One year later...

Cyra sat at a bench by the fireplace warming her hands. They had ached more than usual today, which meant only one thing; a storm was brewing. A crack of thunder had her jumping and confirming what her aching hands had already told her. But there was something else troubling her, though she could not understand what. More than a rainstorm was brewing and she worried what that might mean.

Another crack of thunder and wind rapping at the door had her getting to her feet and reaching for the crock of chamomile leaves. She would brew herself a cup of chamomile tea and crawl into bed early tonight. Her tired bones could use a rest. Besides, two women were soon to give birth and she would need her strength for both deliveries.

Espy.

Her granddaughter’s name whispered like a soft wind around her. She missed her terribly. It had been a lonely year without her and Cyra worried how Espy had survived. She had had no one to turn to when lord Craven ordered her gone from his land and the surrounding land. Espy had come to stay a few short months prior to last year. Cyra still recalled the day Espy had shown up at her doorstep, exhausted and suffering from the loss of her parents. She had often spent time, through the years, with Cyra when her had parents traveled. Her father had been a physician who traveled in an effort to gain as much knowledge as he could and bring the most current medical practices to the people, even if it had meant going against the current acceptable practices and the physicians who extolled them.

In so doing, William of Inuerwyc had indulged his never-ending curious daughter, Espy, with what he had learned. Inquisitive and as stubborn in nature as Espy was, she had combined her da’s acquired knowledge with Cyra’s knowledge, that had been handed down from all those before her, to form a vast wisdom of healing. Something that should have served her well, but had managed to cause her more harm than good.

Cyra wondered everyday over her granddaughter’s whereabouts and safety, and she wished there was a way that Espy would be allowed to return home and remain here where Cyra could keep watch over her.

A soft smile surfaced on her face that had not aged as rapidly as most. She had some lines and wrinkles, but not many for her five decades, though her hair had turned completely white. She wore it in a single braid that more often than not rested on her chest. Her hands, gratefully, had not gnarled with age, though they ached with it. And she had maintained a fine posture, though of late she felt her shoulders more heavily burdened as did so many.

It seemed that when lord Craven’s wife, Aubrey, died, life diminished for the clan. Life had become more burdensome, smiles were rarely seen and, worse, hope had all but vanished. Most believed with Aubrey gone that the beast of MacCara castle had once again been released, and Cyra was beginning to believe it was true.

Cyra winced when a sharp pain struck her hands and winced again when another crack of thunder sounded as if it split the earth in two.

A strange noise that followed the thunder had Cyra stilling to listen. Had she heard a horse approach? Who would be foolish enough to ride in such a terrible storm?

Someone who needed help.

Cyra left the chamomile leaves to steep in the tankard while she went to the door. She was a healer and no matter the weather or how late the hour, she was available to all those who needed her. She opened the door, prepared to offer help and comfort. Her breath caught as her mouth dropped open and fear froze her in the open doorway.

A kelpie had come for her.

The large black horse’s backward hoof pawed the ground impatiently as if demanding she step forward, and though the rain had yet to start, he was drenched from the river he had risen from. A demon sent to collect her.

It took a moment for Cyra to see that someone sat atop the beast. Had the kelpie brought her someone? Who could a demon horse have delivered to her door and why?

The person on the horse seemed unable to keep himself upright and he toppled to the side, falling to the ground. The beast of a horse grew angry and stomped the earth near the fallen body as if demanding Cyra see to his care.

Fearful the kelpie would do her harm if she did not bend to his command, she hurried to the crumpled body on the ground. It took a moment to untangle the cloak around the fallen figure and when Cyra was finally able to reveal a face, she gasped loudly and her heart slammed against her chest.

It was her granddaughter Espy.

“Horse. Shelter. Horse shelter,” Espy muttered as Cyra fought to get Espy to her feet.

“After I get you inside, I will see to your horse.”

“No. Now. A rainstorm follows. Needs shelter.” Espy fought to raise her voice. “Go, Trumble, go with Seanmhair. She will not harm you.”

It had been too long since Cyra had heard Gaelic roll off her granddaughter’s tongue so easily and so lovingly. Though, the large beast of an animal frightened her, Cyra did as her granddaughter asked. She took hold of the reins and the beast snorted, but followed her as she guided him to the small barn that sheltered the cow and her mare. Both animals seemed none too pleased at the large animal’s presence.

With trembling hands, she freed the horse of his saddle and blanket, realizing it had been a rainstorm that had drenched the horse and Espy, and no doubt would arrive here soon. She secured him in the only stall available, though she did not think that the rope she hooked across the front would stop him from going where he pleased. She grabbed the sack that had been attached to the saddle and hurried to her granddaughter.

Cyra struggled to get her granddaughter to her feet and inside the cottage, the rain having started to fall, dropping like sharp arrows from the sky. Once inside, Cyra hurried Espy to the fireplace to get her warm and out of her wet garments.

She could not stop her sudden cry of anguish when the fire’s light fully exposed Espy’s face. A scar ran down her right cheek. It was not a fresh scar, though it was recent, for it was still red and angry, still healing.

“Do not ask me now, Seanmhair, or ever,” Espy whispered.

Cyra placed a gentle hand to Espy’s scarred cheek. “You are home, Espy. I will let no one harm you.” She would keep her word. Espy had exhausted herself to return home to her. But why when she knew what awaited her here? She did not know, but whatever it was, Cyra would keep her safe no matter the consequences.

It took time to get Espy out of her wet garments and into Cyra’s soft white wool nightdress. Tears touched her eyes when she saw not only how slim she had gotten, but the bruises on various parts of her granddaughter’s body. She had suffered a beating of some sort and Cyra wondered what else Espy had suffered, though she did not ask. That was better left for another time.

Espy almost collapsed when she tried to walk to the bed, and Cyra was quick to slip a strong arm around her and take all her weight upon herself as her granddaughter grew heavier against her. She eased Espy down to sit on the bed, then helped lift her legs so that she could stretch out.

“You will stay in bed and rest and heal,” Cyra ordered, tucking the blanket around Espy as she had done so often when she had been a wee bairn. “While you do, I will prepare a brew to warm you.”

Espy reached up, and gripped her grandmother’s wrist. “He will come for me.”

Cyra leaned down as she rested her hand over her granddaughter’s. “I will let no harm come to you, Espy.”

Espy gave a weak smile and shivered.

“You need to get warm.” Cyra quickly got another blanket from the chest at the end of the bed and after she made certain it was tucked tight around Espy, she went and got the chamomile brew she had left steeping. She quickly discarded the crushed leaves and went and sat on the bed alongside, Espy. She placed the tankard to her granddaughter’s lips and helped her to sip some of the brew. Espy drank eagerly and Cyra sat patiently, feeding her the brew until none was left and Espy’s eyes had closed.

Rain pounded the cottage and thunder continued to roll over the land. It was when a crack of thunder sounded as if it had hit the cottage and sent a shiver so strong through Cyra that she collapsed to the chair growing ever fearful.

He knew. Somehow he knew.

The beast of MacCara castle knew that Espy had returned.

* * *

The morning woke without the sun. Gray clouds lingered in the sky, though the rain had stopped. Cyra would have preferred the rain to continue, the downpour keeping people in their cottages and the beast confined to the keep. It would give her time to think of a way to convince Lord Craven that Espy should be allowed to remain with her. Though, the idea seemed senseless, Cyra had to try.

“Seanmhair.”

Cyra’s worried thoughts evaporated upon hearing her granddaughter call out softly to her, and she hurried out of the chair by the fireplace and over to the bed. Espy looked much too pale or perhaps it was the fresh scar that forced such a ghostly color.

Espy slipped a weak hand from under the blanket and reached out to her grandmother as she approached. “I do not want to put you in harm’s way.”

“Worry not about me. It is you that concerns me,” Cyra said and taking her granddaughter’s hand and keeping tight hold of it, she sat on the bed.

“I had no place to go,” Espy said a croak in her gentle voice as she tried to hold back her tears.

Cyra pressed Espy’s hand to her chest. “You do have a place. It is here with me. It is your home.”

They both heard the noise at the same time… the pounding of several hooves growing ever closer.

Espy’s hand tightened around her grandmother’s.

“Lord Craven will not take you from me again,” Cyra said and eased her granddaughter’s hand beneath the blanket. “You stay here and worry not.” Espy went to speak, but Cyra placed her fingers gently to her lips, stopping her. “Not a word and stay where you are.”

Cyra left her granddaughter’s side and grabbing her worn wool shawl from the back of the chair, she went to the door, squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, then opened the door and stepped out, closing it behind her.

The sight that met her had her heart thumping madly against her chest and fear rushing through her, quivering her limbs until she thought for sure her legs would crumble from under her.

Lord Craven could put fear in the devil himself. He had always been a large man, though he seemed to have grown larger since his wife had died, his muscles straining against the black shirt beneath his plaid. But then it was whispered that he worked his warriors senseless on the practice field each day and that he could often be found chopping down trees in the woods and hoisting the felled tree on his shoulder and carrying it without help. Cyra believed some of what she had heard was possibly true while others mere tales. Seeing Lord Craven now, she wondered if perhaps it was more truth than tale.

“Is your granddaughter here, Cyra?” Craven demanded.

Cyra kept her courage strong, though it was not easy in the fierce warrior’s presence. While he had the finest features she had ever seen on a man, there was a fiery anger in his dark eyes that made one want to step back and keep a distance from him. He wore his dark hair shorter than most men, it faintly brushing the tops of his shoulders, and pulled back tightly and secured with a pewter clasp at the nape of his neck, that everyone knew had been a gift from Aubrey.

“Answer me!”

Cyra jumped at his snarling bark and her fear grew. He had six warriors with him. His intentions were obvious and Cyra worried that she would not be able to stop him from taking Espy from her.

“Espy is here and she is ill and needs tending,” Cyra said, keeping her voice steady and clear, fighting down the tremble that threatened to break free.

“Tending is not necessary for the punishment she faces for returning here when I ordered her to stay off my land,” Craven said and dismounted swiftly.

Instinctively, Cyra took a step back. She had forgotten how tall he was and with the added muscles, he appeared even more intimidating than usual.

“Did you think to keep her presence from me? Do you think I am ignorant of what goes on around me? I was alerted to her arrival as soon as she appeared on my land. Turn her over to me now or suffer the consequences,” Craven commanded, his last few words a near roar.

Cyra knew she was sealing her own fate as she shook her head and said, “I cannot do that, my lord.”

“Your granddaughter killed my wife and child. She deserves to suffer and suffer endlessly before she meets her death.” Craven took a quick step toward Cyra. “And I will see that she does.”

Cyra stood firm, fear quivering her limbs, but the need to protect her granddaughter keeping her strong. “Espy did all she could to save your wife and child. It was not her fault they died.”

“The physician said otherwise and I will not stand here and argue with you. Get your granddaughter out here—NOW!”

Cyra gave a slight turn of her head as his warm breath struck her face, his words having been delivered with such force. She did the only thing she could think of… she pleaded for her granddaughter to be spared.

“Please, Lord Craven, have mercy on an old woman. Espy is all the family I have left. Please, I beg you, do not take her from me.”

“Aubrey and our unborn bairn were all the family I had and your granddaughter took them from me. I will spare her not an ounce of mercy for what she took from me.” Craven turned and signaled to his warriors and the six men dismounted and stepped forward. He raised his voice again. “I will not tell you again to bring her out here to me.”

The door suddenly opened. “I am here.”

Cyra turned to see Espy leaning heavily on the door and went to take a step toward her.

“No, Seanmhair, this is my fate to face,” she said softly.

Cyra reached for her arm when Espy stumbled slightly as she took a weak step forward. Tears rushed to fill Cyra’s eyes. She never felt so helpless in her life. Instinct had her stepping forward and wrapping her granddaughter in her arms. They would have to pry Espy away from her. She would not let go.

“Let her go, Cyra, or I will rip her from your arms and care not what happens to you,” Craven ordered.

Espy eased away from her grandmother, though not before pressing her cheek to hers and whispering, “I love you, Seanmhair.”

Tears slipped down Cyra’s cheeks as she watched her granddaughter approach Lord Craven.

Espy struggled to take each step and when she stopped in front of Craven, his face blurred, her legs lost what little strength was left in them, and only one word passed her lips before her head fell on his shoulder and her body collapsed against him.

“Help.”