Chapter One #2
“It is a nice thought,” Catriona said. “I mean about the fairies, not the king and the first earl.” She wrinkled her nose.
“Mother Flora has more songs in her head than you or I could imagine. My mother learned songs from her, and I hope to learn more too. I’ve gathered Gaelic tunes from every Highlander I could find.
I want to capture as many as I can before the old songs are gone, with so many changes coming to Scotland.
Some of the finest songs came from you, Morag.
For that I am grateful,” Catriona added.
“They belong to you as much as anyone.” Morag shrugged. “Mother Flora knows some rare tunes which will be lost when she is gone. It is good work you do, Catriona MacConn. I wish I had done it when I was younger. But I do not have the knack of writing as you have.”
“My mother began collecting the tunes, so I am just continuing her work. It honors the Highland culture. I fear parts of our legacy could vanish if we do nothing.”
“I fear you are right. Very well, I will take you to see old Flora soon. I have tried to convince her to come down the mountain to live with us in her elder years, but she refuses. So we bring her what she needs, and even then, she sends us away and threatens to cast spells on us. She is my gran, but she is a bad-tempered old woman.” Morag snorted.
“She might refuse to sing for me, then.”
“She might. But she liked your mother, and your voice is lovely enough to please the fairies themselves. Or even Flora, that old she-goat,” Morag muttered.
Catriona smothered a laugh. “We’ll need better weather to go up there.” She peered at the thick mist ringing the mountaintop. “The clouds are getting thicker and the rain is turning to sleet. I hope Flora is safe.”
“She will be fine.” Morag glanced up. “Truly, you should stay with us tonight. Our house is that way, so you will not have to cross the fairy bridge. It is slick in the rain and those stones wobble in a high wind.”
“I will leap that bridge like a nanny goat.” Catriona laughed and hugged her friend, then tucked Morag’s shawl snug. “Hurry home and get warm.”
“Give me the basket. I will keep the knitted things dry until we need them. There, I have it. Now meet me in three days by the fairy bridge, and we will go up to see Mother Flora. Will your brother have good news by then?” She lifted a brow.
“About your kin who left the glen?” Catriona shrugged. “He tried to find them, even went down to Glasgow to inquire. But I do not think he has an answer for you yet.”
“Ten years is a long time, and many went farther than Glasgow. I hope Finlay will have good news for us someday. He was able to bring the MacGillechallums back to their abandoned croft on the slopes of Ben Alligin.” She smiled.
“I saw Angus MacGillechallum out watching the sheep as he used to do, with no one the wiser. And we will never tell.”
“So long as the new Earl of Kildonan keeps away from Glen Shee, Finlay can bring in whoever he likes to work on the estate now that he is Kildonan’s factor. I did not like the appointment at first, but now I see he will do good work for the glen and its people.”
“Bringing some of them back rights some wrong, for sure,” Morag said. “The new earl may not care what happens here. He will grow fat and rich on the profits from Kildonan wool, but he seems to have no interest in how it gets to market.”
“Which leaves us to do what we like here.” Catriona smiled.
“True. Now run, Catriona Mhòr. Let those long legs carry you home swiftly, tall girl.” Morag waved, then turned to hurry along a narrow track that led over a hill to her home.
Catriona went in another direction, following an old drover’s track that wended downward between ancient pines clinging to steep hillsides. The path was overgrown, trampled by countless sheep and some wild goats.
Overhead, heavy clouds swept toward the mountains. The rain grew colder, carrying stinging sleet. Perhaps she should have accepted Morag’s invitation after all, she thought.
The old bridge would be slippery, she realized, and so decided to take the longer route following the old track. Ice was accumulating underfoot already, and her father’s manse, Glenachan House, was several miles away.
Drawing the plaid over her head to shield against cold pelting rain, she walked on.
*
Evan moved slightly to test his limbs, realizing he lay on a rocky ledge sparkling with sleet.
Head aching, he looked around. The dark gneiss wall soared above him, and along one of its angles he noticed the faint snowy trail marking his descent to the ledge.
His head ached where he had hit the ledge, and he could feel a lump there.
Otherwise, he was unhurt, though he felt stiff and slow.
His knapsack dangled from one shoulder, the rope was still tied around his waist, and the iron claw was caught nearby, though he had lost the small ax that had been tucked in his belt.
With a groan, he shifted to his hands and knees, gathered the length of rope, and moved carefully along the ledge to reach an incline that slanted downward.
Standing, he stepped carefully downward, but his head swam and his balance was still uncertain.
He sat, raising his knees to lean his head in his arms and give his foggy brain a chance to clear.