Page 4 of A Bonny Pretender
“What’s a banshee sound like?” asked Liam. He put a hand on Brodie’s thick, dark hair and hopped down. “Like the sow when ye get too close to her piglets? Or more like Widow Weir when she has too much whisky at a ceilidh?”
Brigid and Brodie guffawed.
“The Widow Weir only cackles when she indulges, but if ye call her a banshee, ye might hear what they sound like.” Brodie wrapped an arm around the boy’s neck and rubbed his head with his knuckles. The boy let out a howl. “That’s more like a banshee but louder.”
“Add the sow’s squeal and ye’ve got an idea. It’s a sad wailing that puts the hairs up on the back of yer neck. Supposed to be an omen of coming death,” added Brigid.
“Have ye ever heard one?” the lad asked Brodie, his eyes wide.
“Every time Brigid’s been toldno,” Brodie whispered loudly, then took off at a gallop, grinning over his shoulder. “Race ye to the stable.”
They’d finish this conversation, Brigid thought. She hiked up her skirts, clutched the bow, and flew down the hill, Brownie on her heels. A spray of snow followed in their wake, a boy’s giggle and a dog’s bark echoing over the glen. Liam gave up, his short legs unable to keep up, and threw himself to the ground to roll down instead. They all stopped at the bottom, panting and grinning at each other. She helped the lad brush the snow off his wool trousers, then shook her own skirts.
Life was good here, and she was content. Would London have a place to run? To breathe in the fresh morning air and listen to the sounds of God’s creatures? She loved the Highlands and the drafty old castle. The land and stone were in her blood, part of her soul. How would she survive months in a dirty, crowded, smelly city?
*
Late January
Brigid settled onthe thick wool rug before the hearth and laid her head on her mother’s lap. Glynnis smiled down at her as she continued her needlework. “Ye look lovely with the fire shining on those red-brown curls. My hair was just as thick and nearly the same color when I was yer age.”
“Except ye were married and having yer first bairn at nineteen.” Marriage seemed so daunting to Brigid. “I’ve eliminated every possibility from here to Edinburgh.”
Glynnis chuckled. “That’s a wee exaggeration, lass. To be fair, ye scared half of them away.”
“Ye want me to change who I am so I can find a husband? Bite my tongue and pretend to be someone else for the rest of my life?” That had to be the worst advice any mother had ever given a daughter. “Are ye ashamed of me?”
Her mother gasped, then frowned. She set her sewing on her lap and stroked Brigid’s hair. “I’m as proud of ye as I am of all my sons. Sending ye off is breaking my heart, but I think it will be a good experience for ye. I ken that ye dinna understand my motive, but I’ll try again to explain it.”
Brigid closed her eyes, her mother’s soothing fingers against her scalp calming the uncertainty in her belly. “Ye want me to be happy. I understand that. But I dinna see how London can help me find a husband here in Scotland.”
“I believe the company ye will keep, and the social graces ye learn, will smooth yer jagged edges. Ye’re a rough-cut diamond that only needs a bit of polishing. It’s my fault, of course. When yer da died, I didn’t have the heart to tell ye ‘no.’ Ye were such a tomboy and preferred to be with yer brothers over helping me.” Glynnis sighed. “Then all at once ye were a grown woman, and I’d let ye down.”
“Ma, how can ye say that? Ye raised four bairns without a husband.”
“And lost one. I couldna birth or bury my children without the help of my parents and the entire clan.” She sighed, grief darkening her blue eyes.
Brigid laid her cheek back against the soft wool of her mother’s skirt. If only time could have stopped a year ago, when the world had been such a rosy place. Her brother Ian had still been alive, newly married, with nothing but opportunity before him. Until he’d attended a political gathering last summer and was killed in the massacre to disperse it.
“I havena prepared ye for the life a woman must lead. We have a complicated role in a world dominated by men. Ye must learn to compromise, be mindful of a man’s ego. Ye’ll get yer way more often when ye convince him that yer idea was his idea.” She chuckled. “We’re magical creatures, ye ken.”
Brigid grinned with her eyes still closed. “Ye mean I canna demand from my husband as I do from my brothers.”
“That’s part of it. I want ye to be the person ye’ve always been, only a wee softer to start out. Learn to curb yer impulsiveness. Ye seem to be on a mission to scare away any suitors, and I dinna think ye even realize it. Ye confront every mon who smiles at ye, speaking yer mind with no thought of the consequences.” She tipped Brigid’s chin up to look her in the eye. “Everything in life is not a battle, a need for ye to have the upper hand. There will even be times when giving in is a way to victory.”
“I never give up at anything,” grumbled Brigid.
“Aye, I’ve doctored enough of yer scrapes and bruises to vouch for that. But I said ‘give in’ not ‘give up.’ There’s a difference, and I’ve seen ye do it with young Liam.” Glynnis leaned her head back and stared into the crackling embers of peat, lost in thought. “If ye dinna let a mon get close, how will he ken if he likes ye?”
Her voice had an odd, faraway tone, as if she were no longer speaking to Brigid but thinking to herself.
“Ma?” Brigid wondered where her mother’s mind had wandered. She had her suspicions.
“A bhobain. My dear, sweet, obstinate child. I love ye so and want ye to be happy. And I dinna think ye can do that without bairns of yer own.”
Brigid shook her head. “I have a family. Lachlan and Brodie will give ye grandchildren, and my nieces and nephews will fill my time.”
Her mother sighed, her eyes mirroring her concern. “It’s no’ the same. I see the yearning in yer gaze when ye hold a bairn. Ye’ll need yer own, a brood of them if my hunch is right.”
