Morag's Tears (Celtic Storm Series Book 5)

by Ria Cantrell

  Gavin’s smile returned and this time it reached his eyes. He took Morag’s hand again and said, “Look at yer’ hands, lass. They are nay gnarled with age. Look at yer’ knees. They are nay stiff with rheumatism.”

  As tears fell from Morag’s eyes, she looked at her hands in the palms of her oldest friend. They were not the hands of a crone. They were indeed the hands of a young woman, without blemish nor twisted with time. She then lifted her nightrail and studied her knees. They did not hold the swollen joints she had long gotten used to seeing in her old age. They were straight, as her back suddenly was.

  As confusion lit her eyes, Gavin said, “Did ye’ nay notice that yer’ walking staff is gone? It is because ye’ no longer need it. Why looking at ye’ now, ye’ are as ye’ were when we were both but youths. Och, ye’ are the beauty I remembered during those innocent days. Ian will see ye’ so, as well.”

  Morag picked up a strand of her long hair and she held it before her eyes to examine the tresses that felt once again soft in her fingers. It was no longer white. For that matter, it was not even grey. It was not thinned, as it had become in time, but rather the tresses in her hand felt heavy and thick, as it had been when she could claim the beauty of her younger days. It had the luster of youth and health and it was the soft brown she had enjoyed as a girl.

  Morag looked up at Gavin, who was smiling at her and he said, “Don’t ye’ want to go with this lad here? He will be by yer’ side now, lass. Ye’ will nay make this journey alone.”

  Morag turned toward the window, where the light had been streaming so brightly and she saw that it was yet dark outside, as dawn suddenly seemed hours away. She had been mistaken about the sunlight after all. It was not from the late morning rays but was from the place that another stood in the shadows. All the brightness came from the one man that had never left her dreams. Her hand flew to her mouth as she gasped in surprise.

  “Ian!”

  This time, the tears that fell were not a trickle at all, but seemed to stream down in a steady flow at the sight of her beloved husband standing beside Gavin.

  “I am here, my love. I have come to take ye’ home. I have waited for so long fer’ ye’ to join me. Will ye’ come with me now?”

  Shaking her head, and swiping at the tears that furrowed a path down her cheeks, she said, “T’is nay like I have a choice.”

  Gavin spoke and said, “Aye, ye’ have a choice, lass. But if ye’ dunna’ follow me now, Ian will nay be waiting the next time. When I say he has waited a long time, I meant it. He has forgone his eternal place in order to wait fer’ ye’. It is his time now and he canna’ wait any longer. He has done this fer’ ye’, lass, because he loved ye’ so much.”

  Morag almost could not believe Gavin’s words. Was it true? Had Ian forgone his eternal rest just to wait all those untold years in order to make the journey with her? Had he loved her so much? Morag knew in her heart, that Ian truly had because she would have done the same, had the tables been turned.

  Morag lifted her chin then and the tears seemed to ebb magically. Steeling herself, she raised her gaze to Gavin Campbell and she said, “I have missed this man of my heart my entire life. Eternity holds no place for me if it is to be without him. I will go with ye’ now.”

  This time, it was Ian, whose hands clasped her own. As she looked into his eyes, she no longer felt fear. It was her beloved Ian after all; the love of her life, the mate of her soul and the very beat of her heart. Feeling the strength in his hands, Morag knew there was no longer anything to be afraid of.

  There was no need for a choice, for the matter was closed. She would be with the only man she had ever loved again and this time, nothing could separate them. As he closed his fingers around hers, she said, “We have a son, Ian. He is a fine man--and we have grand bairns, too.”

  Ian smiled that dimpled smile that Morag had always loved so much and he said, “I know, Beloved. I have seen him. I have watched over both of ye’ for so long now.”

  “Ye’ have? But I thought only the Guardians were able to….”

  “Nay, my love, sometimes we mere mortals who are unworthy in life, are granted a boon in the hereafter. I have always been with ye’, my Darlin’; through every joy and sorrow. I have stayed the hands of time to watch o’er ye’ and protect ye’.”

  Morag thought about the many times she had sensed Ian beside her and she suddenly knew that those were the times he truly was there with her in her everyday struggles and triumphs. He had never really left her after all. She worried for a moment that she had somehow displeased him while he remained in spirit beside her. But as she looked into his eyes, Morag could only see love shining through them. As if reading her thoughts, Ian shook his head and he stilled her fears.

  “Hush, love. Nothing ye’ have done has caused me any sorrow; only that ye’ grieved for my passing for so long.”

  “But I.…”

  How could she tell the mate of her heart that she had lain a time or two with another after Ian’s death? Ian tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and he offered absolution to her, though he felt no slight and none was needed to be granted. But to absolve his only love of any worries, he said, “Ye’ were a young woman, Morag. I hoped ye’ would love again, but ye’ ne’er did.”

  “But we took the Binding Rite….”

  “Aye, we did, which is why I could nay leave ye’ alone. The Binding Rite kept me by yer’ side all this time. I waited until I could gather ye’ in my arms and take ye’ home again with me.”

  Grasping tighter to his hand, Morag nodded, knowing that their love had been blessed. She had one more concern and though she did not wish to ask in front of Gavin, she felt compelled to know the truth. She asked, “The day ye’ were taken…I think t’was my fault…I came to warn ye…only, I think I…” Morag’s voice hitched. Ian smiled and drew her hand to his lips. Morag felt the touch she had missed for untold years. He answered, “T’was my time, lass. Nothing ye’ did or could have done would have prevented it. It was just time.”

  Morag felt relief wash over her. Ian was right. When the Ancients call you home, there is nothing that can stop it.

  Morag had always known that she would have followed Ian anywhere and now she was ready to go where he had come to take her. He drew her closer to himself and he led Morag away with him as Gavin followed closely behind the two of them.

  As a Guardian, Gavin still had the many trappings of a mortal man; things that made him human. It was times like these that he still could cry and he felt the tightness in his throat as he bore witness to the intimate exchange of Morag and Ian on their final journey together. He hastily brushed the tears that he had long held in check as his two best friends were reunited at long last; and now for all eternity.

  For Morag, there were no more tears to shed. She had been loved by many and she loved many in return. Her story has been told and she was now safely in the arms of the only man she had ever loved.

  ~~~~~

  At morning’s light, Bronwyn went to rouse Morag. She had been late in rising and had missed the morning meal. After softly tapping at the door, Bronwyn called, “Morag, dear, t’is Bronnie. Are ye’ alright?”

  When she got no response, Bronwyn let herself in to her old mentor’s chambers and she gently patted the hand of her dear Morag. She found it to be as cold as stone and realization that Morag had finally taken her rest hit Bronwyn like a punch to her midsection.

  Bronwyn sat down numbly next to the woman who had been so much like a mother to her. She was the woman who had cared for her and for her children alike. She was the woman who had taught her all about the Ancients. Even now Bronwyn could feel Their Presence, still lingering near her mortal plane, as she had learned to do over time. Morag had nurtured Bronwyn’s natural ability in the path of the Old Ways.

  Bronwyn knew the woman was old; even she did not know just how long Morag had walked this earth, but her passing was not something Bronwyn had given much thought to. It was as if she was agel
ess and Bronwyn had taken it for granted that Morag would ever be by her side. Tears choked her voice and she said, “Oh no, Morag, no….” and sobs wracked her narrow shoulders. As Bronwyn’s tears began to drip on the hand she held, her daughter happened to pass the open door and she called, “Mama, is Mum Morag alright?”

  Jenna’s question died in her throat as she saw her mother crying next to Morag’s bed. Taking young Thomas by the hand, she said, “Go get yer’ da’, Thomas. Bring him to Great Grandmother’s room. Go now, dear and hurry.”

  Jenna placed a hand on her mother’s shoulder. Bronwyn sniffled ungracefully, unable to suppress the sadness as it overcame her. Jenna said, gently, “Oh Mum, I am so sorry.”

  Bronwyn wiped her tears on the edge of her sleeve and she answered, “Nay, look at how peaceful she is. I still feel the presence of the Ancients. They have nay been gone long. Why, the smile is still present on her lips. I suspect she is with her beloved husband at last. T’is that I am selfish and wished her to be with us always. She was one of my dearest friends and I am sure there was still so much I could have learned from her; just as you and your children could have.”

  Jenna stroked down her mother’s hair and she said, “Mum, I dunna’ know what to say. Tavish--only just found her, it seems.”

  “Nay, my darling. She got to see him and your children. It has been a source of untold joy for her.”

  Just then, Tavish arrived in the room. Seeing his wife and mother-in-law at the bedside of his own mother, it did not take long for him to realize what had occurred. The smile died on his face and he whispered, “My mother….”

  “She is gone, love. It seems she left peacefully in her sleep. T’is more than most of us could ask for.”

  Tavish took the hand that Bronwyn had been holding and he was startled to find it not to be cold. He soon realized that the warmth had been imparted to his mother’s flesh through the grasp of Bronwyn’s fingers. Bronwyn gave way, then, and let Tavish sit in her place.

  He would need to say his goodbyes in his own way. She leaned down and placed a kiss on the papery cheek of the woman who had taught her most everything that she had grown to know. She whispered a prayer up to the Ancients and the One God himself, but Bronwyn knew that Morag no longer needed any prayers or supplications on her behalf, for she was safe now in the arms of her beloved Ian.

  Bronwyn was certain of this by the look of pure joy in the reposing face of her dear old friend. As she took her young grandson’s hand, she looked back one more time and whispered, “Goodbye, Dear One. Your love touched so many hearts, including my own.”

  Before Bronwyn took her leave, she could hear Tavish softly singing a song to his mother and she knew it had been the one Morag had always hummed when one needed comforting. It hitched at her heart at the memory. With one final look back, Bronwyn left her daughter Jenna and her son through marriage to say their farewells and to grieve the passing of the great woman that was Morag.

  ~ The End ~

  Author’s Note:

  I began this story after so many of my readers requested to learn more about the mysterious and lovable character, Morag. Morag first appeared in Celtic Fury as an old chatelaine who was both meddlesome and wise. Further on in the series, we meet up with Old Morag again and this time, we realize that she has some very valuable words of wisdom as well as some potent magical abilities. She is a woman tied to the Old Ways, and so as more of her story unfolds, we find her to be a woman of remarkable deeds, astounding secrets, and a heart comprised of sincere love and goodness.

  I wanted to paint a picture of the total woman, not just the one who was old and feeble, for Morag was so much more. As the layers are revealed, we learn of her days as a child, a teen, a young woman, a wife and a mother. I wanted people to see her as a vital person. So many times, we see old people and they become lost in the background of everyday life. We forget or willfully fail to see that they have lots of stories to tell and that they were once young themselves. I wanted you all to see the beautiful young woman who became the dearly loved, grandmotherly figure in all of the stories in the Celtic Storm series. So even though, now that her story is told, she lives on in the final book of the series, Celtic Passage, which will be available in the Summer of 2015.

  Thank you for your support and for wanting Morag’s story to be told. I sometimes think she must have truly existed and she has called to me through time so that her story would be heard. So too, will her story not end with Morag’s Tears.

  Blessings all!

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:

  When a writer decides to take the journey to tell his or her stories, there are so many people who help make the dream a reality. I cannot speak enough about how I treasure the people who inspired me and set me on this path. I would like to thank first and foremost my husband, Paul. He inspires me to true romance and is my greatest supporter. He is responsible for the artwork and the ceaseless promotion of this book and the others in the series.

  I want to thank my family and friends who encouraged me to follow my dream to write. To all my other author sisters, I thank you for the guidance and the support. Your words of wisdom have been so very helpful in the development of this story. I especially want to thank those women who have encouraged me and cheered me and showed me the ropes, particularly Mary Morgan, K.R. Thompson, Ceci Giltenan, Kathryn Lynn Davis, Vonda Sinclair, Angela Boudreau Searles, Jaci Snow and so many more than I can ever name. I would also like to thank two wonderful ladies who are no longer with us; Bertrice Small, who recently passed and who was one of my early inspirations to write and Amanda Albright Still, who was one of my first contacts when I started this journey. Sadly, Amanda passed last year and I still miss her influence and support. I am also so grateful to have the most loyal and wonderful readers. Without them, my stories would be but words on a page.

  I want to thank my mom, Marilyn and my sister, Andrea for always believing in me. My family encouraged my love of the arts and always seemed to know I was destined to be a writer.

  Finally, and by no means least of all, I want to thank the following women who volunteered to be Beta Readers for Morag’s Tears. What that means is that they read my unedited version first; before any of you see it and they offer suggestions and corrections. Their assistance has been needed and appreciated. The ladies who were my first “eyes” of the story were Sherry Ellis, Kathryn Royce Martin, Jennifer Wrobleski, K. R. Thompson, Sheryl Coffman, Virginia Smith, and Levi-Cat Bass, Debbie McCreary, Kristin Betthauser. Thank you for their long hours of painstakingly editing every comma and ellipse. I want to thank my street team, Ria’s Celtic Spirits for their support and their encouragement. I love you all and am blessed to have you in my life. There are countless others, I am afraid…too many to name, so I hope you all know who you are and I offer you bright blessings!!!!

  ~About Ria Cantrell~

  Ria grew up in the suburbs of Long Island, New York. Her family has promoted her love for the arts, especially music. She learned to read music at a very early age and started singing at the age of four. Ria has enjoyed some very exciting endeavors in the past including competing as a figure skater, dancing professionally as a belly dancer and singing as a classically trained vocalist with auditioned chorales. She also enjoys working as a soloist.

  Ria began writing at a very young age and even had some of her early poems published in local literary magazines. Frequently, she would be seen carrying notebooks to scribble many of her stories and poems. With a love of the past, Ria was fascinated with Medieval and Renaissance history and found herself drawn to participate with a reenactment group, The Society for Creative Anachronism, which re-creates the Middle Ages. Since fostering her love of all things medieval, Ria’s stories soon became flavored with Medieval and Renaissance themes.

  Ria is a hopeless romantic. She married the love of her life after a long-distance courtship, spanning two continents. She now lives in the sunny tropical paradise of Southwest Florida with her English rock-star husband. The t
wo share their love for music and writing. They perform together locally and they collaborate on writing endeavors. Her husband’s first full length novel, Reflections of Love, is being released simultaneously as Morag’s Tears.