“No matter. I have things to do if ye would move aside,” she said curtly. “Ye dinnae have to remain. Domnall was not friend nor kin to ye.”
Creag tilted his head as he looked at her. “That may be, but I would like to stay—for ye.”
He pulled her forward, and her head touched his shoulder. He put his hands around her waist, and for a moment she leaned into him. But before he could console her for more than a moment, she pulled away. “Neighbors will be arrivin’ any time. They will be expecting us to show them hospitality.”
She had been too near breaking into tears with her head on his strong shoulder. All Kristie wanted to do was sit and have a good cry in his arms, but she couldn’t. Not with the turn of events. Without her brother, it would be a challenge to pay rent when it was due. They would need someone to rely on for the hard labor required for surviving on the land. She couldn’t do it alone, and now that her brother had returned, the outsider was relinquished from their understanding.
As expected, neighbors and extended family began to arrive near sunset. Kristie provided them all bannocks and ale, which they were more than happy to relieve her of. Colbán returned with his redheaded kin and started a melancholy song, and many voices joined in. She couldn’t bear to join Jean and the other women in prayer beside Domnall’s covered body, for she still couldn’t accept his passing.
No one slept a wink that night. Jean kept a close eye on her husband’s body in case he jumped up and declared himself well. Sacharie arrived early the next morning with Moira and Rob by his side. He already seemed a bit unsteady and relied on his son to keep him upright as he entered the home. He held out a set of dice and asked, “Who be up for a game? Domnall whipped me every time—I will let ye beat me in his name…”
Moira patted her father’s shoulder and shook her head. “He had one too many in Hendrie’s name at Eileanor’s, so we thought we might start him off with a game instead.”
“Ye—” Sacharie pointed at Creag. “Are ye up for it, Outsider?”
“To be sure,” Creag answered and got up to help the man across the room to a patch on the floor.
Kristie kept her eye on Moira as she watched the two men play on the ground and was relieved when one of Colbán’s eldest sons, the one with the fieriest hair of all, came to bend the girl’s ear.
Mid-morning came, and Kristie knew respects had to be paid for Hendrie. She didn’t relish doing it, but with Jean watching over her husband so closely, as was expected, it was only right Kristie should go to Eileanor’s. She went to her sister-in-law’s side to whisper in her ear before leaving.
Kristie stepped outside under the cloudy sky. The wind whipped at her plaid, but she didn’t care to hold it close or to pull up her hood. She hadn’t gone far before she was startled by a voice beside her.
“Where ye off to?”
She turned to find Creag jogging after her with a frown on his face and answered, “Oh, it be the right thing to do, paying our respects to Eileanor.”
“I will come with ye. Ye should not go alone.”
Kristie didn’t answer, but continued on toward the roof that rose above the hillside in the distance. Creag caught up and walked beside her in silence. She was relieved to have his company, though she wouldn’t have admitted it to him or anyone else. Eileanor was challenging enough for her to deal with on an average day, and this was no average day.
As they drew close to her neighbor’s cruck house, Kristie heard the soft, melodic sounds of Jock’s psaltery within and the murmur of voices. Eileanor’s five-year-old daughter, Johanna, was being led around the yard by a young friend, who seemed determined to have fun despite Johanna’s downcast expression and solemn eyes. Kristie glanced their way before taking a deep breath and stepping through the darkened doorway of the smoky home.
Once her eyes adjusted to the low light, it didn’t take long to find Eileanor’s hunched silhouette in the back of the home near the stone hearth. Beside her, similar to how Jean had prepared Domnall, was Hendrie stretched out on a table with a linen sheet draped over his head and body. A friend’s arm was wrapped around her shoulder as Eileanor pressed a square of linen cloth to her lips between prayers and weeping. Familiar faces from their parish sat with cups of drink and bannocks clutched in their hands, sharing in conversation.
Jock sat across from his aunt with the triangular instrument propped in his lap, his fingers plucking at its strings. When the lad saw Creag come in behind Kristie, he stopped playing and waved him over and made room on the ground beside him.
The disruption of the music drew Eileanor’s attention. Her brows pulled together, and she muttered, “I did not expect to see yer face ’round here, being that it was yer brother that took my Hendrie from me. What am I to do now?”
Kristie was anchored in place. She remembered Eileanor telling her that it had been God’s will to take her husband from the land of the living when she’d moved in with Domnall, following Duncan’s death. Though she didn’t think fondly of the woman, she dared not repeat those same words, knowing nothing could truly take away her pain at present.
Kristie lifted her chin and tried to take a breath, though it felt her body wasn’t working properly. “I expect what the rest of us ever do—carry on the best ye can.”
She took another step closer and said, “I have come to pay my respects to my brother’s best friend, a fellow he treated like kin and thought of as such.”
“Trouble is all he got my Hendrie into, and now he be with the angels.” Eileanor’s voice rose before she pressed her square of linen to her nose and blew.
Kristie felt everyone’s eyes on her as her cheeks flushed. Creag stood near Jock, appearing uncertain if he should settle on the ground beside him or go to her. She knew Eileanor had good reason to be upset, though she wasn’t the only one to lose kin in the tragedy.
Just as she questioned if she should be leaving, Jock jumped up. His instrument thrummed as it was jostled, and he lifted his voice above the whispers in the room. “Auntie, what she says is a truth we all know and have witnessed.”
Eileanor’s face pinched up, and her brows rose in surprise. Kristie held her breath, staring at the young fellow with his chest lifted. His brown hair was neatly combed down below his ears, unlike the tousled array of locks he usually wore when he was out and about, avoiding his chores.
The lad adjusted the psaltery against his chest and plucked a few strings. Its music found every corner of the room, a much-needed salve for the tension. He stepped toward the table where his uncle was arranged in death and sang,
“There were no two fellows
more suited for friendship and adventure
than were Domnall and Hen-drie.”
By the time the Jock finished his last line, everyone’s eyes were fixed on him and their whispers were silenced. He ignored his aunt’s stare and gave Kristie a nod, surprising even her with his confidence and wherewithal. He continued to play his instrument more quietly as he began telling his yarn. “The Highlands of our bonnie Scotland be a place that no weak creatures can survive. We have weather that freezes ye to the bone, but that might be the reason we have tough skin the likes our cattle envy us for.”
A few shouts rang out around the room in agreement, and Jock grinned their way. “The English think poorly of us because we rise to a fight, but we know who we are. We have settled these hills, these bluffs and these coasts for as long as we can remember, never forgetting our kin or ancestors. It is our blood, sweat and tears that the grass grows upon. And it is through both my Uncle Hendrie’s and Domnall’s efforts that we have this home, for never did one struggle without the other being there to shoulder the burden.”
“As it should be,” a voice called out.
“Those two were the best of friends, so when one wanted to go out on the currach, the other was obligated to follow.” Jock looked around the room, settling his gaze on his aunt, who appeared to want to say something but was silenced by her nephew’s story. “I am about t
o tell ye a tale that was often told round these parts by our dear Hendrie, one about a fellow who landed his greatest catch, which brought pride to his eyes every time he spoke of it. It is said, for I was not there as a witness, that a day much like today when the skies were gray as the soot in the hearth, our adventurers set out in Domnall’s pride, his leather-bound currach. The winds carried them across the loch like a leaf down a stream to the place they often sank their lines.”
Jock strummed louder on his instrument, then paused. “But luck was not on their side.”
“The weather is oft not on our side,” another murmur interrupted, and others chuckled in response.
“’Tis true,” the lad agreed and continued to play his psaltery. “It was the weather that day that made our adventurous Domnall turn the boat ’round and declare their luck spent, but it was Hendrie, quiet, thoughtful Hendrie, who pushed his friend onward. ‘No,’ said he. ‘I got a feeling that there be a big one near.’ And his loyal friend, though he had thoughts of a warm meal waiting for him at home, stayed on with few protests. Domnall tucked his chin into his plaid and ignored the blowing winds while Hendrie did the same, clutching his line, imagining it dangling in the depths of the inlet to the sea and teasing the ‘lurker.’ The skies grew dark not from the clouds but from the sun sinking below the shiny horizon when Hendrie felt a tug on his line.”
Jock plucked a single string and let the note reverberate through the darkened room. His audience held their breath and leaned forward, waiting to hear the rest though everyone knew how it ended. Even Eileanor’s eyes were wide with curiosity as she lowered her cloth from her lips.
The lad plucked the strings quickly and said, “The lanky fellow moved his arms as quick as they would go and tugged and pulled. All the while, Domnall cheered him on and gave him advice that was not heeded, for Hendrie knew in his belly how to land what waited for him at the end of the line—the lurker. The fish that teases ye with a nip at yer hook or a visit in yer dreams when yer thoughts are as still as the waters on the loch first thing in the morn. Wise Hendrie knew just what to do to pull that fish over the rail of the boat while all Domnall could do was choke on his envy, for my uncle nearly sank the currach with that man-sized haddock. Took us a week to eat every scrap.”
“’Tis true,” his aunt whispered to her friend, who still sat with her arm wrapped around Eileanor’s shoulder.
“No man since has pulled a haddock that size from the sea or our loch. I daresay no man would have the resolve nor the quiet strength of my uncle Hendrie. But no man had such a steady friend as he. My mind imagines they spent their final moments together, Hendrie helping Domnall search for his lurker. And that is the tale of the best of friends and their quest for the grandest fish in the loch.”
Jock plucked a few chords and let his hand fall from his instrument. The last notes faded away. Only the crackle of the fire in the hearth could be heard as everyone blinked at the young lad, who stared with a melancholy smile at his uncle lying on the wooden table beside him.
A chorus of “Sláinte” echoed through the room while cups were raised in honor of the deceased. A muffled cry escaped Eileanor’s lips. She jumped up and moved around the table to reach Jock, pulling him into a tight embrace. His psaltery was caught in the middle and made a strangled sound before it was consumed by Eileanor’s red plaid.
Kristie was pleased to overhear the woman’s remarks to her nephew. “Oh, I have no words, my lad. I am so proud, so proud.”
When Eileanor was through hugging Jock, tousling his hair and accepting her visitors’ praise for her nephew’s grand story, she turned to Kristie with her hands clasped together. “I be supposing that it would be a shame not to carry on like proper neighbors—friends—like Hendrie and Domnall would have liked.”
Kristie was taken aback. From behind Eileanor, Jock beamed at her and nodded. She’d always enjoyed the lad’s stories for what they were, but in that moment, she felt she’d underestimated him. He’d done so much more than tell a tale that day.
Eileanor opened her arms and pulled her into an embrace similar to the one she’d given Jock and patted her back. “There now. We are like kin as the lad said. Ye be needing anything, ye let us know. William will be pulled in every direction, but he is the sort who likes work.”
The fellow she spoke of eyed her warily while holding his cup and took a long drink. His thick, calloused fingers seemed permanently stained from working the land as testament to the woman’s assertion.
Kristie nodded and closed her eyes. “Thank ye. We will do what we can for ye, too.”
Even though she wasn’t fond of her neighbor, in that moment her chest was filled with warmth. She could imagine they were friends for Domnall’s sake. Plus, she knew it would take the support of neighbors and friends to survive the coming months.
When Eileanor repositioned herself beside her husband’s shrouded body, pride touched her face as she looked fondly toward Hendrie and patted his cloth-covered chest.
Kristie went to Jock’s side just as Creag joined them. She leaned down to stare him in the eye. “Ye will make a grand bard. I am sure of it. Thank ye, ye sweet lad.”
He blushed and averted his eyes shyly. “I had to do something. I dinnae want so much sadness when there still be things to be glad about.”
“I liked ye straight away when I first met ye.” Creag smiled and nudged him. “Ye are the best kind of lad. Ye make me think of what home should be like.”
She noticed his grin slide away and a frown replace it, making her wonder what had put it there. He had agreed to help until Domnall came back, but now she knew for certain her brother would never return.
But the sentiment that had poured from Jock’s lips put her in a state she wasn’t often in. Nostalgia touched her heart, and memories flooded her mind. Occasions when her brother had played tricks on her, and his playful demeanor flowing from the spring of their youth. She readily accepted the cup of ale that was passed to her, drinking like she never had before with laughter and tears.
Chapter 11
Creag watched her carry on until it seemed wise to take her home. So when she was offered another refill, he covered her cup with his hand and helped her to her feet. “Do not be forgetting ye be needed back home.”
“Oh, sure. Always more to do.” She smiled back at him as she let him lead her to the door. “Farewell.”
They left the darkened home filled with so many unfamiliar faces and emerged under the evening sky. The day had been spent. The clouds had blown off, leaving an array of bright points.
Kristie had trouble walking straight. She swayed and tripped over the uneven ground. Creag hurried beside her, holding his arm out, but she tried pushing him away. “I dinnae need yer help.”
The act of shoving him threw her off-balance, and she stumbled. Creag was quick to grab hold of her and put her right again. He didn’t allow her the option of shrugging him off this time. He wrapped his arm around her and muttered, “Oh, aye. To be sure. There be no one tougher than ye.”
“That be true. No one else I know has buried all their kin.”
“All?” he asked, holding her tight.
“Well.” She rubbed her nose with a sniff. “Not all. There be my cousins and…”
“What of Jean and Eoghan?” Creag prompted.
“Oh, aye.” Her voice softened to a whisper. “I cannae let anything happen to them.”
The silhouette of the home came in sight. Light from within poured from the open door. Voices and the sound of singing carried across the field to their ears.
“Come along,” he said and led her toward the building site of the new house. “I dinnae think ye are ready to show yerself to yer kin. They will not be going anywhere so long as there be drink and food, and ye have both in plenty.”
Kristie didn’t argue or resist, she just sighed as he led her to the edge of the field. He guided her to the base of the stone wall they’d begun to build, then sat beside her. She began to tilt over, so he
put his arm around her shoulders to keep her upright, and she slumped against him. Creag glanced down at her before gazing across the tops of the trees to the loch below.
“He was fond of fishing, ye know,” she whispered.
Creag took a deep breath before responding. “So ye say. And he was a good fisherman at that.”
“It would needle me how he went out when there were things to be done. He said those chores would wait until he got back.” Kristie sighed again. “I think he enjoyed life more than I ever could. He was born with a light in his eyes. Never saw the dark side of anything, that Domnall.”
“Sounds like the sort of fellow I would get on with.”
Kristie tilted her head back to look at him. “Ye would. He got on with everyone.”
A breeze whistled up the slope, carrying with it the smell of the salty loch. Creag sniffed and said, “I have a brother.”
“Ye do?” Her eyebrows pulled together.
“Think so,” he answered. “Or so I have dreamt. Dinnae know a thing more.”
That may not have been entirely true, but he wasn’t prepared to reveal he was born of a selkie.
“I suppose ye want to find him now that Domnall has been returned to us.” She added matter-of-factly, “I will be needing a fellow like William to tend the land. Should find the likes in Gleann Comhan or thereabouts. And ye can be off to yer kin without a backward glance.”
He didn’t answer. He only blinked into the distance, wondering who might be worrying after him. Were his own, nameless kin staring into the night, wondering where he might be? Creag didn’t know, but now more than ever he wanted to find out. The unknown pulled at him, tugging at the corners of his mind.
Kristie’s cheek pressed against his chest, and he looked down at her closed eyes and parted lips. The soft sound of her breathing was lost in the wind, but he felt the rise and fall of her chest against him. He rested his head against a stacked stone and let her sleep.
Outsider (Time of Myths: Shapeshifter Sagas Book 4) Page 12