Chapter Eleven #2
“Grandpa!” they cried, gathering around the cart and firing a hundred questions at Seamus.
Seamus, for his part, managed to crack a smile. “One at a time! I canna hear myself think with all yer caterwauling!”
“What have ye gone and done to yerself this time, Da?” his daughter asked, putting her hands on her ample hips and glaring down at the old man.
Seamus waved a hand. “Dinna fash, Brina. It’s only a twisted ankle. But ye should see the tree that tried to kill me!” He turned to his grandchildren. “Enormous, it was! Came straight for me, it did, but yer old grandpa is too wily to be caught by any mangy old tree!”
The children gasped, wide-eyed.
Brina rolled her eyes. “Thank ye for yer help, my laird,” she said to Cailean. “Please come inside.”
Cailean helped Seamus out of the cart and into Brina’s house, where he collapsed into a chair by the fire. Rose knelt to check the bandages while Cailean enquired after Brina and her family.
“Och, we got through unscathed, thank the old gods and the new,” Brina said. “And the children thought it was all grand fun. My husband, Eoin, has gone to check on the boats. It was low tide though, so I’m hopeful there isnae too much damage.”
Cailean nodded. “Aye. Let’s hope ye are right.”
Brina poured them both mugs of hot cider from a pot hanging over the fire, and Rose took hers gratefully. Her hands were red from the cold, and she enjoyed the heat that flowed into her fingers as she wrapped them around the warm cup.
“We’ve not had a storm like that in many a year,” Brina said, taking a sip from her own mug. “Why, it was enough to almost make ye believe in the old tales again. Especially with the stormlights.”
“Stormlights?” Rose asked, turning a puzzled glance on the woman.
“Ye didnae see them?” Brina replied. “Over by the headland? Like lightning but underwater. Blue, and green, and purple. Reminded me of the old tales my da used to tell me when I was a bairn. The bairns thought it was the sea god rising in anger again. They hid under the table!”
“No, we didnae!” the children piped up. “It was ye who was frightened, Ma!”
Cailean grunted noncommittally, but Rose straightened, curiosity prickling.
“There are old tales about sea gods?” she asked.
Seamus waved a hand. “Bah! Of course there are. What do ye expect from a people who depend on the sea? My old gran used to say the Kingdom of the Isles was watched over by a god and goddess. He ruled the sea, and she ruled the land. She loved her people and brought them good fishing and calm weather. But the god grew jealous, thinking she loved the people more than she loved him, so he cursed her.”
Rose’s grip tightened on her mug. “Cursed her how?”
“Who knows? But the old tales say the stormlights are his wrath rising, trying to draw her back—or punish her for leaving.” He shrugged. “Ye see? Naught but a child’s tale.”
Rose narrowed her eyes, thinking. “Is it?” she said softly. “Or is it something more? I wonder.”
Cailean glanced at her. “What are ye thinking, lass?”
Rose blinked, clearing her thoughts. “I… um… nothing. Yet.” She finished her cider and handed the empty mug out to Brina. “Thank you for the drink. It’s warmed me up nicely. Try to keep your dad off his feet for the next few days if you can.”
“I’m right here, ye know,” Seamus grumbled.
Brina rolled her eyes. “Dinna ye worry. I’ll make sure he behaves himself, even if I have to get the children to pin him down.”
The children cheered at this and began hanging onto Seamus’s arms. The old man struggled weakly, threatening them with dire retribution that went wholly ignored.
Rose couldn’t help but smile at the rough affection that so obviously tied this family together.
Seamus, she was sure, would be absolutely fine.
But if the sickness came here… The thought of Seamus, Brina, and the children in a similar state to Drew made her stomach churn. She had to stop that from happening.
She and Cailean took their leave of Brina and her family and made their way back up to the village.
They worked all morning, Cailean with his men clearing debris, shifting fallen trees, repairing damaged walls and roofs, while Rose took care of the injured—bandaged hands, cleaned scrapes, and stitched the odd gash caused by flying debris.
But all the while, her thoughts kept returning to Brina and Seamus’s words. The stormlights are his wrath rising, trying to draw her back—or punish her for leaving.
Cailean called a break at midday. Rose finished cleaning a young girl’s skinned knees and straightened, stretching out her aching back. Her dress was sodden, soaked with mud up to the ankles, and her braid was a wet lump hanging down her back. Oh, what she wouldn’t give for a hot shower!
Cailean came to fetch her, and they walked back up to the keep together, arms brushing occasionally. He looked as exhausted as she was—and as filthy. His clothes were caked in mud, and his hair slick and clinging to his neck. They walked in silence, too tired to speak.
But eventually Cailean said, “Ye looked at home today.”
She glanced at him. “I did?”
“Aye. Like… like ye belonged. Perhaps ye didnae notice the way the people responded to ye, but I did. Ye are no longer a stranger, lass. Ye are one of us.”
Rose blinked. Ye are one of us. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. It felt kind of… nice.
“What did you make of Brina’s tale?” she asked, changing the subject.
He shrugged. “Not much. One thing ye will learn the longer ye spend here is that there is an old wife’s tale for everything. An old man gets a wart on his nose? It’s because he stole a lobster from a sacred rock pool.”
Rose laughed. “I take your point. But… I don’t know… It felt like more than that.”
“Then ye should speak to Maggie.”
“Maggie?”
“Aye, she knows all the old tales, every rhyme and riddle this island has ever whispered. If one of them talks about a sea god and his stormlights, she’ll know it.”
Rose mulled over this in silence as they walked up to the gates of the keep. It was raining again, an annoying misty drizzle that turned the world to gray fog. She could hardly see anything beyond a few feet, cocooning her and Cailean in their own little world.
“I’ll have Mable heat water for a bath,” he told her, turning to face her as they paused just inside the gates. “We dinna want our MacFinnan spellweaver to catch a cold, do we?”
Rose’s eyes slid closed. “A hot bath? That sounds like heaven.”
He reached out and flicked away a stray strand of hair that was clinging to her face. As he did so, his hand brushed her cheek, sending a thrill of warmth right through her.
“Thank you,” she said.
His eyebrows rose. “For what? Thank Mable. She’ll be the one hauling the water up to yer bathtub.”
“Not that. Well, yes, that. But… I don’t know.” For making me feel wanted, she thought. That I matter. For making me feel… alive.
But she didn’t say any of those things. Instead, she went up on her tiptoes and kissed him. It was only a light brush of her lips on his cheek, but the effect was instantaneous.
Cailean froze.
The rain began to fall more heavily, shimmering sheets that turned the world to opalescent gray, and a low rumble of thunder sounded over the ocean.
Cailean hadn’t moved, yet something had changed in him.
Rose felt tension thrumming in the air between them like a bowstring pulled tight.
And the way he was looking at her… Those dark eyes were full of something that made her heart pound so hard she could feel it in the base of her throat.
His eyes searched hers, storm-dark and unguarded.
And then he moved.
He stepped into her space with a suddenness that stole her breath, one hand threading into the wet tangles of her hair, the other gripping her waist like he couldn’t bear the distance a moment longer. His mouth claimed hers without hesitation—rough, raw, full of all the things he hadn’t said.
The kiss wasn’t soft. It was heat and hunger and frustration, lips crashing together in a clash of need that made her gasp. She clutched at his shoulders, then slid her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as she matched the intensity, lost in him.
Her back hit the wall, stone scraping through the fabric of her dress, but she didn’t care. The world narrowed to the heat of his body against hers, the taste of rain on his lips, the sound of his breath mixing with hers.
He kissed her like he’d been waiting for years. Like he might never get another chance.
And she responded instinctively, fiercely, her hands tugging at the hem of his tunic as her mouth opened to his. Their bodies aligned, pressed together, heat blooming even in the chill of the rain. For a moment, there was nothing else.
No duty. No storm. Just this.
Then—
“Papa!”
Cailean sprang away as if he’d been stung. They both turned and saw two figures emerging from the mist. They resolved themselves into Catriona and Patch. Catriona was holding a shuttered lantern against the mist and gloom while Patch padded along at her heels, looking like a bedraggled mop.
Cailean blinked like a man surfacing from a dream. “What are ye doing out here?” he asked roughly.
Catriona glanced from her father to Rose and back again. Rose felt heat flushing her cheeks. Oh hell. Had Catriona seen them? If so, she gave no indication.
Catriona rolled her eyes at her father as if this was a stupid question. “I’m looking for ye, of course. Cook has brought muffins and bannocks for toasting on the fire, and she even let me have a sip of hot mead!”
“Did she now?” Cailean rumbled, raising an eyebrow. “Well, I might just have to have a word with her about that.”
“Oh, come on! It’s freezing out here!”
The girl took one of Cailean’s hands in hers, and all but hauled him across the courtyard to the doors of the keep. Cailean gave Rose a look over his daughter’s head. It was a look of apology but also of something else, something unfinished between them.
Rose swallowed thickly. At the door to the great hall, she begged off, saying she was going to get out of her wet clothes, but in reality, she needed some space. Space to figure out what the hell had just happened between her and the handsome Laird of Barra.
And time to figure out if she wanted it to happen again.