Chapter Twenty
Outside, Cristie watched Ruaidri fall to his knees and lift his face to the sky, drinking in the fresh air like a man dying of thirst. His profound embrace of freedom, his gratitude for something that so many took for granted, drew fresh tears to Cristie’s eyes. Also, in the pale, grey light of early morning, his emaciated state seemed even more pronounced.
They had many miles to go and an unyielding mountain pass to navigate. Yet Ruaidri MacKellar barely had the strength to clamber onto Jock’s broad back. Cristie wondered if the man would be able to endure what lay ahead. Her hope wobbled a little.
“Settle this around you,” she said, handing him the blanket. “’Tis a chill morning. There’s some bread in the bag, too, if you’d like it.”
“Nay, not right now.”
“As you wish.” She grabbed a handful of Jock’s mane. “I need a stirrup, Laird.”
Ruaidri extended his foot and Cristie used it to hoist herself up. Wrinkling her nose, she settled her arse between his thighs. The man’s body odour was a problem of a different nature—unpleasant, but not worrisome. Trivial, for now.
“Och, will you look at your hands, lass,” he said. “Let me take the reins.”
“Nay, I can manage.” She gathered them up. “You need to save your strength. Hold onto me.”
An arm circled around her waist. “I’ve never feared anything as much as I fear this might all be a dream,” he murmured, a slight tremble in his voice, “and that any moment now, I’ll awaken to darkness.”
“’Tis no dream, Laird, as you’ll soon realize.” She regarded the distant mountains. “We’ve a long road ahead, and I dinnae care for the look of the sky over there.”
He gave a soft grunt. “So, will you tell me about Ewan?”
“Aye, I will, and there’s a lot to tell.” The sudden movement of an overhead shadow drew Cristie’s gaze. A raven soared aloft, perhaps the once she’d seen earlier. It let out a harsh cry and drew a wide circle above them. “If you’ll allow, wait till this eve when we stop to rest. Then I’ll tell you everything. Ewan is well, I’ll tell you that much for now.”
“If I had my way,” Ruaidri muttered, “we’d no’ stop till we reached Cathan’s gates.”
The raven released another harsh call as Cristie urged the horse forward. “That, Laird MacKellar, would only be possible if we had wings,” she said. “In the meantime, you can pray we dinnae meet anyone on the road ’tween here and the pass.”
His breath rattled against her ear. “What day is it, Cristie Ferguson?”
“’Tis the Lord’s day, as it happens,” she replied.
“I thought as much,” he said, after a moment.
Without mishap or interruption, they reached the foot of the pass a few hours later. Cristie gazed up at the low clouds straddling the mountains and failed to suppress a shiver.
Ruaidri tugged at the blanket and shared it with her. “There.” He folded her in his arms.
“My thanks.” She continued to observe the skies ahead. “Though, in truth, ’tis more fear than chill. I dinnae relish this climb, nor the descent into MacKellar lands. We’ll be blind once we get into those clouds.”
Ruaidri gave a soft moan and tightened his hold on her. “MacKellar lands. By all things sacred, I never thought I’d see them again.”
“You’ll see them again soon enough, and your family.” Cristie patted Jock’s strong neck. “He’ll carry us up, I think, but we might have to shelter in the bothy till the clouds lift. That’s if we can find the bothy in the fog. How are you feeling? Do you need to rest here a while?”
“Nay, I’m fine, lass.” He shifted his seat. “Unless Tasgall drowned in the loch, Alastair MacAulay is probably already on his way, and at a swifter pace than ours. We need to keep going.”
Ruaidri’s resolve touched Cristie’s heart. She felt his internal struggle, recognized his determination despite his weakened state. His courage helped to shore up her own, for in truth, Cristie was struggling too. Beneath her veneer of fortitude lay a quicksand of fear and emotion. A part of her longed to see Ewan again. Another part of her dreaded it.
She squeezed her thighs and urged Jock onto the upward trail. The horse didn’t hesitate, not even when they entered the thick curtain of clouds that hung over the mountain tops.
“I cannae barely see the horse’s ears.” A knot of fear twisted in Cristie’s belly. “We could ride right past the bothy and never see it. ’Tis dangerous—nay, foolish—to carry on.”
“All we have to do is follow the trail till we get to Cathan’s Cairn,” Ruaidri said. “It sits right next to the path, so we cannae miss it.”
“Cathan’s Cairn?” Cristie shook her head. “That’s at the start of the descent, and we cannae descend in this. ’Twould be madness.”
“I agree, but we’re no’ going to descend.” His warm breath brushed over her hair. “I’m asking you to trust me. Cristie. I might look like a madman, but I know what I’m doing.”
Cristie huffed. “You’re just like your brother,” she said. “Stubborn as a damn donkey.”
“I dinnae think I’m as daft as him, though,” he replied, nuzzling her hair. “If you were mine, I’d never have let you go.”
“How… how do you—?”
“I heard what Tasgall said to you back there. I know something happened ’tween you and my brother. Once we’re settled and warm, you can tell me all about it.”
“Aye, then you’ll understand why he let me go and likely applaud him for it.” She glanced about. “And I cannae begin to imagine where we’ll be settled and warm anywhere out here.”
“Like I said, you must trust me. This weather works in our favour, methinks, since it’ll slow MacAulay’s pace too.”
They pressed on, the fog like a cold, motionless rain that sank its icy teeth to the bone. Cristie’s eyes ached with squinting, seeing little other than odd patches of snow in the gloom. The path levelled out at last, but if anything, the fog thickened. Have we passed the bothy? No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than the ground began to slope downwards.
“Almost there,” Ruaidri said. “Stop when you see the cairn.”
Cristie didn’t respond. She had no idea what Ruaidri had in mind, but secretly admitted to feeling a genuine twinge of anxiety. The man had been held captive for weeks, kept in the dark, starved and filthy. He seemed rational, but maybe it had affected his mind. Tasgall had even implied it.
There was nothing up here, after all. Nothing but rocks, dead bracken and patches of coarse mountain grass. Even the heather refused to grow. And was it her imagination, or had it gotten colder? She suppressed a shiver.
“Dinnae give up,” Ruaidri murmured, as if sensing her doubt. “Trust me.”
A short while later, the familiar cairn loomed out of the fog, and Cristie reined Jock to a halt. “What now?” she asked, glancing about.
“MacKellar land.” Ruaidri heaved a sigh. “God be praised. You have to dismount now, lass.”
Her heart skipped a beat as she twisted to look at him. “Why?”
“Just do as I ask.”
“But, I dinnae…” Her scalp crawled as she glanced about again. “Do you mean to leave me here?”
He muttered a soft curse. “I fear I willnae have the strength to dismount without my legs buckling beneath me, so I’d like something to hold onto. Since we dinnae have a saddle, the horse’s mane is my only option. You’re in my way, you daft lass, which is why I need you to move your arse.”
“Oh.” Cheeks warming, Cristie swung her leg over and slid to the ground. “Sorry.”
“Nae problem.” He shifted forward, grasped Jock’s mane, and slithered to the ground. “Christ have mercy,” he muttered, breathing hard as he leaned against the horse’s flank. “Just give me a moment.”
Cristie placed a hand on his back. “Take your time.”
“We dinnae have any time.” He continued to cling to Jock’s mane. “And we should really lead this fellow for a while. He needs a rest.”
Perplexed, Cristie glanced around. “Lead him where?”
Ruaidri pointed his chin at an undefined point to the right of the path. “That way.”
She peered into the fog. “What’s over there?”
“You’ll see soon enough.” He took a breath. “Look at me, Cristie.”
She did so, brows raised in question.
“I need you to swear,” he said.
“Swear?”
“Aye. I need you to swear to me that everything you see from this point on will stay a secret. You must tell no one about it, and may the Devil take you if you do.”
Cristie chewed on her lip. Christ save us. Maybe Tasgall was right. He has lost his mind.
Ruaidri frowned and scratched his beard. “You should know, lass, that your thoughts translate plainly to your face. Nay, I havenae lost my mind. I just need your word, that’s all.”
She had little choice but to acquiesce. “You have it, Laird,” she said, “but I fear Ewan would tell you it’s worthless.”
“And would he be right?”
She blinked away the familiar prickle of tears. “Nay, though he has good reason to think the way he does.”
Ruaidri grunted and tugged on Jock’s reins. “I cannae wait to hear the details. Let’s go.”
Cristie cast a dubious glance in their new direction. “That way, you say?”
“Aye. Follow me.”
“But there’s no path.”
“There is, if you know where to look for it. Come on, lass. We need to get out of this fog.”
Despite Ruaidri’s assurances, Cristie had doubts. Many of them. Their new direction appeared to be nothing more than a thoroughfare for local wildlife. The sodden grass soaked her shoes and froze her toes. And the fog not only dampened her clothes and hair, it also dampened her senses.
Despite what Ruaidri had said about a path, she had yet to see any real evidence of one. She followed him blindly, although he seemed assured of his direction. She guessed they were heading north, or maybe northeast. But surely that took them away from Castle Cathan. Her uncertainty and growing fear brought her to a halt.
“I need to know where we’re going,” she called.
Ruaidri paused and looked back. “We’re almost there.” He sounded breathless. “Just a wee bit further.”
“What’s our direction?”
“North.”
“So, away from Castle Cathan?”
“Not exactly. We’re moving parallel to the coast right now. We’ll turn west in the morning.”
She shook her head and moved closer. “Forgive my fears, Laird. ’Tis just that I’m no’ certain where I am, and I cannae see anything.”
“Aye.” Ruaidri grimaced. “I ken how unpleasant that feels.”
A flush of shame flooded Cristie’s face. “Curse my tongue, I didnae think afore I used it. Please forgive me.”
“Naught to forgive,” he said. “Like I said, ’tis just a wee bit further. I’m as eager to get out of this devilish weather as you.”
Whether Cristie trusted him or not, she really had nowhere else to go. Bone weary, she trudged after him, wondering at his singular endurance. Where was he finding his strength? Could that also be a result of madness? The answer seemed to come a short while later, causing her to halt again, this time with a soft cry of dismay.
The granite crag looming out of the fog was a natural barricade. A dead end.
“By all the saints of Alba.” A sense of utter despair washed over her as she stared up at the rugged, impassable wall of rock. “What is this?”
Ruaidri glanced over his shoulder. “I told you it wasnae far,” he said, continuing on. “Come on, lass. Dinnae stop now.”
Cristie shivered. “But there’s nothing here, Ruaidri,” she whispered. “Nothing at all.”
Without stopping, Ruaidri continued on up a small rise till he reached the base of the cliff. Again, he glanced back at her, this time with an odd smile on his face. Then, in less time than it took to draw breath, man and horse stepped into the solid rock… and vanished.
For a moment, Cristie simply stared at the spot where she’d last seen them, her startled mind unable to reconcile the fact that they were no longer there. Heart knocking against her ribs, she crossed herself.
What kind of devilish delusion is this?
Maybe, after all, she was the one who had lost her mind.
“Laird MacKellar?” A soft gust of wind came out of nowhere and snatched her words away. Trembling, she stepped forward. “Ruaidri MacKellar, answer me!” The lack of response and a growing sense of panic pushed her forward. Chest heaving, she lifted her skirts and clambered up the gentle slope to the base of the crag.
Only then did she see it. Only then could she see it.
The face of the crag was not a single, solid piece of rock at all. A massive slab of granite, a natural monolith, rose up from the earth a few feet in front of the cliff, shielding a large cave entrance. Looking straight on, this separate piece of granite blended faultlessly with its background, its detachment invisible to the eye. It was a perfect illusion, Cristie realized. An astonishing and natural deception.
Ruaidri stood on the threshold of the cave, stroking Jock’s nose. “Do you believe me now, lass?”
Cristie gaped up at the crag towering above her. “I swear I’ve never seen the like. ’Tis incredible.”
Ruaidri grunted. “You’ve seen naught yet. Follow me.”
At first, as she might have expected, Cristie stepped into darkness. But as her eyes adjusted, the darkness eased, and she was able to make out some detail. Quite a lot of detail, to her growing puzzlement. The large passage stretched into the distance, seeming endless. The air felt warm, tasted of salt, and smelled like the sea, yet the sea was miles away. But the strange light that lay ahead—a faint bluish hue that reminded her of moonlight—bemused her most of all.
“How far back does the cave go?” she asked.
“All the way through the mountain.”
She squinted ahead. “Is that where yon light is coming from?”
“Nay.”
“Is there someone else in here?”
He chuckled. “I doubt it.”
“So, where is the light coming from?”
“You’ll see for yourself in a moment.”
And indeed, right then, the passage widened and opened into a massive chamber. At the chamber’s heart, a bright, circular pool shone like the moon, its surface covered with a thin layer of undulating silver mist. The light it emitted shimmered on the cave walls and ceiling, filling the entire space with a heavenly glow. Never had Cristie seen such a thing, nor could she ever begin to have imagined it. Her hands flew to her mouth, capturing her shocked gasp. Jock let out a soft whinny and dug his hooves into the ground.
“Easy, lad.” Ruaidri’s soothing words echoed off the cavernous walls as he stroked the horse’s neck. “There’s naught to fear.”
“Dear God.” Cristie stepped forward. “What is this place?”
“It is called Deòir na Gealaich,” Ruaidri replied. “One of Clan MacKellar’s most treasured secrets.”
“The tears of the moon,” Cristie repeated, moving to the edge of the pool. “I dinnae believe I have ever seen such beauty. Is it some kind of magic?”
“According to legend, aye, but it’s more a blessing of nature, methinks. Something in the water, a sediment of sorts that glows. I cannae tell you why or how.”
“Harmless?”
“To touch, aye, but the water is salty, so I’d no’ recommend drinking the stuff. If you thirst, there’s a wee spring yonder that seeps from the rock.”
Cristie crouched and dipped her fingers in the water. “’Tis as warm as a bath,” she said, turning wide eyes to Ruaidri. “How can that be?”
“I dinnae ken. I’ve heard of places in England where the waters are permanently warm. They dinnae glow like this, though, as far as I know. Dip your hands in it, lass. It’ll soothe those blisters.”
“It heals?” She knelt and immersed both hands.
“It seems to speed healing, aye. ’Tis good for aching bones, too.” Ruaidri spread the blanket on the ground and sank onto it. “When you’re done, can I trouble you for a piece of that bread?”
“Of course.” Cristie shook the drips from her hands, dug into her bag, and pulled out the package. “I suggest you eat slowly,” she said, handing it to him, “so you dinnae shock your stomach.”
Grimacing, he glanced down at his scrawny form. “Being captive in that place, shut away in the dark, slowly defeated me. In the end, I wanted only to die.”
“Would you really have drank that poison?”
“Aye, and may God forgive me for losing faith,” he said, and then his face brightened. “Learning Ewan had come home was like a miracle. I’ve prayed for his return many times, but as the years passed, to tell you true, I thought the worst had befallen him and that I’d never see him again. Your news restored my spirit. I swear I cannae stop thinking about it. Tell me about him. Tell me all that has happened since I was taken.”
Cristie sighed and settled herself on the ground at Ruaidri’s side. “Very well, but you’ll likely come to hate me afore I’m finished.”
Ruaidri frowned and tore off a small morsel of bread. “God willing, I’ll see my brother on the morrow, not to mention my wee sister. ’Tis nae just my life I owe you, Cristie Ferguson, ’tis all the joys I have yet to savour. So, no matter what you impart to me in this next while, I could never hate you.”
“We’ll see.” She gave him a grim smile. “And I’d ask that you ignore my tears, too, when they come, which they will. I fear I cannae help myself.”
His frown remained. “As you wish. Though, if it hurts you to—”
“Nay, I promised to tell you.” Cristie shrugged off her cloak, arranged her skirts, and drew her knees up to her chin. “Well, firstly, I suppose you should ken that your brother is… was a Templar knight. And he’s nae the only one at Castle Cathan.”
A slow smile chased Ruaidri’s frown away. “Ewan? A holy warrior?” He shook his head. “Just like our grandsire. Och, lass, I have the gooseflesh just thinking about it. And he’s nae the only one, you say? How many others? And why?”
“Two,” she replied. “And I’ll tell you why, but first, I have to tell you, Laird Mackellar, you and your brother share the same smile. I can see it even through all that hair on your face.”
“Speaking of which.” He nodded toward the bag. “Pass it to me. I’ll have that knife of yours and shave once you’re done your telling. And I’ll no’ interrupt you anymore, lass, I swear. I’ll save all my questions till the end. Please, carry on.”
And she did, holding nothing back. Though it made her blush to the roots of her hair, she even explained why her spurious marriage had not been consummated. She relived every moment, and in doing so realized just what she had found in Ewan MacKellar—and what she had lost. The tears came, as she knew they would, forcing her to pause at times as she gathered herself. Yet relaying all that had happened also felt like a cleansing. A confession, of sorts, to a man whose veins ran with the same blood as Ewan’s, and who also loved him. As promised, Ruaidri said nothing, not even when emotion overcame her, although his eyes often took on a soft glimmer of their own. Otherwise, he simply sat and listened.
“And so, here we are,” Cristie said in the end, her voice hoarse. The recounting had left her drained, body and soul. She waited for Ruaidri to speak, praying he could still look at her without feeling contempt.
It seemed not. He frowned and glanced away, his chest rising and falling with a soft sigh. Cristie lowered her gaze and braced herself. Any criticism of her treachery and deceit would, of course, be quite justified.
But then, “Forgive me,” he said, regarding her once more. “I didnae realize.”
Not what she’d expected at all. “Realize?”
“That’s it’s only been a day since you returned to Dunraven. For some reason I thought you’d been back a while. You must be bone weary, lass.”
She could scare believe it. If anything, Ruaidri’s selflessness actually caused her more shame. “There is nothing to forgive, Laird Mackellar,” she said. “Nothing at all. ’Tis I who should be asking for absolution. I’m ashamed of what I’ve done. Of what Alastair has done. Beyond sorry.”
“I ken you are.” He appeared to ponder. “What is she like?”
Yet more confused, Cristie frowned. “Who?”
“Elspeth. What does she look like?”
Cristie’s brows shot upwards. “I cannae… I mean, that’s all you wish to ask me?”
“For now, aye. ’Tis a question that has merit. I have others, but they can wait till after we’ve rested. For now, and for reasons I cannae explain, I’m curious about the lass I was supposed to wed. Describe her to me.”
“Um, well, she’s a wee bit taller than me, and very bonny. Her eyes are large and brown and she has freckles on her nose but hates them. Her hair is curly and the colour of… of pine cones, and is always neatly kept. She’s stubborn, but she also has a kind and honourable heart.” Cristie closed her eyes for a moment. A better person than me, for sure. “She would be a good wife to you, Laird Mackellar. You’re well suited, I think.”
There followed a moment of silence, then, “Perhaps at one time, but not anymore.” Knife in hand, Ruaidri stepped to the water’s edge. “Your brother has destroyed any chance of an alliance between our clans, Cristie. He’s yet to answer for what he’s done, but he will. Mark my words.”
Crouching, he dipped the knife in the water, sat back on his heels, and began to shave his beard. The harsh scrape of blade against weeks of growth usurped the ensuing silence.
But the sound faded into the background as a sense of isolation crept into Cristie’s soul. Right or wrong, she was now a traitor to both clans. She had abused Ewan’s trust and lost his respect. And, while she would never regret saving Ruaidri, she realized that her efforts in that regard had condemned not only Alastair, but her entire clan to retribution. How was she supposed to reconcile everything? Where was her place?
“Where do I belong?” she whispered, just as something flew past her face and landed on the ground.
Ruaidri’s shirt, swiftly followed by the flight of his trews.
Cristie turned to see him standing at the water’s edge, his back to her, naked as a newborn. Shadows of light and dark served to accentuate the sad state of his body, carving out the bones of his ribs and spine.
“I need a bath,” he said, and stepped into the water.
Cristie held her breath, watching as he waded out till waist-deep, leaving swirls of ghostly mist in his wake. The strange light seemed to rise up, erasing the unflattering shadows and sculpting his body in silver. He turned to face her, splashing water over himself, his roughly-shorn face also lit by a grin.
“It feels heavenly.” His voice echoed off the cavern walls. “I havenae had a bath since I was imprisoned, though I’m sure you’re fully aware of that. Or, your nose is, at least.” With that, he filled his lungs and ducked beneath the surface.
Cristie waited, her initial amusement changing to anxiety as the ripples on the water calmed.
“Ruaidri?” She tensed and leaned forward, willing him to reappear. “Where…?”
Then, like some pagan water-god, he emerged from the depths, sucking in a lungful of air as he shook the silver from his hair.
“Sweet Mother of God, it cleanses body and soul.” His grin remained wide on his face. “Come on in, lass. It’ll soothe all your aches away.”
All of them? I doubt it. Cristie smiled. “Tempting, but nay,” she said. “I’ll rinse your clothes through if you like.”
“Dinnae bother. They’re beyond hope.” He shook more drops from his hair and waded toward her. “I’ll no’ be wearing them again.”
“But…” Cristie averted her gaze as Ruaidri reached the shallows. “Laird Mackellar, you cannae go home naked!”
“I’d rather do that than put those filthy rags back on. They’re fit only for burning.” The sound of splashing ceased as he stepped ashore. “I’ll keep my shoes, though. Dinnae be embarrassed, Cristie lass. Throw me the blanket, and I’ll cover myself.”
“Aye, I’d rather you did.” She tossed it, blindly, in his direction.
He replied with a huff of breath and the sound of fabric tearing. What was he doing, she wondered?
“There,” he announced, not a moment later. “You can look now.”
She dared to peek, eyes widening at the sight of him in his makeshift robe. He’d cut a hole in the middle of the blanket and pulled it over his head. Flattering it was not. But it would provide some warmth at least, while also allowing for modesty. And it was clean.
“’Tis a fine solution,” she said, smiling.
“Better than those rags, aye?” Mirroring her smile, he looked down at himself. “The laird of Clan MacKellar is now suitably attired for his return… for his return to…”
Other than the harsh, rhythmic rasp of his breath, Ruaidri fell silent, still gazing down at himself as his smile disappeared.
Cristie’s smile also faded.
Instinctively, she knew what was happening, what had crippled Ruaidri’s mirth and struck down his optimism. He was yet fragile, his battered spirit at the mercy of dark emotions that could rise up and attack without warning. Cristie struggled with similar demons, for her heart lay in a thousand pieces. But her suffering could never compare to the sheer hell Ruaidri had suffered. His was immeasurable. Unfathomable. His demons would likely haunt him for months. Years, even.
“God, help me,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “Please, help me.”
“’Tis all right,” Cristie said, rising to her feet as fresh sobs shuddered through him. “’Tis all right, Ruaidri. You’re not alone anymore. I’m here.”
She wrapped her arms around him and held him as he buried his face in her hair and wept. Later, she held him while he slept. She found solace in it, and knew he did too. There was nothing more to it than that.
Yet, at that moment, in that place, it was everything.