by Ria Cantrell
Ian shook his head, “no”.
“Well how about ye’ come up with me? I have bad dreams too, Laddie. Besides, it is cold.”
Rory settled his beloved nephew under the covers and furs of his bed. Removing his boots, he laid down, drawing the little boy against him. He kissed his forehead and he said, “There now. Ye’ are safe. Go back to sleep, Laddie.”
Ian’s sobs quieted and he said, “Dunna’ go away uncle…”
Rory looked at the boy incredulously.
He saw the look in those green eyes of the boy and then Rory knew. This child had felt his own anguish. It had invaded his innocent dreams. He had the “Gift” or the “Sight” as some referred to it. Bronwyn had said Drew did too. Rory felt sick, thinking he had been the cause of the child’s pain or nightmare. He soothed, “Never ye’ mind about that, Ian. Now go back to sleep and only have sweet dreams.”
The little boy once again put his hand to Rory’s cheek and he said, “Why are ye’ sad, uncle?”
“Because ye’ had a bad dream, Laddie.” Ian shook his head, “Nay, ye’ are always sad.”
Rory felt the wind being knocked out of him. The child was definitely an empath. It had to be, and their close bond made Ian feel Rory’s Darkness. That sealed his decision. He had to go and it had to be soon. He could not let his own darkness seep into this precious child, but as he thought those thoughts, Ian settled down and fell back to sleep. That was it; Rory would make plans to go in a week or so. Mayhap he would go to Edinburgh. It was long past due for him to make an appearance at the court of the Scottish King, Robert. He closed his eyes, falling into a fitful sleep.
When morning came, Rory woke to the sound of a gentle knocking at the door. Ian woke up and he said, “Mama.”
“Aye, Baby, it’s me. Ruiri, may I enter?”
“Aye, Bronnie. Come in.”
Her little boy scrambled from the bed and ran into her arms. She kissed his face and said, “were ye’ a good boy for yer’ uncle Ruiri?”
He pouted and said, “No, mama. I had bad dreams and cried.”
Rory spoke up and said, “He was fine, lass. I just let him sleep next to me. He settled down straight away.”
Bronwyn kissed his precious face again, smoothing his tousled hair. “Ah, wee one, what did ye’ dream?”
Laying his head on his mother’s shoulder, he said, “I dunna’ know.”
“Well, we all have bad dreams sometimes. Ruiri isn’t mad at ye’.”
“Nay, Laddie, I love ye’. Ye’ were a very good boy.”
The boy instantly brightened and squirming out of Bronwyn’s arms, he ran and got the toy sword Rory had given him. He told his mother he was a knight just like his daddy and that he would not hit his baby sister with the sword. Bronwyn smiled at her son.
Rory cleared his throat and said, “He is like his da, Bronnie, in other ways too. Same gift, I am certain.” Bronwyn’s gaze snapped to Rory. “Are ye’ sure?”
“Aye. Ye’ need only look into his eyes to know.”
Ian asked, “I have a gift for Daddy?”
Bronwyn hunkered down next to her son and said, “Nay, sweetheart. Ye’ are a special little boy. Yer’ daddy is special too. He can feel things deeply in his heart and ye’ can too.” She explained, placing her hand over his chest. “That is a special gift.”
He raised his green eyes to his mom’s face and he said, “I want to be like Daddy in every way.”
Bronwyn smiled at the remarkable child. She scooped him up and said, “Come, Ian. Let’s get some breakfast into ye’. Thank yer’ Uncle Ruiri for taking good care of ye’.”
The baby thanked his uncle. Rory placed a kiss on Ian’s forehead and then one on Bronwyn’s cheek. Ian giggled and asked, “Did ye’ and daddy kiss last night?” Glancing at Rory, who was grinning boldly, Bronwyn blushed.
She said, “Aye, Ian we did.”
“So Daddy isn’t grouchy today?” Bronwyn smiled as Rory laughed out loud.
“Nay, Son. He isna’ grouchy today.”
“Yer’ da is happiest when he is home with yer’ ma and ye’ and baby Jenna.” Then to Bronwyn, he said, “Sis, later I will wish a word with ye’ and Drew.”
Bronwyn’s eyes met her brother’s and nodded in understanding. Somehow she knew what he was going to tell her. Their bond also was a gift. She kissed his cheek and left his chambers. Rory felt like Bronwyn could peer into his very soul. His heart ached thinking how much he would miss her, but the more he thought of how much he loved her, the more he knew he had to go. The Darkness inside him was becoming harder to hide. He could not chance it poisoning his sister and her beloved children.
Chapter Four
Brielle sat in the carriage lost in her thoughts. No one even seemed to notice her leaving. She took only enough gold to get her settled somewhere and to pay the coachman. As the carriage trundled on the rutted road, it was hard to ignore the bumps and jolts. She would have thought riding a horse would have been better, but she knew it would do her no good to ride out alone. Though it was March, it was still very much winter.
The frigid night air seeped into her bones, making each jar of the carriage more painful. She wished she had her plaid to wrap about her, but she didn’t dare display it. Her clan was hated in most of the highlands and though she was still a long way from home, she would not take that chance. She pulled her cloak about her and she thought about home.
She choked bitterly on the word. She had no real home to go to. If her brothers learned she left Val ‘Cour, they would have her beaten or worse. Oddly, no one seemed to care if she stayed or left the Val ‘Cour manor. Still, here she was, alone and heart sick.
She longed for home, but home was not available to her. She would settle for somewhere in the highlands. She no longer had the dreams of a young girl. She was an untouched widow with no place of her own, no children of her own, no dreams or hopes for the future. At least if she was back in Scotland, she would feel connected to her heritage and the land.
A particularly jarring jolt brought her from her reverie. The road was pitted from over use, over time, but because of the recent thaw, there were deep potholes filled with icy slush that caused the wheels to thud and slide. Her cold fingers clenched tightly as the carriage swayed dangerously to one side. They had entered Scotland a day ago and the further north they traveled, the more treacherous the road had become. Not only that, it was common knowledge that brigands were known to lurk these roads. Brielle was nearly consumed with fear. Being discovered by her brothers was the least of her worries right now.
The coachman called, “Sorry, Missus. The road is pitted and t’is hard to see in the dark, what with no moon overhead.”
Brielle softly replied, “It is alright. I am fine.”
No sooner were the words out of her mouth when the carriage listed precariously to the other side. This mountainous road seemed steep and she held her breath as it righted itself again.
She was exhausted, but she didn’t dare close her eyes. She hated to admit that she was frightened. She was a highlander after all, but truth be told, she was terrified. She wrapped her hands in the folds of her cloak.
In her haste, she had forgotten her gloves. She had taken only a trunk of garments, tucking her clan plaid in the bottom to avoid detection. She still wore the black of mourning, thinking it easier to not draw attention to herself when she left the manor. Now, she wished she had taken extra furs. While her cloak was fur lined, it still wasn’t enough to keep her warm on this frosty night. She tucked her legs up under her, trying to draw more warmth beneath her cloak. It was still many hours before morning, when at least the sun would warm the frostiness of the night air.
She felt the carriage pitch back as it began to climb up a steep road. It lurched and rolled, making her feel queasy. She began to wonder if this trip hadn’t been a very bad idea after all. Perhaps she should have waited till the spring, but even as she thought those words, she knew she couldn’t stay caged and left to rot at Val ‘Cour Manor. Death on th
is road would be better than life at Val ‘Cour. Those thoughts would be her last ones before bedlam broke out.
The carriage hit a terrible bump, and on the incline it was on, there was no chance for it to not be upended. As the rigging snapped from the horses, the carriage careened to the right and began a hideous plummet downward. Brielle was tossed inside as the carriage turned over itself twice more, bouncing along the rocks. She struck her head and pain seared through her skull. The last conscious thought she had was that she was suddenly weightless and she was flung from the inside as the carriage splintered around her. She landed with a sickening thud into the cold mud off the side of the hill. Pain scorched through her entire body and she was grateful when the blackness overtook her.
Chapter Five
Rory and a handful of men were making their way back to the MacCollum stronghold. He wanted to see his family before he went on to Edinburgh. His goodbye with Bronwyn and Drew was difficult. He could still hear Ian calling after him. He assured the wee lad he would be back before the next Yuletide, but the child was inconsolable. Rory sighed heavily.
It was for the best. He was afraid his Darkness would affect the sensitive little boy ultimately more than his leaving. Still, his heart was heavy. So much so, that he barely felt the cold of the morning air around him. They had made good time and were rapidly approaching the highland road. He was glad to be making the journey up the steep incline by morning light because the winter had taken its toll on the road. His destrier was adept at side stepping the dangerous slush filled holes. A night ride would have been treacherous even for so skilled a horse and Rory was grateful to be making his way north during the bright, sun dappled day.
As they made their way further on the road, Rory began to feel the serenity of the Highlands filling his soul. Despite the cold, the beautiful mountains and lush forests eased some of the Darkness in his spirit. It was calling him home. Funny, how highlanders always felt out of their element when they were not near their lands. Rory loved the glorious country of his birth. Aye, he would miss his beloved sister and her family, but he was going home.
He felt the pull of it with each mile he traveled. The cold filled his lungs as he breathed in the crisp scents of the pristine forest floor. He could smell the tangy scent of the pine needles that had been shed from the towering giant trees on either side of the road. As the climb got steeper, he loved the view of the mountainside as it fell away from the right side of the road. He could see glimpses of mountain streams below as the road rose above the glens beneath them. Home was calling him and suddenly the Darkness seemed to recede somewhat.
However, after another hour into the journey, something started niggling at Rory’s instincts. Something was amiss, he could feel it. There had recently been a carriage on this road and Rory thought it was too perilous for a carriage to make the trek up the steep pitted road. With each minute that passed, the encroaching blackness began to swallow him up inside. Sometimes the blackness acted as a warning and his senses were heightened at the onset of it. He was getting that familiar nauseating feeling of doom in the pit of his stomach. He spurred his horse forward, taking the lead and galloping past the other men journeying with him.
“No,” he screamed silently in his mind as the dread filled him with a horrible ache inside himself. And then he saw it! The wreck on the mountainside! He cursed an oath and leapt from the back of his mount. There was little left of the carriage. It looked like mere splinters. He found the coachman first. His eyes were frozen wide in horror even after death. Blessedly, his neck had been broken, so Rory knew his suffering had been brief. Surely there may have been passengers and Rory needed to find them.
He did not have much hope that anyone could have survived such an accident, but as his hope faded, his heightened senses heard the weak moan off in some undergrowth close by. Dear God, it was a woman, and she was alive. Rory dashed to the spot and stopped dead in his tracks. There, lying on the ground, was a small women oddly dressed in black and gravely injured. She was pale and bleeding from a gash in her scalp. It was like being sucked back in time. The pale face, contrasting with the darkness of blood, and he was reminded of that horrible day long ago.
“Caitlyn,” he murmured, momentarily confused by memories. Shaking himself to regain his clarity he said, “No!”
His own voice tore him from the past and pushed him to see to the woman. She was wee and despite the lurid bruising, he could see she was fair and delicate almost. She was laid on the road like a broken doll.
Rory knelt next to her and felt her skull gently. She had a bad bump, but he could feel no fractures there. His fingers trailed down her neck. There was a vicious scar from her chin to her collarbone, but it was old and not from this accident. He felt her pulse and though it was weak, it was steady.
“Good…that’s good,” he said out loud. He cooed softly, “Lass, yer’ gonna’ be alright”
He wanted to scoop her up into his arms, but he could not be sure if any other bones may have been broken; or worse, if she had injuries inside. Those were the ones that could not be fixed. He remembered seeing one of his clansmen after a hideous fall from working on his roof. The man had not lived long after the fall. He was all broken inside and Rory hoped that was not the case with this girl.
Unlike that man, there was no blood coming out of her mouth, which Rory thought was a good sign, but there was horrible purpling at the lass’ neck and side of her face. Rory's fingers lightly followed the bruise and again he could feel no shattered bones in her delicate face. He very carefully peeled her cloak away, afraid to cause her even a breath of pain. Rory again noted that she was dressed completely in black, which Rory knew well as the color of mourning. Were they on their way to a funeral?
Rory examined her arms, touching her lightly. No bones broken. He knew it was not proper to handle a woman, but he had to learn the extent of her injuries. His hands eased under her skirts, tracing the bones in her legs. There was no time for propriety now. No bones broken! He was beginning to feel hope that she was going to be alright. Still there was her back, but Rory rationalized that she would be dead if her back was broken. His hand splayed over her middle gently pressing to see if she felt pain. There was no reaction until he came to her ribs and the smallest touch elicited moans.
“Sshh, Sweeting. I just need to see if yer’ ribs are broken,” he soothed.
Something in his voice made her eyes open. He was met with the gaze of violet hazel eyes, the most beautiful he had ever seen. Brielle stared up at the gorgeous angel leaning over her. Was she dead? No mere mortal man could look like that. She would not have imagined that the angel of death would have been so beautiful, but surely she had died.
How did I die, she thought, trying to remember what had happened to her. But as his hands eased over her ribs and pain fired through her, causing her to cry out, she realized she could not be dead after all. Nay, she was very much alive, but dear God, that pain almost made her wish she was indeed dead. As his touch brought her fully to consciousness, she realized her entire body was wracked with pain.
“Sorry, Lass. Where does it hurt?”
The beautiful male angel spoke to her with the thick burr of the Highlands, but he was dressed in leather trews and a tunic, with a plaid fastened over his broad shoulders. Through the pain, it registered which clan that plaid represented. MacCollum!
Dear God, her most feared enemy was leaning over her, tending her. With a forced English inflection, she croaked, “Everywhere.”
Rory’s brow furrowed but he said, “I am sorry ye’ hurt all over, but that is actually good, lass. It means yer’ back isna’ broken. Ye’ can feel pain. Try to be still a little more, whilst I get my plaid to wrap ye’ in.”
He unfastened his plaid and gently covered her. He said, “I am going to be lifting you now, Lass. Can ye’ put yer’ arms around my neck?” She nodded weakly.
“Hold on now, girl. I will try not to hurt ye’ more than necessary.” Rory felt her cold hands m
ove around his neck and he was taken aback by how icy she felt in his arms. He suspected the cold actually aided in keeping her alive in that it prevented swelling and staved off massive bleeding from the gash in her head. Poor wee lass, he thought. He just had to help her.
Though it wracked her body with pain to be lifted, the solid feel of his strength soothed her somewhat. “Ye’ve a nasty blow to yer’ head, lass. Can ye’ tell me yer’ name?”
“Brielle… Brielle Val ‘Cour.”
English, Rory pondered but he also thought he detected the dialect of his home. Was she highland? He carried her gently to his waiting horse. He knew she would probably be more comfortable in the supply wagon, but Rory knew using the cart would impede their progress. He needed to get her to safety and he knew it had better be quickly. He still was not certain of the extent of her injuries and he needed to take her somewhere where she could be tended to.
Brielle fought the murky darkness that was enveloping her from the pain. She feared if she succumbed she would die.
When Brielle looked up, she thought she saw a woman behind her MacCollum rescuer. Was he traveling with a woman? The woman was very beautiful, and young, but when she looked again, the woman was gone. Brielle thought she must have imagined seeing the beautiful woman after all, because the woman looked as if she was actually standing slightly off the ground. It had to be a trick of her injured head. By this time the rest of the riding party had arrived.
“Dear God, what happened here, Rory?”
“A carriage wreck. The driver is dead. I’ve only found this lone lass.”
“Where are the horses?”
“Run off I suspect. Their bodies would be nearby if they were hurt or killed. We need to search for more passengers.”
Brielle tried to speak. “Only…me,” she rasped.
“Yer’ sure, lass? No one else?” She nodded faintly. Rory gently handed her over to one of the men.
“Lift her carefully to me once I mount.”