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Authors: Master of The Highland (html)
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MacLeansand his ladys.
His new ladys.
The lass meant for him since time beyond mind.
Clucking her tongue, the crone shook her grizzled head. Much grief would neer have come to pass had not men, with their fool meddlings into things best left alone, procured Iain the Doubter a political marriage to benefit the clan rather than the needs of his own braw heart.
For sweet-natured and comely as Lileas MacInnes had been, she wasnt The One.
And none of the powers-that-be at the time had heeded Devorgillas discreet reminders of the MacLean Bane, the Legend. Neither Iains late father, nor his Council of Elders. Nary a one of the better-knowing graybeards had listened to her.
Even her more dire warnings had fallen on deaf ears.
Thered even been threats to banish her from Doon if she didnt cease what they called her foolish prattle.
Her brow furrowing at their benightedness, the crone banished the lot of them to the farthest reaches of her mind. Greater powers than hers would be needed to undo ill-made choices of the past.
A wiser move would be to help along the future.
To that end, the cailleach curled knobby-knuckled fingers around the edge of the wooden bowl and dragged it across the tables rough-planked surface until it rested at the very edge.
Leaning forward, she brought her wizened face to within inches of the bowl.
Just to be certain her eyes hadnt deceived her.
They hadnt.
Both stones, smooth and glistening Highland quartz, glowed with a finer luminosity than eer before.
Not yet the blinding brilliance she was hoping for, but with a goodly portion more shine and inner fire than shed expected to see this day. And they vibrated . . . Devorgilla even fancied a faint humming sound came from deep within their pulsing depths.
At once, sheerest pleasure stole over her. The giddy, breathless kind better suited to starry-eyed young lasses with all their days yet stretching before them.
But a gladness warm enough to do her bent frame a world of good nonetheless. And with no one but her napping grandson, Lugh, and her tricolored cat, Mab, to see her lapse of dignity, she gave an uninhibited cackle of delight and clapped gnarled hands in glee.
Indulging herself, she touched a fingertip first to her stone, then to his. For, at long last, the male stone had lost some of its chilly blue tint, and like the female stone, now showed a slowly spreading point of pulsating reddish gold at its core.
Equally telling, its flawless surface warmed her finger.
More than satisfied, the crone lifted her hand away from the bowl and straightened, for once not cringing at the creaks and pops of her aged bones.
Then, assuming a more suitably solemn mien, she recited the spelling words. One be you, and one be she. When your ladys heart catches fire, you will recognize her.
At once, and for the first time ever, the wee glow deep inside the female stone seemed to first contract, then burst, spindly rays of bright red-gold shooting outward, some even reaching the very edges of the stone before retracting.
An erupting firestorm by no means, but enough.
The time had come, and theyd met.
There could be no denying it, for Fairy Fire Stones always spoke the truth.
Blinking hard, for a good cailleach neer shed a tear, Devorgilla patted her wiry white hair and allowed herself a trembly-lipped smile.
Her magic was working.
Iain the Doubter was a doubter no more.
Chapter Four
G ODS GOOD MERCY, BUT I cannot take another step. Her cheeks pink with exertion, Nella of the Marsh flung herself onto the grassy bank of the fast-moving Molendinar Burn. Breathing heavy enough to flood Madeline with guilt, she glanced over her shoulder at the whin and broom-studded abbey hill rising steeply behind her. Will not take another step, she amended. My feet would rise in rebellion should I even try.
My apologies, Madeline offered, lifting her hands. We will pause here until youve caught your breath. A rest will surely favor us
His new ladys.
The lass meant for him since time beyond mind.
Clucking her tongue, the crone shook her grizzled head. Much grief would neer have come to pass had not men, with their fool meddlings into things best left alone, procured Iain the Doubter a political marriage to benefit the clan rather than the needs of his own braw heart.
For sweet-natured and comely as Lileas MacInnes had been, she wasnt The One.
And none of the powers-that-be at the time had heeded Devorgillas discreet reminders of the MacLean Bane, the Legend. Neither Iains late father, nor his Council of Elders. Nary a one of the better-knowing graybeards had listened to her.
Even her more dire warnings had fallen on deaf ears.
Thered even been threats to banish her from Doon if she didnt cease what they called her foolish prattle.
Her brow furrowing at their benightedness, the crone banished the lot of them to the farthest reaches of her mind. Greater powers than hers would be needed to undo ill-made choices of the past.
A wiser move would be to help along the future.
To that end, the cailleach curled knobby-knuckled fingers around the edge of the wooden bowl and dragged it across the tables rough-planked surface until it rested at the very edge.
Leaning forward, she brought her wizened face to within inches of the bowl.
Just to be certain her eyes hadnt deceived her.
They hadnt.
Both stones, smooth and glistening Highland quartz, glowed with a finer luminosity than eer before.
Not yet the blinding brilliance she was hoping for, but with a goodly portion more shine and inner fire than shed expected to see this day. And they vibrated . . . Devorgilla even fancied a faint humming sound came from deep within their pulsing depths.
At once, sheerest pleasure stole over her. The giddy, breathless kind better suited to starry-eyed young lasses with all their days yet stretching before them.
But a gladness warm enough to do her bent frame a world of good nonetheless. And with no one but her napping grandson, Lugh, and her tricolored cat, Mab, to see her lapse of dignity, she gave an uninhibited cackle of delight and clapped gnarled hands in glee.
Indulging herself, she touched a fingertip first to her stone, then to his. For, at long last, the male stone had lost some of its chilly blue tint, and like the female stone, now showed a slowly spreading point of pulsating reddish gold at its core.
Equally telling, its flawless surface warmed her finger.
More than satisfied, the crone lifted her hand away from the bowl and straightened, for once not cringing at the creaks and pops of her aged bones.
Then, assuming a more suitably solemn mien, she recited the spelling words. One be you, and one be she. When your ladys heart catches fire, you will recognize her.
At once, and for the first time ever, the wee glow deep inside the female stone seemed to first contract, then burst, spindly rays of bright red-gold shooting outward, some even reaching the very edges of the stone before retracting.
An erupting firestorm by no means, but enough.
The time had come, and theyd met.
There could be no denying it, for Fairy Fire Stones always spoke the truth.
Blinking hard, for a good cailleach neer shed a tear, Devorgilla patted her wiry white hair and allowed herself a trembly-lipped smile.
Her magic was working.
Iain the Doubter was a doubter no more.
Chapter Four
G ODS GOOD MERCY, BUT I cannot take another step. Her cheeks pink with exertion, Nella of the Marsh flung herself onto the grassy bank of the fast-moving Molendinar Burn. Breathing heavy enough to flood Madeline with guilt, she glanced over her shoulder at the whin and broom-studded abbey hill rising steeply behind her. Will not take another step, she amended. My feet would rise in rebellion should I even try.
My apologies, Madeline offered, lifting her hands. We will pause here until youve caught your breath. A rest will surely favor us
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