Page 41 of Abducted By the Highlander
“Did they all die?” one little lad asked in awe.
“Maybe they did,” Roisin said. “But as long as we remember them and tell their tales, no one truly dies.”
Innis called the bairns to come over to her, and Roisin handed Rhona her drawing, who looked thrilled with it. As the bairns left and Roisin cleaned the nib of her quill, he shifted closer to her.
“Which mythical tale was that? I don’t recall it from those ye shared with me before.”
She glanced at him, and it took all his willpower not to steal another kiss from her. “I didn’t tell ye this one. ’Tis the history of our Pictqueen foremother, who refused to give up her land for the Christian monks to build their monastery on our isle.”
“So she slaughtered them?”
“That’s how the story goes. But she passed down her edict to her eldest daughter, who didn’t perish in the sea like all the other women.”
“Her edict?” Once again, he was drawn under the spell of her storytelling, just as he had been on the Isle of Eigg. Although, truth be told, she could tell him the most mundane of things and she’d still manage to bewitch him.
“That the daughters of Sgur can never leave our isle.”
“That was the command she wanted handed down through countless generations?”
Roisin frowned and dusted the end of her quill across her lips as though she were considering the matter. “’Tis more than a command, and yet—” she hesitated and then shook her head as though trying to dislodge troublesome thoughts. “Her edict has been handed down from mother to daughter for over nine hundred years. ’Tis not something to be taken lightly. But there have never been three daughters of Sgur in the same generation before which, I feel, is a powerful portent.”
Despite enjoying her story, he was skeptical. “There is no way ye can possibly know that for sure, Roisin. ’Tis far more likely that many daughters have been born than not.”
“Ye may be right,” she conceded. “But my mother was the only daughter of Amma, and Amma was the only daughter of my great grandmother. And she, in turn, was the only daughter born of her mother. We can trace our blood kin back for many generations and the single daughter holds true throughout. But although what ye say is possible, ’tis just as possible what we’ve always been told is true.”
He had to admit the truth of what she said. “Maybe. But it seems unlikely it could have happened in an unbroken chain for nine hundred years.” And then the obvious occurred to him. “Did yer fiercePict queen curse her bloodline, then?”
“Curse?” Roisin seemed confused. “What do ye mean?”
“I mean did she weave a spell or some such that her descendants would never produce a son and only a single daughter every generation?” Not that he believed in such things as spells, of course. But nine hundred years ago, when the Picts, with their pagan beliefs, had still held power across the Highlands, who knew what might have occurred?
“Oh.” Now she appeared amused. “No, ’tis not a curse. And for yer information many sons have been born over the centuries. But Sgur passed through the matrilineal line, even before there was a castle built on the land. As the eldest daughter, it was always assumed Isolde would inherit, but Amma betrothed her to William because she was certain Isolde’s path did not lay on Eigg.”
And then he saw where she was heading with this. “And after Lady Freyja wed Alasdair, the inheritance fell to ye.”
Roisin sighed. “’Tis a strange thing when ye believe something is certain all yer life, only to discover…” she paused and bit her lip. “That it isn’t.”
“Is that what ye mean about this being a powerful portent?” He still couldn’t make sense of that comment. “Because of how unlikely it was that ye’d inherit, with two older sisters?”
“No.” She dropped her gaze, and her fingers played with the feather of her quill. “I’ve never spoken of it before, even though it’s something that’s troubled me since I was a small bairn.”
He took her hand and gave her fingers a comforting squeeze, wishing they were alone so he could pull her into his arms and kiss her worries away. “Ye know ye can tell me anything, Roisin.”
She shook her head. “My sisters think I’m fanciful. I’ll not deny it. But I’ve always thought it strange how neither of them, nor even Amma, saw the significance.”
She’d lost him, but he didn’t like to admit it. Yet he couldn’t help himself. “What significance?”
“Three is a powerful number, Hugh.”
He’d never thought about it before. “I suppose it is,” he said, but couldn’t hide the doubt in his voice although Roisin didn’t seem to notice.
“’Tis always three.” Her voice was hushed. An eerie shiver raked along his arms. “Birth, life and death. The maiden, the mother and the crone. Three is woven through so many of the ancient myths and legends, and why do ye think that is?”
She didn’t appear to expect him to answer, as she continued with scarcely a pause. “Because it is a sacred number. And I’ve never been able to shake the feeling that our Pict queen ancestor is somehow reaching through the years to tell us something.”
It was a fanciful concept, indeed, but he didn’t like to voice his disbelief in case he hurt her feelings. “’Tis an interesting idea for sure.”
“And I have always wondered if perhaps we’ve never fully understood what she meant by—by her edict.”
