Morag's Tears (Celtic Storm Series Book 5) Read online

  Well then, Mairgred grew stronger and hale again as did her boys. With her health returned, it seemed her body was ready to bear a babe again and so, even though some years had passed since she was able to breed, she found herself with child one last time. She praised the one True God and spent many hours in prayer for this great blessing. While I loved all her boys, as much as I could love one of my own, when she gave birth to our Highland Rose, Bronwyn, I felt the stirrings of love rattle inside the empty place that dwelled in my heart.

  A more beautiful child I had ne’er seen! And the brothers, well, they all took turns being lord protector of our rose. She looked a lot like her mother, with a rash of auburn curls around her fae little face, which was sprinkled with just enough freckles across the bridge of her perfect little pert nose. I adored her. I adore her yet presently and still feel as if she is the daughter I never got to bear.

  Anyway, after that, I think Mairgred knew it would be unwise to try to bring more MacCollums into the clan or mayhap the Lord finally prevented it. She did not recover as heartily as she had after Ruiri was born and thereafter, she nursed a bit of cough. She tried to conceal it so as to not worry the laird or her babes over much, but I could see that Lady Mairgred tired easily. I did what I could and I made it my mission to keep her fed well. I researched all my remedies to find the best brews and I created special tisanes that would aid in strengthening her and help to ease the ever growing rattle in the poor lady’s chest.

  Mairgred loved her children and she loved the Laird and so she always took the medicines I gave her without so much as a grimace, even if they were bitter- tasting. She seemed to get better at times or rather; I think she hid how unwell she really was. So when the great fever ravaged the land, most were surprised that Lady Mairgred was not strong enough to stave it off and she succumbed. Forgive this old bird, for I still get a lump in my throat at the memory of such a loss of so great and kind a lady.

  I thought perhaps Caleb would die as well for he had contracted the fever, but on a much lesser degree. As he lay thrashing in his bed, delirious from the fever, I thought that he would gladly give over, rather than to live without his Mairgred. I knew the feeling well, for I dunna’ know how many times I asked to be taken so I could join Ian, too.

  Caleb awoke a day or so later, in time for the burial of his precious wife. I can still see that proud and strong man, holding on to the hands of his young children as they laid the lovely lady to rest. I think if he could have had them cover him with the clods of clay he would have gladly lain in the grave with her, but he had the children to think of and he knew they needed him. He did nay have time to grieve because a couple of the lads fell ill in the next few weeks and though they came through it, Caleb never left their sides. Nor did I. I knew from my own loss that Caleb could nay bear to lose even one of his five offspring and so I did all I could to make sure they returned from the clutches of that horrible fever. Thankfully, they did.

  We lost no one more because of that scourging fever that year, at any rate. Nevertheless, the loss of Lady Mairgred was a terrible blow to the clan and of course, to Caleb and the children. Ah, how many more tears were shed in the months that followed, I dunna’ know, but it seemed the oceans filled higher with our ever-present grief.

  And then, it seemed that Caleb was always needed for one thing or another, so life returned to MacCollum Keep, even without the beauty of Mairgred to grace her halls. Caleb found his purpose in the raising of his children; and so he did. Caleb worked to keep his family together and cared for without a mother or a wife to aid him but with my help, of course.

  He led his clan with his guiding hand and somehow the years passed until all his wee offspring were grown. It seemed that it had happened overnight, really, but Caleb’s and Mairgred’s bairns were nay children any longer. I knew that Caleb grieved still, despite the years that turned on the wheel of time. I understood that well enough, but with the numbing of time, Caleb had gotten into the routine of father and Laird. There seemed to be no time for taking on another wife in those days. I suppose as the sons and then his daughter left to marry, the Caleb’s days started to stretch before him.

  Caleb grieved the loss that had damaged his son Ruiri, as well. He saw the sadness taking over his Ruiri and he knew there was naught he could do to right the wrong that had stolen the joy out of the young man’s life. That is, until Brielle entered the plan of things. Ah, my darling Brielle. She was a joy both to Ruiri and to Caleb alike. Why, even Ruiri had thought at one time that Brielle fancied his da. But nay, she was for Ruiri, that was certain! Still, I think that Caleb’s emptiness started to wane with the presence of Brielle. She brightened his life as she did Ruiri’s…as she did for us all.

  When Brielle arrived at MacCollum, she was a broken little bird, hurt from that terrible carriage wreck on the Highland Road, and hurt deeper from those same renegades that took Caitlyn McLeod from the world. Aye, she was the granddaughter of my beloved childhood friend, Gavin Campbell and it seemed that the Fates had other plans for Ruiri after Caitlyn had been killed by the verra’ same brothers of our unlikely guest. Funny how sometimes one’s greatest enemies can become one’s greatest loves.

  Despite her true identity, for she tried to keep it a secret for as long as possible, Ruiri fell in love with Brielle. I don’t know; something about her presence in the keep seemed to open the heart of Caleb as well. I mean, well, he was fatherly to her. He certainly dinna’ have an interest in taking her to wife, but somehow, just as Brielle opened the heart of the Wolf of Highlands, it became clear to Caleb that his heart lay dormant far too long.

  With Peace settling into the lives of all the MacCollum lads, of my Highland Rose, and with the Clan thriving, Caleb suddenly had time to ponder that which he had hidden for so long. I think he unexpectedly realized, even though it was so many years later, that he had missed the company of a woman in his life; mayhap even in his bed. He finally had to come to terms with one very insistent reality. The man was positively lonely.

  Aye, he was surrounded by clan and kin, but he was achingly aware, that they all had lives and mates of their own now. He had done his duty and raised his children well. He had led his clan to prosperity. I think the presence of Brielle Campbell MacCollum opened Caleb’s eyes to see just how lonely he truly was.

  Being a man who cared for all the people under his protection, it seemed only natural for him to see to the needs of a kinswoman, who had been widowed after a tragic fall had ended the life of her husband. The two seemed to find solace in the trivial things, like taking on a cup of ale or tea and whiling the hours away in conversation. At first, Caleb offered his help in mundane things that needed to be done, like the fixing of some thing or another in the widow Mara’s house. Caleb always felt responsible for all members of his clan so when Mara’s husband lost his life falling from the roof of her abode, Caleb took it to heart. He was such a good and kindly man, although strong and tough when he needed to be. So, he fixed Mara’s house. It seemed that no end of things needed to be done, or so Caleb said; as if he needed to justify his visits to the widow’s home. It was hard for a man like Caleb to admit the real reason he found himself suddenly employed as Mara’s handyman.

  The truth is that his visits to Mara’s cottage soothed the loneliness that plagued one of the greatest lairds MacCollum has ever known. Love is funny sometimes. It can be tempestuous and it can hit a body like a plank to the skull, or it can form in the gentle stirrings of friendship and companionship. Such was the case for the Laird. Aye, and for Mara, too! Both had thought that the time for love was long past, but both were wrong and they were pleasantly surprised by the love that grew from their friendship.

  Mara was a woman who had weathered nearly forty years. But when I say weathered, she had weathered them kindly. She maintained her loveliness and a youthful figure so it was no surprise to me that Caleb would see her as more than a friend, eventually. Bloody hell, we all did, but Caleb was a stubborn man sometimes, if ever there wa
s one. It took him longer to admit what seemed so obvious to us all.

  Most times, Mara wore her hair in a single braid, but anyone could see that it only slightly bore hints of silver threads in the thick plait that hung nearly to her waist. She had beautiful dark eyes, like my Ian’s. Ach, well I came to find out that she was kin to Ian’s line of the clan. She was his great niece and it seemed the rich brown of the eyes were passed on to all the offspring on that side of the line. She was quick with a laugh and when she did, a most fetching dimple formed in one cheek, just like my Ian’s had a tendency to do when something amused him. I could see that when Mara and Caleb were together, that he was growing fonder of her; more than just his claim of friendship, by any means.

  I kept my mouth shut, though, aye, for once I did. I knew that it would only be a matter of time that they realized it for themselves so they did nay need my coaxing to prod them. And why not? Why shouldn’t they find comfort in a growing romance? Even though I chose not to marry again, there seemed no reason why Caleb should not. He deserved a bit of happiness and I was gladdened for him; gladdened for them both, really.

  So on a mild summer day, Caleb spoke his vows before God and Clan to Mara and I dare say he was likened to a blushing groom. Laird of the Clan, and blushing like a young lad caught in his first kiss. We all were thrilled, including his sons and daughter. It seemed the Fates were preparing me for a gift of my own, by sending the kin of my Ian to live with Caleb. I had no idea what that gift would be, at the time, but with Mara wed to Caleb, it was like part of Ian was back beside me; even if she was fairly removed from his line. Their blood ran strong and to me, every day I spent with Mara brought part of Ian back to me.

  The bloodlines were being re-forged, that was certain for one of the biggest surprises that Fate beheld for MacCollum was to give the Laird another son! After all those years, the idea of a man Caleb’s age, with a new babe to tend to. Ah, I smile at the thought. Mara gave birth to a son almost nine moons to the day that Caleb made her his wife. Imagine that! A son; after all his children were fully grown. He took a bit of ribbing over it, because Ruiri and he both had wives in confinement at the same time. Ribbing or no, it filled the Laird with pride and we all rejoiced in his new blessing. With the birth of this son, it seemed Caleb MacCollum had a rebirth of his own. I think it gave us all hope for brighter blessings to come. Rather, I know it did!

  Chapter Fourteen – Gabrielle Campbell MacCollum

  Ye’ know, now that I look back on the days of my life and I recall all the people that ere I loved so well, I realize that despite the trials one faces, the joys and blessings make all the rest a dull ache, really. Rather, t’is the love that stands out in my mind and all the pain of loss casts it with worth just because of the very heartache. What I mean is that the love is magnified and knowing loss makes the love all the more valued, I think. I was nay blessed with more children of my own, but those in my charge became stamped in my heart just as if I had mothered them for truth. There are so many that became like daughters to me. It gladdens my heart to say that Gabrielle Campbell was one of those.

  As I spoke of before, Gabrielle, or Brielle as we have grown to love her, came to MacCollum by accident. Ah, but there are nay accidents when the Fates deem it so. Everything happens for a reason; I had learned that long ago. At the time, I am sure that Brielle would have disagreed, for her poor body suffered such terrible injuries as a result of that frightful carriage wreck carrying her back to her Highland home. The poor wee lass lay battered and broken along the side of the road after an arduous journey on the steep incline leading toward my beloved Scotland. I know I repeat myself at times, but I guess to this day, it amazes me that she survived that horrific event.

  Brielle had been recently widowed after newly being wed by proxy to an aging Englishman who was three times her age. Her brothers, aye the very same Campbells that murdered Ruiri’s first love, sold their sister to the highest bidder to fund their evil lusts. Brielle never wanted to marry that sick old man and her wedding was a sham. Proxy, indeed! A woman should nay be forced to marry without the groom bein’ by her side, let alone to a man as old as Marcus Val Cour had been. Turns a stomach, it does! But ye’ see, sometimes the Fates are kind for old Marcus soon succumbed to a festering putrid wound that bore poison through his craven body and before he could ere lay a hand on Brielle, he laid in his grave instead.

  I dinna’ mean to speak ill of the dead, for the man was not unkind to Gabrielle, but he should nay have agreed to marry a young lass, who’s years on earth was even less than the age of his grandchildren. I hold that against the man for it speaks of a depravity all its own. I am just grateful that he did nay touch her for knowing Brielle now as I do; I know that she would nay have shunned his advances. I shudder at the thought of it.

  Nevertheless, Brielle was locked in the throes of widowhood; a title given to her for the loss of a man that was ne’er a true husband to her. She was despised by his family and they even went so far as to accuse her of speeding Marcus on to his grave, but t’was not so. Nay, not my Brielle! Brielle could nay hurt any living thing, not even an old sot like Marcus. In fact, she was a comfort to the dying old man in his last days. She would sit with him and talk to him and change the dressings on his rancid wound, as any good wife would do.

  So when he died, Brielle just wanted to leave the horrible place that could ne’er be her home. She was a Highlander, after all and she belonged in Scotland, no matter that she had been sent away by her rotten brothers. That is something that runs through yer’ blood and she dinna’ belong in a strange land so far from the place of her birth. The Highlands called to her and well they should have because she was the granddaughter of the second most powerful laird I have ever known; my own dear friend Gavin Campbell.

  Well, then, Brielle knew she could nay stay at such an unwelcoming place as Val Cour manor. She knew she had to return to her home, even though she would nay dare to go back to Campbell; that was certain. Her brothers’ wrath would be a dangerous thing to incur and so, with only a handful of coins, for she did nay wish to take the gold that Marcus’ kin accused her of wanting, and a sole chest of clothes, Brielle hired a carriage to bring her back to her beloved Scotland. She knew the journey would be arduous, but she had no choice. The sooner she could leave, the better. She thought perhaps she could hire herself out as a groom because she was gifted with a special kindness towards the beasties. She did nay care what she would have to do, be it a scullery or a stable hand, so long as she could be back in the Highlands, where her soul called out for her to return.

  I would nay say that Gabrielle Campbell was a headstrong girl, for in most things she was not. But to make the treacherous journey on that North Road before the winter had a chance to thaw may not have been the wisest of choices. Each bump in the rutted road jarred the carriage as it made its perilous climb up the rocky pass and it threatened to overturn more than once. I am sure at the first thud of the wheels in the pitted climb, Brielle was surely thinkin’ she had made a terrible mistake.

  I dinna’ know what caused the carriage to lurch dangerously, but it snapped from the hinges and the horses escaped what the driver and the passenger could not! The carriage must have plummeted down the ravine and splintered around Brielle, leaving her for dead in the undergrowth by the side of the road. Bless his soul, the driver ne’er had a chance to suffer, as his neck was snapped like the trappings of the beasts that bore the carriage.

  Now, as chance would have it, my own dear Ruiri was heading home. He had spent enough time in England with his sister and knew it was time to make his own way in the world. Too much time had passed since the death of his intended and he was going to seek his fortune as a soldier in the king’s army. While Ruiri was nay really a man who would be comfortable in the confines of Court, he also thought he had no other choice. It was time to make changes in his life for life was surely passing him by. He would head to Edinburgh after he had spent some consoling time home in his precious MacColl
um lands.

  Ruiri was more a country lad than a King’s warrior. Still, he knew that he was nay a lad any longer. In fact, despite the way he hated the title, he was known throughout the land as the Wolf of the Highlands. His legend made him part monster, part champion, I think, but in Ruiri’s mind, he only felt the darkness the label gave him. I dare say, I vow Ruiri believed himself to be some sort of monster and though it was ten years since her passing, Ruiri still blamed himself for the death of Caitlyn McLeod.

  Ah, but Ruiri, my dear Ruiri, was nay a monster. He was a man devoted to the Clan and love burned in his heart even when he thought it had been darkened with blackness. So when he came upon the splintered wreck on the side of the hill, he knew that there had to be people that were hurt somewhere. He knew not how many but he knew he had to try to help in any way that he could. Such was the way of the Highland Wolf, eh not such a monster after all, I would vow.

  Oh, the Fates can be so clever, as they weave the cords and dangle the strings as if we mere mortals are puppets simply made for their sport and play. What an irony it would be that the man to save the kin of his enemies would be none other than Ruiri MacCollum, the Highland Wolf who had sworn to the demise of all things Campbell. I think that the Powers that deem us mortal, laugh at our plots and plans at times.

  Aye, there was a passenger that needed Ruiri’s help. None other than the beautiful young widow returning to Scotland! Sweet, Gabrielle Campbell, sister of his most hated enemies. Of course, he dinna’ know the identity of the injured girl at the time, so he did what any champion to the weak and innocent would do. He tried to save the broken young woman who lay dying at the side of the road.