Page 55 of Cottage in the Mist
“Yes.” Lily returned Tildy’s smile and accepted the replenished tea. “I’ve been doing some research. More relevant to me than I’d supposed.” She exchanged a glance with Mrs. Abernathy, who nodded, urging her onward. “Anyway, I’m looking for information on a fight that may have taken place here at the manor. Sometime in the fifteenth century. When the tower house still stood. Alec Comyn would have been the laird.”
Reginald set his teacup down and reached for a stack of files he’d brought from his office.
“Reginald is bit of an historian himself,” Tildy said, while her husband sorted through the papers in the files.
“Ah, yes. I have it here. Alec Connal Nivan Comyn. Fourth laird ofTigh an Droma. He inherited from his father.”
“Is there anything about his life? Particularly a battle or skirmish with the Macgillivrays?”
“In those days I’m afraid such fighting was rather common. Especially with a Macgillivray holding nearby.”
“Dunbrae. Yes, we’ve been there,” Lily said, trying to keep her emotions in check.
“I don’t see anything specific.” Reginald frowned as he thumbed through the contents of one folder. “No, wait. Here it is. There was a fight. In early May of 1468. Apparently a band of Macgillivrays, led by the son of the neighboring clan, along with a group from Clan Chattan attacked the tower. There aren’t any specifics unfortunately. The only reason it’s recorded at all is that the tower was damaged. But there are records of Alec beyond 1468, so you can rest easy knowing he survived the attack.”
“And the Macgillivrays? Is there anything about them?”
Reginald studied the paper in his hand again. “No details. Other than that the Comyns held strong. Apparently the Macgillivray’s leader was killed in the fray, and with him gone, the rest of his forces withdrew.”
Lily’s heart sank.
“My dear, you’ve gone quite white,” Tildy said, her voice filled with concern. “Is everything okay?”
Lily opened her mouth, but words refused to follow, tears filling her eyes. Bram. Dear God. Bram.
“She’s just a bit overwhelmed.” Mrs. Abernathy was quick to fill the silence, her arm coming around Lily as she pulled her to her feet. “I think after everything that’s happened, it might be best if I get her home. There’s just too much to process.”
“Yes. Yes, of course,” Reginald, too, rose to his feet. “I wasn’t thinking. I confess I’d never even considered the possibility that there was any truth to the old stories. And to find out that somehow there might be a link through my line—well, as you said, it is overwhelming. And I’m not the one who is a ringer for a dead woman.”
“Reggie,” Tildy chided as they all walked toward the door.
“It was lovely to meet you both,” Mrs. Abernathy was saying, her arm still around Lily.
“Yes,” Lily echoed, her heart still twisting at the news of Bram’s defeat, and what appeared to be his death. If she’d been with him, maybe he’d… She shook her head. If she’d been there most likely she would be dead as well. But then it hadn’t happened yet—had it? Her heart stuttered, hope blooming. Reginald had said May. The battle was in early May. But it was still the end of April.
Maybe there was something she could do. She squared her shoulders, determination replacing her anguish, her fingers closing around the ring. All she had to do was find her way back.
“I canna see a blasted thing in this mist,” Ranald groused, his face scrunched in disgust as they made their way across the rocky ground. “We might as well be blind.”
“Aye,” Iain agreed as they pulled their mounts to a stop at the crest of a hill. “’Tis only getting thicker. And the path here is treacherous.” He nodded toward the rocky edge of the cliff, barely visible through the swirling fog.
“Best to stop here for the night, I’m thinking,” Ranald offered.
Bram fought against frustration. “You sure we canna push a wee bit further?”
“Not with night falling.” Iain shook his head. “There’s a copse of trees just over there.” He lifted a hand to indicate the shadowy outline of branches waving in the wind. “We can make camp just beyond it, at the base of the rocks.” Granite thrust out of the earth like giants’ fingers, the formation offering protection from the night.
“Aye, ‘twould seem best,” Ranald agreed.
Bram bit off an objection as he dismounted. There was no point in blaming Iain for the weather. Still, it rankled that they’d made little progress and now, thanks to the mist, were being forced to stop early for the night.
“Save your ire,” Ranald said, slapping a beefy hand against Bram’s shoulder, obviously recognizing his frame of mind. “There’s naught to do but wait it out. And you know that’s the truth of it.”
“Besides,” Iain added, “if we can’t see then neither can our enemies. Which means that even if they’re about, we should be safe enough here for now.”
“You think they’ve sent more men, then?” Bram asked.
“Ye canna predict what a Comyn will do,” Frazier said, pulling his horse to a halt next to Bram’s. “Especially when angered.”
