Chapter 19 #2
She rose once again to the tips of her toes and peeked through the window over Titan’s back. There wasn’t much rain yet, but the sky was gray, the clouds marching furiously across it.
How interesting. It seemed the spiders were in the business of predicting storms, just as she was. She’d have to pay closer attention to their comings and goings from now on.
She leaned closer, until her nose was only an inch or so from the beam. “You’re all in a great hurry.” She watched their tiny legs scrambling about. “It’s going to be quite a storm, by the looks—”
“Are you talking to the spiders?”
Freya whirled around, her hand flying to her chest, her heart beating a wild tattoo under her palm. “God above! You nearly scared the life out of me.”
The child—for it was a child, not more than nine or ten years old, with fair hair that was nearly white—blinked at her. She was sitting cross-legged in the corner of one of the stalls, stroking something white and fluffy nestled in her lap. “I’ve been here the whole time.”
“Yes, well, you might have made your presence—achoo!”
She gulped in a breath, a violent sneeze erupting in a rush from her throat.
She got a face full of dust for her trouble, the fine grit coating her throat and setting off a coughing fit that had tears streaming from her eyes.
She slapped a hand over her mouth, wheezing and choking her way through the assault on her lungs.
“You didn’t swallow a spider, did you?”
“Not that I’m aware of, but I thank you for putting the thought into my head.” Dear God, she could almost feel dozens of hairy spider legs tickling her throat. “What have you got there? Is it a cat?”
The girl gave her the disgusted eye roll only children of that age could produce. “No. It’s a lamb.”
“Is it, indeed?” Freya crept closer. It wasn’t fluffy, after all, but woolly, its tiny, downy head resting on the girl’s knee and the rest of him—or her—nestled in a tight ball in the child’s skirts. “It’s quite small for a lamb, isn’t it?”
“She’s only a few days old. She’s the littlest one, and I won’t take her back, no matter what you say.” The girl curled a protective hand around the lamb’s head, her chin jutting out. “Her mama won’t feed her.”
“Oh, dear. How awful.” Freya moved a few steps closer. “Is there nothing that can be done for her?”
“My papa says no, and that she’s best left alone.” The girl looked up from the tiny creature nestled in her lap, her stubborn, upthrust chin now wobbling. “But I couldn’t do it! I couldn’t bear to just leave her to die.”
“Why, of course you couldn’t.” Freya knelt in the straw beside the girl and reached her hand out. “May I stroke her?”
The girl nodded, and Freya ran a hand over the lamb’s head. It was hardly bigger than her palm, the fur as soft as the finest cotton. “Goodness, she is very tiny, isn’t she? But she seems well enough for the moment.”
“I gave her some milk.” The girl plucked a glass bottle from the straw next to her and held it up. “I think she was very hungry, because she drank it all up, and right quick, too.”
“I daresay she was. You’re taking good care of her.”
They sat there quietly for a little while, stroking the lamb’s head in turn as the rain pattered on the roof, then Freya broke the silence. “What’s your name?”
“Maisie. It’s really Mairead, but I hate it.”
“Do you? I think it’s pretty.”
“It means pearl,” the girl said glumly. “What’s yours?”
“Freya. It means ‘noble lady,’ of all ridiculous things. Particularly so for me, as I don’t have a single drop of noble blood. I can’t imagine what my parents were thinking, but then they named my sister Sorcha, and that means ‘brightness’ or ‘light.’”
“Does it not suit her?”
“No, not really. That is, she’s quite dazzling, but not in a luminous, shimmering sort of way. She’s more of a … er, blazing, burning sort of bright, and I don’t think that’s how the Gaels intended it.”
Maisie considered this, then declared with all the arrogance of a ten-year-old child, “But that’s the best kind of bright.”
So it was. It was a timely reminder, straight out of the mouths of babes. Freya’s nose began to sting, and a hot pressure pressed against her eyes, but she managed a wobbly, “I think so, too.”
They continued to stroke the lamb in companionable silence, but the wind rose another notch while they sat there in the hay. It was time she returned to the castle, but somebody must be looking for this child, and she wouldn’t leave her here alone.
“Where did you come from, Maisie?”
“The cottages.”
Well, that was vague enough. Children were cagey creatures, and this one more than most. She was rather like Sorcha, in fact.
Freya opened her mouth to see if she might pry more information out of the girl, but before she could say a word, Maisie announced, “I ran away.”
“Ran away? You mean, your parents don’t know where you are?”
“No.” Maisie gave her a disgusted look. “That’s what running away means, Freya.”
“So it does. But hadn’t you better go back before the storm comes? I daresay your parents will be looking for you.”
“I’m never going back! My mama and da were going to let Cream Puff die!”
Cream Puff was the lamb, presumably. “I’m sure they didn’t mean to—”
“So, I ran away, and I took Cream Puff with me, and I’m never going back. Never!”
God above, the child was a sheep napper. “I think—”
“And I took this with me!” Maisie held up the baby’s bottle. “It’s my brother’s, but I stole it, and I’m not sorry, neither!”
A sheep napper, a snatcher of baby bottles, and utterly unrepentant, too. Why, Maisie was more like Sorcha with every word out of her mouth. “No, er, of course not, but you can’t—”
“I’m not going back.” Maisie gathered Cream Puff protectively against her chest. “You can’t make me.”
No, indeed. If Maisie was anything like Sorcha had been at this age, then no one could make her do anything, but perhaps she could persuade her. She did have quite a lot of experience persuading stubborn, willful young ladies to do her bidding.
“How far away is your cottage, Maisie?”
“Not far. Just over the rise.” Maisie waved a careless hand toward the south side of the stables. “But it doesn’t matter, because I’m not going back.”
“What if I came with you? I may be able to persuade your da to let you take care of Cream Puff.” If Maisie’s da was anything like hers had been, he’d be so relieved to have his child back safely, he’d agree to anything.
Maisie ran a gentle hand over Cream Puff’s head. “Do you think you can?”
“Yes. I’m as persuasive a lady as you’ll ever find. If he refuses, then I promise to bring Cream Puff back here with me. Will that do?”
Maisie glanced down at Cream Puff, then up at Freya. “Well, I don’t know …”
“Come, I’m sure you don’t wish to worry your parents.”
“No, but—”
“If we’re going to go, we’ll have to go at once, before the storm gets any closer.” It was still a good way off, but only a fool trifled with the weather.
Indeed, it might be wiser to take Maisie—and Cream Puff—back to the castle with her now, but Maisie’s parents were sure to be frantic if the girl wasn’t safe at home before the storm hit. Even now, her da was probably out searching for her, and he’d likely keep at it until he found her.
Maisie gazed up at her, biting her lip. “Do you promise you’ll bring Cream Puff back here if Da says no?”
“I swear it, Maisie, and I’m not one to go back on my word.” Freya got to her feet and held out her arms for the lamb. “Here, give Cream Puff to me, and I’ll tuck her into my cloak.”
Maisie hesitated while Freya held her breath, but at last she got to her feet. She pressed a soft kiss to Cream Puff’s downy head, then laid the lamb gently in Freya’s arms.
“Good lass. Come, let’s go at once.” Poor Cream Puff let out a pathetic little bleat as Freya tucked her into the folds of her cloak, but soon enough she settled, her sweet little lamb’s head resting in the crook of Freya’s elbow.
“I can’t bear to see her die.” Maisie raised big, tear-filled blue eyes to Freya. “You won’t let it happen, will you?”
“No. I promised, didn’t I?” It was a rash promise, but now that she’d made it, she’d keep it, even if it meant hiding Cream Puff in her bedchamber.
Maisie nodded, sniffling.
“Now, let’s make haste, before the rain grows worse.”
Freya hurried out of the stables, Cream Puff clutched to her chest and Maisie on her heels. Together, the three of them trudged toward the rise just beyond the stables.
Maisie had said she lived in one of the cottages.
It couldn’t be far. She’d be back at the castle well before the storm came.
Maisie’s cottage wasn’t over the next rise, nor the rise after that.
Freya was growing concerned by the time they reached the third rise, but they hadn’t come far down the other side of it before they saw a man with the same fair hair as Maisie emerge from a copse of trees to the south of the hillside.
“That’s my da!” Maisie, who appeared to have forgotten that she’d made up her mind never to see her family again, tore down the hill, shouting to her father.
The man turned, relief flooding his face.
He said something to Maisie Freya couldn’t hear, then he opened his arms, and Maisie rushed into them, burying her face in his shoulder.
Ah, a happy ending, at last.
She made her way to the bottom of the hill, Cream Puff bouncing in her arms. Even a tiny lamb became heavy after a time, and poor Cream Puff was in a bit of a temper. She’d been flailing about for the last half mile and had kicked Freya in the chin with one of her tiny hooves.
She was glad to relinquish her to Gregor Innes, Maisie’s father.
“She was ever so well-behaved, Da. She’s the politest lamb ever.” Maisie blinked up at her father, the sheen of tears in her big blue eyes. “We can’t let her die, Da.”
Gregor Innes was no match for such a plea. “Aye, I suppose we can’t, at that. Her mama may take to her still, and if not, you can be her mama.” He smiled at the lamb he held in his arms. “She’s a sweet wee thing, isn’t she?”
“Yes, as sweet as anything!” Maisie clapped her hands together, gleeful. “Her name is Cream Puff.”
“Cream Puff? Well, all right, then.” Gregor turned to Freya. “I thank you for bringing Maisie … er, that is, Maisie and Cream Puff to me.” He gave his daughter’s braid an affectionate tug. “My little lass has a tender heart.”
From what she could see, Maisie wasn’t the only tenderhearted one in the Innes family. “I have a sister very much like her. You’ve got your work cut out for you,” she added with a grin.
He threw his head back in a hearty laugh. “Aye, I know it. It might be best if you come back home with us, miss. I don’t like the look of that sky.”
Neither did Freya, but as it turned out, the Innes’s cottage was another two miles walk to the south of where they were. Balnagown Castle was closer. It would be quicker for her to go back, and anyway, Aila would worry if she didn’t turn up soon.
So, after receiving Maisie’s grateful hug, she turned back toward Balnagown Castle.
The rain started falling in earnest before she’d made it halfway, and by the time she reached the stables, the wind had risen to a frenzy and the sky had gone so dark it looked as if it were evening.
But there was no hail yet. She’d made it back just in time.
She hurried down the pathway that led to the castle, her hood pulled low over her head to protect her face from the shower of cold rain pouring down from the sky.
What a goose she was, choosing to wear Cat’s old cloak instead of the warmer green one! Sentiment was all very well, but it was no match for the icy water running down the back of her neck, or the wind poking cold fingers into every tiny rip and worn seam—
Crack!
She stopped, her blood going cold.
She knew what that cracking sound meant. She’d heard it dozens of times before in Dunvegan Wood when the wind was high—
Crack, crack!
First came the series of smaller cracks, like ice breaking into pieces.
But it wasn’t ice. That crack was the sound the tree limbs made right before they broke loose and tumbled to the ground.
It wasn’t the smaller cracks she needed to worry about, but the much louder one that would come after them.
In a wind such as this, massive limbs thicker than her leg and three times her weight could be tossed about as if they were no more than bits of kindling.
Entire trees, trees that had stood for hundreds of years could be uprooted in an instant.
She froze in the middle of the pathway, her heart rushing into her throat, but she was right in the center of the copse, with a dozen or more trees surrounding her, and no way to tell from which direction the threat came.
Her only hope was to outrun it.
She caught her skirts in her fists and darted through the trees as quickly as she could, her gaze on the roof of the castle. It was just a little farther, right on the other side of the bend in the pathway up ahead—
She didn’t see the limb break loose, but she heard it. There was an almighty crack, almost like the snap of a whip, then a dreadful tearing sound, then the whoosh of the heavy limb falling, falling …
Pain exploded on one side of her head, the ground rushed toward her, and then …
Nothing.
The world went dark.