Morag's Tears (Celtic Storm Series Book 5)

by Ria Cantrell

  T’was a sad turn of events, and I had nay wished that upon him, but I could nay undo the dark curse that Arianne sought to cast upon him. There would be one who could unlock him from his prison, but only the Ancients knew when and where that one would wait for him. I thought perhaps I had failed the grandson of my dear friend for such a fate seemed to me to be far worse than the untimely death he had experienced at the base of that tree on that spring day.

  Chapter Twenty – Ancient Wards and Protected Sacred Spaces

  There are some gifts of the Ancients that span the decades of time. One of these gifts is the wards of protection. Back when the world was young, and the line between good and evil were more defined, those who practiced the Old Ways knew of charms if you will, of protection. These charms could be placed on sacred or important spaces to safeguard people from malevolence and wickedness. There have been places I have learned about, mainly by accident, that were covered by the wards and no amount of magic or malice could break through those powerful charms. Through time, the locations of these places were lost and it was only through luck that any if all could be found. With the progression of the new Religion and the loss of the Old Ways, the warded sanctuaries were at the risk of being lost forever with the ones who no longer walked their earthly plains.

  I learned much later in my life that a certain tower on the Campbell property which used to be part of the early construction of the original keep was such a place. Gavin’s great grandfather placed protective wards on the place to create a safe haven from those who practiced harming magic. Most of that original keep had fallen to ruin and all that remained was the tower, which despite the turn of tides, remained as it had been all those many years ago. It lay covered with vines and brambles in the thicket of the woods, near to where Derek fell, but I and many others had forgotten about it, I suppose.

  When the new keep was constructed by Gavin’s grandfather and father, it was moved further into the land and so the warded tower became lost in purpose and in memories. It was said that the great grandfather of Gavin Campbell was not only a powerful leader in his own right, but a Druid as well. I have nary a doubt that if he wished the tower to be protected, that it still is to this verra’ day. I think for a man like Derek, who was forced to walk between the worlds of the dead and the living through many a year and season, that this ancient ruin offered him solace that he could nay find walking the battlements of Castle Campbell. For some reason, I think, he felt like a man, whole and living while he was in the tower and now I think I know why. It was one of the most protected and warded places that existed in these parts. That meant that no curse of darkness would be allowed to permeate the cold stone walls of the tower. Thus, I think if Derek took himself to the fortified turret, it was because it reminded him of home and Arianne’s curse could nay touch him there.

  When Gavin’s great grand da’ placed his powerful protective magic on it, not even time itself could erase or lessen the charm. I came to learn how long Derek was locked in his punishment many years later and so I know that the ward still stands. Ye’ see, the magic runs deep in his line; deeper than even his grandfather could comprehend. I think now, looking back, that it was this ward that may have had a hand in saving Derek’s soul after all. Well, that and love, to be certain for it was in love that Derek was finally able to heal and put the deeds of his past to rest. But until love found him, the tower ruin was his place of respite and it was where he could lick his wounds, both of his body and of his soul.

  Now I dunna’ have the gift of wardin’ a place, but I am intrigued by those who could. Ach, I would have loved to learn from a Druid like Gavin’s great grand da’. Those were the ones who paved the way fer’ people like me, but their ways are mostly lost now; more so than some of my own. Druid magic is powerful and though I have been granted more gifts than a body has a right to own, I never grew tired of learnin’ more about my craft or of the ways of the Ancient Ones.

  With all the people who I have loved, I think I would have loved to protect them with wards of my own, but alas, it was nay to be. I learned that nay matter how much ye’ love, they have to live their lives and that means they have to learn from the heartaches as much as from the joys. Wardin’ my loved ones would nay protect them, for if it would, they would nay learn to live life. Life does nay come with the absence of trials, but in those trials, sometimes the greatest of happiness is culled on the lessons of the heart. Why I remember one time when my own heart burned in my chest with doubts of love….

  ~~~~~

  ~“Morag, did ye’ nay hear me callin’ ye, lass?”

  “Aye, I heard ye, Ian.”

  “Then why did ye’ turn yer’ back to me?”

  “If I turned my back to ye’, I did it so I would nay see that pasty-faced wench Dorabren courtin’ after ye’. I have my pride, Ian MacCollum.”

  “Did I or did I nay promise my hand to ye’, Morag Moira MacCollum?”

  “Aye ye’ did, but if ye’ want to be released from yer’ promise, ye’ have my blessing.”

  Morag was angry. That harlot had been making sheep’s eyes at her Ian during the entire celebration of Samhain and she was not going to sit by and watch. Och, she wanted to scratch that doxy’s eyes out, but she had taken an oath on her mother’s soul to harm none. That meant not beating the snot out of Dorabren, that shameless looseskirt either!

  Ian pulled Morag to face him and he could see the ire simmering in the cool grey eyes of the only woman he would ever love. By the gods, she was beautiful; even in her smoldering rage. He had not meant to make her jealous. He had no eyes for Dorabren. Aye, she was a comely lass, but she could not hold a spark to the beauty of his Morag.

  As he felt Morag struggle from his grasp, he pulled her tightly into his chest and he kissed her hungrily. Biting down onto his bottom lip, Morag pulled herself free of his embrace. With hands planted haughtily on her hips she said, “I will nay curse ye’ Ian MacCollum, because I have sworn to nay do such a thing, but I will nay let ye’ dupe me with yer’ kisses to make me forget what I saw.”

  In truth, when Ian kissed her, she could barely think straight and he knew it.

  “Ye’ saw nothin’, my love.”

  “Dunna’ ‘my love’ me!”

  “Aye, Dorabren was flirtin’ with me, but I dunna’ have any desire for her,” Ian replied dabbing his lip. He was sure he would bear the mark of Morag’s bite and he expected to see his own blood smeared on his finger. Wild she-cat, he thought with a smile.

  “And ye’ dinna’ smile and wink at her?”

  “Aye, I did,” Ian said, holding up his hands in front of his chest to protect himself from the balled fists that pummeled against him.

  “Bastard,” Morag spat.

  “But only to be nice. I could nay very well be rude to her. It is Samhain. We must appease the Goddess on this beginning of our new year. I swear to ye’, Morag. I want no part of that woman. I have loved ye’ from the day I first saw ye’ walking at yer’ ma’s side that first Beltane when ye’ were just a wee lass. I have ne’er wanted the company of any other lass but ye’ since.”

  “Bah, honeyed words so easily given. Ye’ are a bounder and a rogue!”

  “Nay, I am not. I am yer’ man, Morag. I swear I shall ne’er so much as smile on another woman if it offends ye’. Reject me nay longer, for I canna’ bear it,” Ian said as dramatically as some of the players that came to perform a pantomime.

  While she was not falling for his act, Morag’s eyes seemed to soften. He was such an incurable flirt and though she should stay angry at him, she just could not. In fact, his little melodramatic act endeared him to her all the more. There was not much she could deny the man of her heart. It was true. She remembered that first time he saw her and he pulled her braid and made her cry. She went to her mother and told her what Ian had done and as her mother bent toward her and wiped her tears, she said, “Morag, he likes ye’ is all. T’is what boys do.”

  Still her mother, had taken her by the h
and, with her tears still clinging to her lashes, and had a word with Ian’s father. Morag felt a smile tug at her lips at the memory. She had seen Ian’s da’ pull the lad over his lap then and there and give him a sound thrashing for being rude to a lassie. She thought, for sure, that Ian would hate her all the more, despite what her mother had said, but it seemed that from that day on, he became her companion and protector, in spite of the whooping he had received.

  Ian grinned and he said, “What?”

  “What indeed!”

  “Ye’ look like the cat who ate the clotted cream.”

  “I was just thinkin’ about that day we first met. Ye’ pulled my braid so hard, I thought ye’ had yanked the hair from my scalp and I would end up bald.”

  Ian laughed and he gave a false shudder at the memory. “Aye, and if I recall, I could nay sit for a week, thank ye’ very much. But I still adored ye’, even if ye’ were naught but a little tattle tale.”

  Morag’s smile faltered and she looked into the soft brown eyes of the only man she would ever love. He brushed her hair over one ear and he said, “I only love ye’, my beauty. I have no eyes for Dorabren.”

  “Swear it?”

  “By my heart I swear it. Besides, ye’ are right. She is a might pasty…I prefer a lass dappled with sunshine, who’s skin is golden with the sun’s rays and who’s pert little nose is sprinkled with the faerie’s magic of freckle dust.”

  “Flatterer,” Morag bit out, and she turned to leave him alone with his honeyed words. Only he grabbed her back, and pressed his lips to hers. She felt herself melt against him. Aye, he loved her. Morag was sure of it and as the memory of Dorabren’s brazen flirting with her man slipped away, Morag wound her arms around his neck. He lifted her in his arms and carried her to a patch of grass as he had often done since first they were betrothed. When he got no further protest from her, he placed her down and he gathered her into his arms to prove to her that there was never going to be another woman who filled his heart.~

  Chapter Twenty-One – Ordinary Days and Boundless Blessings

  Not every day holds earth shattering events to shape the life of a body. What I have told ye’ thus far are accounts of things that seem to be life-changing in nature and that have molded me into who I am before ye’. What I will say to ye’ is this. Aye, while the events of great joy or sorrow stick in the forefront of our minds, it is the little things in life that hold the greatest merit in making us who we are. It is the combination of those moments that pass in an instant that compile the days and years that create our lives.

  I thank ye’ fer’ indulgin’ the ramblings of an old woman, for my story is not greater than any of yers’. In fact, ye’ may think that it is nothing at all, but like the memories that soften and harden yer’ hearts, these are the things that I hold dear at this point in my life. Ye’ know, ye’ look back and think of all those ordinary days and ye’ wish, if only I had that moment to hold one more time. But the moments pass even for a body like me, who can manipulate the hands of time. As I said, I dunna’ seek to go back to those moments even though I know I could. There is no point in reliving them. Their value is in the memory, I suppose. And there are so many memories of ordinary days that I have collected through my many years walking this good green earth.

  Ye’ know the ones, like the sitting down to a meal with yer’ family or friends. Or perhaps, the conversations about sweet nothings that pass the time of day. I keep each one stored and treasured in my heart like the cherished contents in a coffer. I have cast the regrets to the wind, for they mean nothing and only seek to tarnish that which we hold dear.

  I remember the day, as if it was yesterday, when I learned I was carryin’ the bairn of my beloved husband. I had suspected I was with child, but it was the mornin’ when Ian went out to see to the plantins’ in the far meadow that I was certain of it. I decided to make a stew for our supper to celebrate my tidings. I was nay sure how he was going to take this news, for after all, we were only wed less than a twelve moon cycle.

  We had nay had much time together as just husband and wife, and now our little family was about to grow. I, m’self, was thrilled. I had been prepared under the wings of the Goddess my entire life to be a mother and blessed be; I was honored to answer to the call of motherhood. It was a thing that I had always wanted and since the passin’ of my mother, I knew I would ne’er be complete until I was carryin’ a babe of my own. I remember that night so clearly and it is a memory that fills my heart to burstin’…

  ~~~~~

  ~ Ian had set out early on the morn that day. Morag had been later than usual to rise so he just let her sleep as he slipped out of the door of their quiet cottage to tend to the animals and to see to the field where the crops were coming in nicely. It looked like his work was paying off for the harvest would be good, come the fall. He had not thought of himself as a farmer, because he had trained to be a warrior, most of his life. Still, something about the planting of crops and the tending of animals was satisfying and Ian liked the idea of providing for his family.

  “Hmm, family,” he mused. He was pondering the very fact that his family was growing. He could see the changes in his wife’s body and so Ian knew that soon he would be providing for more than just the two of them. He had been aware of her condition for more than a sennight, but Morag had not said a word about it. It seemed to be confirmed as he left her sleeping. She was usually an early riser and it was odd for her to sleep past him in the morning; but not odd if one was with child.

  “I wonder why Morag has nay told me about the bairn she is carryin’. I am fair to burstin’ with the pride of it, but if she wants to wait to tell me, I will let her have her time,” Ian mumbled to himself.

  With a smile, and thoughts of his wife and babe, he took himself out to the fields and set to get his hands dirty in the rich soil near his land. There was something satisfying about planting things and watching them grow. Ian smiled at the ironic image of that for it would seem that he had planted the most beautiful seed yet and he looked forward to watching it grow within his beloved woman.

  Morag woke soon after Ian had left the cottage and she quickly washed and dressed. She had felt a little sick, as she had done every day this past week and she knew what that meant. She was with child. She had suspected for some time, but she had wanted to be sure. She was certain this day. Pressing a hand to her middle, she smiled. Aye, she was carrying Ian’s babe, she was positive and she was thrilled. “Tonight, I will tell him,” she decided and she went to prepare some fresh bread and stew to celebrate the news.

  After she had kneaded the dough for the loaf, Morag crushed some of her dried herbs and cut up some potatoes and wild carrots. The stew would need to simmer a good long time to make the meat tender and savory and so after she tossed all her ingredients into the kettle, she lowered it just high enough over the fire so that it would simmer gently for hours.

  She then tidied up the room and decided to spend time with her herbs, in the special place Ian had prepared for her. She lit a candle on the table because the room was a little dark, since it needed to not have direct sunlight from a window in the drying process.

  Morag snipped the herbs from the neat little bunches that were hanging from the rafters and she ground them together with the pestle in the cut out stone mortar. She hummed a song that her mother had taught her and she dreamed of the days ahead with joy and anticipation. She just could not wait to tell Ian her news. Morag felt happier than she could ever remember. Working with her herbs and creating remedies to help the villagers and other clan members also offered her a feeling of satisfied contentment. She whiled away the hours and before she knew it, the day had slipped into late afternoon.

  Morag emerged from her workroom, as the sun was beginning to make its final path overhead. Dappled light filtered into the cottage and the smells of the simmering stew and the herbs infused the space with a savory essence. As Morag stooped to stir the contents of the pot, the door flung wide and there stood Ian
, grinning from ear to ear at finding his wife bent before the fire. She stood up and crossed the room to kiss him.

  Just seeing Ian filled her heart with warmth and as his lips touched hers, desire coursed through her. After he had kissed her, he took her and sat with her at their table. He breathed in the luscious scent of the simmering stew and he twirled a finger in a lock of hair that had escaped the haphazard bun she had pinned at the nape of her neck while she had been working with her herbs. Morag looked into his smiling face and wondered at the reason for Ian’s uncontained grin. Taking a deep breath, Morag knew this would be the time to tell her beloved Ian her happy news. She said, “I need to tell ye’ something, husband.”

  “And what would that be, wife,” he answered kissing her and fanning the hair he had twisted in his hand across his own cheek.

  “Well, I think--I mean I am with child.”

  The words seemed to blurt from her lips. That was not how she imagined telling him, but it was out of her mouth before she could filter them now. Morag watched his eyes and for a moment they held a look of confusion, but as his grin finally reached his gaze, he grabbed Morag back up into his arms and he swirled her about, whooping and shouting with glee. Morag felt the dizzying rush as Ian spun her around in the kitchen of their comfortable cottage. Giggling, she finally said, “Put me down, Ian. Ye’ are makin’ my head spin.”

  Laughing he sat down, dragging her onto his lap. He kissed her again and she said with relief, “I was nay sure it would be happy news fer’ ye’. I mean I know we are only newly wedded and so….”

  “Hush, ye’ silly woman. Of course I am happy. In fact, I have known for at least the past couple of days and I was wonderin’ why ye’ were nay tellin’ me.”

  “I--I wanted to be sure, is all.”