Page 128 of Highlanders for the Holidays
Her reply was nothing more than a happy cackle that filled the hallway.
* * *
They could have reachedthe well in an hour, were Bruanna willing to ride. Refusing to sit atop a horse unless God Himself came down from the heavens and told her to, she and Connor walked—Connor walked while she shuffled along at a snail’s pace—the three hour journey to the wishing well.
As his grandminny prattled on about years gone by, Connor kept a watchful eye out for anyone who might intend to do them harm. The only thing he and his neighboring clans could agree upon was that the old wishing well was neutral and sacred ground. None could fight there, nor kill, nor war against one another on that tiny spot of land. Still, there was much ground to cover between his lands and that blasted old well that many people, including Bruanna, believed held magical powers.
Half tempted to pick the woman up and carry her the rest of the way, Connor continued to scan the horizon. Though the well and a small patch of ground that surrounded it was sacred, the earth on which they currently trod was not. Therefore he had made certain to have two dozen mounted men spread out in all directions to help maintain a watchful eye.
Located near the base of the mountain in a wide, deep valley, the well had sat for centuries. Remnants of an old fortress, built by Norseman who had come from afar to claim the land as their own, lay scattered around the well. He put no faith in that old well. Connor chose to pray to the one true God instead of looking into old wells for answers.
After several brief stops along the way, to allow his grandminny to rest, they finally reached their destination. The air here was considerably warmer, the valley and surrounding mountains acting as a bowl to keep the warm air in. Still, there was a nice breeze and a bright blue sky dotted with fluffy clouds that leant beauty to the place.
There sat the well, the object of his consternation.
Built with granite, lined with pitch, it sat near the wide stream the Norse had dammed for a time before the Scots won out. Now the stream flowed freely to the points God and nature had intended.
Many years ago, when the land had been declared sacred, someone had laid large rocks around the well, to signify the agreed upon boundaries. A wide circle, some one-hundred feet in circumference. Outside that boundary ’twas an every-man-for-himself existence. But inside? Many a man had jumped the rocks to claim sanctity to keep from being killed by an enemy, a marauder, or an angry father against a man who had done his daughter wrong.
Trees had grown up through the old stone walls, through the last part of the roof of the long old building. Overgrown brush and bramble that none dared touch grew wherever it wished. ’Twas as deserted a place as ever there was.
“There it be!” Bruanna exclaimed happily.
Connor rolled his eyes. “Did ye think it moved?” he asked sarcastically.
His grandminny whacked him on the arm with her walking stick. “Don’t be blasphemous!” she scolded him.
Blasphemous?He didn’t have the mental fortitude to argue the point that to put more faith in a well than in God was blaspheme. He kept his thoughts to himself.
Bruanna shuffled in hurried fashion toward the well, carefully stepping over the rocks. Connor hurried as well, but not with the same enthusiasm. He simply wanted to get this annual sojourn over with so he could return home to important business.
“Do ye remember what it says?” she asked him as she looked in awe at the great stone lid that sat against the wall of the well, facing east.
How could he forget? He’d only had the blasted runes burned into his memory since he was old enough to recite it. Loving his grandminny as he did, he recited the words to her. “May your journey be quiet and your days of joy long. May your deeds remain strong for Odin. May your love stay true to your noble heart.”
Her eyes gleamed with pride. “Aye, laddie, ye have the way of it.”
How anyone could put so much stock into a pile of stones and words carved into a lid, he did not know. Especially when it had such a dark history surrounding it.
Connor thought it all nonsense, of course. His faith did not lie in wishes and enchanted wells. People made wishes at other times of the year, though what or who granted those he didn’t know and daren’t ask his grandmother.
Still, he supposed if it gave her some measure of peace and happiness, who was he to try to take that away? Pushing his frustration aside, he decided he should probably enjoy this moment with his dear grandmother. This was her seventieth summer on earth and though he believed she’d outlive him and the rest of his clan, there was a distinct possibility she was not as immortal as either he or she believed.
“Do ye remember how to make yer wish?” he asked as he stood beside her.
She quirked a brow. “Of course I remember, ye heathen!” she said playfully.
Reaching into his sporran, he pulled out a small coin and tried handing it to her.
“Nay, lad, no coin today,” she told him. “If I want this wish to come true, I must use somethin’ more valuable to me than coin. We must make our wish today, and by Christmastide, we will know if it has come to pass or no’.”
’Twas her belief that the most important and special of wishes required her to give up something she treasured, to show her deep sincerity. Connor smiled at her. “And what will ye be usin’ this year?”
Reaching into her pouch with gnarled fingers, she pulled out something he could not see and held it tightly in her hands. “What willyebe usin’?” she asked him.
“I fear I only brought coin today.”
Instead of chastising him for forgetting protocols of years passed, she smiled up at him. ’Twas a loving and tender a smile as any grandminny could have for a favored grandson. “Then we shall use this and make our wish together.”
