Epilogue
“Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray.”
Banks Of Loch Sheanta
A path had been cleared to the crystalline waters of Loch Sheanta. People stood along the edge, which was lined with colorful leaves in sunset hues. For a deep autumn day, it was relatively warm, although the sun hid behind heavy clouds.
Morag Gunn stood with Sara, who held her bairn, Alec, next to Rory.
Kenan stood on Morag’s other side with Tierney, Grace, and their toddling lass, May.
Tierney’s older daughter, Maggie, and her dog stood under some trees where Maggie searched for colorful leaves.
Representatives from Clans Macdonald, MacNicol, MacLeod, and Mackinnon stood with the Macqueens.
It seemed that the wedding of Cyrus Mackinnon and Laria Macqueen was indeed bringing all the clans on Skye together.
Morag smiled. The Earth Mother and the elements will protect us.
The woman, Kate, who was set to marry Erskine that winter, began to play the lyre, plucking a sweet melody that brought a lightness to the dimly lit day.
Clouds grew heavy overhead, but the people stood with smiles, watching Cyrus walk down to stand with Father Bright.
The groom wore a crisp white tunic and a brushed woolen tartan, wrapped and held with a leather belt and a shiny silver buckle depicting the boar of Clan Mackinnon heraldry.
Morag felt the mournful collective sigh from the unmarried lasses in the crowd who knew the handsome chief would never be theirs.
Laria entered the path on the back of her white horse, garlands draping the agile charger.
She wore a blue gown of flowing silk that Sara had helped her embroider.
Erskine led the beautifully groomed horse, who stepped high with pride.
Erskine also held his head high and his back straight, looking very much like the powerful chief he’d become.
Around them, the wind stirred the trees, making the colorful leaves dance with a sound like applause.
The scent of coming rain mixed with the fragrance of woodsmoke and fresh pine.
Morag inhaled deeply and smiled, knowing the Earth rejoiced in this union as much as she.
She’d found women of fire, air, and now water.
She had only to find the woman embodying earth to build up the complete protection of her isle.
Erskine stopped the horse and lifted his sister onto the brushed pathway, the two of them sharing a smile.
There was such joy in their faces that Morag clutched a hand to her heart, feeling the love.
For a moment, loneliness swelled within her.
She pressed her hand against the hole that remained since her sister, Elspet, had died.
With a gust, fat drops of rain hit the leaves overhead, making Morag squint upward.
A squeal came from some of the ladies as the rain fell, bouncing and dripping off the leaves to the ground.
They looked to Laria, but she kept walking toward Cyrus at the end of the dock.
Father Bright looked up at the sky, annoyance puckering his face, but Cyrus ignored the rain, his entire focus on his bride as she walked toward him.
Some of the ladies hurried away. Rory took their newborn bairn from Sara to lie under his long sash while Sara lifted her hood.
Kenan and Tierney stood together under a small tent of canvas Kenan had engineered to keep rain off them and their children.
Grace Mackinnon Macqueen stood between Rory’s red-bearded friend, Jok Duffie, and Reid Hodges.
She simply raised her hood, a gentle smile on her face as she observed her brother’s happiness.
She was still wed to Iain, but Cyrus and Grace were working on having the union annulled.
Iain had been exiled from the Isle of Skye and was awaiting trial in Edinburgh.
As the rain increased, more people hurried away. Morag remained, letting the Earth Mother’s life-giving gift wet her face. The fresh tapping rhythm soothed her soul.
“Climb under with us,” Kenan said, but she remained where she was, feeling the cool weight of the rain in her hair.
She smiled at him. “I don’t mind.”
Father Bright’s words came quickly, and he wiped a hand down his face to rid it of water.
Cyrus took Laria’s bare hand in his, and they smiled at one another, their eyes and souls locked.
Across the surface of the water, circles spread out in an exquisite pattern as raindrops pattered down.
Laria’s otter surfaced and twisted with her mate, playing in the downpour.
Laria laughed as the rain increased, tipping her face toward the sky, her smile full.
Morag had never seen someone look even more beautiful when wet, but Laria glowed with fresh love and her element.
The last of summer’s wildflowers, which had been woven into her wavy hair, seemed to perk up, droplets on their petals.
Her long lashes grew spiky with rain, and her skin glistened as the sun broke through a cloud.
“Some would say a rainstorm had ruined their wedding,” Sara said softly. “But not Laria. Look at her. She’s exquisite soaked.” She looked at Rory. “How is that even possible?”
He kept his voice low, but Morag still heard him. “Ye look quite exquisite soaking in our tub.” Sara laughed and patted his chest, then whispered something to him that made his smile spread.
The rain ebbed while Laria and Cyrus exchanged rings, and, through the gap in the trees, a rainbow appeared over the loch.
“Look,” Tierney’s older daughter called, pointing at the arc of bright color.
“A gift from God,” Father Bright said, his face tipped up to it.
“A gift from the Goddess,” Morag murmured.
“’Tis a blessing for yer union,” Father Bright continued, wiping a wet sleeve over his face. “Ye may kiss the bride.”
With rain-dappled skin, Laria and Cyrus met at the end of the pier as Father Bright slipped past them and hurried toward the cover of trees to avoid the now-sporadic raindrops.
Cheers from the few remaining spectators flew about them with the flapping of Morag’s crows, who took off into the sky toward the vibrant rainbow.
The sun shone down through the colorful arc and the tiny drops of rain, making the loch sparkle.
Arms encircling each other, Laria and Cyrus kissed, their bodies seeming to meld from two into one creature with the strength of love, making it more powerful than any single creature on the earth.
They had found love together—with just a little push from Morag and the Earth Mother.
Morag turned to walk up the path through the trees. She would let them have their moment. For now.
Her sharp gaze picked out the rider galloping up the main road toward Tuath Tower, and a feeling of urgency dimmed her smile. Morag knew England was coming. Had King Henry’s brutes already reached their shores?