Page 8 of The Chieftain
“Don’t forget, ’tis no the lass’s clan—nor her father—that you’ll be sharing a bed with.” The old seer cackled and slapped her hand on the table.
Ach, she was as bad as Alex. Connor would wed a lass who looked like a mule if it would save his clan. Still, he hoped his bride would be fair. Surely that would make it easier to be content with only her. He was so desperate to have a woman in his bed that he’d be happy at first with any lass who was warm and willing. But a lifetime? He did not like to think about it.
“Look for your bride among the faeries,” Teàrlag said.
“The faeries?” What in the hell was she talking about?
Connor feared the old woman had lost her gift for foretelling, for which she was famed throughout the isles. That was a shame, for she had helped guide MacDonald chieftains through troubled times for many, many years, and there was no one to replace her.
“I need a word with Ilysa,” Teàrlag said.
“Ilysa?” The lass was so quiet that Connor had forgotten her again.
“Now be a good lad and wait outside,” Teàrlag said, as if he were still a boy of ten instead of her chieftain.
If anyone else called him a good lad and ordered him out, he’d have their heads. But it was hard to take offense at the old seer’s lack of respect when she had treated his father the same. Besides, Connor was inordinately fond of her, and she had saved his life when he’d been badly injured soon after his return to Skye. He had been so close to death that he had seen an angel hovering over him.
“It wasn’t me who saved ye,” Teàrlag said as he leaned down to kiss her weathered cheek. “I gave ye up for dead.”
Alas, the old woman’s mind had grown confused as well. He hoped he would see her again in this life.
While he stood outside with rain dripping down the back of his neck and his chest aching, Connor wondered what the old seer could have to say to Ilysa that he could not hear. A secret remedy for a headache or warts? No doubt, the old woman would miss Ilysa. She took good care of Teàrlag, visiting her often and bringing her baskets of food.
For the first time, it crossed his mind to wonder why Ilysa had chosen to go to Trotternish Castle. He had given each member of his household the choice of remaining at Dunscaith Castle, and all the others had chosen to stay. He’d probably never know her reasons. Ilysa was a lass who kept her thoughts to herself.
***
“While I’m away,” Ilysa said, “Connor’s sister Moira will make certain someone brings ye provisions regularly.”
“You’re a kind lass,” Teàrlag said. “Tell me what is troubling ye?”
“Duncan doesn’t want me to go with Connor,” Ilysa said and made herself stop twisting the skirt of her gown in her hands.
“Ye never do what your brother tells ye, except when it suits ye,” the old seer said. “That’s no what’s making ye uneasy.”
“I could live here with you instead.” Ilysa glanced around the small cottage and wondered whether it would be worse to share a bed with Teàrlag or the cow.
“Duncan is right to worry, child,” Teàrlag said. “The path before ye is full of danger, but ye must go all the same.”
“Why must I?” Ilysa asked, though she’d had the same feeling.
“It would serve no purpose to tell Connor, who’s decided I’m an old fool,” Teàrlag said, waving her hand dismissively. “But his future is hazy in my visions. I fear he may not live to see the summer.”
Her words sent a jolt of fear through Ilysa.
“Connor must live! Our clan depends upon his survival.”I depend upon it.
“Our young chieftain will need you to see dangers that he cannot,” the seer said. “Trust yourself, and ye may save his life.”
“Me?” Ilysa asked. “How am I to do that?”
“Ach, ye think far too little of yourself. Remember, ye carry the blood of the Sea Witch of legend, who built Dunscaith Castle in a single night,” Teàrlag said, leaning forward and blinking her good eye. “And ye were born at midnight.”
“That doesn’t mean I have The Sight like you do,” Ilysa said.
“Hmmph, no one has the gift like I do,” Teàrlag said. “But The Sight comes to ye sometimes, doesn’t it? Ye sense things coming.”
“Perhaps,” Ilysa whispered and dropped her gaze to her hands, which were folded in her lap. “But not often, and ’tis never clear.”
