“You’ll always be welcome in this house.” Sorcha threaded the iron pin through her apron.
For the baby's sake Shona hoped she'd not put it back on its linen. Sorcha seemed to realise that her grandchild might be a sìtheach. A Fairy.
“I may marry soon,” said Shona.
“The way of the world for a woman,” said Una.
“I do hope to stay nearby. But Morag sees changes.” She wouldn’t spoil the visit by describing the visions. “An dà shealladh, the second sight, is a heavy burden.”
Sorcha took her by the shoulder and led her to the best chair by the fire. “May I ask a question?”
“Anything.”
“Was it Morag who made the sea dance? Or … was it you?”
In the house, so warm and inviting in childhood, her words chilled the air between them. “It was high waves dashed on the rocks. The winds combined to roil the sea.”
“Of course it wasn’t Shona.” Una held her mother’s attention. “It wasn’t Shona.”
“Well, I’ve never seen the like. The baile has been gossiping about it ever since.”
“Do you think Morag is a witch? She's not! Nor am I!” Shona stood.
“Sweet Michael and gentle Bridget preserve us all,” said Sorcha.
“We have lived here by the castle for five generations,” said her mother. “We hope to stay many—”
“Why wouldn’t you?” asked Shona.
“You say we shall stay?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t you?”
“New lords with different ways,” said Sorcha. “We hear from chapmen and musicians passing through. Change is coming. War maybe. Hunger.”
“You’re worried about my stepmother.” Shona remembered seeing hungry children after the famine in Ceann Loch, not far away. Did they think that her stepmother was powerful enough to turn them out of their homes? It made no sense to get rid of farmers. “My stepmother doesn’t have the right to make any decisions outside the castle. If my father is—incapacitated—then my uncle will rule, and then my nephew when he’s old enough. Things will be as they’ve always been. Why so sad?”
“We saw a long-haired star come crashing through the sky,” said Sorcha. “A terrible omen.”
They seemed to know more than she about what was happening.
“And we saw a crow on the roof.” Ros Anna leaned on her elbow and whispered to them. “Couldn’t scare it off.”
They heard the caws overhead. “She’s back,” said Sorcha. “The crow. Something terrible may happen to us. Can you prevent it?” She reached out, but then held her hands in the air between them.
“You will be here for many years if I have any say in it.” Sorcha might suspect that Shona was a sìtheach too. The family was no longer comfortable with her. She stayed for a time and then, after making her farewells, she left the house of Donnchadh Beag and stood alone, cold in the midsummer sun.
Morag appeared beside her. “You can’t escape it. You have a power you can’t control. You must learn how to deal with it.”
“No, I won’t deal with such powers. I want to marry and have children. Make my clan strong.”
“So did I. Once.” Morag put her hand on the younger woman’s shoulder. “You must learn—or your people will be lost. I’ll leave you now.”
Shona watched her leave. After a time, she knew not how long, she trudged to the castle at the eastern edge of the baile.
And remembered the fear in Sorcha’s eyes.
Chapter 6
Shona couldn’t sleep well for nightmares. She woke up weary from the hair of her head to the soles of her feet. Too many sensations for her to cope with. She heard tumbling stone and iron clanging together. Sweat and the copper smell of blood. Darkness and brightness, appearing and disappearing like cloudy moonlight. And more blood, so much blood. What plagued her most was that she didn’t understand what she saw.
While Catriona slept in her box-bed, Shona rose and quickly dressed. She waved to the guards, who allowed her to go as they had many times, and walked slowly through the baile. She darted up to the outfields as fast as she could—as though she could leave all her difficulties back in the castle. Breathless, she stopped to recover her breath. All about her, nothing looked different. The grasses grew, heather and flowers bloomed, and the skylarks sang their epics. But her world had shattered.
The people of the village thought Morag might be a ban-sìth, a fairy woman. Or that her powers came from the fairies. And they suspected Shona herself might be a fairy as well.
A terrible fate.
Sorcha had asked so many questions, as though she suspected Shona had a seer’s powers. That was part of being a sìtheach. The smells, the sounds, the tastes of her dreams all horrified her. The visions might be sights of a terrible future. She had to do something to protect her people, but there had to be another way to avert the unlucky destiny awaiting Castle Muirn. One that didn’t require a fairy woman’s powers.
Morag was already on the hill, her basket half full of herbs and flowers. “Welcome, child. Be calm. Rest here a while and tell me what troubles you.”
The wise woman seemed to know already, but Shona told her of her visions.
“Violence and war, it seems. I can’t see clearly myself. Not anymore.”
“You are truly a sìtheach? You have the seer’s power to see?”
“I am that and more—a ban-sìth who warns of death.”
Shona stared at Morag. “A banshee! You warn of death in Gleann Muirn!”
“You too are a sìtheach. You have the blood of the People of Peace in your veins. You have the power to become a banshee.” Morag waited for her understanding. “You know that already.”
No! I’ll have nothing to do with it. Shona stood. Morag approached her, arms spread as if to prevent her from escaping.
“Listen, I’ve seen you work the power. You dealt with the Lowland men at the shore at Sionaidh’s feast. You pushed them back. You pushed away their weapons. You even kept Sionaidh’s salt water from you. You were dry when everyone else was wet.” Morag spoke quickly. “You must be careful when you—”
“No. No. No.”
Morag held her arms. “Listen! Be careful when you raise your palms. When you're young, your power leaves your body through your palms.”
Shona turned her head away. She refused to listen and pulled away from the wise woman. Crying all the while, she ran down the hillside toward Loch Muirn. She pushed bushes out of the way. She stumbled, fell and rose again. And forced her way through heather and bracken and gorse. Cows and sheep lifted their heads and began to scatter. Nothing stopped her. She came to the cliff’s edge and threw herself on the ground.
She wanted to cry but could not. Breathing heavily, she lay in the heather and gave in to her unhappiness. Still no tears.
Bawling cattle brought her to her senses. As she stood up, cattle and sheep had stopped grazing and scattered. When she approached them, they ran off. Something had frightened them. She looked over the cliff and saw a cow, its limbs in spasm. A recent death. They were normally sure-footed. What had caused the cow to come so close to the edge and fall over? A family in the baile would suffer a great loss. The cow provided calves and milk and cheese to pay their rent. She hoped they had more than one cow.
“Shona! Wait.” Morag caught up to her and looked over the cliff. “What do you think has happened?”
A cold hand clutched her heart. Had she had something to do with it? Had the banshee power pushed the cow over the edge? Had she brought ruin to a poor family in the baile? “I pushed the cow over the cliff?”
“You did.”
“I’ll compensate the family out of my dowry. I’ll go to the assembly and confess.”
She’d admit responsibility, but she had no idea whether she could hide the manner of the death. She had no control of a dangerous ability. She’d say nothing about that.
“Be careful what you say to the assembly.”
“You’ll teach me how to
control the power, but I won’t become a banshee. I won’t.”
She’d marry as her family expected, and be welcome among her people. Weddings, babies, and crops would dominate her conversation. She would hide her abilities and lead a normal life. She’d be happy.
Morag spoke gently. “Be sure of this. You cannot escape your dàn. Your destiny means you have little time to learn to control your power.”
“How long must we sit here?” Priscilla and her maids sat on chairs on a good carpet at the foot of a hill. “I hate thae mountains. Nothing here but bare peaks and jagged cliffs jutting into the sky. Loud rivers crash aboot ma ears. I prefer my chamber under a strong roof.”
Shona sat on a stool on one side of the carpet. Not a willing participant either. She preferred to sit with Una and her family. The dead cow would be dealt with today. She had admitted to her uncle that she was responsible.
“Wha’s that?” Priscilla peered up at a large, flat rock looming over them at the edge of the field.
“A standing stone. It marks the ancient assembly place of the clan. The village is named for the stone. That’s what Baile Leacan means.”
But Priscilla had lost interest and stared at gillyflowers growing at the edge of her carpet.
Half a dozen servants set up trestle tables and as many chairs for gentlemen. The tables faced the crowd, who sat in groups on the grass or on rocks in a large hollow in the hillside. From the slope side the listeners could easily hear the speakers at the bottom.
Myles approached them. “We’ll be discussing some local business before we deal with the MacDonald who was at the ritual. A valiant man, it seems.”
Myles thinks Alasdair valiant. “What does he want?” She savoured the thought of seeing him again.
“A business venture. I like the look of him—do you?”
Shona avoided his eyes. “It was I who asked him for help at the shore.”
“Ah.” Myles studied the crowd. “Priscilla, you remember Calum Athairne, the poet? He could interpret for you.”
“Ma stepdaughter will dae it.”
And that’d keep her pinned on the carpet. Shona would spend a miserable day while others enjoyed the assembly. Servants spread shady tables with damask cloths and laid out pewter plates of apples, pears, dried meats and cheeses. Kegs of ale and whisky waited in the oak grove by the stream. She had no appetite.
At booths nearby customers bargained for ribbons, yarns, cloth, spices and silverware. Village girls laughed with each other, walking among the booths while boys followed them and tried to get their attention. Shona wanted to join them, and search the crowd for the MacDonald. Alasdair.
At last a man came to stand at the foot of the hill and addressed the people above him. They listened quietly and nodded. Then a second man spoke and the crowd had no patience for him.
“What dae they say?” Priscilla pulled her embroidery out of a cloth bag.
“They’re disputing an inheritance.” She wished they would hurry because she wanted her own affair settled. At day’s end she might escape Priscilla and find Alasdair and maybe talk with him.
“Yon MacDonald that was at the feast, what does he want? I ken aboot MacDonalds—bloodthirsty. Ye cannae trust them. We all sleep better in oor beds when they’re away.” Priscilla spoke as though she assumed those around her agreed with her.
A third man spoke, who was escorted to the assembly by two men. Shona said, “This man murdered his cousin over the ownership of five cows. Drank too much and lost his temper.” Her shoulders ached with tension.
“Death tae him,” said Priscilla. “He should be hanged.”
“Those are members of the murderer’s family,” said Shona. “They say that he’s a good man to his wife and his children. They are offering to pay compensation to the widow and her children.” The crowd murmured approval.
“Yon man will get off wi’ vile murder?” asked Priscilla. “Hielanders are wicket! Murderers go free. How lang must I listen tae this?”
As long as I. Near the tops of the mountains beyond the assembly hill, Shona could see snow, small spots of white although the longest day of summer had passed. Water crashed through the rocks in a wild descent down the surrounding mountains. She watched eagles floating high above them. Free.
“Shona, come now. Your turn to explain the death of the cow,” said Myles. “You’ve no reason to be nervous. These people are your clan, and they’ve known you all your life.”
After arranging her earasaid, she stood and walked to the foot of the hollow. The crowd was quiet. She’d admit her guilt and there would be an end to it. “I frightened a cow and it ran over a cliff on Beinn Mhor. I’ll pay compensation—a cow to replace the one lost.”
“Whose cow was that?” asked someone.
“She belonged to Cailean Sheumais,” said Shona. No more questions. Get on with it.
Cailean Sheumais asked, “You wander the hills. You must have often passed by that cow. How did you frighten a cow that knew you? Cows are slow to action.”
“I don’t know why she ran. I found her dead. That’s all.”
Someone else said, “Not a good omen. She should pay more for that.”
“I offer a cow and her calf. And salt enough to preserve the dead cow.”
Several people in the crowd thought the offer generous and their support heartened her.
“Remember the favour shown her by Sionaidh. If we anger the daughter of Iain Glas, we may bring bad luck on ourselves.”
“Shionaidh’s chosen.” The words rippled through the crowd.
If they thought her a wise woman, she’d be feared. If they thought her a fairy of any kind, she’d be barely tolerated. She might be shunned. No friends to support her in disputes, no clan to shield her from enemies. Morag had no kin and never attended assemblies. No one knew her clan or whence she’d come.
Myles asked for quiet, and Cailean Sheumais agreed to the extra compensation. They agreed the fine would come out of her dowry.
“A cow and her follower then, and salt,” Myles said. “You’re free to go.”
Hoping that payment would stop comment, she quickly sat down. Many of the eyes that followed her showed no warmth. She quieted her ragged breathing.
After half a day, Shona saw Alasdair approach with his men. She sat up straight. He scanned the hillside, turned and saw her. He bowed. She acknowledged him with a modest nod.
“A man like him will flatter ye on tae yer back in the fields.” Priscilla grabbed her shoulder and held it hard. “Or have ye lain with him already?”
If Shona said anything, it would make things worse for her.
Her stepmother’s eyes narrowed as she studied Shona. “Ye have a good tocher of silver and cattle and ye’ll not waste it. Ye’ll wait for a man worthy of yer family and mine.”
Her stepmother was persistent.
“I await my father’s decision or my uncle’s.” Shona watched her friends flirting with young men.
“Ma nephew wad be the best match for ye.”
Never. Not if he’s anything like you. “I hope you enjoy his visit.” Hiding her anger was a kind of victory over Priscilla. When the man arrived, she’d refuse him. She must ask Myles to find her a Campbell cousin to marry—soon. Then she’d be mistress of her own house. “I shall choose in good time.”
“Ye silly whirlygig. Ma Thomas will be good for ye. Ye’ll get fine gowns and live in a grand house. Ye’ll see the great world.”
Shona had no interest in a fine Lowland house or the great world; she wanted to live close to her beloved Gleann Muirn among her own people. No one would change her mind about that.
Alasdair stood up in front of the crowd on the hillside—a pleasant sight indeed. She straightened to listen.
“Ye’ll say his words in Inglishe, if ye don’t mind.”
Shona obliged. If only he weren’t a MacDonald.
“They’re an evil family,” said Priscilla. “They conspired wi’ thae Inglishe.”
“A long tim
e ago.” Shona resented her stepmother’s intrusion on her daydreams.
“Nae loyalty tae king and croun. What’s he want in Campbell country? How dae ye ken he’s no’ a spy?”
Alasdair deliberately relaxed his stance and tried to appear unconcerned about the fact that he was a man in the midst of his enemies. Two or three groups in the crowd talked together, but others quickly silenced them so that all could hear. “We would like to bring our cattle through Campbell country. That would make our journey at least two weeks shorter and our cattle fatter for the markets in Falkirk.”
“Why would we allow that?” asked Myles.
“You would have two pennies for every beast we bring through.”
Murmurs of assent passed through the crowd. No work for any and a bit of profit for all.
Another said, “What if you bring an army of MacDonalds to Gleann Muirn?”
Both were questions Alasdair expected them to ask.
He could see that most of the Campbell men were away from home and those here were old, sick or crippled men. He could indeed bring back MacDonalds and conquer Gleann Muirn. But he said nothing about that. He only pointed out his own weakness. “We will have only six drovers with myself and six herd boys. No danger from us. My word on it.”
“He’s chancy,” said another Campbell.
“Perhaps,” said Myles. “But if the MacDonalds have business with us, they’ll have no interest in rebellion.”
“Rebellion is in their nature.”
Alasdair answered, “We have no great love for the Stewart kings, but we know that lawlessness will be dealt with swiftly.”
Myles addressed his clansmen. “They want our business as much as we need theirs. They won’t dishonour their word. The poet will write it all down on parchment.”
“Where you find Campbells at war, look for MacDonalds on the other side,” a man shouted at Myles, then stood and strode down the hill toward Alasdair. Three others followed. He stood his ground alone. His own men, who had been seated on the edge of the hollow, rose and started toward him. The Campbell men stared at the MacDonalds, each of whom had left his weapons outside the area of the assembly.
The Banshee of Castle Muirn Page 7