Chapter Fifteen
“Morag sings like a frog, so I never taught her my fairy songs,” Flora said when they were back inside the cozy croft. Morag gaped in protest as Flora went on. “Your voice is clear and bright, Catriona Mhòr, and now I know you love the old songs.”
“I do, Mother Flora,” Catriona said. “And I want to protect them.”
“You are Countess of Kildonan, which is not good. But I liked your mother.”
“Catriona Mhòr will value your songs,” Morag insisted. “Put aside your resentment of Kildonan and teach her.”
“I cannot trust her husband,” Flora said.
“How can my songs be safe in his house? Outlanders and holiday visitors will ask the countess to sing pretty songs of the Highlands. Bah, that is not the way. These are powerful songs, magical. They must be appreciated and understood. The new earl will not understand that, just like his father.”
“He is not like his father,” Catriona defended. “He is a good man and he will appreciate these songs. You can trust him,” she said. The words rang through her heart. Trust him. She felt fiercely protective of him, as well as the songs.
“He is a beautiful man, too,” Morag said. “If you would ever come down off this mountain, Mother Flora, you would see for yourself. Such a fine man!”
“Ach, no finer man than my husband, and he died even before the clearings in this glen. He would not have stood for it! Tall one, did your mother teach you any of my songs?”
“She used to sing us a lullaby that she called a fairy song. I think it came from you.” Catriona closed her eyes to remember, then sat straight and began to sing the sweet melody that her mother had crooned to her children to lull them to sleep.
My joy and my heart
My laughter and my tears
My child, my little child
Hill o hu ro, hill o hu ro, hiri o…
“Ah, nicely done,” Flora said. “One of mine, aye. My own mother sang it, and said her mother had it from the fairies who came to peek at her child in the cradle. So you want to know what I know, eh?”
“I do,” Catriona said.
“You have a gift. But we want approval from the fairies before you have their songs.”
“Truly?” Catriona asked, looking at Morag, who shrugged.
“Hush. Let me think…” Flora went to the window to pick up a chunk of smoky quartz that sat on the sill. She rolled it in her palm.
“That’s a Cairngorm stone,” Catriona said. Such rocks, named for mountains to the east, occurred naturally in translucent shades of brown and could be found on many Highland slopes. She sometimes saw them in the hills. “I can get some for you if you want.”
Flora set the crystal down, where it winked, whisky colored, in the light.
“This sort is easy to find. The one you want is rare. Go find a fairy wand made of Cairngorm stone. They are not easy to find. But they shine with their own magic light. If you find one, it will be a gift from the fairies, and I will teach you my songs.”
“Are they also called fairy crystals? The old tales mention them as magical, so I did not know they were real. Where can they be found?”
“My husband found one many years ago at the top of Ben Shee.” Flora pointed out the window to indicate the mountain that shadowed her house.
“Has anyone ever gone that far? You know climbing that peak is very difficult.” Her own brother had died on its slopes years ago.
“It is not easy, but my husband did it. If you want my songs, tall girl, find a way to do this. They do say the mountaintop sparkles with all the fairy crystals that grow thick there. I want you to find the most precious kind, the wand that shines in moonlight.”
“Moonlight!” Morag shook her head. “Mother Flora, you cannot send the girl up a mountain in the dark!”
“It is her choice if she wants the songs. The fairies will help you get up there, lass, and if they favor you, they will show you the way.”
“Ach, she’s lived alone with her crazy dreams far too long,” Morag muttered to Catriona. “Mother Flora, this is the Countess of Kildonan and a new bride, not some lass to be sent on a magic quest like in an ancient folktale!”
“How do you think I got the fairy songs?” Flora asked. “They are not granted to just anyone. You must work for the privilege.”
“What did you do? Fly over the mountains on a broomstick?” Morag asked.
“If you must know, crabby girl, I had to win Rory MacLeod’s heart so that the fairies would trust me with the songs.
An old woman set me the task. And I did it.
And he gave me his heart and a fairy wand too.
Winning that bonny man was harder than climbing a mountain, I swear.
But worth it.” She gave a crooked smile. “What say you, tall girl?”
Catriona frowned. All her life, she had wanted to learn the legendary fairy songs, whose exquisite melodies were said to hold special magic.
Her dearest dream was to learn them and preserve them safely with other Highland songs.
But these, the rare fairy music, drew her interest even more than the other songs, and no one knew them as well as Mother Flora.
Without them, Catriona’s work would never be complete.
She would find a way, she decided. Evan had spoken of taking risks, taking a chance on their marriage while she clung to what felt safe.
Now she would have to find the courage to climb higher than she had ever gone to find the fairy crystal.
If she could do this, she would have the fairy wand and the songs—and she would be ready to risk anything to love the Earl of Kildonan, when others thought she should not.
That this provocative chance appeared now was a sign she could not ignore.
“I will do it,” she said, lifting her chin.
“Then hurry,” Flora said. “I’m a very old woman.”
*
Later, Catriona and Morag crossed the bridge as nimbly and as carefully as ever.
Yet with a glance over her shoulder, Catriona knew that Evan was right to close the bridge for repairs.
She felt proud that the new earl was determined to improve something for safety’s sake rather than simply make changes and draw profit.
Making it back in time for tea, she shared a quiet tea with Jean, Harry, and Arthur, who said that Evan was out on some errand to do with a bridge.
She smiled at that, and afterward, going for a walk, her path intersected with his on moorland north of the castle, where the long grass was autumn gold and the wind cut cold and damp.
As they strolled back to Kildonan, he did not question her about taking the bridge again, asking only if she and Morag had a pleasant afternoon. She told him a little about their visit with Flora MacLeod, and he nodded as he listened.
“These old Gaelic songs are very important to you.”
“Very,” she agreed. “Did you walk the hills with Mr. Fitzgibbon today?”
“Not today. I spent some time with the account books for the estate, and went to the stables to talk with Mr. Gillie about livestock and the living the land gives us and so on.” He shrugged.
“And I inquired about finding men to help repair that old bridge. It’s well past time I devoted my days to the needs of the estate and the glen. ”
As he lifted a shoulder again, Catriona sensed his remorse and that he seemed pensive and tired.
“It is good of you to make sure the bridge gets fixed again,” she said.
“Either repaired or torn down and made again. We shall see. It should have been done long ago. Amazing that no one has been hurt there. I mean to find out what other matters in the glen need attention as well.”
She thought quickly of Finlay, quietly moving families back into the glen. If Evan looked closely into matters in the glen, he might be very displeased.
“I learned a new song today,” she blurted, wanting to change the subject.
“Did you? Would you sing it?”
Surprised and pleased by that, she cleared her throat and began a tune Flora had sung to her that day, going through it three times. That had been a test, Catriona knew, to see how well she could capture a song.
As she sang, Evan listened, tilting his head, looking into the distance. When it ended, he touched her shoulder briefly. The gentle caress sent a shiver through her, a thrill of affection that felt as sweet as if he had kissed her.
They walked back to the house talking of general things—the weather, the beautiful glen, the goats and sheep that clung so curiously to hillsides—with no more mention of songs or any agreements that lay unspoken between them.
In the foyer, Evan smiled. “I should find my sister to report about livestock and such. Will you come?”
She shook her head, but was glad to be asked. “We walked miles today. I am a bit tired and thought to rest before supper.”
He held her gaze for a moment, and she thought something was on his mind. He only nodded. “Supper, then.”
Once she was back in her room, she read for a little, dozed in a chair, and woke to twilight and a quiet rapping on the door. She opened it to admit Lady Jean.
“Sorry, I fell asleep,” she said, blushing.
“Evan is sleeping too,” Jean said. “I told him that neither of you should feel obligated to come down to dinner after such a long day out and about. I’ll plead fatigue for you and will have trays sent up for each of you.”
“Thank you,” Catriona said, surprised and touched.
“You survived quite an ordeal in that awful storm, and then the wedding and all the challenges of coming to a new home. You should take your time.”
“It all happened so quickly,” Catriona agreed, feeling a sense of relief.
Jean patted her shoulder. “You need rest, and so does he, just as Mr. Grant advised.”
At the mention of Kenneth Grant, Catriona suppressed a shudder. She stood by as Jean went about her room like a brisk wind, drawing the draperies closed, folding clothes, even running a bath from the brass taps without calling for a maid, and building up the fire in the hearth.
“Lady Jean, you must not, please,” Catriona protested.
“Relax! I often do things myself. There is no need to call a maid for every wee thing.”
She laughed. “I am the same. But in my father’s manse, we have only a few staff, and not nearly so large a house.” She did not add that she was often expected to do the work.
“I will have supper sent up and ask that you not be disturbed after that, you and Evan both.” Jean set a hushing finger to her lips as she shut the door.
After her bath, warm and refreshed, dressed in a plain nightgown and the generous folds of a woolen shawl, she answered a tap on the door. Deirdre entered with a tray holding a bowl of hot, thick soup, a plate of bread, cheese, and apples, and a pot of hot tea.
Eating a little, sated and drowsy, she settled in the bed with its abundance of pillows and quilts, and read a book of Highland legends. Her mind was not on the text, and she drifted to sleep, more tired than she had realized.
Deep in the night, she woke, hearing a soft sound.
She got up and went to the door of the sitting room connecting the two bedrooms. As a pang of temptation went through her, she opened it to pad across the dim, deserted room to stand at Evan’s door.
Though the urge to knock was strong, she only rested her hand on the door.
She heard the creak of the floor and the rhythmic pattern of steps on carpeting. He was pacing. Whatever disturbed his sleep also disturbed hers.
His steps paused just at the door where she stood. She could feel him there, keen and present on the other side of the door. Leaning her brow against the wood, she exhaled.
“Evan?” she whispered.
Silence. She sensed him there with every part of her body. Closing her eyes, she thought of tender, heated kisses, felt need and passion course through her. All she had to do was open the door and go into his arms. All or nothing, he had said.
But she wanted more than an agreement. She wanted love, deep and lasting, wanted a dream to become real.
“Catriona,” he murmured.
She put her mouth to the gap between door and frame. “Evan.”
“What is it?”
All or nothing. But she was not ready. She trusted him better, but could not entirely trust the situation.
Something held her back. Her deep connection to the glen.
Her brother’s secret work. What Kenneth Grant had said.
She could not risk an impulsive step that might please her for the time being but cause harm in the long run.
“Good night,” she whispered.
A pause. “Good night, lass.” His low voice reverberated in her heart, her soul.
She backed away, then turned and fled back to her room to bury herself in soft, snowy linens and loneliness.
She wanted him, wanted this life, wanted this dream. The desire felt exquisite and powerful within, a lure stronger than any she had ever known. And yet it felt just out of reach as well, as if she might fall if she reached for it and missed.