“Well, ye havna been wrong yet in my life. But what of the outlandish things he speaks of, the security firm, the Los Angeles? What’s all that? It sounds like he’s from another world altogether.”
“Mayhap he is,” Isbeil said. “I tell ye, my grandmother warned me about that place. To never go near it. Ye dinna want to tempt faeries.”
“I was just there,” Marjorie said. “I didna notice anything strange.”
“Didna notice anything strange?” Isbeil chuckled and looked pointedly at Konnor. “I think ye brought the strange thing back to the castle.”
Marjorie blinked and then rolled her eyes.
“Honestly, Isbeil, sometimes ye talk as if I’m still a child.”
“’Tis because sometimes ye behave like one,” Isbeil said.
Marjorie sighed thoughtfully. “Look, Konnor, ye’re not going anywhere. Ye canna walk anyway. Until I’m sure ye’re not a MacDougall or another clan spying for the Sassenachs, ye’re staying here.”
Konnor couldn’t believe his ears. Now he was a prisoner in a medieval cult.
“You can’t just keep me here.”
“I dinna believe in fairy tales,” she continued. “So I dinna believe yer stories about Los whatever and firms and hiking. Any of that.” She turned around and walked to the door. “Ye’ve wasted enough of my time. Until ye tell me something I can believe, ye’re staying here.”
Chapter 6
Later that night, Marjorie lay next to Colin as she put him to bed. She kissed his forehead.
“Would ye like me tell ye a story, sweet?” she said.
“Aye,” he said and nestled his head on her shoulder. “Grandfather told me stories of his travels. But ye havna been anywhere, have ye, Mother?”
Marjorie swallowed and looked around a small bedchamber. The tallow candle flickered as an evening breeze came through the slit window, making the light dance along the stone walls.
She wondered if the ghosts of her ancestors lived in that darkness and watched over her: her grandfather Colin, her cousin Ian, Diarmid the Boar, the legendary warrior who, according to legend, started the Cambel clan, her own mother, a woman she’d never known, and her stepmother, the woman who’d loved her as her own.
Fire crackled in the fireplace, illuminating the wooden shields and swords and the bow on the walls of Colin’s bedchamber. There was one steel sword that glistened on the wall, and it reflecting the firelight. It used to belong to Marjorie’s grandfather, Sir Colin, who died in the battle to save her from the MacDougalls. The whole clan, including Marjorie’s Uncle Neil, who was the chief of clan, decided it should belong to Marjorie’s son, and it hung, large and beautiful, and almost as tall as its current owner, waiting for the day that Colin would be grown enough to wield it.
“Ye havna been anywhere, have ye, Mother?” Her son hurt her with the question, although he didn’t realize it. She’d always wanted to travel like her father and Uncle Neil. She’d always wanted to see England and France and perhaps even reach the Holy City. She’d heard so many stories of the Crusades.
But she couldn’t. Today was the first time she’d been alone outside the castle walls in twelve years.
“I havna, son,” she said, swallowing the hurt behind a forced smile. “But I’d like to.”
“Mayhap, we can go together one day.”
“Oh, I’d love that, sweet.” To go together into the big, dangerous world and know there was nothing that could hurt her son or her because she was strong enough to protect them… That was what she wanted. Mayhap, one day she would have that.
She looked at her grandfather’s sword and remembered how she’d seen it twelve years ago lying in the dirt next to him. He’d been unmoving and pale. She often told Colin stories of his great-grandfather to keep the memory of the man she dearly missed alive. Ian had also fought to save her in Dunnollie. He’d died later as a result of the feud between the MacDougalls and the Cambels.
She wanted to tell Colin the story of how Ian had saved her, how they’d lost Innes Chonnel to the MacDougalls. But she didn’t want Colin to know she’d suffered so much, so she decided to come up with a different name for Ian.
“Since I canna tell ye of my own travels, let me tell ye about a great red-haired hero called Seaghán. He was tall and big and brave, and as strong as a great oak tree. His hair flared like flames, and he fought with the bravery of a hundred men.”
Her eyes watered as she remembered Ian training with swords in the courtyard with her brother Owen. She was eighteen years old the last time she saw Ian in the courtyard of Glenkeld. He’d been fostered with her family as long as she could remember, and he was like a brother to her.
“He had a sister and three brothers, and all of them loved each other. Even at his young age, people looked at him with respect, and his enemies cowered in fear. While they were growing up, a son of the king fostered with them. They all grew up together and knew each other well. Soon, it became apparent that the prince was as evil as his father. Unfortunately, the prince wanted Seaghán’s sister. He did things when they were children…” Her throat clenched as she remembered Alasdair torturing a frog and twisting a duckling’s neck. “He did things that made her fear him. She started avoiding him, and that made him want to chase her even more. He’d take her by the arm too strongly, or pull her hair so hard she cried. But whenever Seaghán saw that, he’d protect her and make the prince stop.”
“Evil bastart,” Colin muttered sleepily. His eyes were still open, but he was starting to drift off.
“Oh, aye. One day, the evil king wanted to take the their home.” She skipped the part when Owen, her younger half-brother, lost MacDougall gold intended for King John Balliol, which started the feud between the two clans. She skipped the part when Alasdair kidnapped and her clan came to her rescue. “Seaghán lived in the castle together with his family. It was big and beautiful, with walls as tall as mountains and as thick as boulders. It was built on a small island in the middle of a loch.”
She was talking about Innes Chonnel Castle. It had been the previous clan seat where her grandfather Colin had lived and where Craig had taken her after the clan saved her. A few months after she was freed from Dunollie, she’d still been recovering mentally and had lived mostly in a fog. She’d locked herself in her bedchamber and had been terrified to come out. Nightmares had tortured her, while in her heart, she was hollow and cold. She’d wondered if she’d ever feel again and had been coming to terms with the fact she carried something of Alasdair inside of her.
“The evil king came with birlinns and hundreds of warriors. Everyone in Seaghán’s clan thought the castle was invincible. But it wasn’t. The enemy warriors climbed the walls like spiders. Fire arrows landed on the thatched roofs and wooden constructions.”
She remembered screams, and the smell of smoke and death. And all that reminded her too much of Dunollie. The memories pulled her back in time…
Panic and fear tore at Marjorie from all sides. She screamed, hearing her own voice as though from a distance. Someone came into her oom, and strong hands took her in a safe grasp.