by Ria Cantrell
She could see the rays of the sun glinting off of the surface of the lake, but the lake was not directly behind the keep as it was where she lived, in her time of the twenty-first century. It seemed off to the side more and she remembered Morag had said that the restored version of the keep was quite different than how it had been in her time. She scanned the woods in search of Derek’s tower but she knew better than to seek that out now. It could really screw things up if she found him waiting there in it in this time. She would worry about that later because Kiera heard a soft moan come from the woman lying beside her legs and she hunkered down again to kneel next to old Morag.
“Morag, please, love, we have to get somewhere safe.”
Morag’s eyes fluttered open and she appeared to be confused. She tried to get up, but Kiera said gently, “Wait, dear. You fainted. The journey through time must have been too much for you.”
“Nay, t’was not that, Lass. It’s the lad….” Morag’s voice faltered when she remembered what had caused her to swoon.
“I know I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry. I did not mean to cause you distress,” Tom Callum said to the aged and frail woman he was kneeling beside.
Tears welled in Morag’s old grey eyes and Kiera saw her lips trembling. She pulled herself to a seated position and she murmured something in Gaelic that Kiera tried to understand. Derek had been teaching her the ancient language so that while Morag’s words registered, Kiera was pretty sure she had misunderstood Morag’s meaning. Morag had called Thomas her son. Perhaps the old dear had dashed her head when she landed or perhaps, Kiera had truly not gotten the correct translation from the words Morag had spoken after all. Thomas stood there looking a bit horrified.
“Morag, please, dear. I still don’t have a good command of Gaelic yet. What are you trying to say?”
“She--said--I am her son,” Thomas stammered. He had taken lessons in Irish Gaelic when he was a kid and it had helped him learn the Celtic songs he loved to sing. It seemed he was always drawn to that sort of thing so when he had an opportunity to visit Scotland and drop in on his favorite cousin, he jumped at the chance. The Ancient Celts seemed to have called to him his whole life, or rather their history and their culture had.
Kiera looked at him and she said, “Well, she must be disoriented. I mean really Thomas! Clearly she is not your mother.”
Thomas shook his head. Something about the woman was familiar. He had remembered seeing her eyes somewhere before. Could it be that he, too, was from a long ago time? Had he somehow been brought to the present day from this medieval world? He never had felt like he belonged in the modern era. He constantly thought that maybe he was just a little off, because he was adopted and because he never knew his biological parents. He always felt like he didn’t fit in the present day but he discounted it to a little eccentricity.
When Tom had met Derek, Kiera’s husband, he felt a weird type of kindred to him and he thought it was because Derek was a professor of Medieval Studies. More than that, too, Derek seemed to be a living testament to the past somehow. The medieval time period had always called to Thomas, like a beacon from the shadows of time. It was just that the idea of him falling through time or rather coming from a different era was too preposterous to even give it much thought.
Still, here he was shunted back in time because he couldn’t resist such an adventure after he had heard the old woman talking to his cousin. He at first thought they had both lost all their marbles, but something about the tone of Morag’s voice convinced him that perhaps it wasn’t as far-fetched as he first imagined.
Thomas swallowed deeply. He did not know who his real mother was; that was true. He had been a foundling, left at the hospital where his parents worked. His adoptive parents, that is. Tom Callum felt guilty even thinking of them in that capacity. They were as real as any biological parents a person could ask for and he loved them dearly, as they too had loved him. Still, he had always wondered why he had been abandoned. He always sought to seek his own roots.
Dear God! How long had he wanted to know who he was and from where he had come? Could this old woman be his birth mother? And if she was, why had she left him in the future? He had to stop feeding into these crazy ideas. He really did! His head was beginning to hurt and Thomas was not sure it wasn’t being caused from his “fall” to the past or the thoughts of who he really was. Besides, he didn’t even know if this woman was right in the head. Thomas fought to calm himself down.
Morag stared at the young man for what seemed like an eternity. Tears coursed down her weathered cheeks and she knew--it was true. The Guardians or the One God had finally returned her son to her. There was no doubt of it. She did not know why she had not realized it when she first met him in Kiera’s and Derek’s apartments. It was like she had given up that hope for so long that she could not see the truth as it stood right before her. Tavish….
Dear and Great God, it was him! Her beautiful son was kneeling beside her, holding her hand, but there was something wrong. His expression had turned cold and he was glaring at her with something akin to hatred.
Nay, son, please dunna’ hate me, she pleaded silently. He does nay understand--He thinks I abandoned him--he does nay realize that t’was my love fer’ him-- and that my heart was torn from my chest. Morag sobbed softly again.
Their eyes were locked and finally Morag said, “Please dunna’ look at me so. It pierces my very heart.”
“Why did you do that to me? I was just a baby and you left me to be found by strangers. Why did you abandon me in a world that was not even my own?”
“Oh come on, Tom. You can’t believe you are this woman’s son? It is ludicrous,” Kiera thundered.
“More ludicrous than you marrying an ancient Highland warrior?”
Kiera choked on the truth.
“That’s different. You don’t understand.”
“You’re right. I don’t.”
“But still, how can Morag be your mother? She is quite advanced in years--and I mean no disrespect, Morag, but Tom is younger than me.”
“I was a young woman when I….”
“Gave me up?”
“Thomas, this is crazy. Morag did not give you up. Tell him Morag! Tell him you hit your head or something and that you were just confused.”
Thomas cleared his throat, then, and he began to sing a song he seemed to know his entire life. Through her sobs, Morag sang along. It was a song she had sung to him as a baby, to comfort him through those times when he was so very sick. It would seem she was going to be granted her heart’s greatest wish, after all. This was her Tavish, her son and he was finally returned to her side. ~
Chapter Twenty-Nine – My Son, Tavish
So there he was, the boy full-grown to a man and a fine man was he. He sang so clearly the song a mother sings to her sick child and of all the things I could have hoped him to remember, he remembered that one song that I hummed or whispered to him as a lullaby. Oh, my reckoning was just beginning, I think because he deserved an explanation as to why I left him in a world so far removed from the one he was born to. He was angry and I dinna’ blame him. He thought I had abandoned him. He did nay know who he was or from whence he came. He wanted answers and thankfully, I had all the words to say to soothe his wounded spirit.
T’was ne’er my desire to lose him all those years of my life while I lived only to care for other people’s children. I only wanted what was best for him and I knew that perhaps in a time much further from my own, he would have a chance at life; a life I could nay give him in the condition he was in upon his fostering. Even if he would have lived, which I surely believed whole heartedly that he would not, he would have nay been able to run and play like the other children could. A mother can nay bear such things for her child. I knew that my son’s only chance was to be somewhere that he would be tended and cared for with things, that in my world, had nay even been thought of.
I wanted to find for him a place that would allow fer’ him to thrive; a plac
e where he could play and be like other children. I know that he was nay like other children and for that I am truly sorry. I did nay wish him to be an outcast, but I learned that the woman he called his mother loved him. She cared for him like he was her own and she saw him grow to manhood. My heart aches for her because she too knows what it is like to lose him. For ye’ see, Tavish did nay return to that time that stretched so far into the horizon. Nay, perhaps he would have gone back with Kiera to Derek’s home if given the chance, but there was something that sealed his fate to the past. That something was Jenna.
Jenna Brandham stole Tavish’s heart more than the pull of the world he had been born in. I vow she pulled at his heart more than finding the mother who had borne him. I knew the moment that Tavish laid eyes on Jenna, that he loved her. It was the same look his father had given me and the more time I was blessed to spend with Tavish, the more I realized how verra’ much like his father he was.
His hair was more like mine and since he had come back to me, he grew it longer like other men from this time. Ian had always kept his hair shorter to keep it from curling, as I mentioned before. But the rest of him was Ian; the way he was built, the way he smiled and laughed, the way his brow would crease when he was pondering some important idea or concern. Even the timbre of his voice sometimes sent me back to the things his father had said to me. And with each word he spoke, I learned to love the son of my heart all over again. T’was nay that I had ever stopped loving him! Certainly not! T’was just that in all the years I walked this earth without him, I walled that pain deep inside so that I tried nay to dwell too long upon it for the anguish it caused me in doing so.
Well then, when my wild child Jenna saw Tavish, she tried to resist the pull he had on her, for she had vowed to wed no man or to give her heart away. Only, just as Tavish could nay deny his love for the girl, so too, could Jenna nay deny her love for him.
Tavish knew he could choose to return to the world that had fostered him and to the life he had grown into, but somehow, he realized he could never leave the one woman he would ever love. That pull was far stronger than even that of a mother’s love. Jenna was not meant for the world in which Tavish had grown up in. Nay, as brave and as daring a lass as she was, she was a girl of this time. Tavish knew she would nay survive in Kiera’s time and the chance of losing her was too much for him to bear. So he stayed. To my delight, my son stayed.
And he gave me grand-babies of my own; beautiful darling grand babies for me to love and spoil and to nurture. Finally, I had children around me who were my own flesh and blood. These were my kin and I am blessed to be able to hold them in my arms, laugh and cry with them, and above all to love them. And I do love them. I love them all. I love my beautiful Bronwyn all the more for bringing forth the daughter that holds my son’s heart into the world. I love that daughter, my wild and impetuous Jenna for being my son’s wife. Her love has kept him by my side these final years of my life and for that I can nay repay her or express the volume of my gratitude.
I have been granted the greatest treasure. So many blessings, really, now as I have looked back upon my life. I dunna’ know why I am found worthy, but it is nay for me to question the Ancients for their favor. Nay, I thank them all for every precious second I have been gifted and for their Wisdom and Kindness given to so unworthy a woman.
Finally, I embraced the Christian God completely after my son was returned to me. Ye’ may ask me why, when it was my devotion to the Ancient Ones that led me to this fate. I learned that His love is everlasting and that He is the one who governs the Guardians. His mercy is boundless. His care is never-ceasing. The Ancient Ones are part of His plan for me and He understands my peculiar ways for He created them in me. The lessons of forgiveness and hope were hard ones I had to learn. Even when I tried so vigilantly to impart these lessons to those who needed this bounty, I still had not learned them for myself.
I think that the reason I could nay find my way back to Tavish was because, like Derek, my own sense of guilt at what I had done prevented me from partaking of the most profound gift that waited for centuries for me. I imposed the punishment on myself. So too, did I think my son would punish me for what I had done, but when he learned the truth of my decision, his forgiveness rivaled the heavens. His love surrounds me still, and my brightest light comes from him. There are nay more tears to shed now, as that piece of my heart that was missing for so long has been fused back in place, indeed. I am a woman fulfilled and I am a woman who is loved.
~Epilogue~
Morag woke from a sound sleep to light streaming across her bed. She must have overslept for it was not usual for her to lie abed once the sun rose in the sky. As she reached for her staff, she found it was not placed next to her bed as she always had done since realizing she needed its aid. She somehow must have forgotten to rest it beside her bed. She would have to get up slowly and pick it up where she last left it.
With a sigh, she eased her feet to the floor. She expected to feel the shock of the cold stone against the bare soles of her feet, but was surprised that the floor actually held warmth in it. Must be because of the late hour, she thought. The sun probably had a chance to warm the stones that made up the floor in her chamber. As she slowly stood, she was suddenly aware that the old aches and pains seemed to be nonexistent. How odd!
Perhaps she should take to sleeping late more often for it appeared to have done her body a world of good. Morag grabbed her old plaid shawl and she wrapped it about her thin shoulders. She uttered her daily morning prayer of thanksgiving for the new day. She had gotten into the habit of doing such a thing from when she was a young child and mostly followed that rite which was now considered pagan ritual. She had embraced the Christian God, even though she never fully gave up her call to the ways of the Old Religion.
As she walked toward the window, she was once again aware of the absence of pain in her old stiff limbs. She went to her ewer to splash water on her face and stopped in her tracks. There, standing in the beaming light that had filtered through the window was her old friend, Gavin Campbell. A hand fluttered to her throat and she said, “By the Light, Gavin, ye’ nearly stopped my heart.”
Morag knew that when Gavin showed himself to her, he usually had need of her for some reason or another. She wondered what it would be this time and what time period he would escort her to. The last time was when she had gone forward again to the place she had left Kiera and Derek.
That had been the time Kiera had followed her back to aid her precious Jenna. It was then that her son, lost to her for so many years returned to her. She smiled to herself at the memory. She had some good years with him, then, as he chose to stay in her time. She had been granted the greatest gift by watching him raise children of his own. Her own dear grandbabies brought joy to her heart in her old age and so if Gavin needed her again, she would never question him nor deny him, no matter how her old body would revolt against it.
“I dinna’ mean to startle ye’, lass. Do ye’ ken why I am here?”
“I suppose ye’ need me in another time again. I am happy to help ye’, if ye’ need me.”
“Nay, lass. T’is ye’ I have come to help this time.”
“Me? Whatever for? Ye’ have helped me with all I ever needed when ye’ aided me in finding my Tavish again.”
Gavin’s facial expression turned a tad sad and he forced a smile to his lips, but Morag could see the troubled look behind his eyes.
With a tremulous smile, he said, “I have come for you, lass. T’is time.”
“Time? I dunna’ understand. Time for what?”
Gavin drew in a deep sigh and he said, “Ye’ have lived a long life, lass. Ye’ have seen many things and passed from one era to another. Are ye’ nay tired?”
“Aye, I am old, Gavin, and most times my bones ache but I am alright. I had a good rest last night. I am fine to face another day.”
Gavin frowned. Even though he had been a Guardian for a long time, it was hard to do this job. It was
one he had always come to dread, for no matter how long a body lived in the world, no one was ever prepared for their final journey. He cleared his throat and he said gently, “Morag, ye’ have helped so many people. Ye’ have spent yer’ life carin’ for babes that were nay yer’ own. Ye’ loved so many and have brought that love to those in need of it. For this, lass, ye’ are finally being rewarded.”
“I have been rewarded with the love of my son and my grand-babes, Gavin. I need nothing else.”
“Lass, I am glad that in the last years of your life ye’ finally found the son lost to ye’ so long ago. It was wrong to have been separated from him for so many years and it hurt my heart to know that ye’ ever hoped for his return. But now….” Gavin’s voice faltered. How he hated this part of being a Guardian!
Suddenly, sad understanding filled Morag’s eyes as Gavin’s words trailed off.
“Last years of my life? Gavin, ye’ are nay here to take me to aid ye’, are ye’?”
“Nay, lass. Not this time.”
Morag looked down and whispered, “I see. I wish I could say goodbye. There are so many that I do still love….”
Gavin saw a tear trickle out of the corner of her eye and his heart hitched within him. He really hated this part! He took her hand and felt the coolness in it. He said softly, “I’m sorry, Lass. T’is time to go, but I have someone here who has been waitin’ a long time to see ye’.”
Morag snatched her hand away angrily as she understood who Gavin had brought to meet her and she said, “Nay Gavin. Nay! I dunna’ want to see him. Make him go away, Gavin. Grant me this last wish if t’is my time to go.”
“Why? He has been longing just for a day such as this.”
Morag backed away from Gavin and distress glittered in her cold grey eyes. She murmured, “Nay. Don’t ye’ see, I am old, Gavin. Withered and aged. I am no more than a crone and he--he was still a young braw lad when he passed. I dunna’ want him to see me this way. I canna’ bear to see the revulsion in his face when he sees what I have become.”