Page 81 of The Speed of Lightning
He crouched and picked up a small ivory packet. Within its parchment folds rested a wooden bead no larger than his fingertip. The fawn-colored surface was etched with a tree, its branches dotted with tiny berries, its roots spread wide. Around the base a scarlet thread was carefully inlaid into a narrow groove, wrapped round and round like a slender vein of color.
Rolling the bead between his fingers, his breath caught. A rowan tree.Theirrowan tree. He struggled to read her carefully scribed note in the dying light, his fingers trembling, his breath catching.
For Calum-A little bead that holds the strength of its rowan tree, steadfast and rooted through years of wind and storms. Beneath its branches we found each other so many years ago, my dearest and most beloved friend, my protector and keeper. Keep it close, and let it remind you that it is part of your roots, and those roots make you strong. A man created by God, not in part but in whole. A man who deeply roots me through every storm. Take it, and think of me, as I now think of you. — Freya.
A frown crept across his face. But how did she think of him?
He turned the page as if more words might appear. Again he read the note, comparing it to the bead, noting the crimson thread. From her pledge dress, perhaps? If so, surely a token of affection.
My dearest and most beloved friend… He grimaced. Then,my protector and keeper.That was…something.
Roots make you strong… Straightforward enough.
A man created by God, not in part but in whole… He paused, baffled. She might as well have written it in French.
A man who deeply roots me through every storm… Promising, maybe, though he wasn’t sure of what.
Take it and think of me, as I now think of you.
He shook the paper, fighting the urge to shred it. “Arrrrgh, but how do you think of me? Friends or more? Friends or morrrrrre!”
Why couldn’t she just say it plainly?I fancy you, Calum. A lot. Please resume our courtship. Kiss me whenever you like.Or even,I’m glad we don’t kiss anymore—here’s a friendship bead, kindly keep your distance.
He reread the message ten more times, each pass making him more confused. His brow furrowed, his temples throbbed.
With a growl, he yanked the pouch over his head, stuffing the note and bead inside. Three months of trying to untangle her mind was giving him an almighty headache.
He looked up at the stars, shaking the pouch. “Why did you make me so bad with language? This is my sign and I cannae figure it out!”
Close to freezing, he jumped into the skiff and yanked on his clothes and boots. Enough already—he would ask her. No more circling, no more guessing. He would just ask.
He bent to shove off when Bog’s hackles lifted, ears pricked, muzzle curled in a low snarl. Calum stilled, hand closing on his bow, an arrow nocked as he scanned the heath. A faint quiver caught his eye. Slowly, he drew.
“Show yourself.”
An arm rose from the brush, then a head.
“Balder.” Calum let out a sharp breath, lowering the bow. “Why are you crawling out of a bush like a spy?”
The young man scrambled up, brushing dirt from his brat. “I didnae want to risk being seen.”
“We’re in the heath, ye numpty. I nearly put an arrow through ye. Why the secrecy?”
Balder shrugged. “Ye ken how it is for my da since Ragnall took over. I couldnae risk being seen. Folk talk.”
Like most MacLeans, Calum was barred from meetings and didn’t know. “I’d expect your da is pleased. A true son of Odin, burning incense and making sacrifices—his kind finally rules the clan.”
Balder leaned forward, hand out to Bog. The dog backed away with a whale eye and a growl, and the lad jerked upright, swallowing hard. “Pleased? He’s no’ pleased. Ragnall’s wexen out o’ wit. He runs unopposed with mad schemes—speaks of seizing every boat so he alone decides when folk sail, fish, or work the sea. He even talks of taxing their use. A tax, Calum!”
Calum rolled his eyes, unwilling to be dragged into clan matters. “A mad notion, aye, but no’ my concern.”
Ye heard about Tànaiste MacDonald lowering rents? Pay the year up front and get a small portion deducted?”
Calum pulled his cowl close against the wind, dipping his oar into the water as a hint. “Aye. Popular enough, though no’ something I could manage myself.”
“Oh, it was popular—nearly every family on Jura paid in full. And do ye ken what those two did with it?”
He sighed. “What?”
