Page 66 of The Speed of Lightning
Da grimaced. “It seems hardly a kindness to talk of it. I didnae know Amie that well, none of us did. None except Maw that is.”
“My maw?”
“Aye. They carried at the same time, so your mother befriended her. Amie taught her to read and scribe—she’d done it at the abbey, copying the works of the coigreach. Your mother was raised in a believing family on Shetland. It was a comfort to her to have a friend who thought the same. She told me of the things Amie wrote—not only her tales, but of the saints and apostles, things she remembered from her growing up. Of the man, Jesus. It’s why you were named Calum, after Columba?1 who built the chapel at Tarbert.”
Open-mouthed, he stared. Peculiarities of his childhood—things that had never fit their Norse ways—suddenly began to make sense.
Da went on. “Your maw could not help but love Amie. Much as one cannot help but love Freya. She was kind. Persuasive. A lover of stories, of creation, of the stars in the heavens. But she revealed little of her past—only that she was from the mainland, had gone with Ragnall willingly, and would never be parted from her daughter.”
A weight settled in Calum’s gut. “How did she die?”
Da grunted and lowered himself beside him. “A grim day. We pieced it together only from Freya’s wee words. Amie asked her to fetch a candle to light the cauldron fire. Freya tripped. Wax and flame spilled across Amie’s skirt. Freya tried to fetchwater, but couldnae help her. The screams—your mother and I ran from our cottage, but by the time we reached them, half the house was ablaze. The smoke was so thick I could barely see, but I caught hold of Freya, sobbing at the threshold. I dragged her out, but couldnae reach Amie. I pray the smoke took her before the fire.”
Calum’s stomach cramped. “Is that why Freya believes she is a curse?”
Da nodded. “Aye. Since that day she has believed she killed her mother. Ragnall too. He’s never forgiven her for the accident—and never forgiven me for saving Freya and no’ Amie as well. From that moment, he was bent on overthrowing me as chieftain. He roused both MacSorleys and MacLeans to believe Amie’s God was to blame. That He was evil. That nothing but harm would follow if Jura heeded Him. From then, any mention of the coigreach God was branded a curse. And that is why I would not let you go to Tarbert when you became a man.”
“Because you believed my God was evil?”
Da shook his head, his expression grim. “Because I believed the clan would kill you for it—for breaking the charter and dishonoring Somerled’s ways.”
“My belief does not shame you?”
“Before I understood what you believed, I admit I struggled. I did not understand why you would choose this path over your clan and family. Even now, understanding a bit more—it worries me.”
The day of the tànaiste ceremony now laid bare between them, a bit of weight eased from his shoulders. They had carefully tiptoed around that fraught day for weeks, and now they spoke not as enemies about what had happened—but as father and son.
Calum rubbed the tension from his neck. “I shouldnae have shamed you. I should have confessed beforehand and not hidden the truth.”
Da put a hand to his shoulder. “It doesnae matter now. Besides, she saved you.”
“What happened when I left? Half the clan think that I spoiled her.”
Da tossed a stick into the water. “Freya came to us, your mother watching over her. We all waited, wondering why she’d helped you. That was one explanation. But no bairn ever came.”
Calum scowled. “I would never.”
Da gave a small shrug. “You wouldnae have been the first lad to slip before marriage, believer or no. She insisted she only did it because of some wee reason. I cannae even remember what it was.”
“A favor I did her when we were eight.”
“Aye, something like that. There was always a frightened look about the lass, but not until she stayed with us did we ken the full extent. It came out in bits—the way Ragnall kept her hungry, controlled her appearance, robbed her of sleep, tormenting her day and night with her shortcomings.”
“Was it then you taught her the use of henbane?”
Da’s eyes widened. “You know about?—”
“She used it on me last night.”
A deep chuckle rumbled from his father’s chest, and Calum had to fight a smile of his own.
“Aye, I taught her. I suppose that was when the stories began, too. She had the same gift for tale-spinning as Amie. Freya knew many of her mother’s tales, but not all. Your mother thought she might take joy in the papers Amie left behind—hundreds of sagas from Ireland, Scotland, and Wales. She taught Freya to read them, to scribe them. And for the first time, we saw her blossom.”
Calum studied the age lines carved into his father’s face, weighing what to do. “She says you wanted to weave the tales for my sake.”
Da shrugged. “I wanted the clan to understand you, to trust you. Everything I’ve ever done was to protect you. Beyond that, she was shut up in Ragnall’s house at all times, the stories gave her something to do in the long hours she was home alone. Not long after, she changed. Health returned, her spirit grew. She came into her own—those strange eyes, that hair. She’s a rare beauty.”
Warmth stirred in him. “No, Da. She’s always been special. The others are only catching up.”
