A Night of Angels

by Andersen, Maggi

  “’Tis a miracle,” Father Iain said a little later, crossing himself as he studied the white flowers. “There can be no other explanation.”

  “I think it has something to do with the light I saw. The one that woke me?” Ailsa could hardly keep still. She felt as if she’d been touched by an angel. “’Tis surely a sign from Heaven, telling me that Calum will soon be coming home. I only have to wait.”

  Father Iain nodded. “And, with your permission, lass, I would like to wait with you.”

  Chapter Eight

  Snowflakes, as big as Calum had ever seen, fell from the sky like angel feathers. Odd, since a wealth of stars cluttered the heavens and a full moon cast a blue light across the land. Calum looked up, seeking the presence of a rogue cloud, but saw little above the silent deluge. The flakes clung to his eyelashes and landed on his nose, making it twitch.

  The source of the snow remained a mystery as Calum took a moment to absorb the land of his birth. From somewhere to his right came the distant, mournful howl of a wolf. To his left, the soft roar of the waves rose up from the shore. The creak of his saddle, the soft plod of his horse’s hooves. But not Melchior’s hooves. Calum bit back a sigh of regret for his beloved gelding, whose bones rested beneath the Palestinian sand.

  He shook off the sad thought. He refused to be dispirited. It was a grand night, a holy night, in a land he never thought he’d see again. But here he was, with the distant silhouette of his beloved home visible in the moonlight.

  Ailsa. God, please let her be well.

  He couldn’t wait to see her. Hold her. He’d likely not let her go for a week. Nay, a fortnight.

  The snow stopped as he drew near to Castle Cathan. A familiar face appeared atop the gatehouse—a face that stared at him for a moment before uttering a curse that would have made the Devil blush. A few moments later, the gates swung open with a familiar groan.

  Calum had never thought to see Marcas weep, but the man wept now, a flood of tears that streamed down his face and disappeared into his beard.

  “Laird,” he said, all but dragging Calum from the saddle. “Ah, Christ save us, I cannae believe it. And today of all days! ’Tis a Christmas miracle, to be sure. We heard you’d been injured. Killed, even. There were those who believed you lost forever. Except for your lady wife. The lass has never given up hope. Not since—”

  “Where is she, Marcas?”

  “In the hall, laird. Wait, please, while I close the gates. I dinnae want to miss this.” The man turned and yelled at the stable lad, who stood gaping at Calum. “Finn, close your mouth and see to the laird’s horse!”

  Calum had returned home sooner than he’d anticipated, but it still felt as though he’d been gone for a lifetime. With Marcas on his heels, he headed for the dining hall, breathing in the intoxicating atmosphere of his home.

  At the threshold he paused. The hall looked, as it always did at Christmastide, beyond splendid, decked out with sweet-smelling evergreens and wreaths of heather. But he gave the seasonal splendor only a passing glance. His eager gaze settled, instead, on the head table, seeking the one he loved.

  Ailsa.

  She sat with her parents and a lass he didn’t recognize, who was holding a wee bairn. And next to her…

  “Father Iain,” Calum murmured, smiling. “May God bless you. I knew you wouldnae let me down.”

  His gaze flicked back to Ailsa who, at that same instant, saw him. She stared for a moment, and then rose slowly to her feet, her lips mouthing his name.

  “Calum.”

  The resulting effect was that of a ripple. One by one, people turned to see what had caught Ailsa’s attention. And, one by one, they fell silent, until the room became as still as a snowy winter’s night.

  Calum took a breath and moved toward the dais, never taking his eyes off Ailsa for a moment. She, likewise, watched him approach, her gaze never faltering. He didn’t stop until he reached her and gazed upon her beloved face.

  “You look very fine, Calum,” she said, her voice wavering a little. “I have missed you.”

  “I have missed you too, wee lass.” He cradled her cheek. “By all things sacred, ’tis good to be home.”

  Ailsa let out a cry and flung herself into his arms. “I knew you were alive, Calum! I just knew it.”

  The room erupted into a maelstrom of cheers and applause, which obviously frightened the wee bairn, since he began to wail.

  Calum ignored it all and held Ailsa close. The feel and the smell of her was as intoxicating as wine. “There was a time when I thought I’d never see you again, mo chridhe.” He nuzzled her hair. “I have much to tell you. ’Tis a miracle I’m here.”

  Ailsa looked up at him. “I have much to tell you too, Husband. And speaking of miracles, here is one of ours.” She turned and took the child from the woman. “This wee laddie’s name is Calum Ruaidri MacKellar, named for you and my grandfather.”

  “Named for me?” Puzzled, he shook his head. “Why would he be named for me?”

  Ailsa laughed. “Because he’s your son, Calum. Our son. Born only ten days ago. I found out I was with child a few weeks after you left.”

  Calum blinked. “My… son? I have a son?”

  “We have a son, aye.” Ailsa kissed the child’s forehead. “Would you like to hold him?”

  Later, after Ailsa’s parents had retired, Calum, Ailsa and Iain had sought privacy in the laird’s chambers. There were things to be said, things to be explained.

  Things that could not wait.

  Calum smiled at Ailsa and then looked down at his son, who slept soundly in his arms. “I recall you once said you thought it a miracle the way a young creature grows inside its mother and then comes out complete. Looking at this wee lad, I have to agree with you. He’s perfect. I still cannae quite believe it. If I’d known you were with child, Ailsa, I’d never have—”

  “Dinnae think such things, mo chridhe.” Ailsa seated on a cushion at Calum’s feet, squirmed. “It doesnae serve any purpose. You’re home. ’Tis all that matters.”

  “How did you manage it?” Father Iain asked. “What happened on that battlefield, Calum?”

  Calum stroked the downy hair on his son’s head. “The fighting was intense, though I’m sure I dinnae need to tell you that. I caught the fever of it and battled without tiring. Then something struck me on the back of my head, because I felt blood running down my spine before I lost consciousness. When next I opened my eyes, ’twas to darkness and silence. Through the slit in my helm, I could see the stars, except when the vultures circled and blocked out the sky with their great wings. I tried to move, but couldnae. And by that, I mean I couldnae move anything. My legs, my arms, my fingers. I had nae feeling at all.”

  Calum paused for breath, bent, and pressed a kiss to his son’s forehead.

  “I knew I was dying, so I gave myself to God.” He sighed. “I commend to your keeping, Lord, the soul of your servant. My exact words. And that’s when he appeared.”

  “Who?” Ailsa asked, her eyes widening. “God?”

  “Nay, I dinnae think it was God, wee lass. An angel, perhaps.” Calum gave a half shrug. “Or maybe just a man. In any case, he spoke to me.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said, ‘Not today, Brother. Not today.’”

  Father Iain shifted in his chair. “Meaning, it wasnae your day to die?”

  “I assume that’s what he meant. Next thing I remember is being on a hospital ship, sailing for Cyprus. I had a headache and an impressive bump on the back of my skull, but no one could tell me how I got on that ship. I stayed on the island till I felt well enough to travel, and then found passage on a boat to France, and from there to Scotland and… here I am.”

  “Marcas once told me you had a Guardian angel,” Ailsa said. “It seems he was right.”

  Father Iain shook his head. “’Tis a strange series of events, right enough. The identity of this man you saw intrigues me.”

  “It intrigues me too, and lik
ely always will. What makes it stranger yet is that he spoke Gaelic. You saw how many thousands were there that day, Father. What are the odds of a man speaking Gaelic to me?”

  “Might you have imagined him, then?” Father Iain suggested. “A bang on the head can do strange things.”

  “I considered that. But it doesnae explain how I escaped the battlefield and ended up on a ship to Cyprus.”

  “Maybe some things are nae meant to be explained.” Ailsa rose to her feet. “We simply need to accept them for what they are. Miracles. Blessings. God’s will. And we are not yet done, Calum. I have something else to show you. Another marvel that cannae be explained. If you’ll excuse us, Father Iain.”

  “Of course.” The priest stood and smiled at Calum. “Welcome back, my friend. I cannae tell you how happy I am to see you safely returned home. I think I’ll go to the chapel for a wee while to give thanks.”

  “That reminds me,” Calum said. “Would you be willing to remain here permanently, Father? At Castle Cathan? I have a special proposition for you.”

  “I would certainly consider it. What’s the proposition?”

  “I’ll tell you about it on the morrow,” he replied. “Better yet, weather permitting, I’ll show you. And thank you, again, for all you have done.”

  Chapter Nine

  “If I’d no’ seen it with my own eyes…” Brows raised and heart racing, Calum turned the sprig of heather this way and that. “’Tis as if the thing was just picked.”

  “I’ve told no one about it,” Ailsa said. “I’m no’ sure why. The only other person who’s seen it is Father Iain.”

  “I think we’ll keep it that way.” Calum set the sprig atop the bedside table and turned back to his wife, pulling her into his arms. He wanted her, but she was yet tender from giving birth. It was enough, for now, simply to hold her. “Folks often fear what they dinnae understand.”

  “I understood it right away.”

  “You did?”

  “Aye. ’Twas plainly a message telling me you were alive and that you’d be returning to me.”

  Calum chuckled. “Marcas told me you never gave up hope.”

  “Not for a moment.” She snuggled against him. “You want Father Iain to help you build your church. That’s your proposition. Am I right?”

  “I want him to be the custodian of it, aye. It’ll be a Templar church, Ailsa. I’ve already pledged it to the Order.”

  Ailsa pondered for a moment. “We’ll have Templars living here?”

  “One day, perhaps.” Calum shrugged. “’Twill be a place they can come to, if they have need of it. It’ll take me a while to build it, though. Years, I should think.”

  “A noble project.” Ailsa heaved a sigh. “Oh, Calum. I’m so happy, I could burst. I swear this is the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

  “Mine too.” Calum shifted, rising up on an elbow to properly look at her. “I love you, wee lass.”

  “I love you too, Calum Tormod Mackellar,” she replied. “I always have, and I always will.”

  The End

  The story of the MacKellars and their connection to the Templars continues in my series: “The Sword and the Spirit.”