Epilogue
“So this is your bridegroom.” Hands on her hips, Flora scrutinized Evan. Tiny, elfin, wizened, she stood in the doorway of her little house while Evan and Catriona stood outside in drizzling rain.
Evan smiled politely, wishing he had worn a hat if the woman would not let them inside. Today brought more rain and wind; they had seen over a week of poor weather since climbing the mountain again to bring Grant back for burial and service.
“Mother Flora, English, if you please,” Catriona said.
Flora nodded, gazing up at Evan. “He’s a tall one. Tall enough for you, girl.”
He huffed, amused. He liked her bluntness. “Thank you.”
Catriona tucked her hand inside his elbow. “Tall enough, and suits me well,” she said. “My dear Kildonan, this is Flora MacLeod.”
“Very pleased, Mrs. MacLeod.” He extended his hand. “Evan Mackenzie.”
“Huh.” Flora offered her small, gnarly hand. “I know who you are, but we best not speak of that here,” she grumbled.
“We need never speak of it, if you like. Just think of me as Catriona’s husband.” He patted Catriona’s hand, tucked in his arm. “But I would be most pleased if you would think of me as a Highlander happy to be home in Glen Shee again.”
Flora tilted her head. “Who brought my great-grandson William and his wife Helen and their little ones back here? Was it you, Mr. Mackenzie?”
“Not I, madam. That credit goes to Finlay MacConn and his father and sister.”
“My kin are back home because you let them stay.”
He shrugged. “Their home is here. I think we can bring a few more people back to the glen. We shall see.”
Flora nodded curtly. “Well,” she said. “Well, then. Come in out of the rain.” She moved back as they stepped over the threshold.
“Watch your heads. Tall people,” she muttered.
“My husband knocked his head on that lintel every day, but he made the ceiling in here high enough for your kind. Well, sit down.”
Entering the dim little house, Evan found it neat and orderly, though it smelled suspiciously of goat. Escorting the women to wooden chairs, he sat on bench by the fire.
“What did you bring me?” Flora leaned to poke at the basket that Catriona carried. “Not more stockings, I have enough of those. I need a scarf, though.”
“I have one here.” Catriona reached into the basket to draw out the soft, knitted folds of a blue scarf.
With a cry of delight, Flora wrapped it around her neck, the ends dangling in her lap. “What else?”
“Fruit,” Catriona said, showing several apples.
“Bah! I have apples. Morag brought me some yesterday. What else?”
Catriona smiled at Evan, her secret dancing in her blue eyes. More than one secret glowed there, he suspected, but she had not mentioned it yet. He wondered if she knew herself. The blush upon her cheek and the vivid sparkle in her eyes made it clear to him, or so he thought.
“I did bring one wee thing for you.” Catriona handed Flora a piece of folded linen.
Flora opened it gently. Cradled and gleaming in the pale fabric, the little fairy crystal winked, its tiny heart rosy. Delicate strands of light and color danced over its smooth facets.
“Ach!” Flora breathed. “You found it!”
“We did. Well, Evan found it,” Catriona admitted. She folded her hands in her lap and smiled as the old woman turned the stone that sparkled in the low light of the hearth fire.
Flora tilted her head. “You climbed Ben Shee for the sake of the fairy songs.”
“I did. But Evan found the stone. He risked his life to fetch it out of the Eagh Dubh.”
Flora nodded and met Evan’s gaze. “I heard what happened up there. Morag told me that the doctor fell to his death. It is sad and tragic. He did not know as much doctoring as I do, and he did not know enough about climbing, I see. But he had his place in the glen and will be missed. I did think he was a bit crazy though.”
“You seem like a very wise woman, Mother Flora,” Evan said.
“I am,” she agreed. She peered at him, nodded to herself, and looked at Catriona. “Well, then, I suppose you will expect me to teach you my fairy songs now.”
“I would like it very much if you would.”
“I could, I suppose,” Flora said. “But we will have to work quickly. In a few months, you will not want to come up here to see me.”
Catriona looked surprised. “Of course I will come up here to see you. Why not?”
“Ask him,” Flora said, jabbing a thumb toward Evan. “He knows why.”
Catriona turned to him. “What?”
“Well,” he said. “I thought perhaps you had another secret, my dear.”
She laughed softly, a sparkle dancing in her eyes. “And what would that be, sir?”
He took her hand, lifting it to kiss her knuckles. “Mother Flora,” he said then, “may I ask one favor of you?”
“Aye, Mr. Mackenzie.” Flora grinned. “I might do a favor for the new earl.”
“Will you teach me one of your fairy songs? I want to learn a lullaby.”
Catriona gasped. He saw tears glisten in her eyes as she watched him.
“Ah.” Flora nodded. “And why should I do that?”
Evan kissed Catriona’s hand and set it down. “I would like to sing it to my son.”
Catriona smiled, lip trembling. “What if we have a daughter?”
“I’ll sing to her, too, of course.” He pressed her hand in his, filled with the deepest gratitude for presence in his life, for the love she gave him, for the child protected inside her. “And when our children are older, they can sing the fairy songs to their little ones someday.”
With a sob, Catriona came into his arms. He hugged her, and glanced at Mother Flora, who wiped away a tear.
“Enough of that, you two. We have work to do. Listen.” She began to sing, her voice warm, true, and pure, and not at all aged.
Evan listened to the calming melody, not understanding most of the Gaelic, but feeling the peaceful grace and healing of the old music pouring through him.
Then Catriona began to sing softly, repeating. Flora sang it again, teaching it to both of them. Evan hummed the lyrical melody in quiet harmony.
“You have a fine voice for an earl,” Flora said. Evan pressed back a smile.
“You do have a wonderful voice,” Catriona said. “I wish you would sing more often.”
“I will,” Evan said, feeling his heart lift, lighten. “Perhaps I will now.”