Chapter Thirteen #2
Rose opened her mouth to respond—though she had no idea what words would come out—but was saved by a sudden shout from the gate.
Turning in that direction and squinting through the biting wind, she saw a group of people slogging up the hill towards the gates. They were dressed in traveling gear and were carrying bundles of belongings on their backs. There were even a few carts pulled by weary-looking donkeys.
An old woman led them, and it took a moment for Rose to recognize Agnes, headwoman of Hemkirk.
Rose gasped. “They came!”
Catriona squinted at the newcomers. “Is that good?”
“Yes,” Rose breathed. “That’s very good. Come on.”
She took Catriona’s hand and started for the gates, Patch running ahead and barking his welcome.
The crowd had been stopped at the gates as the guards questioned them but, knowing full well who these people were, Rose pushed her way through to where Agnes was arguing with them.
“It’s all right, Jonas,” Rose said to the guard. “These are the people of Hemkirk. Laird Cailean has offered them shelter. You can let them in.”
Jonas, a gangly youth who took his duties very seriously, looked dubious. But he also looked like he had no intention of arguing with a MacFinnan spellweaver.
The lad swallowed and then inclined his head. “As ye say, mistress.”
He swung the gate wide and indicated for the newcomers to enter the courtyard. Rose took Agnes’s arm and helped her inside while Catriona guided the families to an overhang where warm broth was already being handed out.
“You came,” Rose said, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.
The old woman nodded. “Aye, although I wasnae sure we would. Some of us can be more stubborn than Albert’s goats.” She nodded and Rose saw Catriona and Patch trotting at the side of an old man as he led a couple of white goats towards the stable.
Rose tilted her head as she regarded Agnes. She looked tired, the skin of her face seemingly drawn too tightly over her skull. “What changed your mind?”
Agnes paused, looking uncomfortable and her hand rose to clasp the small woven charm that hung from a leather thong around her neck. “The stormlights.”
Rose’s breath hitched. “You saw them too?”
Agnes nodded and her voice dropped lower.
“We could hardly miss them, lass. They lit up the bay from end to end, like it was on fire. It was terrifying. And then the lightning—lightning struck the beach and the islets out in the bay. Much too close to the village for comfort. After that even the most stubborn of the old fools decided we had to leave.”
Rose blinked, digesting this news. “What does it mean?” she muttered.
“It means, lass,” Agnes said, “that the old gods are waking. And some of us are finally starting to listen.”
She turned away, joining the rest of her people who were being ushered into the warmth of the kitchen. Rose stood rooted to the spot, watching them go.
Catriona came bouncing up to her. “Did ye see the goats? One of them tried to eat Patch’s tail!”
Rose barely heard her, her thoughts fixed on Agnes’s words. Stormlights. Lightning. The bay at Hemkirk lit like fire. Could that be the key to all of this?
She turned to Catriona, crouching until she was at eye level with her. “I need you to do something very important for me.
Catriona’s eyes lit up. “What?”
“I need you to help these people get settled. Make sure they get some food and are shown where they can put their things. And if you see anyone looking frightened or lonely, you take Patch over. He’s good at cheering people up.”
Catriona beamed, bobbing on her toes at being given such responsibility. “I willnae let ye down!”
Rose squeezed her shoulder. “I know you won’t.”
Straightening, Rose turned and made her way behind the stables to where a row of wagons was being loaded with supplies. Her eyes sprang to the man overseeing it all.
Cailean had rolled up the sleeves of his linen shirt and was busy lifting sacks of supplies and bundles of timber onto the wagons with his men.
He hadn’t spotted her, and his features wore an intense expression as he worked.
His movements were precise and economical, the muscles of his arms and shoulders bunching and flexing as he heaved the sacks up onto his broad shoulders before depositing them into the wagon bed.
Rose found herself staring, mesmerized by the flex of his shoulders, by the way his hair brushed his neck as he moved, by the veins that stood out in his neck as he heaved the heavy sacks onto the cart.
It was ridiculous. She was a grown woman and yet her traitorous stomach kept tying itself in knots whenever she looked at him.
He glanced over and spotted her. Something in his expression softened and, barking orders to his men, he tossed the sack in his arms over to one of them and strode towards her.
“What is it, lass?” he rumbled. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she replied. “I just wanted to let you know that the villagers from Hemkirk have just arrived. They’ve taken up your offer of sanctuary after all.”
His dark eyes flicked in the direction of the gates. “Good. That’s good.”
“Um. There’s something else,” she continued.
“Agnes said that it was the storm yesterday that changed their mind. They saw the same stormlights that Seamus and Brina did. Out in the bay, only it sounds as though they were far stronger near Hemkirk and there was lightning that struck the ground out there.”
That got his attention. He frowned, jaw tightening. “Where exactly?”
“I don’t know. The beach. Some of the islets out in the bay. But I want to go and check it out.”
“No,” Cailean said sharply. “Absolutely not.”
“What? Why not?”
“There’s another storm coming,” he said, gesturing at the sky which was black and angry. “Ye saw what the last one did. I willnae risk ye—or anyone—on a half-remembered tale and superstition.”
“It’s not just a tale,” she insisted. “You know it isn’t.
His hands clenched and unclenched. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Ye are not going, Rose. Not until the weather improves. That is final.”
He turned and stalked off, shoulders rigid, gait clipped.
Rose glared after him, teeth clenched in annoyance.
With a huff, she spun and stomped back to the castle, not stopping until she reached the study where she slammed the door behind her and threw herself into the chair.
Who did he think he was ordering her around?
But, she had to admit, she could feel the storm that Cailean predicted beginning to break. The shutters on the window rattled and another curtain of gray rain came sheeting down, turning the view through the window misty and vague.
Her senses tingled. The air felt charged, full of an ominous potential. Her MacFinnan blood stirred. The instinct that had guided her all her life was pulsing now, hot and urgent. This was no ordinary storm.
She had to get to Hemkirk. She knew it in her bones. Whatever secrets this island was hiding, this was her chance to discover them.
Snatching up her cloak, she wrapped it tightly around her shoulders and left the study.
She slipped through the corridors with silent steps, avoiding servants and loitering guards, thankful for the noise of the gathering storm that covered her footsteps.
She paused on entering the courtyard, looking around for Cailean.
She could hear him and his men still battling to load the carts on the other side of the stables, but they were not in sight.
Good. She hurried across the courtyard without being spotted.
The horses nickered as she entered the stable and shifted uneasily, unnerved by the thunder that rumbled overhead and the patter of rain on the roof.
Only one of them seemed unfazed. Snip, the sturdy mare who had carried her the other day was munching lazily on a bale of hay attached to her stall. Rose approached and stroked her muzzle. “You’ll take me, won’t you, girl? And you already know the way.”
The horse whinnied softly as if in agreement. Moments later, Rose had her saddled and was leading her out into the yard. The wind tugged at her hair, and thunder rolled over the sea. Rain obscured everything beyond a few feet.
She swung up into the saddle and, pulling her hood up over her head, she guided the horse down the slope, away from the keep. Toward Hemkirk. Toward the truth that awaited her there.
*
The wind lashed the courtyard like a vengeful spirit, sending Cailean’s hair whipping around his head and rattling the shutters on the keep’s windows as if hungry to get inside.
With an annoyed growl, he clenched his fists, raw and red from hauling timber.
Would there never be a let up? His people had barely recovered from yesterday’s storm and yet here another one was, hot on the tails of its predecessor.
What had they done to anger the gods so?
Around him, his men moved in a frenzy, lashing woven covers over the wagons, securing supplies in the storehouse, and shouting to one another over the rising gale.
When this was done, he bellowed at them to get inside but as they obeyed, he didn’t follow.
Soon he was the only one left in the courtyard, but he didn’t move as the wind tore through and freezing rain began to fall in earnest, pelting into his face like tiny shards of glass.
Anger and frustration roiled inside him, every bit as wild as the gathering storm.
In fact, it fit his mood perfectly. He’d been unsettled ever since Rose had told him what she’d discovered about the stormlights and that unease had not abated since.
In fact, it had only grown worse. Gods. Curses.
Magic. How was he supposed to deal with such things?
He shook his head, wiping a hand across his face.
It would do no good standing here like this.
He jogged across the courtyard and into the keep, slamming the big doors behind him and cutting out the worst of the wind.
The din of conversation came from his right, indicating that his people were beginning to congregate in the great hall as they often did to wait out the storm.
He almost joined them but then hesitated on the threshold and didn’t go in. He couldn’t face his people’s questions right now. No, what he needed was something else entirely. So he strode away, deeper into the keep where it was quieter and darker, the only sounds distant and soft.
Finally, he fetched up outside a closed wooden door.
He raised his hand to knock but hesitated.
He suddenly felt as nervous as a lad. What was wrong with him?
He’d not left things well between him and Rose and he regretted barking at her the way he had.
He’d not been able to help himself. The thought of her riding out into the storm—into danger—had twisted his guts with terror and that terror had transmuted into anger.
Rose’s angry expression had been enough to tell him exactly what she thought of his edict against her riding to Hemkirk, but at least she’d done as he asked. At least she was safe. Now all he had to do was make her see it was for the best.
He rapped on the door. There was no answer.
“Rose?” he called. “Lass? May I come in?”
When there was still no response, he pushed the door open and cautiously stepped inside.
The study was empty. The fire had burned down to embers, the chair was pushed back as if she’d risen in a hurry, and her cloak was missing from the peg. A sudden stab of alarm sent his pulse racing. Leaving the study, the strode through the keep.
“Go check Lady Rose’s room,” he snapped at a passing servant. “And see if anyone has seen her in the last hour.”
Instinct told him that Rose would not be found in her room. Nor in any other part of the castle. Had he thought she’d accepted his ban on her going to Hemkirk? Pah! He should have known better!
He strode to the main doors and threw them open. The wind snatched them from his grasp, sending them crashing back against the outer wall of the keep with a boom. Cailean hurried down the steps and over to the stables, the door banging open as he stepped inside.
Inside, the air was thick and warm with the scent of hay and horse. His eyes scanned the stalls. His own mount was there, shifting restlessly, but the fourth bay was empty.
His stomach clenched. Damn the woman! Why could she never do as he asked?
“My laird?”
He spun as a stable hand carrying a bucket of oats stepped inside, seeming surprised to see him there.
“Where is she?” Cailean growled, his voice low and dangerous.
The lad swallowed thickly, his throat bobbing. “Where is who?”
“Lady Rose.”
“I… I dinna know, my laird. I havenae seen her.”
Cailen pointed at the empty stall. “Which horse is missing?”
“Snip, my laird.”
Of course it was. The sure-footed one. The one Rose had ridden the other day. He felt like punching something. That stubborn woman had looked him in the eye only hours ago and then defied him. And now she’d gone and ridden out into the teeth of a storm—alone.
He slammed his fist into the stable wall, the wood rattling in protest.
Fool of a woman.
“Help me get Arrow saddled.”
The stable lad hurried to obey. When it was done, he led the horse out into the courtyard.
Glancing towards the keep, he saw Catriona emerge onto the steps, looking around for him. “Go to Maggie, now!” he shouted to her. “And stay inside!”
“But—”
“Now, Cat.”
She scowled at him but obeyed without further word and he mounted up, the wind tearing at his cloak. The fat drops of rain thickened into a deluge as he galloped through the gates.
The storm had arrived. And Rose was out there in the heart of it.