“The king threatened to claim the noble’s power and instate his own magistrates to carry out his rule. Left to their own devices, it would be devastating for all who live here,” Rorie said.
“I convinced Ronan, with the bishop’s help, to insist upon a prenuptial arrangement.”
“What sort of arrangement.”
“The Black Douglas has a very ugly reputation for his mistreatment of women.”
With that, Morag was on her feet. “Then he’ll not come near my daughter.”
Muren smiled. “You don’t have to worry about that now. Rorie will give us safe harbour until this all passes.”
“And we are very grateful to you, Rorie. I know this cannot have been easy for you. Almost losing Muren to another, and when you both have grown so close. Thankfully, now you may marry in secret and then the king’s eye will have to fall on some other poor unfortunate miss.”
“There will be no wedding yet,” Rorie said in a quiet voice. He did not want Muren to feel pressured by her mother either, and so hoped Morag would drop the subject.
“Are you saying you will not have her now?”
“Mother, ’tis I who have asked Rorie for some time.”
“Whatever for, child? You love him, and he loves you. The wolf is at your doorstep, and this is the way to protect yourself.”
“Aye, and I am very aware of how fortunate I am for Rorie.”
“There’s something different about you, love. I cannot put my finger on it.”
Muren smiled. “Aye, I am changed. For the better, I hope. Rorie understands it, mayhap better than I, and has agreed to give me some time to better understand my feelings. I also understand the danger I am in and place him in by waiting. I assure you, I do not do so with a light heart.”
“She speaks the truth, Morag. I will wait for her forever, but we will hasten a more permanent arrangement to protect her if the need arises.”
“I think you are both forgetting the fact that an army will be here in a few short weeks.”
“I assure you, the army can come, but they will not get near Muren, and they will not harm one hair on a MacKenzie's head.” Rorie would tear them apart one by one.
Chapter Seven
Muren sat at the stern of the birlinn and watched Rorie as he stood at the bow with one foot on the side. Her body trembled with both excitement and fear. She’d longed to sail ever since she was a wee lass but never had the opportunity until now. In truth, she had always been drawn to, and frightened of, the sea. Her dreams usually contained water in some way or another. Oft times when the pain was too much for her to bear, she felt as though she was falling deep into the ocean with only shards of light above her.
Rorie’s back was to her, affording her the opportunity to admire him. His wide shoulders were covered in his tunic and plaid to keep out the cold. His long brown hair was tied back with a single leather strap, and from time to time the wind allowed a few wisps of hair to escape. He was tall and broad and strong, and she loved the feeling of his muscular arms around her waist as he buried his face in her hair and kissed the back of her neck. Warmth spread through her as she recalled the trysts they’d shared. When he looked at her, it was as though he looked into her soul. Though she could not see his soft brown eyes, she imagined them fixed on the end of the loch to where it widened and then poured into the sea.
There was no doubt she was attracted to, and loved, this man. She considered herself blessed to have found someone who would go to such pains to protect her. Aye, her heart was sound as far as Rorie was concerned. But she had much to resolve about herself. She envisioned a newborn eaglet breaking through its shell and spreading its tiny wings for the first time. How enormous and daunting was the world around it?
But eaglets grew into daunting beasts themselves. What would be her transformation?
Her mother’s hand on hers drew Muren back to the situation at hand. “Does the sea still bother you, love?”
Muren looked around at the mountains on either side of Loch Alsh enjoying the lapping sound of the oars as they dipped into the water. Twenty-four men all keeping time, while one chanted to aid them in their effort until the wind in the large sail eased their work.
“No. Like this, I believe I could stay on the sea forever.”
She chuckled, “You say that now whilst we remain on the loch, but you may not think so when we are out on the open sea. Though, Rorie says the weather points to a good crossing.”
“Mother, I know there is much you would ask me. We do not need to discuss the weather.”
“You know me better than I know myself sometimes,” Morag said. “Very well, love. Tell me what happened at the abbey that brought about such a change in you.”
“It did not happen as abruptly as you might imagine. I was there for several days and was afforded the opportunity to meditate on many things, namely my constitution and the headaches I’ve always suffered.”
Her mother smoothed a hair that had fallen out of place and frowned. “I used to weep with you when you were smaller.”
“I remember,” Muren said. “You would sing to me.”
“Have the headaches gotten worse?”
“Aye, in the past year, they’ve gotten so bad that Freya has needed to attend me. Oft times now, I will fall into blackness, and sometimes…”
Muren did not know if she could repeat the things she had experienced, but they were too frequent and identical, each and every time she fell into the black.
“Sometimes what?”
Drawing in a deep breath, she said, “I have a recurring dream or vision, I’m not quite sure what it is, but ’tis the exact same every time, and it frightens me.”
Her mother’s face went a little pale then. “What sort of visions?”
“A crone comes to me with spindly fingers, beckoning me to look into a pool.”
Her mother gasped.
“What is it? Do you know anything about this?”
“I…it just seems very frightening.”
Muren narrowed her eyes. If her mother knew anything about the horror she experienced, that would actually validate it; she didn’t know what was worse, thinking she had slipped into madness or knowing it was real.
“Please tell me the rest. What happens when you look into the pool?”
“I see only my reflection at first, but then I see other people. Some I know, like Ronan and Rorie and you, but then I see other people. Mostly battles and fighting, and it scares me so.”
Her mother wrapped her arms around her and squeezed tight. “Oh love, I did not want this for you.”
“What are you saying? They’re just dreams.”
“Aye, just dreams,” her mother said.
Muren sat up and pulled out of her mother’s embrace. The old Muren would have dropped the subject and never asked about it again. But if she did not probe, then she might never know how to make them stop.
“You believe they are not just dreams.”
She shook her head. “No, I do not believe it to be so.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because your grandmother had the sight, love. She had a horrible time of it, too, until I was born. My aunt told me all about it one time after Mother passed on. She would scream out names and later that person would fall ill, so they had to move. There was a real danger of my mother being labelled a witch, so they moved around a great deal. Eventually, once she had children, the sight and the headaches faded.”
Muren did not know what to make of it. The old woman in her dreams was frightening to her, but perhaps it would not be so if she understood it better.
“Has anything you’ve seen ever come true?” her mother asked.
Was she ready to answer that question to anyone other than herself? The second she opened her mouth and let the words out, her life would change forever.
Instead of answering, Muren turned her head to watch the shore pass by. They were nearing the mouth of the loch and would soon be at sea.
> Her mother smoothed her hair and held her hand; a silent affirmation that she would not press the question. Thankfully.
A moment later, Rorie walked down between the men to pass furs to both Muren and her mother, breaking the tense silence.
“It will likely be much colder out here on the open water, so hunker down and cover up well. You’re safer back here.”
Rorie smiled at her, which warmed her heart. What would he think of her mother’s words? He’d witnessed her headaches on more than one occasion and was always sympathetic and gentle with her. But would he be as understanding if she shouted prophecy? She did not think she could place that kind of burden on him.
“What is it, Muren?” he asked.
He sometimes knew her better than she knew herself.
“I am well, Rorie. Just a little wary of the sea.”
He knelt and cupped her face with his large hands. “I would never let anything happen to you. Never forget that.”
She believed him with every fibre of her being. Surely, no one loved her more.
“I know that,” she said, forcing a smile.
With that, he kissed her forehead and returned to the bow of the birlinn.
Just then, the wind picked up and blew the sail full out, its ropes straining against the large wooden mast. The ship creaked in protest as the men stroked and chanted. There was something ethereal about the scene as the mists drew near and a light drizzle kissed her face. She smiled as she envisioned them journeying off to another world where men did not barter people for personal gain.
* * *
The sea had always been home to him. As a young lad, his father had taken him out many times. The MacKenzies were a seafaring clan, his father had told him. A clan blessed by the old Norse goddess, Nehelennia herself, and was meant to rule over the waters and protect it from those who would rape her for their own profit.
As it was, his clan only ever took what they needed for themselves. When the Norse lived there, a sacrifice would be made back to her. Rorie had loved listening to his old grandfather tell tales of squid so large it could swallow a birlinn whole, and a whale the colour of the sky on a clear day and that was longer than two birlinns together.
The wind gusts increased out here in the open, away from the shelter of the loch, and from time to time the ship lurched and listed to one side from the swell. Rorie turned back to Muren at those times to see how she fared. Oddly enough, she appeared more at peace here than on land. Perhaps there was something more on her mind than nervousness from being on the water for the first time.
“Heave!”
Rorie loved the rhythm of the men rowing.
“Ho!”
It always had a calming effect on him, and this time was no different, but added to that was the fact that Muren was with him. He would ensure her safety on Rona and focus on a way to protect Eilean Donan. While she was near, all he could think about was protecting her, but he was responsible for those whom he had sworn to protect. One way or another he needed to find a way to protect her. The best way to do that was to insist on a marriage. No man could lay claim to her then, and Ronan could not barter her again.
Would she accept it if he pushed his will on her? She had already said she would concede if he insisted there was no better way to secure her. But he didn’t want her to concede. He wanted her to be as desperate for him as he was for her. They would make one another miserable if they began their marriage like that.
Rorie mulled it over and over while they sailed to Rona. Many did not inhabit this island on the northwest edge of Scotland. Fierce and unforgiving, the best part of it was the secluded harbour. From time to time, Rorie had gone there to stay whilst fishing out farther. Instead of travelling back to Eilean Donan, it provided a safe place to lodge when they fished in the summer. There was a time some clansmen from the north had even brought sheep out here to graze for the summer, but that wasn’t common anymore.
By the time the sun was just going down over the hills, they had sailed into Rona’s best harbour and docked on the wooden stage built many years ago by Rorie’s grandfather.
The men secured the ship while Rorie helped Muren and Morag onto the wharf. He then led them up a narrow path toward the lodge.
Whilst the women looked around, he brought in some wood and lit a fire. Before long, the place was warm enough to get a pot going. Morag saw to the meat they had brought and began making a stew. Muren had been quiet ever since they arrived. Wrapped in a fur and sitting by the fire, she hardly looked at him. At first, he’d been too busy trying to get things in order for them to notice, but as the silence stretched, he began to wonder just what was troubling her.
“Will you walk with me a while, Muren?” he asked.
When she did not answer, he repeated his question a little louder this time.
“Oh, aye, I would like that,” she said.
“Supper will be ready in an hour,” Morag said.
“We will not be long, I just want to show her the waterfall and berry bushes.”
He guided her up the path, holding her hand. Still, she was quiet. Oft times before when they were together, she chattered like a little bird.
“Muren, do you trust me?” he asked.
She had been a couple of paces ahead and now turned to him, her brows furrowed.
“Aye, Rorie, you know that I do.”
“Then you must tell me what troubles you so.”
She shook her head and frowned.
Rorie cupped her face in his hands and bent low to brush his lips across hers. “You can tell me anything, love. I will never judge you.”
“Tis only a conversation I had with my mother about my grandmother. Something I did not know before.”
“And it matters that much to you?”
“Aye. It makes a lot of difference to me, but I do not yet know what it means.”
“Perhaps if you talk about it, you would understand it better. I do not have to say anything. I promise I will just listen.”
She smiled at him then. By God, she was lovely when she did.
“My grandmother used to suffer from the same affliction of the head as I.”
“She did?”
“Aye, my mother’s aunt told her all about it after her death. She said that the pain would be so bad that she would scream out names, and those people would soon fall ill.”
An uncomfortable feeling entered the pit of Rorie’s gut. Such a thing would be dangerous for any woman. Witch hunts were alive and well in all of Britain, but especially in Scotland.
“Does she think this is linked to your headaches?”
“Aye, she does.”
“And what do you think?” He wanted to know, and he would stand by her no matter what she said, but he had to admit he was wary of her next words.
“I do not know what to believe. ’Tis true I have dreams when the blackness overtakes me. The fact that the dreams are exactly the same troubles me more.”
“Muren, you can tell me. I will never tell another living soul. Do you have the sight?”
She dropped her gaze to the forest floor and wrung her hands. He’d seen her like this before, and on occasion, it happened just before she took the pain in her head.
“I think I do,” she whispered. A moment later, she was on her hands and knees and bellowing in pain.
The sudden onset startled him for a moment, but then he gathered her up and walked swiftly back to the lodge. Kicking the door open with his foot, Rorie called to Morag.
Muren’s body contorted as he carried her to the back bedchamber. No need for all hands to overhear her should she cry out.
Placing her on the bed, he smoothed her hair. The window shutters had not yet been opened, and there were not yet linens on the bed, but he managed to quickly locate the fur she had been wrapped up in earlier and draped it over her.
Her whimpering drove daggers through his heart. He would do anything to take this pain for her.
“We must secure her and then leave
her in silence. I shall provide a pail in case she loses her belly,” said Morag. “Come, Rorie, there’s nothing you can do for her right now.”
Once back out by the hearth, Rorie said, “Tell me everything you talked about on the crossing.”
Morag’s brows shot up. “She told you about that?”
“Only a little, before the pain took her. Morag, I cannot protect her unless I know exactly what it is that I’m up against. Does she have the sight?”
“Aye, I believe she does. ’Tis complicated and delicate, Rorie. Not something that’s easily explained or easily understood.”
“Try me.”
“Very well. My mother had it too, and I believe she is visiting Muren in her visions. She is led to a pool in which she is shown things that have yet come to pass.”
“Muren believes this to be true. Has she seen something to prove this?”
“Aye, I believe she has, but would not tell me about it.”
“When she wakes, she must tell us what she saw. And you must tell no one of this. Ever. There are many Christians among us who would quickly label her, and then we would have even worse troubles on our doorsteps than we already do.”
Morag nodded. Thankfully, the woman was strong and sensible. The last thing he needed was a fear-mongering, wailing woman on his hands when he felt like he’d just been dealt a deadly blow. When he made plans to bring Muren here, he had no idea in how much danger she really was. Now he was sure he did not want her to step foot back on the mainland until he had a full understanding of her affliction and time to process it, and perhaps consult with old Ada at Strathpeffer. A gifted healer, the woman would most definitely be able to help them figure out what exactly was going on and if there was any sort of remedy they could avail of for the pain.
Right on cue, Muren let out a mighty howl from the back chamber. Rorie rushed to her side. Her eyes were open and staring off into the distance, as though she focused hard on something.
“Muren, I am here, love,” he said.
“Hush, Rorie,” Morag said from behind him. “She does not hear you. All you can do now is hold her hand.”
Rorie knelt by the bed and slipped her delicate hand into his, careful not to disturb her. Formless words tumbled from her lips as though she were praying under her breath. God’s teeth, he had not seen her in this much pain before. If anyone ever witnessed this, he was certain she would be burned at the stake by sundown.
Heart of the Highlander Page 6