Page 98 of The Scottish Bride
He pressed her hand. He only hoped he could give her what she dreamed most of. His own dreams had been in shambles for too long, until he had met her. Now, he dared to hope beyond the next step, the next day, into the future.
“I thought my dreams were all destroyed with Dalrinnie gone,” he said. “I wanted a wife, a lady of my castle, a home where we both belonged. Much as you wanted. Now here we are, we two.” He smiled slightly. “I wanted a peaceful place with children, with dogs, hawks on perches, horses in the stables, tenants flourishing on the land. A dream that big will take time. But now I think it is possible again.”
“When luck returns to Dalrinnie with the lady and her harper?”
“Let us hope our luck extends beyond Dalrinnie to Scotland, love.”
“Look there, ahead.” She pointed. “Is that a hawthorn tree? And on that low hill before the Eildon sisters… See that stone keep?”
Liam peered ahead, seeing a slight mound where a tree rose, growing as two tall twisted trunks with a great arching, sagging canopy of leaves just turning a rusty color. The small white flowers of spring and summer were gone, the twiggy branches heavy with dark red berries. “Aye, hawthorn. The ballad says Thomas lived nearby and one day sat under a hawthorn tree to play his harp when the Faery Queen rode up. She took him inside the largest hill. Hold up here, lass, and we will walk,” he added.
Liam dismounted, and walked over to help Tamsin to the ground. Making sure the horses were tied to low bushes nearby, he patted and murmured to them. He would always be grateful to his great sturdy stallion for keeping him safe, giving all he had, the night they were chased. Taking Tamsin’s hand, he walked with her toward the old hawthorn tree.
“I can imagine him here,” she said. “Sitting there, under the tree, with a harp.”
Hearing a shout, Liam glanced around, on alert. An old man crossed the meadow toward them, walking with a cane, a dog beside him. The man raised a hand. “Who is that?” Liam asked, turning, waiting beside Tamsin as the man walked toward them.
“Good day,” the old man called, coming closer. He was tall and bent, a fine gray tunic and shabby green cloak hanging loose on him. His face had a gaunt dignity and his hair was white and tousled beneath a flat cap. “I am Sir Thomas, and that is my tower house. And that is my tree. Who be you?” Stopping, he patted the head of the tall hound beside him.
Liam was pleased to see a sight-hound like the ones he so loved. This handsome beast seemed obedient, friendly, and kindly treated. “I am Sir William Seton, formerly of Dalrinnie. This is my wife, Lady Thomasina Keith of Kincraig. We do not mean to trespass.”
Sir Thomas came closer, peering at Tamsin. “Thomasina! Is it you?”
“Sir?” she asked. “Are you—oh! You look so much like him!”
“I am Sir Thomas Learmont. The Rhymer’s son.” He smiled. “Your great-uncle. I remember you. One of the beautiful Keith girls, the child with the pale gold hair.”
“Sir Thomas! I did not realize you lived here! We met when I was a child. How kind of you to remember me, and how good to find you here. You are well, Uncle?” She took his hand for a moment.
“Well enough, my wife and I both. She is home in Learmont Tower, just there, and would be pleased to see you. Will you and your husband visit for a spell? Walk those fine horses this way with me.” He beckoned with the cane.
Tamsin nodded and began to walk with the old man, while Liam took the horse’s reins and followed.
“When you were a wee bit lass,” Thomas said, “I remember visiting Kincraig with my father. I was grieved to hear of your parents’ passing. Your sisters and brother are well?”
“They are well. It is kind of you to remember all of us.”
“We are kin! Your mother was my niece, my brother’s daughter. After she married a Keith and moved to Kincraig, we did not see her much after that. Oh, she was kind and elegant. You have the look of her, you know, her eyes and her hair. A beauty. She wore blond braids to her knees always, I remember. And your father was a handsome and intelligent man, serious in nature, concerned for the fate of Scotland and for the welfare of his family. So much has happened since then—Scotland inturmoil, Edward of England stepping in to take over. We did not need that! Even now he can neither bend Scotland nor break it, much as he tries.”
“We are doing our best to prevent it,” Liam said. “Sir, may I ask—are you a prophet like your father?”
“Och, nay, that gift went past me. I was a knight and now I am a farmer. I once played the harp, learned at my father’s knee, but I cannot play now.” He held up his hands, fingers twisted, joints knobby. “I knew all the songs the Rhymer sang.”
“My husband plays the harp,” Tamsin said.
“Do you, lad?” Thomas gave him an assessing stare. Liam smiled and shrugged, wondering at the scrutiny. “Do you indeed?”
“And very well, too,” Tamsin added. “Sir Thomas, could you tell me more about Grandda, and the legend of those hills too? Did he sit beneath that hawthorn, as they say of him? Did he go into the hillside with her?”
“He did say she found him under that tree playing his harp, and cast a glamourie over him, throwing her magic on him. He followed her into her realm and stayed for seven years. He said it was true. Three years with them was seven years out here. Time is not the same there, see.”
“And he came back a truth-teller,” she said.
“He did. Later, see you, he went back inside that hill at the end of his life and was not seen again. Some say the Earl of March killed him for predicting something he did not want to hear,” old Thomas went on. “But that was not his fate.”
“He was quite old,” Liam said. “I heard it said he died in his tower. Not so?”
“Nah,” said Thomas. “He went back to the faeries. He stood up one day and walked out the house, all the way to the highest hill there, where he met the queen. She was waiting for him,silver bells on her bridle and gold in her hair and all. Oh aye, he was ready to go with her.”
