Page 39 of An Allusive Love
Calum stood abruptly, his chair tumbling backwards and clattering against the floor. His face turned up to the ceiling, his fists above his head, he let out a heart-wrenching roar. Peigi rushed to his side while Glynnis clung to Lissie. Brigid clutched Brodie’s hand, her nails digging into his flesh as she reached for the letter.
Brodie sat in shock, hearing bits and pieces as Brigid’s tremulous voice read the news.
“Demonstration… Manchester… Ian killed… Lachlan and Colin bringing him home…”
“Oh, Brodie,” cried Brigid.
He turned to his sister, wrapped his arms around her, and prayed this was a bad dream.
Chapter Thirteen
The Parting Glass
Crack!Kirstine andher mother both jumped when the door banged against the wall. Her father stood, blocking out the meager light of early dusk. “It’s a tragedy,” he said in a cracked voice.
A chill snaked down Kirstine’s spine, waiting for the rest.
“Ian MacNaughton is dead. Killed at St. Peter’s field during a political gathering. Women and children dead too. The newspapers called it a massacre.
“Oh, sweet Jesu!” Her mother’s hands flew to her chest, then reached out for Kirstine.
“Ian? Are ye sure?” It couldn’t be true. She’d just seen him a month or so ago. “I didna say goodbye when he left. He canna be gone.”
“They’re having a terrible time at the castle. The news crushed Calum. He clutched at his chest, Enid said, and fell to the floor. It was like a great tree toppling to the ground.” Her father beckoned them both. “Fetch yer satchel. Ye’re needed. Brodie has sent off messengers to inform the chieftains, and I’ve been tasked with collecting both of ye.”
“Brodie,” Kirstine gasped. “My poor Brodie.”
“He’s standing strong, Kirsty. Took over as if he’d always been chief, giving orders and seeing to the women.” He cleared his throat. “I was proud to do his bidding.”
Kirstine swallowed the lump in her throat.
“No time for sentiment, Daughter.” The women scrambled into action while Mr. MacDunn came around with the wagon.
“I’ll drive,” said her mother. “Saddle up yer horse, in case I need ye to fetch something for me.” With a steady hand, she cracked the whip, and they rumbled down the lane. “When we arrive, I’ll go straight to Calum and Peigi. Ye tend to the younger lasses, give laudanum to Lissie, and then find yer mon. He’ll need comforting.”
Kirstine nodded. She was used to people scurrying about the grounds, but the place was almost empty.
An eerie quiet hovered over the courtyard. A redheaded stableboy ran up and held the harness. “Are they all inside?” asked Mrs. MacDunn.
He nodded, his mouth trembling. “The MacNaughton, he… the sound that came from the castle made my skin crawl. It was horrible.” The boy swiped at his tear-streaked face, then led the horse and wagon away.
The women gazed up at the windows of the round tower. A faint moan carried on the breeze. Her mother gathered her skirts in one hand and gripped the satchel in the other. “Take a deep breath and remember: no crying. We’re healers, and we’re needed now.”
*
Kirstine shivered asshe entered the dim great hall. The evening chill seeped through the open windows and soaked into the cold stone walls. No matter the time of year, evenings in the Highlands had a bite to them. Especially in these old, drafty castles.
The flame from a single lamp lit Brodie’s face, lines of exhaustion deepened by the flitting shadows. He’d aged in the last hours; the responsibilities of family and clan weighed heavy on his tired shoulders. Brodie had stood in for Calum, meeting with clan heads to answer questions and accept condolences as the news spread. He hadn’t wept yet, according to her father; there’d been no time to grieve.
He was slumped in a wingback chair, swirling an amber liquid with one hand, the other dangling near the floor. He tipped back his head to drain the glass. His rumpled shirt had been pulled from his kilt, which was in disarray and left his knees bare. He was a sorry sight, and Kirstine’s eyes burned with her own unshed tears. Sorrow for the loss of a brother, a son, a grandson, a husband, a friend. Ian’s death left a massive void in the hearts of his family and clan.
“Do ye care for some company?”
He didn’t answer but gave a curt nod.
She knelt in front of the hearth, added peat, and started a small fire. What could she say? Nothing would ease the pain. When she turned to face him, he set his glass on the small table next to him and opened his arms to her. Kirstine settled on his lap and pulled his head to her chest. She rocked back and forth as his grip tightened about her waist. No, she realized, words weren’t necessary. He needed her love, her strength. She stroked his hair and held him tight.
His tears were silent at first, soaking her bodice, until he sucked in a shaky breath and released a long, mournful sob. She soothed him, stroking his hair and his back. The peat was only embers when Brodie leaned his head back against the chair.
