Page 12 of The Burden of a Scottish Chieftain
“Is she?” Rowan looked to Magni and Lia for confirmation and frowned when they both nodded. “Cannot be,” he mumbled.
Lia clarified. “Rowan, she is loved by two different clans. One on the mainland and one on Mull. We are from one clan, and you are from one, and Tora is from two.”
Tora peered up at the ceiling. “Gwandda is coming too. And Gwandmama.”
Rowan and Magni jumped up at the same time, both looking to Lia for guidance. Magni declared, “There are four clans looking for us?”
“That’s wight, so please be patient. Be nice to everyone.”
Magni wrinkled his nose and made a fist. “Not to those mean men, I won’t.”
The door opened, and two men came inside. “We heard your conversation. Guess what? You are correct. There will be too many looking for you, so we’re moving you now.”
“Where are we going?” Magni asked, his fist opening instantly as he stared up at the first man.
“Across the water. We must get off the isle.”
Chapter Eight
Meg
Meg knelt on the bank and dipped the linen square into the burn, wiping her face and neck with the cool water, finding it so refreshing that she nearly cried. She’d been traveling for three days and had no idea where she was going.
She’d found a cave to sleep in last night, which had been a massive improvement over the last two nights, but her situation was becoming tenuous at best.
She had no food left, and while she’d found some berries along the way, it was hardly enough to fill her belly. To say she was starving was an understatement. There was no alternative. She’d have to use her axe and kill a rabbit or something.
But then she’d have to skin it, something she hated with such a passion that she’d often done it without looking. Tamsin had done it for her for many years, but Meg had been forced to do it a few times after her sister left.
Meg had taken care with her axes, separating them so she could grab one quickly if she were attacked. Last eve, she’d lain in the cave thinking about her dear sister, wondering how she would go about finding Tamsin when she had no idea where she lived other than on an isle with a man named Raghnall Garvie.
Tamsin had been upset when her sire had announced her betrothal in nearly the same way he’d done with Meg. He entered their hut at the end of the day and announced that Tamsin’s husband would come for her the next day. Poor Tamsin had been up most of the night going back and forth between fearful and hopeful. Having never met the man, she knew it could be the beginning of a wonderful life for her. Meg hoped that her sister was happily married and would be easy to find.
She’d pulled out the bracelet made of the thick blue yarn that she’d loved, but she hadn’t worn it in a long time. They’d vowed only to wear it when they were together. It sat tucked inside the small sack attached to the belt on her tunic, but she’d peeked at it often to make sure it hadn’t fallen away. The bracelet was her most prized possession.
Once she was finished refreshing herself, she headed back to the path, but hearing a few horses coming toward her, she chose to hide in the trees until they passed. Dressing as a lad helped her be inconspicuous, a plan she’d hoped to protect her from the wandering eyes of passing men. Her hair was tied in a plait and pinned up inside the hood of her mantle, completing the image, or so she hoped.
The horses on the path carried a family of six. They spoke of the market near the kirk, not far from where they were.
That gave her hope, and the first plan she’d ever felt confident about popped into her mind. She’d go to the market, buy herself a hunk of bread, then travel on to the kirk, hoping that there would be a kind soul inside who would help her find the way to Ulva. Perhaps they’d allow her to sleep on a pallet in the stable for one night. Priests and nuns would surely help her, would they not? She prayed they would.
Filled with hope, she waited until the group was out of view, then headed down the path toward town. Sure enough, in less than an hour, she found herself at the edge of a market where multiple vendors sold their wares.
She walked amid the busy area in the village center, looking at all the goods: ribbons, fabrics, weaponry, bread, chicken legs, jewelry, boots, and beans. She’d never seen such a selection. Years ago, their parents had taken her and Tamsin to market, but it hadn’t been this large. They’d bought ribbons, thread, and fabric, among other items, but they enjoyed the crowd.
Moving over to the baker’s stand, Meg chose a quarter of a loaf and paid the vendor, then bumped into a man standing directly behind her.
“Where’s your father?”
Not trusting the man, she said, “Over there.”
The baker called out to her. “Stay away from him.”
Once the man took his leave, she stepped back to the booth and leaned over to the baker, doing her best to drop the tone of her voice. “Which way to the kirk?”
The baker said, “Down that way. I’ll warn you, lass, if you are alone, speak to no one and go there quickly. I see that you have tried to disguise yourself, but you are the kind of lass that cannot hide it, so you must make wise decisions to protect yourself. The kirk is the best choice for the night. They’ll allow you to stay the night. There are some who love to steal a bride on market day. They’ll be gone on the morrow.”
Appalled at such a possibility, she mumbled, “Many thanks.”
