Chapter 3
She observed his brows as they flew upward. “A fate-seer? Surely you jest?”
“Nae,” she murmured, “you have heard the tales about those clans of the Highlands which originated in kings of legend long since past?”
“I have heard the whispers regarding these tales, lass,” he replied, knowingly.
“The clans who claim they are descendants from legendary kings long ago. They were meant to boast an edge in power upon their enemies. Tales and legends – even if you hold truth to your claim in clan, a MacThistlen has not beheld a fate-seer for centuries, if the legends were ever true.”
Well, he was not the first to doubt, but certainly the tallest. This Scotsman was the key to having her in an audience before the King of Scots.
He must believe. Sell it, lassie! “Aye to all you proclaim, with one very strong exception.” She nodded.
“My roots are truth, not legend. My clan does not need to boast.” Her head shook and the dried waves about her face swayed slightly; her words did not.
“Before I was placed at the abbey, after my sire took ill, he spoke to me that our Clan MacThistlen were a manner different in sovereignty than King Alexander or King H?konsson.”
She reached beneath her gown’s neckline.
Aonghus seemed to lean closer at the action.
Her hand pulled a gold chain which was nestled between her breasts; there dangling was her father’s gold ring he had bestowed upon her.
Lifting it over her head, she handed it to his outstretched palm.
An expression filled with intrigue covered his angular features.
“I am Clan MacThistlen,” she proclaimed.
“My sire bestowed this emblem upon me before declaring we belonged to a powerful line in descendants. He believed I was perhaps the final fate-seer – as you stated, there has not been one for centuries. Thus the reasoning behind the rare foreshadow element beholden to my grasp – I am a MacThistlen.”
Aonghus studied the shield emblem given to her by her sire, which held a saltire and, at the top, a thistle, the chief to declare her line’s legacy.
“MacThistlen, how does one hold these rare foreshadows beholden only to a fate-seer?” he inquired, raising his brows higher.
She had never spoken to anyone about her instinct since her father, and then she had been taken shortly after his death by Kollungr.
She certainly had never told the Northmen this is what gave her the instinct in sense regarding the foreshadows, or fate-seer or seer as they were called.
She stared at Aonghus. He was a Highlander; he’d saved her life, chancing his own in the events.
Take a leap in trust; tell him the truth – he must believe or all will be lost.
“Well,” she began, trying to explain the gift – at moments feeling more a curse from all the grizzled events she saw.
“Not every time, but there are times, when tragedy is about to befall, I envision it in its entirety first. The foreshadow, or as I call it a ‘shadow-glance’, feels real. At the horrid events’ conclusion, time reverses and I find myself back at the corner of fate right before the calamity took place.
A pain flashes behind my eyes as though someone is giving a wee pinch.
This is when I know for certain what is about to unfold as a fate-seer.
Those who are present declare I shut my eyes for an extended moment while the ‘shadow-glance’ presents the choices in fate.
Then there is a rare time when I hold a foreshadow or night-glance while slumbering; these carry a stern cost of measure. ”
“Cost of measure?”
“Aye, it refers to pain; I awake with a wretched ache behind my eyes, worse than the devil’s pitchfork poking my eyeballs.”
“So, you are truly a fate-seer? Who runs the Highlands holding foreshadows when disaster is about to strike?” Was he surprised or doubtful?
Her chin raised with a stubborn pride. “Aye. You dare doubt me, MacCade?”
His next words caused her to see red. “I do not doubt you have been through a hell unlike any other, lass, leaving you a wee bit touched in the head after such a harsh treatment.”
He was doubting her. She snatched the ring from his palm, threw the chain back over her head, and began to stride purposefully toward the cavern opening.
She would find her way to King Alexander without this overgrown Scottish braggart!
How? No idea! There had to be a way forth.
“Thank you kindly for your assist earlier in the grove,” she said, dismissing him like a queen.
“Step aside,” she hissed at his massive frame when he bolted, blocking her way.
“You are a rather uppity lass, are you not?” He was mocking her!
“Step aside I say!” She tried to go around the Scottish summit, then he dodged left to block her way. “I am to warn King Alexander and shall not have…”
“Warn him?” The mirth vanished from his features. “Warn him in what regards?”
As if I would tell him now. “Regards which do not concern you,” she said, with a flurry belonging to rage, “you overgrown Scottish arse.” She ducked right, as did he. “Let me pass!” Raging hell, how can he be so quick for such a massive Scot?
She tried to kick his woolen-clad shin. Bad idea!
Had she just kicked the granite wall next to them and not the impossible Scotsman?
An unladylike grunt escaped her lips. Kick again, there…
“Ow!” She cursed louder in Gaelic before trying to charge right.
“Let me pass! You cannot know the torment filling the days past, being summoned to hunt my own countrymen, and now to have you mock me, Aonghus MacCade – I will not stand for it!” She kneed his groin; he gave a grunt, and she charged left.
“NAE!” she screamed when two iron arms snared about her waist from behind and spun her back around into the cavern.
“You Scottish wildcat!” he roared into her ear. Elbow the ribs, ow, also like a damn stone. “Halt your infernal struggles!”
“Never will I halt till I hold an audience before my lord king! To the death! To the death!!!”
He let go; she leapt forward a step to turn then threw her hands up to protect her skull. The Northmen would have sought revenge there first for her belligerence; Aonghus may do the same…
“Keirah.” His voice was calm. Her palms lowered to see him still blocking the entrance; at least he wasn’t charging at her with the fist clenched by his side.
“If you mean to use that fist upon me” – she nodded toward his palm then tried to sound fierce; it came out more a mewl – “you best begin.”
She closed her eyes; better not to see it unfold twice.
Brave, be brave, the pain will pass, then a path will come clear how to seek the king.
Only a whisper from a pine-fumed gust brushed her cheek.
She popped one eye open. His fist was a palm at his side, and disbelief with maybe rage appeared on his expression.
Her jaw dropped at his give: “You are correct in your appraisal, Keirah, forgive me.”
***
What was wrong with him? Other than the fact his groin was now up in his gut – hell, the lass could kick.
Everything she accused him of was true – he had been mocking her.
He meant only to take a lighter air in the conversation seeing the torment had taken a toll on the lass, but somehow it came out a disaster.
He normally was warm wine to a lassie’s thirst, till they learned of him being banished by his clan, yet around this one he had become – what was it she called him?
“Aye, Keirah, I am an overgrown Scottish arse who is” – he gave a bow her direction, with pain searing up his groin at her kick – “at your summons and service.” Her whole stance called to mind the vindictive nature of her captors.
“Lord, what have they done to you?” His ask was weighed with sorrow for her.
Her expression gave away nothing. A long, somber silence met his query. Her gaze appeared pools from emotion. A brief breath, then she blinked several times and raised her chin.
He wasn’t going to get an answer, not yet. “What is it you seek, Keirah MacThistlen?” he asked, gently.
“I…” she began, guarded. “I must hold an audience before King Alexander. I believe you to be the way forth.”
He still didn’t believe her fate-seer claim, but the sheer anguish written on her features called forth patience on his part. “I may arrange for this,” he answered, honestly.
At the information, she stepped up to ask desperately, “Truly?”
He had to tread carefully here; however, there couldn’t be any harm in admitting…“Aye, he currently is residing and ruling from the castle at Stirling; I may take you there if you wish. He must know your claims in numbers upon King H?konsson’s fleet.”
“Agreed,” she said, then stepped back a stride. Why? “I have nothing to offer you, Aonghus; at what cost shall this conclude with?” she questioned, suspicious. She seemed more bruised by mistrust in her past than him – not something he had encountered, ever.
Her tone also spoke again about the harshness she had endured. His gut twisted harder. When he got his hands on them, they would be dead meat served on the devil’s spit!
“Nae cost, Cluaran. It would be an honor to see you safely there.” Perhaps she could find some solace in Stirling for whatever was causing these delusional tales of being a fate-seer.
Her lips rose into a smile; he became as entrenched onto the ground as the rock he had been sitting on a moment before at the effect from the innocent gesture.
It didn’t matter the dirt smudges across her cheek and nose; something about her first inkling of joyfulness captivated him as none other.
She was lovely. Stay the course and stay away from any attachment to this Scotswoman.
Her left brow cocked at him to say, in air filled with jest, “Take care there, lad, this is a rather gallant offer to aid a lass in distress.”
His breath held. Trust. There was an innocence about her wanting to trust despite the hell the Northmen had torn her through.
In mere moments as she gifted this to him, the action chipped away at the constant numbness which had shrouded his soul for longer than he cared to recall.
This was not a match forced by clan allegiances or power struggles, but by fate.
Perhaps he was the delusional one in considering he could remain unattached to such a rare creature. Aye, a true fool!
Staying focused on the first step toward a higher purpose belonging to their kingdom, he began again.
“Keirah, we shall remain here.” His tone was somehow orderly.
“Dawn will soon be upon us. I do not seek to be traveling in daylight. I chronicled your actions earlier when you stumbled; you must rest.”
“Um,” she replied awkwardly, “I harbor a bit of weakness at times when it comes to having grace. Lord Kollungr would make jest I was a fool at heart.”
His brow furrowed. “The only fool to be found is him after your ‘graceless’ self escaped his iron grip.” Her chin raised a notch.
Good. “I will stay watch for the real fool. We shall remain hidden here, rest during sun’s reign, then this evenin’ will take our leave on the initial broad stretch south to reach an inn I have settled at in the past before a final hard press unto Stirling, where we shall arrive in wee bit over a day. ” Solid plan.
She nodded, then looked about to find a nook between two boulders. Pebbles scraping the ground were heard as she secured her spot, but while he stood by the entrance looking upon the snowy-colored toadstools gleaming in the moonlight, he listened when the stirring continued behind him.
“Keirah, all well there lassie?” he asked, in care.
Another pebble noise sounded when she shifted. “C-c-cold!” The word huffed uncoordinated from her.
***
This wasn’t the only problem; the pebbles felt like thistles’ points on the cavern floor digging into her skull. An enormous shadow overtook her when he approached.
“Cluaran, I may ease the troubles you speak upon, but lass, you cannot punch me in the groin or bite me or bolt,” he offered. “My balls are now blue and not in a splendid way.”
She gave an inward grin at his dry humor. “I…I shall not punch or bolt,” she replied through chattering teeth. “I may b-bite if you do not seek to behave.”
She heard a chuckle before he shed the double scabbard holding his axe and sword.
The pebbles scattered when he took onto his hip next to her then gathered her close.
They lay upon the floor together, his arm bent which created a makeshift pillow for her.
She rested her head on his bicep: hard but warm and safe and lovely.
Lying on her left side, she faced his front.
He hadn’t slapped her or worse. Trust in this, in him for now.
When his other arm circled her waist pulling her close, she wove her hands before her breasts between them.
Huh…they fit nicely together. A sigh took her lips at his heat, but an outward grin covered her lips when he stated in jest: “Cluaran, if you feel the urge to nibble, I ask you ease your way to the other side of my collarbone, agreed?”
She brushed, warming her nose, against the spot he advised. His body turned stiff as carved marble at her action. “Aonghus?”
“Aye?”
Her syllables were heartfelt. “Thank you for savin’ me from their torment and not strikin’ me down when I kicked you so very harshly.” A thousand thanks from heart to soul.
His lips touched her scalp gently just as darkness claimed her gaze from exhaustion. Someone to protect me, safe, at long last – for now.