“I dinna ken, lassie. Hurry and place the flowers.”
Rory already stood at the graveside, staring down at the freshly turned soil. He stepped back, shoved his bundle of blooms into his sister’s arms, then moved to Lyla’s side. Taking her hand, he said, “This is my mother.” With a defiant jut of his chin at the marker, he added, “not that woman. Do what ye wish wif my flowers. My druthers are to put them on Grandmam’s grave. I know she loved me.”
Lyla bent and whispered something to the lad that Grant couldn’t hear.
The boy shook his head and stood firm.
Fawna looked back at Grant with uncertainty. He walked her to the grave. “Ye may lay the flowers if ye wish,” he said. “Just because ye do, doesna mean ye dinna love Lyla as yer mother. She knows ye love her, and she loves ye, too. With all her heart.”
“Are ye certain, Da?” She cast a worried glance up at him, then turned and looked at Lyla.
Lyla offered the child a reassuring smile.
“I swear it, my wee one.” Grant waited, breath held, hoping that Rory’s stance wouldn’t stir Merideth’s wrath.
“This lady needs our kindness, does she not?” Fawna plucked at the flowers, rearranging their stems.
“Aye, dear one.” Grant rested his hand on her head, her silky hair as blonde as his. “Every one of us needs kindness.”
The child placed the blooms at the base of the monument, then patted it. “I hope ye feel better now that ye’ve come back home.”
Grant swallowed hard at the sudden lump in his throat. His beloved daughter possessed the wisdom of the old ones. Then his heart swelled as Fawna ran to Lyla and hugged her. God had blessed him greatly. He cleared his throat. “Will ye take them to the garden, my love? I wish a word with Father Rubric.”
Lyla took them by the hand, gifted him with a kiss on the cheek as she passed, then hurried from the kirkyard.
“Ye wished something else?” Father Rubric asked while eyeing the grave.
“Aye.” Grant waved him forward. “Walk with me, Father.” He led the way out the gate, then paused in front of the modest kirk. “I wish ye to bless the keep. Every room. Every floor. Even the garderobes. Dinna leave a signal stone, spindle, or stick of furniture wanting for yer blessing, ye ken?”
The holy man’s scraggly brows rose to his thinning hairline. “Everyfloor?”
Grant nodded while staring up at the window in question. “Especially the second-floor chambers and the window where she died.”
Father Rubric followed Grant’s line of sight, flinching as he stared up at the keep. “I shall do what I can.”
“That is all any of us can ask of ye.” Grant hoped the man would arm himself with enough holy water, crosses, and prayer books to oust an army of demons. Because Merideth’s anger and thirst for revenge made her frighteningly powerful. He knew in his heart her spirit had exploded from that grave beyond the woods.
The priest gave a decisive nod and headed up the steps to the church. “I shall gather my holy armor and weapons.” He opened the door, then turned back and locked eyes with Grant. “Every woman and child should shelter in the kirk until I finish. For their own safety, ye ken?”
“I shall see to it immediately.” Determination to protect all he held dear burned through Grant’s veins. Let the battle begin. He was ready.
Chapter Four
Lyla paced backand forth in front of the church’s altar, jiggling a babe in each arm. She appreciated Father Rubric’s chivalry regarding the safety of the women and children but hated being removed from the action. The holy man didn’t need to face Merideth’s angry wraith alone no matter how well versed in battling evil he felt himself to be. When she had tried ousting the entity by calling outChrist Almighty, it barely slowed. A sense of sheepishness nudged her. Her faith couldn’t come close to Father Rubric’s. Surely, that had to be the reason.
“I can take one of the wee ones from ye, m’lady,” Besseta interrupted her thoughts, holding out both hands, her smile hopeful.
Lyla allowed her to take the more amiable of the twins. Sweet Hope loved everyone. Her sister Joy—not so much. Opinionated, Joy already exhibited her father’s fractious stubbornness. “You and Geordie will be blessed with a little one someday. Just you wait and see.”
Besseta cast a wistful gaze down at the sleeping babe in her arms. “I hope ye are right, m’lady.”
Abby joined them in front of the altar, toting one year old Violet on her hip. “Is someone going in there with Father Rubric?”
“I hope so,” Lyla said. “But I don’t know if he allowed it or not.” She turned toward the window but couldn’t see out because of the women and children blocking it. “I wish I could go help him.”
“Nay, m’lady,” Mrs. Fintrie said, joining them. “If the wraith is Lady Merideth’s spirit, it would attack ye once again to spite the chieftain.”
The housekeeper made a fair point. Lyla climbed the altar steps and stretched up to her tiptoes, trying to see over the heads of those filled with the same curiosity. “I can’t take this anymore. I am going outside.”
