Chapter 11
For the next month, Andrea sat and waited. There was little to do except visit the Abbey or the Chapel or walk along the shoreline. Wherever she went, she seemed to feel Helena’s eyes watching her every move. They barely spoke and Helena spent most of the time praying for her brother’s safe return. The seasons began to change and autumn slowly turned into winter. As the air grew chill, Andrea’s belly began to swell. She was pregnant with Alex’s child. At first she could hardly believe it, but it seemed almost atonement for the lost boy. Although she did not believe in God, she too started to pray for his safe return, for without him she would be lost and alone in this strange world.
The end of the year passed without word, until one day with the arrival of the first snow, a message came that the MacDonalds had defeated the Campbells at Inverlochy. The men would be home soon. There had been casualties on both sides, but it was difficult to tell what had happened to Alex or if he was safe. They would have to wait a few weeks more before they knew.
Late one night, Andrea was awoken from her sleep by the shouts of men and horses outside her window. Opening her curtains she could see the shadows of dozens of men, some walking, some on horseback. The warriors were returning. Slipping a cloak over her nightgown and putting on her slippers, she rushed out into the night. Helena never bothered to lock her door now; after all, there was nowhere she could go. As she ran among the men, she tried to look in their faces for Alex’s familiar features. It wasn’t easy. Some of the men held torches aloft, their features wickedly burnished in the golden light. She could see that some of them bore scars or lumps of flesh ripped from their faces in the most hideous fashion. Other men limped or wore their arms in slings. Others less fortunate were carried on makeshift stretchers made from old linen and planks. Her stomach was swollen in front of her, and as she hurried along, she felt the baby kick so she slowed her pace. It was best not to tire herself. As she approached the landing platform by the sea, the line of men had thinned until there was only one lone figure standing over the empty fishing boats. The figure was cloaked in black; it was Helena, and she was looking wistfully across the water, willing her brother to return.
“Is he here?”
She knew the answer already. If Alex had returned to Iona, then his sister would have been the first by his side.
At first the figure did not respond, and Andrea didn’t know if her voice had been heard above the crashing of the waves.
Eventually the figure turned to face her, the skin glowing pale in the moonlight. The eyes were full and stared through the girl. She had never felt so much hate in her life. Without speaking a word, the Abbess pushed roughly past, leaving her alone.
Andrea swallowed hard, sensing something must be wrong. Her stomach lurched, and she tried to remain calm for the sake of the child within her. Surely somebody must know.
She set off back down the track to catch the men, asking the first group she saw if they knew what had happened to Alex. They all shook their heads, most of them too tired to speak after their exertions. She couldn’t tell if they were sparing her the truth because of her condition or if they genuinely didn’t know.
Finally, she caught up with Helena who was engaged in conversation with a couple of older men. She hid out of sight but within earshot. The men were shaking their heads and the woman put her face into her hands, running back to the sanctuary of the nunnery.
At a much slower pace, Andrea followed in her footsteps and found her standing alone in the cloisters, half bathed in moonlight and half in shadow. An eerie halo had gathered around the moon and Andrea could feel the dread mounting in her own heart.
“What’s happened to Alex?”
The words rushed out into the darkness and then disappeared amid their breathy exhalation.
Helena could have been a statue standing there in the moonlight. She did not move for several seconds.
“He is dead. My brother is dead.”
The words almost stopped her heart. It couldn’t be true.
Andrea rushed over to the woman, hoping that they could unite in their shared grief, yet despite her condition, Helena pushed her away with such a force that she landed in the damp grass.
“Don’t you dare touch me! You are responsible for this. I knew when you first arrived that you would bring trouble.”
The woman was grief-stricken, but there was no need to treat her so unkindly. Slowly Andrea rose to her feet.
“Helena, I...”
“Do not speak to me. The damage has been done.”
“But what did I do? Alex died in battle, surely?”
Helena turned and walked towards her, a finger raised in accusation. “You bewitched my brother from the start. I don’t know where you came from, but you are not from this world. When you showed me the rune, I understood. You have been practicing the art of black magic upon us for your own ends. And now you have killed him.”
Andrea looked on in wonder. She had always thought that Helena did not like her, perhaps had been jealous of her relationship with Alex, but never thought that she hated her. The accusations were ludicrous. The woman was obviously mad.
“Helena, I am carrying your brother’s child, your nephew, his only heir.”
The Abbess scoffed in her face. “Oh, you would like to think so, wouldn’t you? I doubt the child you carry has anything to do with Alex. You have probably made a pact with the devil – there will be something unnatural about this child, like the other one. That’s why it could not live. Maybe it is even one of our enemy’s seed, a Campbell’s perhaps? I never trusted you before with your late-night wanderings. Why did you think I locked your door each night? Now I must go and pray for my brother’s soul.”
Left alone in the quiet night air, Andrea began to weep for the loss of Alex as the reality hit her. She had only known him briefly, but it seemed like years, and the grief was very real. She could understand why Helena thought she was a witch. It was 1645 for crying out loud, and people had funny ideas about the devil, but how on earth could she convince her otherwise? As she wept into her cloak, she heard footsteps approach. It was Geraldina, and taking her by the arm, she ushered Andrea back into the warmth. The young nun had lit a new fire and several of the candles. Andrea shivered. She hadn’t realized how tired and cold she was.
The tears still ran down her face as she undressed and put on her nightgown, remembering her last night here with Alex. Without him, what would become of her and the child? Without the rune, she may never return home.
Tucked up in bed, Geraldina brought her a draught of the bitter herbal medicine. She trusted the young girl and drank it straight down. She had to think about the baby now and how they could survive. It wasn’t long until she was in a deep sleep and dreaming.
She was standing in the middle of a battle zone, and there were Highlanders and English men fighting all around her, but she seemed to be a ghost and able to pass through them, unharmed. And although the battle raged fiercely on all sides of her, there was no noise except for the melancholy whine of a lone piper. A mist appeared and someone was calling her name. No, not her name—Andra’s. She recognized the voice; it was Alex calling out to her through the void. As the mist rose, she could see him, battle worn and bloody but not dead.
“Wait for me, Andra,” he was saying, over and over again.
When she awoke, she felt calmer as if Alex had really been with her. Maybe there was still hope, but she would keep it to herself.
She expected Geraldina to bring her breakfast and was surprised when Helena opened the door with her meal. She braced herself for another onslaught of venom.
Placing the tray on the bed, Helena walked over to the window.
“Andra, I am deeply sorry about last night. The news of my brother’s loss hit me strongly and I spoke out of turn. I have not been as welcoming to you as perhaps I should have, and I think that I should start to make amends, especially as you are carrying his child. After breakfast, come walking with me. The air will do us both good.”
It was a struggle for the older woman to say the words, and her face twisted with every vowel. She was trying hard to be pleasant, but her manner left Andrea cold. Still, if Helena could make the effort, then so could she.
The girl smiled and nodded. “I could do with some air and exercise too. I will come to you after I have dressed.”
Andrea ate up her breakfast. She needed to keep up her strength. Then, pulling on her layers of stockings and tunic to keep warm, she wrapped a large woolen blanket around her shoulders to keep off the chill from the sea air. Helena was already waiting for her by the door, and the two women set off into the bright winter air.
Together they walked over the brow of the Island to the northern-most point, the “Bay of the Breaking Waves,” the locals called it. The view was spectacular and the women walked on in silence, each one thinking of Alex in their own way. As they rounded the hill, Andrea began to break out into a sweat, becoming breathless before the pains started in her abdomen. Clutching her belly, she shouted out to Helena who was walking slightly ahead of her. By the time Helena had turned around, Andrea had already slipped to the stony ground, writhing in agony.
The Abbess walked over to the girl, a strange look upon her face. She was about to speak when a voice called out to them in the distance, and a small black figure approached them. It was Geraldina, who, noticing that Andrea had not taken her cloak, followed the two women to bring the garment.
“Geraldina, come quick, the young mistress is unwell, and we need to get her back to the nunnery as a matter of urgency.”
Slowly and carefully, the two women supported her back to the room. Luckily, they hadn’t walked too far and within half an hour, Andrea was tucked up in her bed with a roaring fire in the grate. The pain had subsided in her stomach, but her heart was racing and she had a fever. The physician had examined her and left another draught of bitter herbs to help her rest.
She slept for the rest of the day, and by suppertime she was feeling much better and sat up in bed to eat a small meal that Helena had brought for her. The Abbess had showed her great kindness that day, and Andrea wondered if she had been wrong to doubt her. It was only when Geraldina came to check on the fire about midnight that anyone realized the attack had happened yet again. After her meal, Andrea had slept only to wake with a raging thirst and a pounding head. As she had tried to get out of bed for a glass of water, the stabbing pains started again and she was too weak to shout for help.
The young nun wet a rag with cold water and laid it on her forehead. Andrea was almost delirious with pain but could see Geraldina smiling kindly down at her. For once the girl spoke.
“Listen to me. There is not much time. Helena is trying to poison you; she does not want you nor the child, now that her brother is dead. She is poisoning you through the food, and I cannot stop her–but I can give you an antidote for the poison. Here, drink this up and you will soon be feeling better.”
The nun went on to pour three drops of a reddish-brown liquid into a goblet and filled the rest with water.
Andrea drank down the potion; it tasted sweet and of berries, and within five minutes the fever had eased and the pains gone.
“You must take three drops of this with water before and after each meal to protect you. Now I must go, I have been here too long.” And leaving a small vial on the bed, the nun left, locking the door behind her.
She was in deadly danger. If Helena was trying to kill her, then she would stop at nothing. Geraldina’s potion would only prolong the inevitable. She had been right all along about Helena. Grandma Betty had returned back to the present on the seeming death of Andra, but then again she had the rune. What would happen if Andrea died without it in her hands?
All night she lay awake, afraid of every noise, of every footstep in case it was Helena’s. She tucked the glass vial under her pillow out of sight. Without the young nun’s help, she would have been dead already. She must keep the faith.