Chapter 8 #3
“As they knew it would, the day for her departure to the land of the fairies arrived. The fairy princess and the chief were brokenhearted but knew that they must honor their promise. For once given, the word of the MacLeod was absolute and could not be broken. At her leavetaking, the princess sought a promise from her husband. He must vow to never let their son be alone, for the fairy princess could not bear to hear the crying of her precious child. At last, with a desperate, bittersweet kiss intended to last a lifetime, the princess left her beloved husband and son behind, fading into the mist over the bridge that we now call the Fairy Bridge in memory of their parting, returning sorrowfully to the fairy folk.”
The seannachie paused dramatically. Silence filled the hall.
He motioned for a goblet and ever so slowly took a seemingly endless gulp of ale.
The hall was heavy with the dull drumming sound of silence.
He looked like a druid from another time, with swirls of smoke from the peat fires spinning mystically over his head.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his furry hand and looked carefully about the room to ensure that his audience was listening.
They were.
“The pain of the chief was immeasurable. His beloved wife was lost to him forever. But he consoled himself with the fact that at least he had his son. He kept his promise to his wife, and the child was never left alone. Never, that is, until the night of the celebration of the chief’s day of birth.
That night, a great feast was held to cheer the despondent chief.
The pipers filled the air with the magic of their music, and the chief at last allowed himself to dance and sing.
But, alas, the joyful sounds drew the attention of the nursemaid whose duty it was to watch over the child.
She left the wee bairn unattended, and he began to cry.
Far, far away in the land of the fairy folk, the princess heard the pitiful wailings of her child and her heart was struck with an intolerable pain.
She rushed to her child and comforted him with whispered words of magic.
The princess wrapped him securely in her shawl and gently kissed his tears, singing him sweet fairy songs to calm his crying.
The words she sang, her fairy charm, are still sung to the MacLeod’s heirs to this day.
“Later, when the nursemaid finally returned, she found the child sleeping peacefully wrapped in a fine ethereal crimson-and-yellow swath of fabric.
“Many years later, the boy told his father what had happened that night—the night his mother returned to Dunvegan and left her shawl, the Bratach Shi, for her son. The princess bestowed the Fairy Flag upon her child to protect the clan. If the MacLeods were ever in great jeopardy, the flag must be unfurled and waved three times, and the knights of the fairies would appear to their defense. But as we know is always true with the fairies, there were conditions. If anyone other than a MacLeod should touch the flag, that person would immediately perish. And most important of all, the magic of the flag would work only three times. So it should be used only in the direst of circumstances.”
His voice had dropped to barely a whisper, but his words were heard by all. The seannachie had spun a web of magic of his own throughout the hall. Isabel scooted forward in her seat, anxiously awaiting the rest.
“The flag is kept in a secret place known only to the chief, safely tucked away in a locked box but ready to be unfurled if the clan should ever again need its fairy magic. There is but one unfurling left in the flag, for its powers were needed twice in the time of Alasdair Crotach—once to save the clan from sure defeat at the hands of Clan Donald and again to save the clan from starvation. But I will save those tales for another night.”
Disappointed groans echoed throughout the great hall, and not just from the wee lads and lassies. But in the tradition of all great bards, Eoin Og O’Muireaghsain left his audience wanting. Regal as a king, he slowly returned to his seat, basking proudly in the thunderous applause.
Isabel was moved, held spellbound by the charming tale of lost love and maternal protection by the fairy princess for her child.
The story touched a chord in the heart of the girl who had lost her own mother at birth and the woman who yearned for the romantic love of troubadours.
Looking around the room at the happy, cheering faces of the MacLeod clansmen, Isabel could see that she was not the only one affected by the tale.
The MacLeods treasured the famous Fairy Flag, and she could see from their proud faces that they believed in its magic.
She knew that in the end it did not matter whether the flag really possessed fairy magic.
The MacLeods believed in its magic, and faith could be every bit as powerful as truth.
Her uncle wanted that power—whether to wield for the MacDonalds or simply to destroy the MacLeods.
It did not matter. The MacLeods would not have a talisman to rally around, and that would be enough for their ultimate ruin and destruction.
Of course, it wouldn’t hurt if she also managed to locate a secret entrance to their stronghold.
Guiltily, she lowered her gaze from the cheering clansmen.
She felt almost as if she were violating a private moment—intruding on a sacred ritual.
Now that she better understood the origins of the flag, Isabel was filled with a sense of dread.
She would be the instrument of their destruction.
And she realized there was yet another complication, as if locating the flag and fleeing the castle without being caught weren’t enough. She also had to avoid death.
Chancing a sideways glance at the powerful man seated next to her, Isabel knew that if the flag didn’t kill her, Rory well could.