale by nightfall with his best fish tale yet.”
She pushed aside all worry and concern, for she couldn’t bear it at the moment. The chores about the farm were waiting to get done, and she knew that time waited for no man. Nor woman.
Kristie collected some hot cereal and a cup of ale for the outsider and started for the door. Careful not to spill, she moved slow as she lifted the latch. She called over her shoulder, “Ye best make a racket if ye need me. I will be in the outfield ’til nightfall. I dinnae know what the outsider is good for, but I hope he will not stand by, fraying my nerves.”
Kristie stepped outside and breathed in the earthy smell of the damp grass and heather on the bluffs. Clouds spanned the sky, blocking most of the sunlight from warming the soil. A billow of warmth touched her cheeks as the steam from the hot cereal wafted around her face.
She stared out at the loch as she walked around the back of the home to the shadow of the byre and called out, “Best wake right quick to eat yer grub, or I will be feeding it to the ponies as they will work harder than ye today.”
When she entered into the darkness of animal shed, a soft snort greeted her as well as the fresh smell of manure. The ponies’ silhouettes were illuminated by light entering through narrow fissures between the wallboards. They lifted their heads to blink at her as she searched for the outsider and found him propped against the wall with his plaid covering his body.
Kristie sighed and tried again. “If I knew yer mam, I would send for her so she might tug on yer ear and give ye a scolding. Take this here belly grub so I can start my day. I have a lot ahead of me.”
His eyelids slid open, and he sa
t staring at her in silence long enough to make her uncomfortable. She questioned, “Are ye understanding me or did that knock to yer head confound more than yer memory?”
The edges of his lips curled into a lazy grin, which she found aggravating while she was chastising him. He answered with a smile, “Oh, I be understanding ye, all right. I am taking my time deciding how to answer ye in a way that will keep me from getting tossed out on my ear, but I cannae think of a one. So, I think I will say good morning to ye and leave it at that.”
She exhaled sharply and gripped the cup tight. “Is that so?”
Kristie was so flustered and annoyed, she couldn’t find any words to launch at him. She simply stood there while he got to his feet with his plaid draped over his arm and limped over to relieve her of the cereal and ale, sniffing it eagerly.
“Thank ye.” He lifted the bowl in appreciation and, with the help of his walking stick, wandered from the confines of the byre.
Kristie spun around to watch him stand outside in the murky light, taking one slow bite at a time as he stared out at the loch. She needed to get started. She couldn’t be as leisurely as he was. She had responsibilities.
She cursed under her breath and went to the corner of the byre to gather the horse collars and bridles. It was a challenge getting the ponies prepared, for her mood made them shuffle about nervously.
Before she had finished with the second animal, she sensed the outsider standing beside her, leaning on his walking stick. She cast a quick glance to the side and found that he’d secured his plaid across one shoulder and had belted it so it came to his knees. He raised an eyebrow. “What are ye working at today? Taking the ponies out to look for yer brother?”
His question pained her more than he could have known. She brushed past him to the heavy plow that was leaning against the wall on its side and lifted it from its place with a groan. “If I could take all day searching, I would. But the plowing must get done if we are to sow our harvest before it be too late. Sacharie has spread the word so more eyes than ours are set to the loch and coast.”
Outsider (Time of Myths: Shapeshifter Sagas Book 4) Page 7