Tides (Time of Myths: Shapeshifter Sagas Book 3)

by Natasha Brown

  “What of your kin?” Eilish asked, sure his uncle would not stand for such a thing.

  Leif sighed. “It is not his choice to make. I am Ragna’s son, and I have made up my mind. He will not stand in my way, for I will not remain in that place, nor will I force any other to stay.”

  “What of me?” she asked, not having heard what she’d truly wanted to. She couldn’t imagine returning to her old life on the green hills of Eire with her father alone. Eilish had seen more of the world, and most of all, her heart had been changed by the man sitting beside her. Had she not been taken as a thrall, she might have been more appealing, and if she hadn’t given her chastity away she could have retained her value, but she did not care.

  “I always imagined what it might have been like to be born to a different life. I could have been a farmer who struggled with crops and weather, and had a wife and children who would have filled me with pride and happiness. I do not know what to say now that I might have such things. Did you ever wish for a different life?”

  It did not pass her attention that he never answered her own question, but just the same, she took a deep breath before responding. “I did not. I did not complain about what was provided.”

  “Could you imagine yourself on a farm in a faraway place?”

  She looked into his eyes as he stared at her. He seemed to be holding his breath while he awaited her answer. Eilish blinked up at him and said, “If you were on that farm in that faraway place, I could. Could you imagine yourself with a headstrong woman?”

  “I have dreamt of nothing other than you since I saw you for who you are, an honest, hardworking and caring woman, who I want for my wife.”

  He brushed the side of his hand against her cheek before grasping the back of her neck and giving her a kiss. She tasted salt upon her lips, though it wasn’t the spray of the sea, but her tears of happiness.

  Chapter 15

  Leif called across the field to Agnar to let him know he was heading back home, and his friend waved in return. They had just finished plowing the land, preparing for their barley crop. He passed other freemen who were freeing the plow from the livestock and nodded their way.

  A few clouds slid across the sky, leaving the sun open to shine on the fields below. The green billowy trees that surrounded the property rustled in the springtime breeze. The cool air brushed over Leif’s exposed skin as he unrolled his sleeves. He began to hum the tune he’d made up that helped the day go by when he remained out in the fields. The others often asked him to sing like he used to, but the old tunes from the age of Ragna were buried with his father at sea.

  “Leif!”

  He glanced in the direction of the shout to find Marcas perched on his pony, riding toward him. The boy had grown tall over the last year and already stood to his mother’s shoulder. He was losing his childlike qualities more and more. “Cousin! Mother wants me to tell you the time is drawing near!”

  “Thank you, Marcas,” he shouted and hurried toward the thatched roofs in the distance.

  The wooden fencing that surrounded their village came into view, and he began to run. Leif let himself in through the gate, nearly bumping into Frigg, who’d bent down to pick up her son, Agmundr, from the ground. The little boy squealed when he saw Leif.

  “Your papa will be back soon,” Leif told the child and tousled his hair.

  Frigg grabbed hold of Agmundr’s hand and waved. “Come out of the way, sweetheart.”

  Leif passed a series of wooden thatched huts and rushed in through the darkened doorway of one. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the low light as he stared into the rectangular room. Sitting on a bench that lined the far wall, Eilish was hunched over. Her long black braid fell over her shoulder as she glanced up at his appearance.

  Màiri put her hands on her hips and scolded him. “Do you wish to scare the baby out of her?”

  “Are you well?” he asked his wife, ignoring the other woman’s irritation. He went to kneel on the floor beside her. “You told me to go this morning. I would not have if I had known it was time.”

  Eilish held her breath and his concern mounted. Her cheeks were flushed and perspiration dewed on her temple. After a moment, she sighed and tilted to rest her forehead to his. “Do you not remember my telling you I would not let a man see me suffer in pain?”

  “But I am not just any man—I am your husband,” he protested.

  “Once Father returns with the herbs to make a tonic, I will be myself again,” Eilish answered and stood up with her hand at the base of her back. Her smock hung away from her bulging belly.

  Leif jumped to her side and held onto her forearm, noticing her sway in place. When her face pinched in pain, he swept her into his arms to lay her back onto the wide bench. He felt powerless as he observed the woman he loved in agony.

  “This is no place for you,” Màiri said as she tried to push him away. “I only told Marcas so you knew the time was near, not so you would take all of her air, pawing her.”

  Eilish started to pant and grabbed hold of the lining of his tunic, pulling him close. “Have courage,” she whispered.

  Leif nodded and kissed her forehead before Màiri succeeded in shoving him outside. He might have worn a path in the grass if he had more time to pace. It felt as though weeks passed as the men began to return from their work in the field while cries issued from his home. When Domnall rushed past with an armful of greens, he gave Leif a slap on the shoulder before disappearing into the building.

  It was the moment a noise pierced the evening air, he knew his life was truly full. A baby’s wail cut the night. His chest tightened in response, and he couldn’t breathe.

  Màiri appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a cloth, and called, “Come meet your child.”

  Cormacc and Ronan were near enough to shout, “Blessings!”

  But he didn’t hear them while he stumbled toward his home. He stepped inside. The warm glow from the hearth fire touched his wife’s tired face. Wrapped in her arms was a tiny pink creature, so precious and beautiful, he couldn’t speak.

  When Eilish saw him, she grinned. “Would you like to meet Brita?”

  He was caught up short when he heard his mother’s name. There could be nothing better than that.

  As he stood and stared down at his family, he had a horrible thought. What if he made a terrible father?

  She seemed to know the thoughts that traced through his head and raised her eyebrow. Eilish growled at him. “You are not your father’s son—you are your mother’s. Now come here and bless your daughter with your presence.”

  Leif was brought to and did as any wise husband would. He listened to his wife.

  The End

  Chapter 1 of Outsider

  Bitter winds blew against the Highlands, whistling louder than any banshee ever could. Kristie’s woolen plaid was wrapped around her body and pinned at her chest. The weather tried to pry through her clothing to reach her flesh and succeeded. A fold of the fabric was tossed over her shoulder, exposing her skin. But she didn’t care, for it had been a long time since she’d concerned herself about her own well-being.

  She plucked out another handful of straw from beneath the covered pile that lay beside her on the roof. Kristie was careful to rest her weight on the wooden beams beneath her as she worked to patch the weak spots. The rains were often lighter in the early spring, but they’d dragged on this year. Water had leaked through during last night’s storm, keeping her damp while she lay awake.

  Kristie worked near the peak of the roof. She stared out at the steel-gray loch at the bottom of the hill. The trees lining the rocky shore twisted and shook in the gale. Dark clouds filled the sky like freshly shorn wool and threatened to release more rain. She’d climbed to this height not only to make the much-needed repairs, but to see if she could spot Domnall returning with Hendrie in the currach. She hoped her brother’s hide-wrapped boat would return soon.

  “Do ye see him?” Jean called from the ground. />
  Kristie turned around to glance down at her sister-in-law, shielding her face from the wind with her hand. Jean’s golden hair was braided down her back, and her dark eyes squinted up toward the roof. Her belly plumped out from between the folds of her dark-blue plaid as Jean held it protectively like she often did.

  “Not since I last looked,” Kristie answered with a shake of the head.

  Neither of them had slept well through the night, not only because of the leaks and the sounds of the storm but because Domnall hadn’t returned. The dark circles that hung beneath Jean’s eyes aged her more than her twenty-four years.

  Jean crossed her arms and made a face. “I should not have complained about the pottage. Ye know yer brother. He takes any excuse and turns it into a fishing trip. Do ye think him well?”

  Kristie returned her gaze to the dark waters of the loch and rubbed her cheek. The roof creaked beneath her weight, and the fresh aroma of hay filled her nostrils. When Domnall went out to cast his line for a catch, he often returned by nightfall. It didn’t bode well that he wasn’t back.

  Despite the heavy feeling that had settled in her gut the night before, Kristie answered, “When the storm drew over the loch, they might have tucked in for the night. If I took a walk on the shore to look for them, would it make ye feel better?”

  “My mind would be set right. It will nay be long before Eileanor sends Jock in search of Hendrie, and I have no news to share,” Jean said with a frown. She sighed. “Well, I best keep my mind busy with the spinning, or I be sure to go mad with worry.”

  Kristie watched Jean disappear into the home, then glanced over her shoulder at the hills at her back. Deep trenches lined the length of the land, all pointed down the slope toward her brother’s home. Half of the fields had been plowed. The remainder had been left to be finished when the weather wasn’t against them, as it often was. From her viewpoint on the roof, she could see the neighboring farm. Kristie knew Jean’s assumption was right. It wouldn’t reach midday before Jock would be sent to ask after his uncle.

  She quickly finished securing the extra layers of straw to the roof before climbing down and jumping to the ground. She landed heavily with a groan. Securely back on the earth, she brushed the stray yellow stalks from the hem of her saffron skirt. The top half of her full-length tunic dress was obscured by her plaid, which wrapped her shoulders and arms. The end of her braid fell over her shoulder. Stray reddish-blonde strands had pulled free, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about much anymore except getting her chores done.

  Kristie’s sudden appearance startled one of the ponies. It trotted to the other side of the penned-in area to join its friend. She ignored the animals as she wandered around the home’s stone exterior to the back side and to the ponies’ pen. Many of the farm’s tools were kept under the overhanging roof. She collected a basket to take on her walk. There was no excuse not to forage, even if she was off to search for her kin.

  She left the fenced-in yard with the woven basket tucked under her arm. The walk down to the loch was wooded and rocky, but her leather shoes had recently been repaired and were up to the task. She often ventured down to the waters when she was feeling lonely. Not that her brother and his wife weren’t good company; it was the emptiness she felt inside that left her barren of joy.

  Countless stories about widowed women had flooded her ears in the months following her husband’s death. The day she’d arrived at her brother’s door, tales from well-intentioned neighbors were told into the night.

  The wind whistled across the water and up to her ears while she stepped carefully over the rocks that littered the shore. A cool mist touched her cheeks and eyelashes. A row of slippery stones had an array of pointed shells affixed to them, and she bent over to pluck the shells off, placing them in her basket. They would make a good meal later if her brother showed up hungry without fish.

  Kristie gazed across the water toward the bend in the channel that led out to the sea. She remembered the excitement in Domnall’s eyes when he’d voiced the opinion that larger fish were likely to be found in the open ocean. His boat was ideal to use in the protected loch, but she didn’t like the thought of him riding the leather-bound hull in the rough sea waves. When her brother wasn’t working hard maintaining the farm, he was thinking about his next fishing hole and trying to lure Hendrie into a day-long fishing trip.

  She hoped he would arrive back soon because Eileanor would send her nephew to their door looking for his uncle, and ever since that woman had suggested that Duncan and Seonaid’s deaths might be considered a blessing, Kristie didn’t care to sit and listen to her opinions. And she didn’t like the thought of Jean worrying about Domnall any longer. Not when she was so close to birthing her bairn.

  Kristie had just stepped over a waterlogged tree trunk that stretched from the loch onto the shore when she spotted him. His lower body was submerged, but his chest and head rested on the gravelly beach. Her breath hitched in her throat at the sight of him lying there.

  “Domnall?” she called and hurried forward, nearly losing her balance on the slippery rocks.

  After his name left her mouth, she realized he was naked, which she thought strange. She couldn’t see the man’s face, but the dark hair and his muscular back and arms didn’t match her brother’s fair locks and stocky build. Kristie stopped in place, her breath once again caught in her throat.

  She held still for a moment, waiting for the man to move. When he didn’t, she craned her neck to get a better look. Kristie was certain this body was not Hendrie either. Although she’d never spied his naked form since he’d reached manhood, she’d witnessed his freckled arms during harvest, and there wasn’t a spot on this man’s pale skin.

  Kristie had seen many a soul with flesh as white as the foam on the sea. It wasn’t such an oddity. She thought she saw a tinge of pink. Maybe he was still alive, whoever he was. The water in the spring could chill you to the bone if you remained too long, stilling the warm pulse of life in your chest.

  This fellow could have had an encounter with a reiver, violent thieves after cattle or livestock, though this spot was far from the border. Or maybe he’d met last night’s storm while on the sea. He could be a no-good bampot out to take advantage of honest folk. Nonetheless, she was unwilling to turn a blind eye to a soul in need. She was no fool either. If he were the dangerous sort, she’d be ready. Kristie reached in her basket and pulled out her shiny dirk.

  Her leather shoes crunched on the gravelly beach until she stopped by his side and squatted down, holding her dagger’s blade before her. His back rose and sank in a shallow breathing pattern. He was alive—for now, at least.

  Kristie took a closer look at his face. His eyes were shut, and mucky sand clung to his dark, wet hair. She thought the fellow might be in his twenties, for if he were older he’d have more lines and spots. He’d been walloped hard by something. A large bloodied bump marked his forehead. Scratches traced his skin from his face down to his arm, making her wonder if he had more injuries beyond those she could see.

  Kristie glanced up the loch’s shoreline, searching for anything amiss, and found nothing. This man seemed to be alone, leaving her with a big decision. She sighed and shook his shoulder. “Will ye wake?”

  Again, he made no answer, so Kristie stood up and mumbled, “Stay put, then.”

  It was a quick walk back to the farm. Kristie let herself in through the gate, rushed around the side of the home and opened the front door. Dim light filtered through the threshold into the long shadowy room. Arched timbers rose up to make the high roof. In the rafters, an upper level padded with hay was used for storage and her private sleeping area, which was only accessible by ladder. The porous walls were smoothed with wattle and clay, though the materials had begun to erode, leaving cracks and holes. Various pegs holding some of Jean’s household tools stuck out beside the door. A wooden partition set off the other end of the space, blocking off Domnall and his wife’s sleeping area.

  Si
tting on her wooden stool, Jean was busy spinning wool with her spindle and whorl. She lowered her arm when Kristie entered and cast her an inquisitive look. Kristie set down her basket of winkles and said breathlessly, “There be a man on the shore.”

  Jean frowned and set her spinning in her lap. “No sign of Domnall then?”

  Kristie shook her head. “Not a thing but the fellow looking like he took a beating from a washing bat and thistles. He still draws breath for now.”

  “If he be baptized then his soul is safe,” Jean answered.

  “Aye, as safe as yers or mine,” Kristie retorted and waved her hand. “What should we do?”

  Her sister-in-law set her spindle and whorl in the basket beside her. She stood up. “I will have a look myself. I would want Domnall to be looked after if he were set adrift. This fellow is sure to have a family.”

  Kristie led her down to the loch, careful to walk slowly. Jean might be young, but she was becoming unsteady the closer she came to the birth of her first child. Kristie knew her sister-in-law wouldn’t be much help when it came to tending to the stranger, but she was unwilling to stir up their neighbors until she knew more about him.

  It wasn’t long before she rounded the shore and spotted him. He was arranged in the same position he’d been in when she’d left him. Kristie pointed to the body, and Jean stopped.

  “He be without a stich,” she commented, glancing away. “Ye did not say he was as raw as a bairn entering the world.”

  Kristie tried not to stare at his buttocks exposed in the shallows and shrugged. “It be a curious thing, that.”

  “What would Eileanor say if she were here?”

  Kristie was unwilling to make choices based on that woman’s opinion. She was pleasant and hardworking enough to be sure, but she was as overbearing as the day was long. “I would not make my choices based off what that woman thinks.”