Chapter Two
Rachel
I stand atop the battlements of Dùndubhan Castle, my hair whipping about my face as I gaze out at the vast expanse of wilderness that surrounds the fortress. The wind carries the crisp scent of heather and pine, a familiar fragrance that usually soothes my restless spirit. But today, it only fuels my longing for something more than the cloistered life I've always lived. I might as well have grown up in a nunnery.
Adventure? Excitement? Romance? Nay, I have no such opportunities. I have only my parents and my great-aunts to converse with, and they are all considerably older than I am. No one has come here for such a long time that I feel certain I will never again see another stranger or even a long-lost friend. Well, my grandparents visit us occasionally, though they prefer to remain in the village of Loch Fairbairn. I am not permitted to go there.
Why? Because my family believes I must be cloistered for my own protection.
Not that any miscreants have ever attempted to harm me. My mother and father are overly protective.
My gaze travels toward the waters of Loch Fairbairn in the distance as I imagine what lies beyond the forest---and the hills I can see in the distance. Nothing of much interest lies o'er the mountains far yonder. But I do know what awaits in another time, another millennium that I cannot reach. My mother was born there. Her world bustles with cities filled with towering buildings that scrape the sky. That's why they call them skyscrapers. Those busy streets are filled with people from all corners of the world and adventures waiting to unfold.
Ne're shall I see that strange other world.
I sigh, resting my arms on the stone parapet. As I gaze at the horizon, I speak to myself. "Oh, to spread my wings and fly far from this gilded cage."
I wince at my ungrateful thought. My mother and father have encouraged me to spread my wings however I choose---as long as I don't visit the village of Loch Fairbairn. I understand why they fetter me so. It's because they love me. And I am grateful for this life I share with my family. Though I lament my lack of excitement, I must admit that I have enjoyed second-hand adventures. Guarin Abadie has come to our home twice in my life, and the Frenchman told wonderful stories about faraway places like France and England and even the Far East.
Och, how I wish I could see the world.
The Highlands are beautiful, wild, and magical---and the only home I've ever known. But lately, the hills of Scotland feel confining, as if I wear a corset that's pulled too tight. I yearn to break free, to experience life beyond these ancient walls and mist-shrouded lochs.
"Careful, sweetie," a familiar voice warns. "Lean over any more, and your wish to fly away might become a reality."
At the sound of my mother's voice, I spin round in surprise, feeling my cheeks grow warm, as if she's caught me doing something wicked. She strides toward me, wearing a motherly smile as her beautiful auburn hair glistens in the afternoon light.
" Màthair ! I didn't even hear you approach." I struggle to hide my embarrassment with a forced laugh.
She joins me at the wall, bumping my shoulder affectionately. "Lost in those daydreams again, huh? I swear, sometimes I think your head's so full of dreams in the clouds that there's barely room for your brain."
I roll my eyes but can't help smiling. "Says the bean who frequently regales us with tales of skyscrapers and subways. Bean means woman, in case you've forgotten."
"Nope, I haven't forgotten," my mother concedes with a wink. "Speaking of which, want to hear about another adventure in the concrete jungle?"
My heart leaps at the prospect of another story from the modern world. "Always. You know I adore every tale you share with me."
"You're my best audience." She winks, then launches into her story. "Picture this: I'm visiting New York on business and decide to power walk down Fifth Avenue. I've got my laptop bag slung over one shoulder and a venti latte in hand---because in New York, caffeine is essentially a food group..."
I listen, enthralled, as my mother weaves her tale. The way she describes the towering buildings, the constant hum of activity, the sheer energy of the city...it's intoxicating. I can almost smell the street vendor's pretzels and hear the cacophony of honking taxis.
"...and then this guy in a hot dog costume---don't ask, it's a long story---comes barreling around the corner. Next thing I know, I'm wearing my venti latte and doing an impromptu tango with Mr. Wiener!"
I burst out laughing, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "Och, Màthair ! Only you could turn a simple coffee run into such chaos."
"Sweetie, I love it when you call me Mother in Gaelic."
"After so many years in Scotland, ye still haven't learned the entire Gaelic language. But I wouldnae wish to change you. Now, please, please tell me the rest of your New York tale."
Màthair grins, clearly pleased with my reaction, and regales me with more mishaps in the Big Apple. When she's done, she shrugs. "What can I say? I lived life on the edge...of complete disaster, usually."
I know she has embellished her tales, but I've loved her stories ever since I was old enough to understand them.
As our laughter fades, I turn back to the loch. A familiar ache settles in my chest, and my voice grows softer. "It sounds wonderful. All of it. Even the disasters."
My mother rests her hand on my shoulder, and the warm, comforting feeling soothes me. "Hey now, sweetie, don't go getting that faraway look again. Your adventures are waiting for you too, sweetie. They just might not come packaged quite how you expect."
I try to take her words to heart and not let my dreams get the better of me. Yet as I gaze out at the familiar landscape, I can't help but wonder. Will my own story ever be as thrilling as the ones my family tell?
I'm about to respond to what Màthair said when heavy footsteps clap behind us, coming closer. I turn, my heart skipping a beat as I see my father, Kieran, striding down the walkway. His imposing figure is silhouetted against the setting sun, but as he draws closer, I notice the hint of a smile softening his usually stern features.
"There ye are, lasses," he rumbles, his deep voice carrying a mixture of affection and authority. "I've news for ye both."
I straighten instinctively, my curiosity piqued. "What is it, Athairich ?"
Aye, I often use the Gaelic terms for mother and father. I'm quite proud of my Highland heritage.
My father clasps his hands behind his back, his golden eyes gleaming, and smiles. "The clan gathering's been set for the next full moon. We've much to prepare."
My breath catches. The clan gathering? We haven't been invited to that event in all my life. It's been years since the last one, and I know what it's like only because my great-aunts shared their tales with me. The gathering is a whirlwind of tartans, music, and age-old traditions. I feel a surge of excitement, quickly followed by a twinge of...something else. Disappointment? Dread?
A thrill rushes through me at the thought of seeing and speaking to other MacTaggarts, not to mention other clans. But my excitement dies quickly. The last full moon won't arise for nearly a month. We must wait that long for the gathering.
"Why would they invite us?" Màthair says.
"Aye, that's the question, isn't it?" Athairich 's brow furrows as he strokes his beard. It's only a slight beard since Alyssa Vescovi refuses to kiss her husband unless he trimmed his facial hair. "The Buchanans have extended the invitation, though I cannae say why after all these years."
I exchange a glance with my mother, seeing my own mix of eagerness and wariness reflected in her eyes. The clan gathering is an opportunity, certainly, but one that could bring danger as well as new ventures.
"Will we attend?" I ask, trying to hide the eagerness in my voice.
My father's gaze narrows on mine, but then his expression softens. "Aye, lass, we must. It would be an insult if we skipped the event, and in these times, we can ill afford to make enemies."
My mind is already racing with possibilities. The gathering means a chance to meet people from beyond our castle walls, to hear stories of the wider world. But it also means I'll need to be on my guard, to keep my nascent powers hidden. We MacTaggarts are witches, after all---save for Màthair .
"We'll need to prepare," my mother says, her tone thoughtful. "Rachel, you'll need a new dress. And we should review proper etiquette for---"
"Aye, and ye'll need to mind yer tongue, lass," my father interjects, his gaze stern but not unkind. "No talk of yer mother's world or any...unusual abilities. We cannae risk drawing attention."
I feel a pang of disappointment but solemnly nod my agreement. "I understand, Athairich . I'll be the very picture of a proper Highland lass."
Father smiles tenderly. "I know ye will, mo nighean . Ye always make us proud."
As he turns to leave, Mother gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry, sweetie-pie. There will still be plenty of excitement, even if we have to keep some things under wraps."
The clan gathering may not be New York City, but it's a step into a wider world. And who knows what adventures---or dangers---might await me there?
Over the next few days, Dùndubhan buzzes with activity. Màthair and Athairich along with myself and my three elderly aunts, all scurry about in a whirlwind of activity. My father airs out his great kilt, and Mother irons out the kilt and his best shirt for him. Màthair fusses over my new gown, making sure every seam is perfect. And I...well, I try my best to stay out of trouble.
But on the third morning, as the sun peeks over the misty hills, I find myself drawn to the shores of Loch Fairbairn. I sneak away before the others have woken so I can enjoy a bit of solitude. The water laps gently at the pebbled beach, its surface a mirror of the pink-tinged sky above. I glance over my shoulder, making sure I'm alone, before closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. Focusing my mind, I extend my hand toward the loch. At first, nothing happens. Then, ever so slightly, a tendril of water rises from the surface, twisting and curling in the air like a translucent serpent.
"Come hither," I whisper, willing the water to obey. The tendril grows thicker, rising higher. I smile as I guide it through the air, making it dance and swirl around me.
But then the magical serpent dissipates and splashes back down into the water. Bod an Donais , why have my powers still not reached the level of Efrica, Morna, and Lachina?
When I return to the castle, my father gives me his patented stern look, his arms crossed over his cheat. "How many times I've asked ye not to go beyond Dùndubhan land? It's unwise."
I shrug. "But I need priobairneach ."
"No one requires excitement, lass. Vow you will never go beyond Dùndubhan land again. Please, Rachel."
My father watches out for us all, and 'tis a hard job with so many magical women on the premises. So, I give in. "I vow it, Father."
"Thank you, mo nighean ." He offers me his arm as we enter the castle where the rest of the family is already waiting. "The clan gathering 'tis a grand occasion. Rachel, you shall have a special role this time. We've all agreed that you should lead our contingent in the welcoming ceremony."
I swallow hard. "Me? But...that's always been your duty, Father."
"And now 'tis time for you to take your place at the head of our procession along with me and your mother. Our people look to us, Rachel. We must uphold the old ways, even as the world changes around us."
"Of course, you're right. I won't let you down."
While my whole family begins to discuss the preparations, my mind wanders as it often does. I love my clan and my family. But I still yearn for more---for adventure, for the unknown, for something wonderful to happen. I close my eyes, picturing myself in my mother's New York, navigating crowded streets and towering buildings. Mayhap I would explore ancient ruins in Egypt or trek through lush jungles. She told me about those things too.
As our evening meal winds down, I make my excuses and head for my chamber, my mind buzzing with fresh ideas for things to try tomorrow. What if I could master my powers in time for the gathering? Mayhap then I could use them to help my family, or even impress the Buchanans. They have always viewed my family as being beneath them.
Och, how I wish I had a modern mattress like the ones my mother has told me about. Medieval beds aren't "cushy," as she would say. I flop onto my bed, staring up at the stone ceiling, thinking about all the stories Mother shared---about her life before she was transported here, about the wonders of the modern world. Would I be as brave as she was, plunging into an unknown future with nothing but her wits?
"What if..." I whisper to myself, grinning at my thoughts. "What if I could use water to travel? To see other times, other places?"
The thought sends a thrill through me. I may not have mastered my powers yet, but I can feel it. Something monumental is coming. And whatever it is, I'll be ready.
I drift off to sleep, dreaming of lochs that stretch across centuries and adventures yet to come.