Page 82 of Taming the Highland Misfits
Then Caitrin smiled and stood up. “Enough about me,” she said briskly. “I think your mind has been occupied all day by a certain handsome young man whose eyes follow you every time you walk past him. I hope, for your sake, that everything goes well for you. If not, I am here, and so is Mhairi. Anything you say to us will go no further.”
“That is very good to know,” Freya replied. “Thank you, Caitrin.”
* * *
Freya had thought she would never be able to sleep that night because of the confrontation she knew was going to occur the next morning, but in fact, the opposite happened. As soon as her head hit the pillow, she tumbled into a strange dream, the likes of which she had never experienced before.
“Where am I?” Freya thought. She was running, but somehow she was not making any headway, and she was scared to death.
“Freya!” The voice was blessedly familiar, and she knew that Alex was nearby, probably looking for her. “Where are you?”
“I’m here!” she shouted, as loudly as she could, then she realised that she had no idea where “here” was. Every time she moved forward a wall of foliage hit her face, and she began to panic as she realised that there was a distinct possibility that she would never find her way out. She turned a corner, and there was another leafy barrier in front of her. Freya was terrified. What if she was never able to get out of that maze? It was cold, and would no doubt become colder before nightfall. God help her if she could not find a way out of this hell before darkness fell. She would freeze to death.
“Freya!” It was Alex again, and again she called back to him.
“Alex! Alex! Where are you?” she yelled. Freya’s heart was beating so fast that she thought it might leap out of her chest, and she listened as carefully as she could in order to identify the direction of the sound. It was close–so close that she felt that she could have reached out to touch him, but the walls of the maze prevented it.
Then suddenly she was outside, free of the dizzying confines of the maze, but there was a fine mist in the air and it was still hard to see anything except vague shapes that faded in and out of view. They looked as though they might be human, but were they?
As she watched, Freya saw the shapes resolve themselves into huge, threatening men, each one cloaked in black, and she cowered back in fear, frantically looking around herself for some way to escape.
The figures came closer, their cloaks swirling and billowing around them, even though there was no wind. They began to fan out to encircle her, and Freya, gazing around her in panic, realised she had nowhere to go.
“Freya!” a voice shouted out of the mist, and Freya realised with a great leap of relief in her chest that it was her father. She peered into the distance and could just about see his figure through the fog.
“Father!” she cried. “Help me!”
“I am coming to save you!” he shouted. “Wait for me!”
“I am surrounded!” she answered. “Please hurry!”
However, at that moment a figure she had not seen swept out of nowhere and grabbed the Laird then swept him away. Freya let out a scream of horror and fear as her father, still yelling, disappeared from her view, and she sensed that the cloaked figures who had abducted him were about to visit some terrible evil upon him.
She heard one last cry; “Freya…” which tailed off as he disappeared into the distance.
What was she going to do? Freya looked around frantically for a means of escape but could see none, as the creepy cloaked figures closed in around her. She stood where she was, frozen to the spot, unable to move. As they came towards her, she was able to see under their hoods, and was shocked to see that they had no faces.
There was nothing, merely a black hole where there should have been eyes, a nose and a mouth, and the effect was truly terrifying. Freya screamed.
Just as she thought she was about to faint, she saw a figure advancing towards her. It was dressed, from the top of its head to the tips of its toes, in a cloak of shining white, but as it came closer, it shrugged off its hood.
The faceless creatures closing in on her scattered and dissolved as she walked through them.
Freya shook her head and stiffened, almost paralyzed with disbelief. The creature was a woman, but not just any woman; the face looking back at her was so familiar she might have been looking in a mirror. It was the face of her mother, her mother from whom she had inherited her spectacular red hair, fine features and grey eyes. Freya had not seen her since she was five years old, but she would never forget her face, or her smile.
“Mother!” she cried, “where have you been?” She was grinning from ear to ear. This was her mother, the woman who had given birth to her, and whom she had never stopped loving.
Caroline Murdaugh stepped forward, smiling widely at Freya. “What a beautiful young woman you are!” she said softly. “Just as I had hoped.”
Freya stared at her, confused. “But you are dead,” she murmured. “Why are you here?”
“Because I have a message for you, my sweet girl,” she answered lovingly. “Within your heart, you will find the truth and save everyone.”
Freya was baffled. “Save whom from what?” she asked. “Mother, tell me!”
But she received no answer, for her mother had turned away, and as Freya watched, she dissolved into the mist.
* * *
