Chapter 15 #2
Forsooth, but it was cold, despite that the sun was shining brightly. Still, Constance was pleased to help with this small task and she wished desperately to prove herself useful. It was a wonderful feeling to belong somewhere, at long last.
Although Chreagach Mhor was the only home she had ever known, and she knew well that her kinfolk loved her, she had never had a true sense of belonging living in Chreagach Mhor, particularly after her cousin Broc left.
Thereafter, she had lived mostly alone, in a small cottage, cooking for no one.
Her brother Cameron was never around for long, and even when he came to visit, he was most often distracted by one thing or another.
Constance had always been an afterthought, a forgotten child.
But now, now she was a wife—duly wed—and she intended to be the very best wife Kellen could ever hope for.
If Constance would have her way, her sweet husband would want for naught and he would never have cause to regret the moment he took her as his bride.
That night, up in the loft, he had been such a sweet, sweet soul.
He had only kissed her all night long. But in the morning, faced with Iain’s wrath, he’d stood up for Constance and offered to wed her, then and there, even despite that her virginity was still intact.
Later, once the vows were spoken, they had discovered the pleasures of the flesh together.
Smiling, she patted her flat belly now beneath her cloak and prayed she would find herself growing a wee bairn very, very soon.
Life was good today!
Picking up her pace, Constance thought of the house Aidan and Lìli had gifted them with—a small but well-kept hut—and she vowed to fill it with all the love in her heart.
She would cook and clean as a good wife must do, and she would mend all her husband’s clothes.
Already, she had them neatly piled into a coffer, with those that still needed mending sitting on top.
She would learn to make soup that was never bitter to the tongue, and she looked forward to the day when she could sew for her wee bairns as well.
Praying Lìli’s babe would only wait until she could retrieve the midwife, she called for Una again.
It was curious the old woman would live in a cave on the hill, but certainly not unheard of.
Constance once knew a woman back in Chreagach Mhor who’d lived in a cave in the faerie woods with her da until the day she’d wed.
Seana was her name. Her uisge was both a scourge and a blessing to men, depending on the time of day one dared to ask.
And yet as soon as Seana had been given a choice, she abandoned that cave in the blink of an eye.
To Constance’s way of thought, there was little reason to live in a cave, but to each his own.
She found the opening easily enough and passed through, noting the crates that were filled to brimming with supplies.
Curious as she was to their contents, she was in far too much of a hurry today to stop and explore.
She found the ladder Sorcha spoke of, went down quickly, but to her dismay, she found Una’s grotto empty.
Mist rose from an opening beneath the old woman’s table.
Puzzled, but too excited about the babe to consider where the hole might lead, Constance hopped down from the ladder, and went to see what she could see.
She peered down the hole, and found another ladder made of rope. “Una?” she called hesitantly.
A frisson of something like fear raced down her spine. For a moment, she considered going back, but Lìli needed the auld woman, and Constance would not fail her new mother by law. She was well aware that Lìli did not wholly approve of their marriage, and so she must prove herself worthy here today.
Clearly, there would not be a rope here if it was dangerous. What a ninny she was being. For the good of her marriage, for the betterment of her relationship with Kellen’s mother, she climbed down into the darkness below.
“Una?”
Still, there was no response, though now she heard something odd—a strange rumbling, like the sound of a hungry belly.
Shining through the darkness, she spied a bit of virescent light coming through a crack in the wall, a fissure through which she might squeeze through.
Making her way quickly over, she pushed her way through to the other side.
There, in a cavernous room, lit by a strange pale light, the old woman lay upon the ground, next to an altar bearing a very large stone.
Horrified because Una looked as though she might be dead, Constance ran to her.
Her skin was a little blue, and her white hair stood straight on end as though she’d rubbed a palm across the entirety of her head and made the strands rise up.
Her lips were blue as well—darker yet—and the one eye that was not covered by a patch, remained closed.
“Una?” she called softly, shaking the old woman gently by the shoulder. Her body was still warm, as though she were merely sleeping.
Despite the mist that had coalesced outside the room and up into Una’s grotto, inside this chamber the air was perfectly clear and still, filled with a strange energy that seemed to hum.
It made Constance feel as though bugs were loose and crawling across her scalp and that her teeth were rattling in her skull.
Blinking with confusion, she peered up at the dark smooth rock upon the altar.
There were holes on the sides where handles must have once been, but clearly, this wasn’t an object meant to tote about.
On one side, it bore a plaque, and sensing it was an important discovery, the babe was forgotten for an instant as Constance reached out to touch the stone, brushing her fingers over the worn, etched letters.
Her brother Cameron had taught her to read and so she knew precisely what it said. She spoke the words aloud:
Unless the fates be faulty grown
And prophet’s voice be vain
Where’er is found this sacred stone
The blood of Alba reigns.
The old woman screeched like a banshee, opening her eyes, and bounding up from the floor. Constance screamed.
With a terrible cacophonous shout, Una raised her staff high and brought it crashing down on the chamber floor. There was a boom and a crack and the room erupted with blinding, white light.