by Ria Cantrell
My mother gave her life so I would be spared for she told me she saw the future and I had great work to do. She made me promise to fulfill my destiny and to remember her teachings; to remember the responsibilities of one who shared the Gifts. I still can hear her screams rise from her cell as they tried to compel her into submission with any number of ghastly tools used to break a woman’s resolve, but she never did. As I watched my mother swinging from the tree; her beautiful face, purpled in the throes of her demise, I made my vow to her then that I did not know I could ne’er keep.
Years later, my son, Tavish was dying. My heart could not bear to lose one more person who I loved. I had to do something, but what? What could I do to save him? All my training and studying of remedies were for naught, for nothing I did aided him. I knew that he would nay live to see his second year. His little lungs never grew strong enough for him to take breaths to sustain him and it wearied him just to breathe. He could nay do much more than lie in his cradle. He could ne’er play, like other toddling bairns could do. This wrought my heart with aching. A mother wants her child to be happy and to thrive. I now understood the price my mother paid for me, for I, too, wanted only to spare the suffering of my child.
I watched my son labor to do what should be so simple, what we take for granted; why, just to breathe. In those days, I realized what my mother felt locked in the cold cell, awaiting her death. For you see just as my mother would endure any torture to save me, so too would I do anything to save my son. Anything!
On the night I sealed my fate, it was a full moon. It seemed that when I could leap through time, it always happened when the moon was in its phase. I did not appeal to the Guardians, for I knew what I had chosen to do would ne’er be allowed and so willingly disregarding the vow I had promised to my mother, myself and to the Craft, I brought my dying little Tavish onto the rise beneath the yellow moon. I drew a sacred circle between the standing stones and I stood, clasping Tavish to my breast. As I said, I know not how I do what I do, but it seemed that because a mother’s heart is so filled with love, I leapt ahead in time. It had to be forward, to a time where people would know how to cure a babe whose lungs were weak. No one, even one skilled as a healer in my time could save him. It had to be years, perhaps centuries after my own, in order to find someone with the advanced knowledge to treat Tavish.
Dangling a basket from my wrist, I held my son tightly in my arms and mumbled the words that aided me before in the manipulation of time. I concentrated on a place where people knew how to cure an ailing child. I could see it vividly in my mind’s eye…people dressed in odd white clothes, dashing about…a place where people go when they are sick. I had never seen such a place before. Strange instruments that looked more like things to torture than to cure were there, and I felt so verra’ afraid, but I knew I had to trust the Sight to get my Tavish to the right place.
When I opened my eyes, I was in that place. Those people in white were rushing around and I ducked behind a wall to hide myself. I carefully laid Tavish inside the basket, for he was wee and weak. The big white room had such an odd scent, like the strongest herbs I had used when I had made a concoction to disinfect wounds sometimes. Only the whole place smelled of that and it fairly made my eyes water at the strength of its aroma. Not only was the scent of the place daunting, but everything fairly gleamed. I was nay certain I was in a real place from the brilliance of it. Even the floors seemed to shine with cleanliness or magic; I knew not which.
I was a good housekeeper, I was! I saw to it that MacCollum was kept pristine, but never have I seen such an unspoiled place. Its scrubbed cleanliness actually made me a little nervous. It seemed so sterile and stark. I was nay certain I wanted to leave my son in such a place. Still, I relied on my vision from my prayers and supplications and I knew I had to trust what I had seen to give Tavish a chance to live, even if I could nay be with him.
I hid until the people rushing about went on their way and I wrapped Tavish in his brat. I wanted him to have his clan colors, no matter where he was for I knew that my defiance of the Old Ways would prevent me from ever seeing my wee bairn again. I hugged him tight, that one last time and I kissed his tiny brow. I whispered, “Laddie, ye’ will be well now. Ye’ will live and grow like all boys do. I know ye’ will make yer’ ma proud.”
I left him in the room with the rows of strange chairs and once again hid beyond the wall. I heard him squall and I ached to race back and take him into my arms. But then I saw a woman dressed all in white hurry toward his cries. I watched as long as I could and I saw her cradle him in her arms. The way she held him made me realize that she would be gentle to him and that she would take care of him. I knew then that my precious little bairn was going to be alright. I have never forgotten the words of that woman as she called, “Doctor, come quick. We have a very sick baby here, but I do not see his parents.”
Nay, she would not see his parents for one was dead and the other was pulled back to her own place and time, to a verra’ distant past. No matter how I tried to find that place again, I was not permitted to leap there. The vow to the Old Ways had been broken for I had used the Gifts for personal gain, so that my son would be spared.
Ah, sometimes the ways of the Guardians can be cruel for I did not lose the ability of the Gifts; nay. I just was ne’er allowed to return to that place that I left my sick little boy. I had hoped that my mistakes would be forgiven with time and the Ancients would let me see Tavish again, but it was not to be. It was what I believed I deserved; the Fates could do no less.
Now ye’ know what I had done; what a mother would never want to do, but had no choice. I left my bairn in the hands of strangers and in a world not of his own, without a mother to care for him; without the love I had in my heart for him. I left him and made that choice so that he would live…as my mother made her choice so I would live. I vow all the devices they used in the torture of my mother could not have caused me more pain than the pain I felt in leaving my precious son years, even centuries in the future, never to be seen again.
Chapter Seven – Meddling and Helping
I am a meddling old woman, many can attest to that. Eh, I never meddled unless it was for the best interest of those who needed it. I suppose, some indulged me because of my age, but nevertheless, I only offered aid to those who were too daft or blind to see the right of things for themselves. I could nay help myself, especially in the ways of love. I am an old romantic fool, I suppose.
I promised the Guardians long ago, that I would ever serve the Old Ways and never again try to use my Gifts for my own selfish causes. They rewarded my diligence to the Vow by allowing me to still have the Gifts that so few now share. They rewarded me or cursed me, I know not which, with a long, long life. I have seen things in this lifetime and those of the lifetimes I visited, which would turn a heart to stone. I do not wish to speak of some of those things that no one should ever have to see, for I have seen beauty and love and have learned about forgiveness and truth. While I know firsthand of the evil that lurks in men’s hearts, I also know the wonder of love and what love can offer.
I have known love; love of a man who is forever in my heart; love for my child, who remains locked in my memory with a longing that always is present; love for clan and country; love of friends surrounding me.
I have lived most of my life under the protective shadow of the Laird of MacCollum Keep. When Donal passed, Caleb had already been Laird for nearly a decade. Caleb trusted me, as he would have trusted his own mother, I suppose. Those babes of Donal grew up and while I was granted protection and lodging within the MacCollum walls, the emptiness that I had within me from the loss of my son was filled, somewhat, with Donal’s brood and then with Caleb’s to follow. While the pain lives inside me still, it was dulled greatly by the love and fulfillment of Caleb’s children, especially.
Caleb had five children. Most of them boys, except one; and a bonny lass was she. The boys were handsome and hale and they made me long for my little boy and ye
arn for him, as well. I wondered if he had grown hale like Caleb’s sons. Caleb’s wife lost her battle to live when she succumbed to the great fever that ravaged the land. Nothing I could do would help her. Caleb knew loss, then, like I had known loss and because of that, we formed a deep bond of sorts. I became his confidante and he relied on me to help him raise his offspring. Ach, how I loved those children. I watched them grow and I watched them learn of love and loss themselves.
I am a meddling old woman, I am, but I dunna’ regret one thing I have done. Nay, for each of these things brought me to my final tale, which is not ready to be told. First I wish to tell you of my beloved Ruiri. Ah, my Ruiri or Rory as he was known, Caleb’s youngest son. Ah, how I loved Ruiri! The love and loss that Ruiri learned was at the hands of the Campbell. My dear sweet Ruiri; a man as hard as a man could be, but with a heart so big, it was made for love. However, with love, the way a man like Ruiri loves, comes great loss. Such horrible loss! Forgive me--thinking about Ruiri still brings a tear to my old eyes.
Chapter Eight – Ruiri (Rory)
Well now, I have composed myself a wee bit and I can tell ye’ about Ruiri MacCollum the Highland Wolf. Ruiri was born the fourth male son to Caleb MacCollum. He grew strong and he grew big and before his eighteenth year, he was betrothed to the love of his young life. Like me with my Ian, Ruiri had always known that Caitlyn McLeod was to be his mate and so once both he and Caitlyn were of age, they were going to wed at the home of Caitlyn’s grandda’. Caitlyn was orphaned by the same fever that took Ruiri’s ma and so they shared the grief of that loss when they both were just out of childhood. Caitlyn was a wee little thing with auburn hair and a face like a cherub. She adored Ruiri.
Caitlyn had stayed for the summer within MacCollum Keep and would make the journey to her grandfather’s ancestral home with Ruiri and Ruiri’s other brothers to forge their lives in matrimony. Ruiri could nay take his eyes from the lass and his heart was swelled with love and pride. The lass told him on the morn of their journey that he was going to be a father; that she was already with his child. She worried he would be upset, but he was so overjoyed, he could barely think. Ruiri was young; so verra’ young. He cared not for propriety and since he was on his way to his wedding with the lass, there seemed to be no need to worry overmuch about her condition.
Ruiri could nay contain the joy he felt in his heart when he learned he and Caitlyn were going to have a bairn. So when they set out for the journey to Caitlyn’s home, his mind could not focus on much but the news that Caitlyn had given him. His youth aided in his naïve outlook on his future. While he had already shown great prowess on the list field and he could wield the great sword better than some of the experienced warriors, Ruiri was innocent in the evil that could lurk around every corner.
He had grown up with the clan division ever as part of his young life, but it had not touched him more than just through minor border raids. Until that morning, that is. Ruiri’s youth was soon to be lost and what he had lacked in soldier expertise, he soon learned and forever thereafter would forge him into the stories that made a man a legend. For you see, my precious Ruiri would get a taste of the evil that took my Ian from me, although not by the hands of the MacKenzies, but by Campbell.
Ruiri’s mind was adrift like a boat set out without sails or rudders. He rode along side of his betrothed and his thoughts were set on their future and the wee bairn that grew inside of her. He did nay notice that they had ridden too far into Campbell country. As they trudged deeper into the woods that day, they realized too late that they were in dangerous territory; dangerous Campbell territory. They also learned too late that they had endangered their lives and the life of the lone girl riding with them; who they were supposed to be protecting.
Before they could turn back and retrace their steps, arrows buzzed passed them. Ruiri’s first thought was to protect his lass, so he pulled her from her mount and told her to lay low by the base of a tree.
His second thought was to jump feet first into the fray. The whole fight did nay last verra’ long. In fact, the MacCollum boys made haste to take down most of the Campbell renegades who tried to ambush the small wedding party. The lads saw two of the Campbell escape, but they would not have time to follow.
Ah, a woman’s heart carries so many heartaches, t’is a wonder that it can beat at all! The tears I have cried for the loss of others equal the tears shed for losses of my own.
Caitlyn sat where Ruiri had left her and when he returned he found the grim reality of what warring with yer’ neighbors can do. The poor wee lass had caught an arrow, straight through her chest. It pinned the young girl to the tree; her life blood draining steadily with each passing moment. Ruiri tried to assure her that she was going to be alright, but they both knew he was lying. She could nay speak, for her own blood bubbled in her mouth. Ruiri could nay bear to see her pinned there that way and so he snapped the fletch off of the arrow. He knew it would cause her pain but he could nay stand to see her suffering so grimly at the end of that dreadful barb. He slid her off the skewer, and her heart pumped its last.
I dunna’ know how long he sat there, holding her, showered in her blood, but while he sat with the dead girl in his arms, his dreams and hopes died with her that day. Something broke in the youth-become-man and he would never again be the same. He lost more than his innocence when he lost his beloved Caitlyn. He lost part of the goodness and the love that had formed him.
He vowed vengeance then, to all things Campbell and he would not rest until he saw as many of that clan dead as his sword could cut down. Campbell became the ideal of evil as far as Ruiri was concerned and the sooner the world was rid of it, the better the world would be.
When I think back to those days, my heart turns inside my chest at the anguish that threatened to turn Ruiri’s heart to stone. He harbored a secret that he hoped to spare the rest of his family. He felt a poison filtering through his very veins that came from the loss of his bride and babe. He sensed a darkness that coursed within him and grew daily. In fact, he fostered that anger and the hurt so that he would never allow his heart to yearn; aye, and for that matter to love again. Or at least, so he thought.
When he was called to battle, Ruiri fought as if the devil had claimed him and he never lost a fight. Ye’ might say he was affected and thus the legend of the Highland Wolf was born. For ye’ see, his hurting heart gave him the strength to fight and he never turned his back from a fray. He oft said a man could easily fight to the death when death held no power over him. I think back to those days, when part of Ruiri died in that field of tears, and I believe he was right. Death could claim nothing more than his own life, which seemed to have died its own death in the place that makes us human; his beating, loving heart.
It soon came to pass that many would call Ruiri MacCollum the Highland Wolf and such a brand brought terror to countless people who heard the tales of the fearless bloodlust that carried him through many a fight. Some whispered the name and some cursed it to his face and every time he heard it said, he felt himself become more like the fabled monster he believed himself to be.
Ach, but Ruiri was no monster. Nay, indeed! Ruiri had a heart so pure that despite his desire for vengeance on all things Campbell and the tales of the warrior who ne’er ran from or lost a fight, he was a man made for love. As deep as his hatred ran, so too did the need for love. Ruiri was a man of honor. He was more like an avenging angel than a rabid monster, really. If there was a wrong done say to a lass, even from a bordering clan, Ruiri was there to set things to rights. He loved his clan and above all else, he loved his family. More than that, Ruiri loved his only sister; his highland rose, Bronwyn.
There was nothing he would not have done for his sister, Bronwyn. When Bronwyn found herself brought to England to forge a peace by marrying a nobleman there, Ruiri could nay bear the thought of his precious sister living among the English alone. She did nay know anyone outside of her intended and Ruiri knew that the relations between English and Scot we
re tenuous at best. After the wedding of Bronwyn to Sir Andrew Brandham, Ruiri stayed on to offer his sister a familiar face in a land that seemed so far away from his cherished Highlands. He plied his sword arm to the defense of Ragnorsen Keep, where Sir Drew and Bronwyn set up home, before they had returned to Scotland to spend part of the year in Bronwyn’s beloved Highlands.
Alas, try as he might, even England could nay keep Ruiri’s ghosts at bay. Nor could the distance from his homeland wash his heart of the guilt that plagued him and brought darkness to blacken his soul. Ye’ see a man like Ruiri, whose heart still ached at the loss of his beloved Caitlyn, blamed himself for her death just as sure as if he shot the arrow himself into her precious heart. The darkness seemed to be eating him alive and no amount of time could rid him of it. Ruiri feared that the blackness poisoning his soul would taint everyone and everything in his life, so after my sweet Bronwyn’s second child, Jenna was born, Ruiri decided to come home to the Highlands to nurture his soul and to, in effect, lick his ever present and unhealed wounds.
It was that trip home that sealed his fate and would forever change his life. Nay, a heart like Ruiri’s was made for love, not hate, and the Ones who weave our threads had a different plan for him, like it or no. Aye, he would love again. I knew it and I felt it as sure as I could feel my own heart beating. Oh, the memory of the day Ruiri brought that broken lass back to his MacCollum home is so vivid in my mind--ah yes, I remember it well….