Page 58 of Highland Sword
“What’s her name?” Catriona wanted to know, feeling brave and inching away from the safety of Morrigan’s arm.
“Sidiethe.” She pointed a long, bony finger at the five-year-old. “Ye see her only when the sun has dipped behind thewooded hill or just ’afore the break of day. A water witch, she is, with skin so fair and locks of flaming red.”
Briana tugged on her sister’s red hair and giggled.
“Sidiethe wears a dress so white, it seems to glow and a cape the color of midnight.”
The child turned to Morrigan. “I want a white dress and a cape like that.”
She laughed and whispered something in her ear that made Catriona clap her hands.
The woman glided along the edge of the audience, her voice rising in pitch. “Our witch sits on the banks of our tumbling river, her long hair trailing in the passing waters, singing her mournful songs.”
“I like to sing,” Catriona shouted boldly.
The storyteller turned and cut through the crowd to her. Suddenly, she didn’t seem like an old storyteller, but the witch herself.
“Do ye ever hear weeping out yer window in the night?”
The child backed up and hid her face in Morrigan’s skirt.
“Sidiethe weeps by the waters ’afore someone dies. The night ’afore the great death at Glen Coe, the MacDonald clan chief heard her. He made his way to the icy river. There Sidiethe crouched, washing a bloody scarf, moaning and crying her heart out.”
The storyteller’s gaze was fixed on a far-off hill where a fire blazed. She wrapped her arms tightly around her body.
“When the MacDonald blinked his eye, she was gone. But her weeping echoed off the hills and down the glen.”
“Did someone die?” a child asked, her voice trembling.
“Aye,” the storyteller replied. “I’ll tell you all. It started with a letter and a far-off king…”
Aidan was familiar with the actual history. South of Fort William, the Massacre of Glencoe took place about hundred thirty years ago. After the end of a three-yearJacobite uprising, more than thirty people were killed by forces of the earl of Argyll, who was angry that the MacDonalds of Glen Coe had not been prompt in pledging allegiance with him to the new British monarch.
Morrigan took the girls’ hands and turned to lead them away. The story had suddenly become too serious for their young ears. Aidan decided that Morrigan probably knew the history too. The threesome nearly bumped into him.
“Mr. Grant.” Morrigan stopped short, startled.
“Miss Drummond.”
The smile on her face was the welcome Aidan had hoped for. She seemed happy and carefree and radiant. They exchanged a bow and curtsy.
“When did you get back?”
“This afternoon.”
“Was your trip successful?”
He didn’t want to talk about the chase that had taken him to Aberdeen, where it ended in futility. Not now. He and Sebastian followed the trail of government agent Wemys had identified all the way to the port town, only to find out that he’d boarded a vessel for the Cape colony a fortnight earlier. So Aidan was back to where he started.
Right now, he only wanted the smile to remain on Morrigan’s face. He definitely didn’t want her to think that her attempt to help him had come to nothing.
“It was as expected,” he answered finally.
“How is your brother?”
“I tried to get rid of him on our travels. Unfortunately, the man couldn’t be cast off, no matter how hard I tried. He’s…” Aidan glanced around at the boisterous groups of people moving hither and yon. “Here somewhere. We may find him telling stories about us to his own audience of rapt listeners.”
“That would certainly be too frightening for small ears.” She bit her bottom lip and nodded toward the two girls, who were listening to every word he said.
