Laird of the Mist

by Foery MacDonell

  ―Not a problem.‖ Cat squeezed his hand.―I can‘t do it either.‖

  ―Oh, I can dance,‖ he said, more confident.―I danced at Court many a time. I won the competitions as well. These steps are just verra different from...‖

  ―From your time?‖ Cat shook her head.―Isn‘t everything?‖ Don‘t let the sarcasm show, she reproved herself as the strains of St. Bernard‘s Waltz began to play. The lilting fiddle washed over her, making her feet want to move.

  ―Well, this is one dance I do know. Are you dancing?‖ she asked.

  ―Are ye asking?‖ he replied with a grin.

  ―I am asking,‖ she answered with a mock curtsy.

  ―Then I am dancing. I warn ye though, I dinna ken the dance,‖ he answered, bowing in return.―But for ye I shall try, if ye are inclined to show me.‖

  ―All right then.‖ Cat reached for his hand.―Come along and do as I say.‖ She led him onto the dance floor and put her left hand on his shoulder, assuming a waltz position. Carrick pulled her into his arms and mirrored her, his back to the center of the circle of couples.

  ―It‘s a simple waltz,‖ she said quietly, as the music began to swell.―It goes like this. Step with your left foot, close with your right foot.‖ Carrick did as she instructed.

  ―Now again, step left foot, close right foot, step left foot, close right foot and do a light stamp. Then lightly stamp your left foot.‖ Cat led and Carrick followed.―That‘s very good!‖ She was amazed at how such a large man could be so graceful.

  ―Now to the opposite side, but only twice and don‘t stamp. That‘s right,‖ she continued.―And step back left, step back right.‖ They were moving towards the center.

  ―Step towards me on your left foot, now with your right and turn me under your arm. Now we waltz around.‖ Cat went under Carrick‘s upraised arm and he grasped her around the waist, twirling her around in a gliding spin.

  ―Perfect!‖ She beamed up at him.―You did it perfectly! Now we start again!‖

  ―I like this dance.‖ Carrick was proud of himself as he waltzed with Cat around the floor with the other couples.

  ―Ye do it verra well, Caitriona, and ye are a fair good teacher as well.‖

  ―Why thank you, Carrick.‖ She blushed slightly at the compliment.―You are an excellent dancer and student.‖

  He moved with the grace of a jaguar; sinew and strength, elegant and commanding. Cat felt safe in his arms, protected and precious. His hold on her was firm, yet tender, as they swirled about, never breaking their gaze from each other‘s eyes. It was all too comfortable, too familiar, and she swore she could faint from the joy that was, inexplicably, welling from deep within her.

  ―Carrick?‖ she began as they danced.―Do you miss your home?‖

  ―Beinn Fhithich?‖ he asked, his eyes suddenly wistful.―Aye, verra much.‗Tis a lovely place. Aye, I miss it.‖

  ―Beinn Fhithich? What does that mean?‖ she queried, genuinely interested for the first time.

  ―Raven Mountain,‖ he replied, twirling her under his arm.―Named so after my cousin‘s castle at Invergarry, Cragan an Fhithich, which means...‖

  ―...Rock of the raven,‖ Cat finished. How had she known that? Where had that come from?

  ―Aye, it does.‖ Carrick looked at her quizzically.―Do ye ken the Gaelic, Caitriona?‖

  ―Uh, no, no I don‘t,‖ Cat stuttered.―I must have heard it somewhere, I guess. Maybe when I was in Glencoe a long time ago.‖

  ―Oh aye, that must be it.‖ Carrick didn‘t believe her. She had gone white when the translation came out of her mouth. Maybe she was remembering the place? It had been her home when she was Jenny, after all. ―Any road, I should like to show it to ye one day, Cat. If ye would care to go.‖

  ―I think I would enjoy that.‖ Cat smiled to cover her unease.―And your family? Are they there, too?‖

  ―My mum and brother are there.‖ Carrick led her back towards the center, his feet nimble and soft. ―My brother Ian is laird by now, I s‘pose.‖ His eyes were suddenly far away.

  ―Why would he be laird now?‖ Cat asked, alert again.―You‘re still alive and dancing with me. You can go home anytime you like.‖

  ―Nay, Cat.‖ Carrick bowed to her as the waltz ended.―I canna. I dinna ken how to go home to 1746.‖

  ― There you are.‖ Olivia sat down on the bench next to Cat, the ocean breeze raising escaped tendrils from her hair‘s Highland bun.―I saw you dancing with Carrick, and then you disappeared.‖

  ―I‘m sorry,‖ Cat answered vaguely.―It was getting too close in there. I needed some air.‖

  ―Well you two certainly make a nice pair,‖ Olivia commented enthusiastically.―And he dances like a dream.‖

  ―Thank you, Miss Olivia,‖ Carrick said from behind her.―Had I kent ye were here, I wouldha‘ brought ye a drink as well.‖ He handed Cat a glass of champagne, which she received gratefully.

  ―That‘s okay, Carrick.‖ Olivia stood up and adjusted her dance kilt, a lovely blue Royal MacRae of Conchra tartan.―I have to go dance anyway. Not a good thing to dance with liquids in you.‖

  ―Aye, I s‘pose not.‖ He couldn‘t take his eyes off her kilt. ―Ye wear the kilt when ye dance now times? I canna believe it.‖ He shook his head in astonishment.―Lassies do Highland dance and they wear the kilt to boot.‖

  ―It must be a bit much for you.‖ Olivia laughed.

  ―A bit,‖ he agreed.―But I do admit ye look well in the kilt, Olivia. May I ask which dances ye will perform?‖

  ―I think I will start with the Sword, then maybe the Fling, then we‘ll see what I am up to after that,‖ she replied, straightening her velvet vest.―Am I all straight, Cat?‖

  Cat looked her up and down critically.―You‘re fine, sweetie. Go knock ‗em dead.‖

  ―I‘ll try!‖ She laughed, turning to Carrick.―Do you know these dances, Carrick?‖

  ―I ken the Sword and the Fling, aye,‖ he answered.―But I am no certain it is the same today as when I danced it last.‖

  ―Well, come watch and let me know.‖ She started toward the door into the ballroom. ―Coming, Cat?‖

  ―Yes, of course.‖ Cat rose to follow and found Carrick‘s hand once again under her arm. It was a touch she had come to anticipate and enjoy throughout the evening. Carrick led her into the ballroom where everyone had assembled around the perimeter.

  ―Honored guests,‖ Hamish MacPhail began, a microphone in his hand. He was in the center of the room, about to introduce Olivia.―I am privileged to be with ye tonight, and even more so to introduce to ye my lovely granddaughter, Olivia MacPhail, the 2005 World Champion of Highland Dance.‖

  Olivia came out from behind him, a dancing sword in each hand, carried with the points toward the ceiling. As Olivia ceremonially placed the swords in a cross on the floor in front of her, Hamish explained the dance.

  ―Olivia will now perform the Ghillie Calum, or the Sword Dance,‖ Hamish explained.―It is an ancient dance. Legend has it that the best dancer would perform it on the eve of battle. If the dancer didn‘t touch the blade, it was an omen that the battle would be won. If the blades were touched, well...no so good.‖ Hamish laughed.

  ―Let us see what kind of fortune Olivia can bring to us tonight.‖

  Hamish stepped to the side as the piper adjusted his bagpipes. Olivia took position in front of the swords, hands on her hips, and bowed from the waist.

  ―She‘s verra good,‖ Carrick commented to Cat, not taking his eyes from the dance.―So much better than the way we dance it. Verra precise, this dance.‖

  ―Oh?‖ Cat looked at him.―More precise? In what way?‖

  ―The hi-cuts are verra sharp, and the angles of the legs are verra defined,‖ he critiqued.―The leaps are so high and confident. A stronger dance in evra way. No just thrown together, ye ken?‖

  ―I think I understand,‖ Cat answered, leaning toward him.―And you do this dance yourself?‖

  ―No as well as yer wee siste
r,‖ he smiled.―And the steps are...‖

  ―Different?‖ Cat filled in his sentence as Olivia completed the dance and bowed to the crowd. Applause and whistles followed, as she grasped the microphone from Hamish‘s hand.

  ―And now,‖ Olivia began, looking straight at Carrick, ―we have a special guest tonight all the way from Scotland.‖ She breathed a little hard from exertion.―Carrick.‖ She beckoned to him.―Come and join me in the Fling. Laird Carrick MacDonell, everyone.‖

  The applause began again as Carrick looked at Cat in astonishment. What do I do? his expression asked.

  ―Go, Carrick.‖ Cat squeezed his hand.―Enjoy it,‖ she encouraged.

  ―But I canna...‖ Panic shone in his eyes.

  ―Yes, you can,‖ Cat gently nudged him.―Go on. Impress me,‖ she teased.

  ―Oh, verra well then,‖ he relented, and started toward Olivia.

  As the applause grew louder with cheers of approval, Carrick noticed a Culloden targe on the wall nearby. With a deft hand, he removed it and set it on the floor in front of him, next to Olivia.

  Olivia recognized his intention to dance on the targe in the ancient style of the Fling, and raised an eyebrow in question. Carrick bowed to Olivia, took his position with her, and they bowed together.

  As the piper began, each dancer did their own variation of the Fling. Olivia was a strong, nimble dancer, but Carrick‘s footwork was extremely intricate and unique. He performed the Fling on the targe, managing to avoid the center spike while remaining within the confines of the shield.

  Cat was transfixed by Carrick. She couldn‘t believe he was actually dancing on the targe! She had thought it was merely legend that the Fling had been danced this way, but he was doing it with skill and incredible precision. And although his Fling was entirely different from Olivia‘s, it was stunningly familiar. So familiar, her blood surged wildly hot and cold simultaneously.

  She knew the steps he was executing. She knew every muscle movement and gesture. It was as ingrained in her as if she had danced it a thousand times herself. Her muscles tensed in tandem with Carrick‘s as he danced the complicated choreography, each tendon strained and relaxed according to the step. Her vision began to overlap with a background of ancient stone architecture and long, oaken tables filled with guests.

  She saw Molly, Carrick‘s mother, smiling at her from across the hall as Carrick, now in his great kilt and lace jabot and cuffs, danced with ease for the assembly.

  She heard Ian whisper in her ear, ―Aye lass, he is the best of us,‖ as the memories of her life as Lady Jenny MacDonell flooded her senses and consumed her. It‘s true, she knew it now. It was all true. She remembered having been Jenny as if it were only a day ago. She wasn‘t crazy, and neither was Carrick. Her hauntingly vivid dreams had all been true. Recollections of a former life and love.

  It was part of a magical, creative universe that joined them together when all was thought lost. And here he was, come back to her, to find her, to love her. The ecstasy of it overwhelmed her near to tears.

  ―Caitriona?‖ Carrick had finished the dance to much acclaim and was standing at her side.―Come, lass.‖ He slipped his arm around her and led her out onto the terrace. She numbly obeyed, legs weak with...fear? Joy?

  ―Cat?‖ he said again, turning her into his arms, concerned by her expression.―Are ye well, lass?‖

  A glow filled Cat like an internal lantern. It suffused her body and face as she reached up and put her arms around him, a vibrant smile in her eyes as she met his gaze.

  ―It‘s true, isn‘t it?‖ she began.―All of it...it‘s true.‖

  ―Aye, Caitriona,‖ Carrick responded softly in surprise.―‗Tis true.‖

  ―Welcome home, Carrick.‖ She tightened her embrace.―My beloved husband. I dreamed of you so often! I am overjoyed that you found me, mo leannan,‖ she said as she kissed him with the most explosive release of passion the universe could ever know.

  Chapter Seven

  Carrick kissed Caitriona with equal fervor and a tenderness that permeated her every sense. He couldn ‘t believe she remembered. He had nearly abandoned hope, deciding it would be enough to be a peripheral part of her life. Content to be near her, he had resigned himself. And from nowhere, this! His heart was close to exploding with the unexpected rapture of it.

  ―Caitriona.‖ Carrick gently lifted his lips from hers.―Do ye truly recall? Everything?‖

  ― Yes, Carrick,‖ she answered, tears glittering in her eyes.―I am so sorry about the way I treated you...‖

  ―No apologies, mo cridhe.‖ He touched her cheek.―‗Tis God‘s own mystery, this life. But I am relieved and joyful ye remember. I have missed ye more than I can explain.‖

  ―And I, you.‖ Cat laid her head on his chest. She suddenly couldn‘t get close enough to him.―I remembered every single thing when you danced the Fling. I remember helping you choreograph those steps. I remember dancing it with you. It all came back!‖

  ―Truly?‖ He pushed her away a little to look at her.―You devised most of that dance. I performed it for the first time...‖

  ―When your cousin hosted Prince Charlie at the castle, just before Culloden,‖ Cat finished for him. ―Yes, I remember it. And I remember your mother, Molly, and your brother, Ian. While you were dancing, it was if they were right there in the room with us.‖

  ―They loved ye, Cat, nearly as much as I. They, too, were devastated by yer death,‖ Carrick reflected, instantly somber.―They are all gone now, I s‘pose.‖

  Suddenly sad, Cat dropped her hands from Carrick‘s shoulders.―I‘m so sorry. Of course, they would ne gone now. I suppose we are going to have to tell you everything that has happened to Scotland since Culloden.‖

  ―Aye, ye must,‖ Carrick agreed.―Although yer grandda did speak some of it to me. There will be time for that.‖ Trying to cheer them both, he said, ―For the now, let‘s take joy in our reunion and share our happiness, shall we?‖

  ―There you are, bad Cat!‖ Olivia teased as she joined them from the ballroom, followed closely by Hamish.―You missed my Seann Triubhas...‖ Olivia broke off as Hamish put his hand on her arm to stop her.

  ―Caitriona,‖ Hamish began.―What is it, lass? You seem...‖

  Cat smiled through her tears, a smile that lit the night.―Oh yes, grandda,‖ she beamed. She inserted herself under Carrick‘s arm and reached a hand to her grandfather, who took it and squeezed with affection. ―I remembered! Everything. Well, nearly everything. There are some big holes in my memory. But enough to know I was, indeed, Lady Jenny MacDonell. I remembered when Carrick was dancing the Fling!‖

  Olivia‘s eyes widened in stunned acclimation. ―You remember being Jenny? Oh, my God! I never knew the Fling could have such an effect!‖ she laughed happily.―Is this real?‖

  ―Of course it is,‖ Hamish replied, tightening his hold on Cat‘s hand.―I knew ye would recall in time,‖ Hamish assured her.―Such a miracle this is!‖ Extending the other hand to Carrick with a warm, knowing expression. ―Congratulations to ye, Carrick.‖ He shook his hand.―Welcome to the family.‖

  ―Thank ye, sir.‖ Carrick accepted the welcome.―I am most honored and verra happy to be part of such a fine clan.‖

  ‗About time, too,‖ Olivia exclaimed.―Everyone could see it but you, Cat. Oh hell.‖ She sighed and went to her sister, hugging her tightly. ―I am so thrilled! This is so great, I can hardly believe it! Welcome, brother Carrick! So when‘s the wedding?‖ Olivia blurted, leaving the question hanging between three other startled souls.

  Silence reigned among the four as Carrick reached into his sporran and retrieved something, tightly hiding it in his hand.

  ―Olivia,‖ Cat broke the silence.―That is not necessary.‖

  ―Aye, Cat.‖ Carrick turned her to face him.―I‘m afraid yer wee sister is correct. We are no married in yer time.‖

  ―But, Carrick…‖ Cat began.

  ―‗Tis true, Cat,‖ he answered, taking her hand and quieting he
r.―It is a situation we shall have to remedy immediately.‖ Carrick looked to Hamish.―With yer permission, sir?‖

  Hamish, who had been following the conversation closely, nodded his approval.

  ―Caitriona MacPhail,‖ Carrick bent his head to her.―I have nothing to give ye in yer time, save my heart, my soul, my loyalty, my protection, and my verra breath. Will ye take me as yer husband? I swear I will never fail ye, should ye answer aye.‖

  Tears welled again at the unexpected proposal.―Yes!‖ Cat glowed.―Oh yes, Carrick. I will. Forever!‖

  Carrick opened his free hand and revealed a beautiful golden ring, a circle of celtic knots that appeared to be very old.

  ―My ring!‖ Cat exclaimed, putting her hands to her mouth, tears flowing freely.―I gave it to you when I was dying...‖

  ―...at Culloden, aye,‖ he finished for her. Gently, so gently, Carrick took her hand in his and placed the ring on her finger.―I have carried it with me since that day. It kept me safe, and comforted me that I would find ye.‖

  Cat put her face into her hands and sobbed.―Oh my...‖ she cried, as Carrick helped her to sit. All was quiet while Cat spent her emotions. No one said a word. It was all too awesome to witness, incredible and beautiful. It filled them with wonder at the miracle of life and creation. They were speechless in the certain knowledge that life does go on, that there is no death, and that love can last forever.

  ―I‘m sorry,‖ Cat said at last, recovering herself.―It‘s just so amazing.‖ She looked up at them.―And I am so very happy!‖ She smiled to reassure them.

  ―‗Tis fine,‖ Hamish assured her, clearing his own throat of emotion.―We are as happy as ye, and we wish ye both the joy ye have waited so long to have.‖

  ―Absolutely!‖ Olivia hugged her grandfather.―Well said. grandda. This calls for champagne! Be right back.‖ And she went off to find some as she wiped away her own tears.

  Ian MacDonell sat at his brother ‘s desk staring between the fire in the grate and the letter he held in his hand. He read it for the hundredth time, still stunned in disbelief at its message.

  He had found the note on his night table several days before. Awakened by the early cry of ravens, it was the first thing he saw that morning.