Chapter Two
Ailith
Ailith Grant crept across the moor in the dark of the night, moving from tree to tree, hiding behind the wide trunks along the way.
Reaching into the fold in her gown, she pulled out three of her favorite stones, the ones she used years ago to weave stories that Grandda would pass on to Grandmama Maddie.
She dropped two back into the fold and gripped her favorite one, the one of the princess on a boat, her thumb rubbing across the coolness of the rock, soothing her instantly.
That wee stone, etched with memories of Maddie and Alex Grant, gave her the courage to tiptoe across the island toward the cave where the bairns were hidden.
She would help free them, though she wasn’t sure exactly what she would need to do.
Her thumb rubbed the surface of the stone again until it sang to her, giving her the courage to move forward.
A puffin had told her it was her destiny.
Instead, just before she entered, a man came from the back of the cave, moving slowly toward her, reaching for her, his hand nearly touching hers as he tried to speak to her.
But just before she was able to touch his fingers, a rat-like creature with bats on its head dropped in front of her, snarling with a deadly warning. “Stay away or die!”
She bolted upright, her heart hammering against her ribs as sweat trickled down her brow and into her eyes. She wiped it away with a trembling hand, struggling to steady her breath. What in God’s name had she been dreaming?
Pox on the devil’s backside. Another one of those wretched visions. Nay, not a dream, but a true nightmare that left her shaking.
She squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to breathe slow and deep, as her mother had taught her, summoning Emmalin’s soothing voice to quiet the terror coursing through her veins.
This was not the first. These visions had plagued her for months, seizing her senses so completely she often woke with the urge to scream to the heavens, though she never knew what to cry.
Help.
Aye… that was it. Someone must help her make sense of them. These haunting images of bairns crying, hidden away in dark places, clinging to one another, their souls pleading for aid that never came.
Who were they?
Out of habit, she climbed out of bed and reached into a small box where her favorite items sat and pulled out the stone in her dream. Her thumb rubbed across the warm surface as she recalled the story she’d told many times over.
“Ailith?”
She jumped and kicked her stone behind the nearby chest so the visitor wouldn’t see what she was doing. Aware that it was a childhood ritual that she should have given up long ago, she kept the stones away from judgmental eyes.
Her mother stood in the doorway, her head tipped in that knowing way she had when trouble stirred. “Are you hale? I thought I heard you cry out in your sleep.”
Ailith rubbed her eyes, buying herself a moment before lowering her hands. The truth pressed in, unwelcome but undeniable. Her mother, for all her wisdom, could not help her here.
Her fingers closed into tight fists as tears threatened. She stared at them.
“Another one?” Emmalin whispered, crossing the chamber to brush back the dark curls clinging to Ailith’s damp face. “Those green eyes tell me you’ve had a fright.”
“Aye.” She drew in a steadying breath. “Mama… I think I must travel. To see Dyna. Or Sylvi, or Tora. Someone who understands what these dreams mean.”
Her mother sat beside her and wrapped an arm about her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her brow. “We’ll speak with your da. See if he’s willing to make the journey across the water again. Finish your ablutions and come below stairs. We’ll talk with him to see what he thinks.”
Ailith nodded, though her breath caught. Once her mother left, she shut the door and leaned against it.
This dream had been worse.
The others had come before. Bairns screaming, a darkness closing over them, wee ones locked in vast cellars, sometimes caged, sometimes clinging to one another with hollow, staring eyes.
But this time… something had changed.
In this vision, the creature had pointed a crooked finger at that man.
“Your fault, your fault, your fault…”
She knew neither creature nor man.
Shoving the thought aside, she washed and dressed in a dark red gown, replaiting her long, unruly waves with nimble fingers. She hurried because this was exactly when she needed her father the most.
He was the strength she needed so desperately. To stand beside the tall, dark-haired Highlander was to feel, if only for a moment, invincible. Where her mother was calm amidst the storm, her father was the storm’s answer.
Moments later, she entered the great hall of Grant Castle. Alasdair Grant sat near the hearth in quiet conversation with his uncle Connor. Her mother was nowhere in sight.
She crossed to them at once.
Both men rose, her father kissing her brow and guiding her into a cushioned chair at his side. Her gaze drifted upward, settling on the sword above the hearth, the very blade her great-grandfather had wielded against the Norse at the Battle of Largs.
“Aye, Mama says you wish to go to Duart Castle,” her father said gently. “To see Dyna.”
She swallowed and nodded, her eyes flicking between him and her great-uncle.
Connor set aside his bowl of porridge. “Sela and I depart on the morrow. Care to join us?”
“You are?” The surprise lifted her voice. Fortune, it seemed, had turned in her favor.
“Aye. Spring suits travel and Mull calls to us this time of year. I’ve business to tend to. Morgan’s new fleet.” He snorted. “The lad would wed the sea if he could. He and Magni are devils upon the waves. One day the Corryvreckan whirlpool will claim them both, I fear.”
Her father chuckled. “He fears only you, Connor. No one else can rein in that wildness.”
“Alasdair, the boy tests us daily,” Connor replied. “But enough of that. We would gladly take you along, lass, if you’ve a mind.”
Ailith glanced to her father, hope plain in her eyes.
“I don’t know, lass. Allow me the chance to discuss it with your mother before I agree. It’s a long trip to Oban and then to Mull.”
Ailith wasn’t quite sure how to disagree with the man. Had she ever before? No memory fresh in her mind, she chose the easiest answer, nodding in agreement.
The door burst open, and a dark-haired lad barreled across the hall and nearly leapt into her father’s lap. Her youngest brother, Daran, flew across the hall.
“Da, we are—”
“Halt.”
The boy froze mid-charge.
“Daran,” her father said evenly, “where does your weapon go?”
The lad scowled and dropped the wooden sword, but Alasdair’s voice stopped him again.
“Where? Not on the floor.”
“Oh… pignut.” Daran scowled at his father before he retrieved it and placed it properly in the stand by the door. He spun back and launched himself at his father.
“Are we going too? I heard Uncle Connor is going to Duart Castle. Can we go along with them? Please? I’m weary of winter. I wish to ride a boat again!”
“Do you wish to go?” Alasdair asked, amused.
Daran nodded fiercely. “I’ll see Grant again? And my other cousins?”
Ailith smiled faintly. Daran, the surprise of their parents’ later years, was five summers old and full of mischief, his treasured sword a poor imitation of their seanair’s famed blade.
Unsure of how he’d heard about it already, Ailith knew her brother was much better at convincing their father than she was. Would it work? She hid her fingers under a fold in her skirt, not wanting her father to see how they wiggled in anticipation of his answer.
Her father said, “I have to speak with Mama about this. It will be a mighty cold trip on the sea, and you know how she hates the cold.”
The door opened and their mother stood there, eyes narrowed, arms crossed. A look that told both siblings to be quiet. In fact, Daran jumped off his father’s lap and ran up the staircase.
Ailith was staying, though she said naught, catching the guilt in her father’s eyes before he covered it.
“Alasdair Grant, I am not some wee flower that will wilt in the cold. Do not make me one who suits your fears.”
Her father made it to her mother’s side in two broad steps, wrapping his arms around her to nuzzle her neck. Her mother, no wallflower who would back down to a Highland warrior, even if he was known as one of the best swordsmen in all the land, stiffened, her arms still crossed.
Emmalin MacLintock Grant, co-chieftain of Clan MacLintock, said nothing.
“Emmalin, you know how cold it will be on the ferry from Oban to Craignure.”
“And am I too delicate to make that trip?”
“Of course not. I was just thinking of your tender…”
“My what?” She caught him deftly before he could finish his words.
Ailith nearly giggled, but said nothing, her chair facing the hearth instead of her parents. Her mother did not believe she had any tender sensibilities. Her mother surely did, but her father was not going to ever say it. Of that much, Ailith was certain.
He took a step back and said, “I was thinking of you.”
“Try again, Alasdair Grant.”
He let out a low groan and said, “Aye, I was thinking of our daughter.”
“Ailith will be fine.”
“Are you sure about that? What if it all comes back on her? You know how she is when she’s in a closed situation. It brings back her time in that cell. It’s totally understandable.”
Ailith sat as still as the cliff overlooking the Sound of Mull. She wished she was standing on it that moment. Somewhere where she wouldn’t be noticed. Where she would be invisible.
Where her parents would stop protecting her.
“Our daughter is stronger than you think she is.”
Her hands kneaded in her lap. True, the mention did bring her back to the cell she’d been held captive in for five days, but this time, it changed. The image was quickly replaced by a group of bairns being hidden away. What if she were the only one to help them?
She jumped out of her chair so quickly that she nearly knocked it over. Clearing her throat, she said, “I’m going, Da.”
He turned around to face her. “What did you say?”
“Da, I’m six and twenty. I’m sure Uncle Connor won’t mind if I go along with them. If you don’t wish to go, I’ll understand, but I have to go.” There. She’d said it, and she would not back down.
Her father moved closer, his expression sharpening. “What changed, Ailith? You’ve had these dreams before. Something must have changed.”
He always saw too much.
Uncle Connor moved over to the staircase and then paused, his hand on the railing.
She lowered her voice to a whisper. “There was a creature this time, Da. A troll, mayhap. And he pointed at a man… saying, ‘Your fault.’ Again and again.”
From the balcony above, Daran’s voice rang out. “A monster? I’ll protect you, Ailith. I swear it!”
Uncle Connor peered up at her brother. “And who is eavesdropping where he should not? I’m coming for you, lad.”
“I did not drop any sheep, Uncle Connor!” Daran protested.
“Eavesdrop,” Connor corrected dryly, climbing the stairs.
Ailith waited until the noise faded.
“What do you make of it, Da?”
“I make little of it,” he admitted. “Tell me this: did you know the man the creature accused?”
“Nay.” She hesitated. “He came out of a cave where bairns were being held captive.” Ailith had never seen such a sad face before. “Da, I have to go. I hope you’ll come along, but if not, I’ll understand.”
Her mother marched across the hall. “I’m going, Alasdair. Make your decision now. I’m going to pack. Daran will go with me. Probably John too.” She headed up the staircase.
Her father went still in the way he did when something struck him hard.
His shoulders eased, just barely. She had seen that look once before, the night he carried her out of the cellar and would not put her down until they reached Grant land.
It was several moments before he spoke again.
“I will come along. As long as you tell me everything that happens when we’re there. ”
“Of course. But I need to speak to someone else who is like me. No one here is.” She had this fear that something inside her was changing. Her cousins were seers, her brother John had special abilities, but she’d never been anything special. She’d always been the quiet lass seated in the corner.
She couldn’t sit any longer.
Her father reached her side, wrapped his arms around her, kissed her forehead, and said, “Ailith, you are my verra special lass. Never forget that. I will support you in any way I can.” He let out a sigh and stepped back. “I think Dyna will be able to help you.”
She hoped he was right. Guilt already rode through her because she’d promised to tell him everything, but she did not speak the rest of the dream. The part that bothered her the most.
She did not tell him how the man had turned at the end. How his gaze had fixed upon her from behind the monster, as though he could see her across whatever veil separated them.
Nor how his lips had formed a single word.
Help.