Chapter Ten
Moira lay in bed, her head ducked low so that she was buried under the throws. Was what Errol had said true? He was fierce and sorrowful at the same time while he had told her what had happened to his brother. She couldn’t see her clan acting in such a manner without just cause.
But somebody had.
Ten and seven. The same age as her youngest sister, Morven.
So young to suffer such a fate.
Errol had loved his brother very much. She could see it shining in the hurt of his eyes as he relayed the story.
He’d spared her the details, but she could only imagine how horrific it had been.
Her clan had suffered losses as well. But unlike Errol, her family was whole.
She couldn’t imagine the pain of losing one of her siblings.
Aye, they annoyed her nearly every day, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.
Her life would be empty without one of them in it, poking into her business.
Teasing her for always being locked away in the annals room.
Her older brothers tugging on her hair as they walked by.
Of course, she had kenned from Anna that their brother had died, but never once had she told Moira how, so she had always assumed it was a tragic accident.
She wondered if Anna kenned how Gavin had really died? Or if that was another secret to be kept from her because she was a female.
For a few long moments, Moira watched Errol’s silhouette, outlined by the light of the fire. His shoulders were slumped forward, and his chin dipped down. More than likely he was caught up in painful memories that he’d rather soon forget. But she saw his vulnerability.
Errol MacLeod loved those around him deeply. She was unsure what the morrow would bring. How they would get along and she wanted to kick herself for stirring up all the hurtful memories. She had thought the question was innocent enough. Something to get them talking.
How wrong she had been.
With a sigh, she turned to face the wall, her back to Errol, feeling ashamed of what she’d done—even if it was unintentional. She could only hope in the morning he would still be willing to escort her on this adventure.
But she would also understand if he refused and demanded they return home.
After all, how could they get around his thought that her family had killed a member of his? She didn’t think they could.
When Moira woke the next morning the chair where Errol had moved to was empty. She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and scanned the interior of the bothy. The fire burned low from lack of attention and a shiver vibrated through her body at the chill in the air.
Errol was nowhere to be found. Her heart picked up speed. Had he abandoned her? Nay, he wouldn’t have.
Would he? Mayhap. She had clearly upset him the night afore.
Insecurity turned her stomach as she thought about being alone here.
Far from Hartsmoor. Deep in MacLeod lands and with people out there kenning that she and Errol were searching for some sort of treasure.
It would not bode well for her. What would she do if bandits attacked like they had the day afore? She only had her dagger for protection.
The small blade would mayhap give her some time, but if there was more than one attacker, she would be disarmed very quickly.
She dressed with haste and washed her face with some of the water from the bucket that still sat on the prep table. Noticing Errol’s travel bag by the door, Moira breathed a sigh of relief.
He hadn’t left her.
But where was he?
The door swung open, and Errol grunted a ‘good morn’ as he brushed past her.
Her fist clutched at her chest, trying to tame the erratic beat of her heart. He’d frightened her when he’d entered.
“I am glad to see ye’ve awakened. We should go,” Errol said, his voice devoid of any emotion.
That was it. There was none of the softness to his voice that she’d seen glimpses of the previous day. Of course, that was afore the events of the night had happened. The reveal of his true hatred for the Harts.
Moira straightened her shoulders. She wouldn’t let Errol ken that he got under her skin.
“The horses are ready,” he stated gruffly as he bent and grabbed his bag.
“As am I.” Moira stated. If he was going to talk in short bursts, so could she. She picked up her bag and when she passed him, he snatched it from her hands to carry it out to be tied to her horse. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.
It appeared that no matter how angry Errol was, his manners were still intact.
The sky was gray, filled with clouds that Moira was certain would cry rain upon them soon.
Early morning mist covered the mountains as they rode in silence, making their way through thick trees and rocky hillsides.
The ride was treacherous and a few times, they had to stop to give the horses a respite.
The rest also gave Moira’s heart time to slow its frightfully fast beating. She felt on edge.
Whenever she stole a glance at Errol, he sat with his back ramrod straight, eyes searching their surroundings, but never landing on her, her unease lifted a bit. He watched vigilantly for aught that might be amiss.
Kenning that he was taking such care for her safety was heartwarming, but cool at the same time. Since last night, he’d erected walls that she couldn’t seem to penetrate.
But words had been few as Errol finally slowed to a stop and she urged her horse to do the same.
It was then that she looked where they’d stopped.
A kirkyard. A shiver ran down her back at the realization. It was old. The headstones lilted in all directions. Some had been overtaken with dark green moss and she could no longer see the name engraved in the stone.
Errol dismounted and Moira frowned.
“W-what are we doing here?” She looked around nervously, feeling uncomfortable.
“’Tis the next stop on yer map.”
Once again her pulse quickened. “A kirkyard? Why? I’ve no interest in disturbing those at rest.”
But Errol wasn’t paying her any attention. Instead, his eyes were focused on a spot near one of the tipped headstones. His head dropped, shoulders slumping forward.
“Errol?” She called out to him, but he didn’t answer.
Sliding off her horse, she slowly approached. He looked distraught, his handsome features distorted with pain.
She reached out her hand, her palm on his arm. “Errol?” She asked again. Something wasn’t right.
He pulled away with a hiss as if her hand touching him burnt his flesh.
“What is wrong?” She asked quietly, retracting her hand. Kenning that something was bothering him, but she didn’t ken what.
“This is where it happened,” Errol finally spoke, his voice low.
He didn’t have to explain to her what he was referring to. His brother. What cruel game was fate playing with them that the map would lead them to the site of his brother’s death? If aught, Errol now had more reason to hate her than afore.
“I am sorry.” The words felt bitter on her tongue. Insignificant in the heavy moment where Errol was lost in memories from that time.
Walking away, Moira allowed Errol time to spend with the memory of his brother. She sat down under a large tree and watched his throat bob as he swallowed down his emotions. Minutes passed but she would not complain or tell him to hurry along and stop whatever he was doing.
Because he was grieving.
And she wouldn’t interrupt that.
As he worked through what he needed to, Moira pushed off the ground.
The spring sun was warm as she tipped her face upward, letting the rays warm her cheeks.
The rain that had threatened earlier had dissipated leaving beautiful weather in its wake.
Nearby colorful flowers littered the ground.
Picking a handful, she gathered them and wove discarded stems together, then wound the braid around the stems of the flowers she’d picked, creating a colorful, fragrant bouquet.
Carefully, she approached Errol. His face had softened a bit from earlier and when she approached he didn’t scowl at her.
Kneeling at his feet, she placed the bouquet on the ground near his boots and said a quick prayer before moving to stand beside Errol.
“I ken ye doonae believe me,” she said softly. “But I really am sorry. No one should have to suffer the loss of a sibling. Gavin seems that he was loved verra much.”
Moira could see the flexing of Errol’s jaw as he clenched his teeth.
“I’ve said my peace,” he said and spun on his heel to walk toward his horse who was grazing on the dewy grass. From his travel bag, he pulled the skin with ale and took a long swig. “Does yer map say what we are looking for here?”
The sudden change of conversation showed that Errol didn’t want to speak of his brother any longer.
With a sigh, she pulled out the map and unfurled it, studying the pictures that she could retain from memory at this point. Like the other stop at the chapel, the map said naught about what they were looking for. She shook her head.
Nodding in annoyance, he rolled his lips inward. “Great,” he mumbled. “I suppose we are to hope that luck is on our side and whate’er is here just presents itself.”
Moira chewed at her fingernail, considering his words. He wasn’t wrong. While the map gave a minimal visual of the areas they needed to go to, hints to what they needed to find were nonexistent.
Walking along the headstones, she tried to read some of the names.
Some she couldn’t but others she could. Moss, algae, and stone worn smooth from the weather made reading some of the names, dates and remarks difficult.
Not surprising the MacLeod name was prominent. “How old is this kirkyard? Do ye ken?”
“I dinnae. ’Tis been here for as long as I can remember and long afore then.”
One of the headstones caught her attention. There was what looked to be a symbol carved into the stone. “Errol, look. Do ye ken what this is?” She brushed her fingers over the symbol, sweeping away dirt so they could see it more clearly.
The symbol wasn’t very big, and it looked like it was carved in long after the original stone carvings were done.
Errol bent to get a better view of the symbol. “It looks like water. A wave, mayhap.”
She studied it, tilting her head to the side. It did kind of look like a wave almost, which would mean water. “I believe ye are correct. Do ye ken what it could mean?”
He shook his head. “We arenae that far from the water. Could be alluding to the sea.”
“The wave,” she said quietly. “There has to be other symbols on the stones. Just one doesnae make sense.”
Quickly, she moved to other stones, checking the back of them for any symbols that may have been carved into them. Her breath caught as she found another symbol, this time depicting a mountain peak.
Errol joined her and studied the carving, his mouth turned down in a frown. “A wave, and a mountain.” He shook his head as he straightened. “It doesnae give us aught. Both are prevalent in these parts.”
“There must be more.”
They both began searching, looking for something else that would help them solve the puzzle.
Moira kept walking. Studying the stones. Ignoring what was written on the front since that didn’t seem to matter. The symbols they’d found so far had been carved on the back of the headstones. It only made sense that if there were any additional symbols, they too, would be carved on the back.
“Moira.”
She straightened at Errol’s call. He had knelt behind a grave on the other side of the kirkyard.
“Did ye find something?” She asked, her feet already moving toward him.
“Aye.” He dipped his head in the direction of the headstone. “Have a look for yerself.”
Her eyes flashed to where he pointed, and her eyes widened. Another picture was etched into the stone.
“Is that a cave?”
Errol moved away but nodded. “’Tis what it appears to be.”
Moira rubbed her hands together, thinking about all that they had found and what the clues could possibly mean.
“So,” she began pacing as she spoke. “We have found a wave or water, a mountain, and a cave.” She gazed at Errol, but his face was impassive as he leaned against a tree, one booted foot drawn up to rest on the thick trunk.
“Are ye aware of any caves?”
Errol gave her a droll look. “Ye cannae be serious. ’Tis Scotland, of course there are caves. Nearly everywhere ye look.”
She huffed, but he had a point. Caves around Scotland were numerous. “All right. Let us ignore the caves for the moment and focus on the water symbol.”
“It points to the sea.”
Knitting her brows together, she waited for Errol to continue. When he didn’t, she asked him of his meaning.
“How do you ken?”
He shrugged. “The carving says it all. ’Tis no’ a lake. The etching shows water and waves. Ye arenae going to get waves with a loch. No’ like what is depicted. That leaves the sea.”
Moira rested her chin in her hand, thinking about what these symbols could mean. If they even meant aught other than a rough map of where they needed to go next.
“How long of a ride is it to the sea?” She asked.
“We could make it in a day if we pushed.”
“We are missing something. There has to be another clue. These three are far too broad. As ye said, it could be anywhere in Scotland.”
She paced around the graveyard once more. Walking down each row and inspecting each grave and headstone to ensure she didn’t miss aught that had been left to guide them. Just as she was about to give up, she spotted a small carving, but this time it wasn’t an illustration. It was words.
Loch Nunch.
“Loch Nunch,” Moira said aloud. “Do ye ken where that is?”
“Aye, ’tis on our western border.”
“Ye are aware of it then?”
“I just admitted to that, did I no’?”
Moira rolled her eyes, but she wouldn’t be deterred. “That must be where we need to go next. Is there a cave by the sea there? With mountains in the backdrop?”
Errol remained silent and she waited impatiently for him to answer. The more time that passed, the more worried she grew that he wouldn’t answer.
“There is,” he said finally.
Jumping up and down excitedly, she clapped her hands.
“Well, what are we waiting for?” She asked and ignored the irritated look Errol threw her way.