Page 17 of The Speed of Lightning
Murdoch blinked, his face more creased than ever. “A puffin?”
“Aye,” Nils said, nodding as if it were obvious. “A puffin.”
Eager to be done with the exchange, Calum pitched his voice low, giving his best imitation of Iain MacLeod. “Think a’ve go’it. Thank ye kindly. D’no if we’ll find it, but we’ll give it a go.”
Murdoch’s mustache twitched as if he were biting back a laugh.
“Good luck to you, then,” Nils said cheerfully. “Come back if ye get lost.”
They began the climb up the steep hill past the chieftain’s cottage.
Murdoch finally snorted. “What was that performance?”
Feet steady on the stony path, Calum let the air of Jura fill his lungs—moss, brine, pine, all of it. “Seemed unkind to disabuse him of the notion I was a coigreach…not after he’d gone that far in.”
Murdoch chuckled as they turned along the stone fence. “Ah. That’ll be Thane MacSorley’s house, then?”
“Freya’s father, aye.”
Calum’s eyes studied Freya’s home, wondering if she were already at the meeting. No feminine touch softened it. Unlike his parents’ home—where Michaelmas daisies still bloomed in purple mounds by the door, washing fluttered in the breeze, and a floral motif curled around the lintel—Ragnall’s house stood bare. Its bowed-in walls, plain and unadorned, looked less like a dwelling than a wrecked ship run aground in the middle of his field.
“You know I’ve heard the story of how you came to Mull many times, but ye never mentioned the lass.”
Beneath his tunic, the pouch thumped against his chest, the small gold ring pinging somewhere inside. He’d never talked of Freya to anyone. “That part was so ugly I could never bring myself to recount it.”
Murdoch held back a thick branch from the path, his brow arched. “I’d like to know what I’m in for. Birdy thinks you were lovers.”
Calum paused, irritation flaring. “It wasnae like that. Her father was my father’s fiercest enemy. I never thought she’d risk casting her lot with mine. But when my father cast me out, I ran—and Freya followed. When she caught up, she didnae hesitate. She helped me shove my boat into the water, tossed me a purse with all her coin to aid my escape. I tried to bring her with me, pulled her into the skiff to save her from the tide.”
He steeled himself, the memory raw. “Our eyes met…and for the briefest moment she smiled. I’d never seen her smile before. And in that instant I wanted—God help me, I wanted to see her smile all her days. But her father dragged her back. The last glimpse I had was of her held beneath the surf, while my parents tried to save her.”
Calum’s voice caught, his eyes blurring as the heart-rending memory surged—the bolt of feeling that had struck him then, still binding her within his heart. “I begged God to save her. To keep her safe until I could return.”
Murdoch’s voice was gentle, but pointed. “So that’s why you wanted to come back. Not just because you dinnae trust Rory to handle the mission, or to see to the defenses. But because of her.”
Calum strode ahead, unwilling to linger on the thought. “I need to make amends with my father. I need to find the bard. I need to be sure Jura’s safe. And…” His throat worked. “I suppose I want to know that she is safe.”
They turned at the puffin-shaped rock, and the meetinghouse revealed itself in the clearing, vast against the falling dusk.
Murdoch stopped dead, jaw slack. “Joseph, Mary, and all the holy saints be venerated.”
Calum frowned. “What is it?”
Doc stepped forward in staggered paces, his eyes wide. “I thought your meetinghouse was a small, moss-choked shack, a lopsided ruin cobbled together centuries ago. Not—” he swept a hand toward it—“that. The thing must stretch a hundred feet.”
Calum grinned, taking in the towering columns of pine that bent to form the walls, the turf climbing halfway up the sides, the massive eaves and posts, the roof soaring like a cathedral over the clearing. “All those years of teuchter?1 insults coming back to haunt ye? Hard to believe I’m no’ a dirt-eating, empty-headed heathen?”
Murdoch tilted his head back, admiring the height of the beams. “Aye, to be honest, it is hard to believe. That’s no’ a meetinghouse—it’s a king’s hall.”
Calum’s smile thinned. “To this island, Da is a king. A god.”
“Were you raised there?”
He shook his head.
“How no’?”
“My father was. But a chieftain is expected to fill his hall with sons and daughters. I’m my parents’ only surviving child, despite thirteen births. Just as my father was the only one of his. The MacSorleys say it is our curse.” He exhaled through his nose. “Maw always said the great house mocked them for what they couldnae give it. Da gave it up for the good of the clan the summer before I was born—at Ragnall MacSorley’s ‘helpful’ suggestion.”
