She squinted at Jean beaming at her newly baptized son and the throng of women gathered around to dote on him and decided it couldn’t hurt to take a moment away. Kristie took a deep breath and left Creag’s side to go to the place she’d so recently visited and touched the ground with the tips of her fingers, knowing her daughter’s remains lay beneath. “Yer cousin arrived just the other day. He be a bright-eyed lad who cries more through the night than ye ever did—though that may be a sign he is sturdy. Time will tell, I suppose.”
Kristie stole a quick glance at Creag. He stood with his back turned to her, and since she’d taken her leave of him, Moira had appeared by his side, blushing and speaking of Lord knew what.
Kristie growled under her breath, “That lass should keep close to home if she be looking for a husband, instead of chatting with that fellow. He came to our shore as if the fairies left him in exchange for yer uncle, who, I might add, has not come ’round to look upon his own son’s face since his birth. Though he would never have let anything keep him from his kin unless…”
She pinched her eyes shut and spread her hand over the grave before whispering, “I miss ye, sweet child.”
Kristie wiped away the tear that had trailed down her cheek. She straightened up to adjust the skirts of her tunic dress and walked back toward the kirk ever so slowly.
In the shadow of the wooden building, Jock stood poised with an array of children sitting around him. His hands waved about as though he was not really illuminating a picture with words, but with bristles attached to his fingers. Wide-eyed, his young audience listened with bated breath as he spoke.
“…And the fisherman cast his net out wide, so wide nay creature could have escaped its grasp. When its pale lines disappeared in the depths of the deep blue sea, he took hold of its end and began to pull. It fought against him as if a giant had taken up the other end and was tugging back, but he was strong and fearsome and did not give up. He pulled until his nets came back to the surface. In that hand-tied net was not the scaly flesh of the greatest salmon, but the slippery blubber of a charcoal-gray seal. The fisherman shouted his praise to the Lord for bringing him such a fruitful catch, but the creature just blinked its wide eyes at him as it was hauled into the currach. Back on shore, when the fellow untethered the seal, it shed its skin and took the form of the most bonnie lass he had ever seen…”
“Jock! Where ye at, lad?” Eileanor’s voice rose high above the church and into every nook and cranny around the place.
Jock glanced at Kristie with a devilish grin as she walked past. She didn’t wish to hear him get scolded by his aunt, so she sped up.
One of the tenant farmers from up north saw her, and he called out, “Eileanor says there still be no sign of Hendrie or yer brother. We have been looking along the loch for him and praying for his return.”
“Oh! We thank ye for yer efforts, but I be sure as anything he will return with his greatest catch any day now,” Kristie answered and went to find Jean, hoping she hadn’t heard the man’s comment, and led her to their cart and ponies.
When her sister-in-law settled on the back of the straw-covered platform, a calm expression graced her face, and she said, “I feel Domnall looking over us from heaven. I cannae explain it, but I feel it be true.”
“Dinnae talk like that. He be fighting to come back to us.” Kristie shook her head, feeling her stomach turn. In truth, she’d felt the same realization in her gut the morning following that stormy evening weeks ago. But saying it aloud made it real, and until she saw proof of his demise, she wouldn’t accept it.
“Unless ye plan on walking back, we best set off home,” she called over to Creag, who was still talking with Moira.
She climbed up to the narrow perch, took up the reins and gave them a snap. The nags started ambling away, carrying the cart with them. Kristie heard Jean commenting from behind, “Do ye think he will make it, Eoghan? He be running, sure enough…”
Kristie felt the beginnings of a smile tug at the corners of her mouth as she imagined him chasing after the cart. Moments later, a blur of movement caught her eye. She looked over at Creag trying to get ahold of the side of the bench before he pulled himself up.
Breathless and wagging a finger her way, he said, “Ye are a quick one, hen.”
“And ye are a goon,” she snipped back, though a grin accompanied her retort.
By the time they returned home, the sun was low in the sky. Jean slid off the back of the cart with the bairn cradled in her arms and commented how hungry she was. She went into the home, latching the door behind her. It wasn’t long before the smell of smoldering peat began to permeate the air.
Kristie led the ponies around the back of the home before climbing down. Creag helped her relieve the animals of their cart and bridles. The nags walked into the byre to have their fill of hay while Kristie led the two-wheeled cart back to its resting place beside outer wall of the crumbling building.
Creag stood by the threshold of the animal shed with his hands held behind his back when she came around the corner. Kristie walked up to him and said, “I be supposing that ye are hungry after all that tongue-wagging ye did with Moira and the nosy tenant farmers, inquiring after yer kin and clan.”
“I think they all went away disappointed after our chat.” He smirked. “But there are a number of lads who wish to share an ale with me.”
“Aye, and a number of lasses who might like to share more than that if ye are not careful.” Kristie planted her hands on her hips.
The corner of Creag’s lips curled up as he looked at her sideways. “Ye make it sound so frightful. Tell me more…”
“Oh, stop yer teasing and come have a bite by the fire with us.” She shook her head and began to walk off, expecting him to follow, but he didn’t.
Creag called after her, “Hold still. I have something to return to ye.”
Kristie stopped and turned around. A blustery wind blew up from the loch, pulling the hood of her plaid off her head and around her shoulders. Loose strands of hair whipped across her face as she stepped closer to him. He held out something shiny across his palms.
“Ye found my dirk.” She grasped the handle and took it from him. She held it by her side while she observed the hesitant expression on his face. “What be the problem? Did ye find it in a patty?”
“Well, nay,” he shook his head and laughed. “I hope that ye do not mind that I borrowed it for a time before returning it to ye.”
An uneasy feeling sank into her belly, and she stepped back with her eyes narrowed. “What would an outsider like ye be needing a blade for, but to cause trouble?”
“I needed it to make something for the bairn.”
Creag reached into the inner folds of his plaid, and Kristie closed the distance between them with her blade ready. No fellow, no matter how good-looking, would catch her off guard. He slowed his movement as he noticed the dagger pointed at his gut.
He lifted a smoothed wooden object from behind the shadow of his tartan. She snatched it from his hands, and as she did so, rattling filled the air. The object’s bulbous end was carved with a knotted pattern that swept down into a narrow handle.
“It is just a wee rattle,” he muttered and carefully put his hand around hers and shook it so it sounded again.
Embarrassed that she’d thought the worst of him, she lowered her gaze. It was then she noticed the warmth of his hand on her skin. She held her breath and closed her eyes. It had been so very long since she’d been touched. Feeling guilty for the pleasure it brought her, she began to pull away, but his hold tightened, and she gave in.
His breath tickled the hairs at her temple. “What are ye so afraid of, hen?”
Kristie parted her lids to gaze into his steel-gray eyes. She pinched her lips together to keep them from quivering. Her voice wavered as she whispered, “Everything.”
The warmth of his hand left hers when he lifted his fingers to touch her cheek. Such a simple caress, one that had no equal. Goose pimpl
es traced up her arms, and she felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck.
Holding her gaze, he answered, “That be a hard thing for me to imagine of a lass with so much strength.”
Creag leaned in to touch his forehead to hers. Kristie took it a step further. With her heartbeat thundering in her ears, her lips found his in a gentle kiss. As she pressed her hand to his chest, the rattle dropped from her grasp, falling to the ground and startling her.
She scolded herself for making such a foolish mistake, letting herself get carried away. Kristie began to pull back, but stilled when Creag’s hands slid beneath the folds of her plaid. His arms wrapped around her and held her close. The heat from his flesh burned through her linen dress, and his lips trailed kisses down her neck. Panting and unable to catch a full breath, Kristie let herself get pulled under the torrent of passion.
She’d forgotten she still held the dirk in her grasp until Creag let out a yelp and took hold of her wrist. “I admit I would not mind meeting my maker with ye pressed to my lips, but I dinnae want that day to come just yet.”
Her cheeks flushed and she stepped away, embarrassed for a second time. She didn’t know what she’d been thinking. It was foolish of her not to follow her own advice. To entangle herself with an outsider with no past who had no plans of settling was pure foolishness.
No matter how good she felt being wrapped in his arms.
Chapter 10
Creag found it challenging to pretend the kiss never happened. He avoided looking at Kristie when he gave wee Eoghan his rattle. The lad grasped it without knowing what it was. The sounds that erupted near the bairn’s head gave him a start, but after the first few shakes, he was unfazed. Jean was pleased with the gift and said so, casting a curious glance Kristie’s way.
When Creag lay down that night with his plaid wrapped over his body, his thoughts were filled with her. He felt he’d begun to understand her better. Like the thistles that adorned the Highlands, her prickly exterior guarded her lovely bloom. Her love of her kin was revealed by her drive to tend to her home. He wondered if she was pushing him away because she didn’t want to grow attached.
Creag tried to recall the taste of her lips, the smell of her hair and the feel of her body pressed close to his. But no matter how consumed he was with her, in the early hours of the morning when his mind was half-awake and still lingering in sleep, other memories filled his thoughts.
A young man with dark hair and gray eyes, a close reflection of himself, stood in the surf and asked, “Tell me what she said about him once more, would ye?”
He answered back while staring out to the ocean’s horizon, “Well, she only spoke of it once when she found me on shore, looking a sight, flippers and all. I dinnae know where ye were at the time. But she said, ‘Ye take after yer pa—kin of the fairy folk. He swam here much as ye are now, speaking sweetly in my ear, telling me how he wanted to have a life with me. But I knew better when he kept going out to sea for longer and longer bouts, never returning after I became pregnant with yer brother. Last time I saw him, his head was bobbing above the waves to the north. Promise me, ye will be of the land or the sea—for ye cannae have both.’”
The young man beside him crossed his arms and answered, “I choose the sea.”
Before the dream melted away and Creag opened his eyes, he heard his response. “My tie is to my kin. I will follow my brother wherever he roams.”
For some time Creag stared at the dark ceiling of the byre. The ponies shuffled around as the flies disturbed their sleep. To be sure, it had been a dream of his past. A memory. It had the same quality as the others. It resonated in his chest the way truth should feel.
He got up and wrapped himself with his plaid, tied his leather belt around his waist and wandered from the open-aired byre to gaze at the loch, sensing the sea held all the answers he sought.
Over the next few days, they finished sowing and harrowing the fields, and after each day he went down to the shore to stare at the loch. Kristie ordered him about as if nothing had changed between them. Maybe nothing had. Though he felt different.
Creag bent over a large stone, which he wrestled from the slope that led to the loch. He lifted it into the barrow, and it tumbled over the other large rocks he’d unearthed before it settled. The smell of damp soil perfumed the air before the wind blew it toward the fields. He grabbed hold of the handles and lifted the weighted barrow to roll it uphill. It took all of his strength to get the wooden wheel moving, and he hoped it could take the load.
Once he got to the corner of the sown field, he spotted Kristie with her spade, cutting in the rectangular shape of the new footprint of a home. A pile of rocks had already been gathered, though they weren’t ready to start building just yet. He needed to search for sturdy timbers to construct the frame of the roof.
Creag braced himself to unload the barrow when Kristie stopped and leaned against the wooden shaft of her tool. Her eyes squinted in the direction of Eileanor’s home over the field. He turned around to see what she was looking at and saw what appeared to be two ponies towing a long cart with a man walking beside it.
“That looks to be Colbán from the western isles. Have nay seen him in these parts since I settled with Domnall almost two years ago,” she muttered and set down the spade. “Seems to be coming our way.”
Creag straightened up, leaving the rocks for later, and joined Kristie’s side. She began walking toward home where Jean was hanging washed clothing on a wooden frame. Rattling sounds and cooing came from a basket at her feet. She looked up at Kristie coming toward her and gave a smile until she turned to look over her shoulder.
Jean called out and placed a hand on her hip. “Is that ye, Colbán? Not that I can complain about a visit when ye are a mite far from yer land.”
The man wore a grimace that was exaggerated by his mustache when he came to a stop a few strides from the home. His long ginger hair came down to his plaid-covered shoulders, and he fidgeted with the ponies’ leather reins instead of returning a level gaze.
“Out with it,” Kristie said. “I can see ye are not here for pleasantries.”
Creag had slowed behind Kristie, not sensing danger at hand but something else altogether.
Colbán cleared his throat and answered with his eyes lifted only as high as the belt cinched about Kristie’s waist, “Oh, I wish I were here for something more entertaining than…ye be my second stop, really. My lads were along the coast hunting seals off the beach when they came upon some wreckage and…”
“Domnall,” Jean whispered, her face drained of color. She exchanged a look with Kristie before walking closer to the man’s cart.
From where Creag stood, he could see a long form covered with a linen cloth. He swallowed while he watched the women hurry to lift the shroud, then lean against each other once they gazed at what lie beneath. The pain reflected in their faces was there only for a moment before it slipped away into resignation and acceptance. Jean’s countenance could almost be described as sweet, though Kristie’s turned bitter.
He did not need to hear the confirmation uttered from Colbán’s lips to know it was Domnall. He went to help the man remove the covered body from the back of the cart. Jean hurried to open the door of the home and led them inside to clear the items from a nearby wooden table so they would have a place to set him.
“We best get out our strong ale and grind some grain for cakes.” Jean looked to Colbán and said, “Thank ye for returning him home. If ye would share the news of his wake.”
“Sure, sure,” the man answered. “Hendrie will be sure to gather a crowd as well. Both well-liked men in these parts.”
When it became clear that Jean was looking to uncover and clean the body, Creag decided it best to follow Colbán out of the house to where Kristie was still standing.
The man nodded at Creag and muttered, “I had better be off to spread the news.”
The sounds of the baby’s cries filled the air as the fellow climbed onto his empty cart
and left. Kristie continued to stand in stillness, and Creag was unsure what to do. He went to the basket and stared down at the wee bairn with his little hands flailing.
“The lad surely has something to say,” he muttered.
The sound of his voice seemed to stir Kristie from her thoughts, and she brushed past him to pick up her nephew. She cradled him in her arms, her hand resting on his uncovered head as she swayed back and forth. Kristie nuzzled her mouth against the bairn’s balled-up fists. Creag thought he heard her whisper, “Shush, sweet lamb. Yer pa has returned. His soul is safe. I am here for ye and yer mam.”
Creag watched her move about with the child in her arms until the lad quieted and was returned to his basket and taken to his mother’s side. Kristie buzzed about the place with a determined grimace. The door to the home was kept open as she came in and out. Inside, he could hear Jean’s prayers uttered in the dark. He entered without bidding and asked the mourning woman, “What do ye need of me?”
She sat beside the table her husband lay upon, her eyes fixed on his covered body. She lifted the edge of the cloth for a moment, revealing his puffy, swollen face. Jean set it back in place and clasped her hands together as she answered, “Can ye tell me if he breathes? I cannae tell if it be my imagination that he moved…”
Creag glanced briefly at the form beneath the linen sheet. He was no expert in things such as these, but it was his opinion that there seemed to be more death than life remaining based on the smell alone. “I could not say, though I pray his soul be safe in heaven or earth.”
She nodded. “I expect there will be visitors shortly. If ye would help by finding seats for guests to perch upon, but be sure to leave the door open for Domnall’s soul if he be departing.”
He nodded, thinking to himself it would also assist in the clearing out the smell. Creag backed out of the shadowy home, nearly colliding with Kristie. He spun around and grabbed ahold of her arms to steady them both, apologizing.
Outsider (Time of Myths: Shapeshifter Sagas Book 4) Page 11