Epilogue
Not until nearly a year later, when Katrin was beginning to show with the child she carried—the lad or lass who would in turn carry their ancestors on into the future—did an unexpected visitor arrive.
Indeed, Katrin and Finlay were far up the shore on one of their rambles, it being a rare chance for them to seize some time alone, and walking hand in hand. A member of the guard, named Archie, came running to find them, a curious look in his eyes.
Trouble? Katrin could almost hear the word spark in Finlay’s mind, though he did not speak. His fingers merely tightened on hers.
“Wha’ is it?” he asked the man.
“A traveler just come over the hills, asking for Mistress Katrin.” Archie drew a breath and announced, “’Tis the Gallowglass!”
“What?” Katrin stared.
“Aye, the one the old chief hired when we went to battle last year.”
The old chief. Katrin still experienced a pang when she heard that. Was Finlay the new chief, or was she? He went by that name, aye, but she had an equal part in any decision that was made.
“Reagan? Impossible!” She gazed into Finlay’s eyes. “He died at the battle!”
Finlay gave her a rueful smile. “Did he?”
Katrin dropped his fingers and ran, a great gladness tearing up through her. It could not be. It could not be, she thought in tune with her footsteps. She’d thought him lost to her.
At the foot of the rise just in front of the gate stood a man. A big man he was, with wide shoulders covered in light chain mail, a sword nearly as tall as he was strapped across his back.
“Reagan!”
He turned from surveying the keep when she called his name, and a big, wide smile broke across his face. Warm and steady, tawny-colored eyes. Flowing mustaches and a countenance grown somehow older. Harder and tightened, but aye, the smile was the same and spread immediately to his eyes.
He swept Katrin with a look up and down before he switched his gaze to Finlay, who came close behind her.
“Harper.”
“Master Gallowglass!”
“I thought ye dead.” The words burst from Katrin and drew Reagan’s eyes back to her. “In that battle—I saw ye fall.”
“Aye, I nearly was dead. Lost more than half my men, I did, and still more in the attempt to get what was left o’ us awa’. The thing o’ it is, I am not so easy to kill.”
“Och, by God,” Katrin exclaimed. “Och, I am that glad!”
His eyes crinkled. “As I am glad to see the two o’ ye here, and together. As should be.”
Finlay reached out and clasped arms with the Gallowglass who, tall as Finlay was, topped him by a good bit.
The very air seemed to shimmer. This, Katrin knew, would be one of those moments that would live in her mind forever and perhaps one evening be told in song—the day the bold Gallowglass returned.
“I had heard talk that made me hope ye had survived, sayin’ Murtray had a new chief married to the old chief’s daughter, and that he was a harper. I just had to come and see for myself.”
“As ye do.” Katrin could not help but beam at him.
His eyes crinkled again, in return. “I do see that ye have been hard at work assuring the future. When is the babe due?”
Katrin laid a hand on her belly in an age-old gesture. “By summer’s end. It canna be soon enough.”
“I am having trouble,” Finlay admitted, “keeping her fro’ doing all the things she thinks she can, like training ponies and wielding a sword.”
Reagan laughed outright. “I wish ye luck o’ that. Will he be a harper as well as a fine warrior, this son o’ yours?”
For an instant, Katrin’s eyes met Finlay’s and softened. “I hope so,” they said in unison before Katrin added, “He—or she—will be whatever is born into him, or whatever she wishes. I ha’ learned”—she lifted her chin—“to trust in wha’ is meant to be, and so leave the fear behind.”
Reagan nodded soberly. “A worthwhile lesson for anyone.”
“Come inside, man,” Finlay invited him. “I hope ye can stay wi’ us for a time.”
“I cannot.” Reagan shook his head. “I am bound back for Ireland, Scotland being no place for me at present. With your king still in chains in England and your fight for liberty bruised and battered—at least for the time being—’tis nay fit place for anyone.”
“Aye.” Again Katrin glanced at her husband. “We mean to keep close and look after our own. As for Scotland—well, we maun trust that time will tak’ care o’ her also. She is no’ so easily defeated.”
Just like our love. She almost thought she heard those words in Finlay’s mind.
“Reagan, are ye sure ye canna stay?”
“Nay, I wanted only to make a stop here and see that ye were set right, before I leave Scottish soil. Harper”—he turned again to Finlay—“ye keep singing and telling your stories. They are our past and our path to the future.”
“I will.”
“And ye, lass.” Reagan’s gaze softened once more as he reached out to embrace Katrin. “Remain the strong woman ye be,” he whispered into her ear.
“Och, aye.” Strong enough to love in the face of loss. Strong enough to have faith in a promise given long, long ago.
They stood with their fingers linked, hearts linked, souls linked, and watched their unexpected visitor away. He went as swiftly as he’d come, heading south along the coast road, and once he was out of sight Katrin wondered whether he’d truly been there at all.
Or if, like the dreams that so often flickered through her head, she’d merely glimpsed him on the turning of the great wheel that was her life.
The tiny life within her fluttered and stirred as she moved into her husband’s arms, a new song for a future yet untold.
The Song of Finlay the Bard
Do our ancestors journey with us
In the color of our eyes?
In the strength of our limbs,
A fiery mane of hair.
Or does the connection reach far deeper?
Is there a better way for spirit to travel
Than via the blood of family?
Do our ancestors journey with us
In the choices that we make?
The longings of our dreams,
An aching of the heart?
The hint of a tune long remembered.
Is there a surer way for spirit to travel
Than via homesickness for what has been?
Do our ancestors journey with us
In the memories that we hold?
A hint of a tune,
A trill of breathless laughter,
A smile in a pair of eyes.
Sweet sorrow of things lost.
Is there a surer way for spirit to travel
Than via the echoes of what has been?
Do our ancestors travel with us
In the strengths that we possess?
In the lessons learned from past failures
And the longings born of far-off losses.
In the sudden knowing that draws heart to heart
And life to life,
Is there a surer way for spirit to travel
Than in the trading of what is for what has been?
Do our ancestors travel with us
In the binding of our souls?
In trails well-traveled and tales remembered.
In ancient songs that we hear not with our ears
But with our hearts.
Is there a surer way for spirit to travel
Than by the magic of love
That brings us home?
The End