Outsider (Time of Myths: Shapeshifter Sagas Book 4) Page 13

  Early in the morning he woke, slowly opening his eyes. Kristie’s arm was clutched across his chest: her face created a warm spot against his skin. Having her snuggled up against him was unfamiliar yet comforting.

  He didn’t want to interrupt her sleep or the moment, so he continued to sit propped against the stone wall until the sun’s light began to rise above the hills. She sniffed and nuzzled her cheek against his chest. Her hold on him tightened as he sensed her breathing pattern change. Creag thought he saw her eyelashes flip open, and he quickly eased his lids shut.

  He remained still and so did she. He couldn’t explain why he wanted her to think he was asleep. Maybe he didn’t want her to know how much he enjoyed her pressed against him, the closeness of it all. So he was confused when her head lifted from his chest and he felt the heat of her breath against his face. That sensation lasted only a few moments before she carefully pulled away from him and stood up.

  When he heard the soft swishing of her feet passing over the grass nearby, he lifted his lids to confirm he was indeed alone. He watched her walk back to her home, adjusting her plaid and brushing the dirt from her backside. He remained in that spot for much of the morning, thinking about the life he wished to discover and the place that had found its way into his heart.

  The wake lasted one more day before it was clear to everyone who came near the bodies that both men would never again draw breath. The decision was rushed along when the smell from their bodies was too much to take. It was determined it was time to bury them in consecrated land. The women’s loud cries and wails were carried up to the angels by the strong gusts that pummeled the coast. Creag hung back behind the procession of friends and kin, not wanting to get in the way.

  Over the days that followed, he poured himself into the task of building the new home. Kristie helped when she wasn’t running about taking care of other chores. He had no memories of building a house in his past life, but he enjoyed it. He liked employing his hands to create useful things for people he cared about. His need to provide brought him a closer understanding of Kristie. And although he was most fond of putting a blade to wood, it was an enjoyable pastime fitting rocks together and binding them in place with lime.

  Something tapped against the wall beside him as he lifted a stone to set it on top. He thought nothing of it and wiped the dirt from his hands before reaching for another. A pebble hit the back of his forearm. He might not have felt it if he’d worn his plaid that day, but it was back in the byre.

  Creag turned around and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Kristie stood with her basket pressed to her hip. In her hand she held out a cup. He stepped toward her and accepted the drink. Between swallows, he asked, “Thanks. Ye would not have seen the bugger tossing stones at me, would ye?”

  She raised her brows and smiled innocently. “Oh, I know nothing of it, but I will be sure to stop anyone I see who be up to no good.”

  He nodded. “I near the building of the roof, though I cannae raise it on my own. Do ye think Eileanor would let us call on William for help?”

  “To be sure she would,” Kristie answered, looking at the walls of her new home. She seemed to want to say something more and took a moment to get to it. “I may have had more than my fair share of ale the other night, but—”

  “That be a surprise, for ye were more unsteady on yer feet than a calf taking its first steps.” He snickered.

  Kristie shot him a warning glare and sighed. “Ye just keep yer comments to yerself. That is not what I mean to talk to ye about.”

  “What then, if not yer insatiable drinking habits?”

  She took a deep breath and looked at him seriously. “I remember ye telling me of yer brother, and I have nay forgotten that the terms of our agreement have changed. Ye were going to stay until Domnall returned, and in a way he has. I see ye staring off to the loch, and I can only imagine that ye are wishing to find yer way back home. I just want ye to know that ye are free to leave. We will be fine without ye. I have it in my mind to head to Gleann Comhan to find a fellow who needs work. Now that we are to have a new home, we have the old one to offer up.”

  Creag put the cup to his lips once more as he thought about it. The memory of his brother was often on his mind. It felt wrong remaining while there were unanswered questions about his life, but he didn’t like thinking about leaving the women on their own. Especially with a new baby to take care of, too. There was no question that Kristie could take care of herself and her kin. She had just said as much.

  He cleared his throat and answered, “Well, I hate to leave before putting a proper roof on the thing. If that sounds fair to ye.”

  “Oh, more than,” she said. “And I will see if I can fetch William’s help.”

  Creag smiled back and watched her turn around and walk across the field. Seedlings were sprouting up in the fields. Their vibrant green stalks waved in the breeze while she passed between their rows.

  He was not surprised when a little time passed and more than Kristie returned. To one side was William, and on the other was Eileanor, who was busy calling after Jock. The lad had begun to run ahead and arrived before the others.

  Out of breath and smiling, he greeted Creag. “Good day! Sorry I have not been ’round, but Auntie has been keeping on me about this apprenticeship with the lord’s bard, wanting me to practice the old tales.”

  “Well, that be good news. A job for the kind of fellow who can change hearts and minds. Not just anyone can do that, and ye clearly proved ye have that power.” Creag straightened up and squinted at the others walking slowly toward them.

  The corner of Jock’s mouth lifted into an embarrassed smirk, and the lad pulled his shoulders back.

  Eileanor’s voice carried to them as she shouted, “We all came to help ye. Ye might do without a brother, but not without a neighbor.”

  Creag shook William’s hand when he approached. “I thank ye for yer help. We could away to the glen, unless ye know of any good trunks.”

  The women arrived and Kristie pointed up the loch. “I saw a fallen tree that had a good curve and a thick trunk. It be a walk up the shore. It will save ye the effort of downing it.”

  “Sounds good to me.” William started walking down the slope toward the loch, and everyone followed.

  Creag got an axe from the byre before hurrying after. He caught up to them down at the rocky shore. Kristie hung back to walk alongside Creag. They stepped over a rotting tree trunk that lay half in the water when she pointed ahead. “That was where I found ye.”

  He hadn’t thought to ask before and hadn’t been expecting it. He stared in surprise at the rocky beach, trying to recall the day when he’d awoken in her byre, knowing nothing of himself or his past. The spot looked like any other along the loch.

  “Look!” William whispered back at them. His lanky body had quickly taken the lead, walking up the shoreline. He was pointing ahead at a series of craggy, wet rocks. “Quick with the axe!”

  Creag and Kristie peered in the direction the man was pointing. Blending in with its surroundings was a seal lying out sunning itself. Just ahead of them Eileanor murmured, “It has been a time since I ate seal.”

  The animal was oblivious to their presence and let its flipper flop out to the side. Creag was aware of Jock standing beside his aunt with a worried expression on his face when a memory washed over him. Only in his sleep had he ever seen something so familiar. In his mind, he saw the young man, his brother, laugh while standing in the surf, then drop beneath the surface.

  He could hear himself call out in the memory, “Niall, wait for me.”

  Instead of a young man lifting above the waves, a seal’s rounded gray head bobbed up. Its large black eyes stared at him before it rolled sideways and dove beneath the water. The memory faded away, and Creag was left staring up the shore at William, who was motioning for the axe.

  Fear crept into his chest, tightening his muscles. Seals may have been a source of food for the common folk who lived off the l
and and scavenged for meat, but he felt connected with the innocent creature sunning itself on the rocks. What if it was another selkie? His brother or Jock’s mother?

  Creag scrambled for something to say. “Ye hunt seals in these parts? But they be so fatty.”

  “Better ’round yer waist than on theirs,” Eileanor answered with a nod.

  “Nay!” Jock shouted and waved his arms, surprising all of them, including the seal. The animal lifted its head to blink at them, then lumbered into the water.

  “Laddie, what are ye thinking?” William called while he watched the seal sink below the surface and swim away.

  “What if it were my mam?” the lad asked quietly with his head hanging.

  William frowned at Jock and muttered, “Not all seals are selkies.”

  Eileanor stepped closer to her nephew and wrapped her arm around his shoulder and cast a warning glance to William. Creag felt sorry for the boy, for he’d had a similar concern, and he spoke up. “Selkies come and go as they please. Who can say that was not yer mam coming to see how tall ye have grown?”

  Jock peered up at him from between his dark locks and managed the beginnings of a smile. His aunt began to lead him down the beach and called out, “Well, we did not come here for seal, did we? Let us away to collect the timber.”

  William stood in one spot for a time, staring off into the rippling waters of the loch before sighing and walking after them with hunched shoulders.

  Kristie stopped Creag from following after, saying, “It may be best not to encourage the lad to talk of selkies.”

  “Not a believer of magic, then?” he asked cautiously.

  “Oh, I dinnae mean that.” She shook her head and looked at the lad’s silhouette up the beach. “It may not be good to keep with the talk of his mam being a selkie is all I mean.”

  Creag took a moment responding, not sure how to approach it. “He has such an amazing gift. The first day I met the lad, he told me the tale of his mam, and I cannae help but imagine it to be true.”

  “Aye,” she sighed. “I could imagine anything he speaks of, but it be untrue. His mam may have cast herself in the sea, but she drowned. Her body is buried at the kirk near the home of his birth.”

  From the moment the lad had told him the story, he’d been spellbound. He’d believed it for Jock’s sake. Who was he to question, knowing that he held the magic of the selkies, too? His heart sank, and he tried to swallow his sadness for the lad.

  “Poor lad,” was all he could say.

  “To be true. It be why Eileanor gets so cross with him for telling his tales. He told it so many times, he believes it with all his heart.”

  Creag stared out at the loch, finding the seal’s head rise above the surface in the distance. “There be something to that—believing in something with all yer heart. Believing that ye are loved by someone watching over ye from afar.”

  Kristie said nothing in return. She only tilted her head back to stare up into the cloudless sky.

  Chapter 12

  More than two weeks passed before Creag had the frame for the roof up and the hearth done. Kristie kept an eye on the progress with mixed emotions. She was pleased with the placement and size of the new home. Creag had even built up a partition in the long room so she and Jean could have a bit of privacy. Kristie wouldn’t have to continue climbing into the rafters to sleep. A happy change.

  Though she didn’t like admitting it to herself, she’d grown attached to Creag. He wasn’t an outsider to her any longer. He was familiar, and although there was much she still didn’t know about him, she’d grown to trust him. The strange feeling that clutched her chest tight when she thought of him leaving was explained away by her concern over tending things alone without the help or protection of a man. If she was honest with herself, she was concerned when it came to the thought of riding into Gleann Comhan to find a fellow in need of an arrangement—a spot of land to tend and cattle to herd in exchange for food and board.

  She peered out the front door of the years-old, drafty home and saw Creag had already risen to return to his work on the straw roof of the new building. Behind her, Jean was feeding Eoghan on the very chair she’d birthed him from when she suggested, “We could move to Glaschu. I am sure we could find employment as washwomen or weavers…”

  “Do ye wish to leave this place?” Kristie stepped back inside and went to stoke the beginnings of the fire in the hearth. “I have never lived in a town, and I dinnae wish to. Too busy and loud.”

  “I suppose so,” Jean answered and brushed her finger against her son’s cheek as he suckled, flashing him a smile.

  Kristie tucked some of her wavy locks behind her ear before kneading the dough in her wooden bowl into a large, round cake and placing it on the smoothed sandstone that sat in the embers. She turned to collect her tunic dress from the ladder that led up to the rafters and pulled the tunic dress over her head.

  When she pulled her hair free, she assured Jean, “Domnall went with Hendrie to Gleann Comhan for needed supplies. I will take the cart there once Beltane passes. Might even find a fellow that eve if the fairies bring us luck.”

  Kristie braided her hair tight against the base of her head, then fastened her belt around her waist. The skies were clear and the chill of the morning had already passed, so she left her plaid hanging on the ladder. Jean hummed to the bairn and nodded.

  Once the bannock had cooked, Kristie cut it in wedges and took one to her sister-in-law. She collected three more and stepped outside into the morning light. Dew shone on the tips of the grass. Her feet were soon wet as she walked to the new home, where Creag was preparing a load of straw to take up.

  “Morning,” he said over his shoulder with a grin.

  She held out two of the wedges of bannock, still steaming. He set down the bale so he could accept his breakfast and took a bite. “Thank ye.”

  She remembered a time when she thought little of his willingness to work hard, but she had since realized she’d been quite wrong. He was often the first up and the last one to bed. He seemed fixed on the house being built. She presumed it signaled his eagerness to leave.

  Kristie nibbled at the corner of her scone. “Ye look to be getting close to finishing.”

  Creag took another bite and backed up to stand beside her so he could look at all of his hard work. “Ye might even start bringing yer belongings over if ye wish.”

  They stood eating their morning meal in silence while Kristie searched for what to say next. “I suppose ye are planning on leaving, then?”

  He stopped to stare at the last of his bannock before answering, “I should be done in the next day or two.”

  “Dinnae worry, I am not asking ye to stay. Though”—she paused and noticed him glance her way—“there be Beltane. Remaining here two more days may be wise to collect all the luck ye can before departing, aye?”

  A grin crept across his lips, and he tilted his head to look at her. “Oh, aye. I am not one to turn my back on merriment.”

  Kristie couldn’t keep herself from smiling. She made to leave when he touched her arm and said, “I thought it best to ask ye properly this time…”

  “Aye?” she asked.

  “I had in my mind to make something. Yer dirk has a nice sharp blade, so I wondered if I might—”

  “Oh, aye,” she interrupted. She couldn’t explain the disappointment she felt by his question, but there was no use in dwelling on it. “So long as ye return it to me before ye leave.”

  “I swear it,” he answered earnestly.

  Over the next few days, Kristie and Jean began the task of moving all of their housewares to the new home. On the eve of Beltane, Creag was fetched by Sacharie and William to help herd the cattle down to the open glade where the bonfires would be lit, and Kristie went to collect gorse flowers, careful not to get pricked by their spines.

  Jean helped her make a garland that they hung over the door of their new home. The bright-yellow flowers were a cheerful decoration for one o
f her favorite holidays. The women threaded the blooms into their hair like vibrant crowns and washed their faces before taking to the cart.

  By nightfall, wee Eoghan was put in a fresh tunic and cradled in his mother’s arms as the ponies carried them to the communal grazing fields where the celebration had always been held. The smell of smoke was in the air when they drew near. Two spots of light cut the through the dimness.

  Laughter and excitement could be heard in the shouting voices. Kristie was careful to secure the ponies with the others in a wooded area at the foot of the glen. Jean kissed Eoghan’s tiny hands and murmured, “The fairies are to be out tonight, son. Be a good lad and greet them with a smile.”

  They followed the sounds and the trail of neighbors walking uphill. Once they crested a hillock, two bonfires lit the night. Huge spires of flames licked the sky while people danced about. Kristie searched all the rosy faces for Creag’s, but the whole parish was there, so it was difficult. More than a hundred clansmen in total had traveled from near and far.

  She spotted Moira from afar. She wore a beautiful crown of flowers awarded to the loveliest lass, the May Queen. The young woman wore her finest dress with a green plaid wrapped around her shoulders. She seemed to be enjoying the attention she was getting from a string of fellows, one of which Kristie recognized as Colbán’s eldest redheaded lad.

  From beside the nearest bonfire, the beautiful tone of clarsach, fiddles and voices rose in song. Kristie clapped along with the tempo and called out when she realized Jock was with the group of musicians.

  “I cannae wait for All Saints’ Day,” a voice said from beside her. Kristie looked to find Eileanor beside her, grinning at her nephew. “The lad has a chance at being a proper apprentice to the Lord of Isles’ bard.”

  Kristie couldn’t help but smile at her neighbor in response. “Oh, aye. I know none with the talents of Jock. He be a fine lad.”

  “None better, I daresay,” Eileanor answered. She turned and gestured toward Moira and her retinue. “Sacharie had best arrange that lass’s marriage or he may have another mouth to feed soon the way she be encouraging Colbán’s son’s affections.”