The shimmering light shifted in color, becoming a soothing shade of green as his mother’s voice lilted through the air. “There is no danger to Ciara or the child. Only challenges lie ahead. Thus the reason for my visit: I am here to impress upon you, you must trust in the destiny assigned by the goddesses. You must listen to your heart and not your mind. You must trust in the gifts you have been given.”
Faolan glanced down at Ciara’s peaceful face where her sooty lashes rested upon her ivory cheeks. He drew a deep breath, his mind still troubled at the vagueness of his mother’s words. With a weary sigh, he scrubbed at his jaw and looked up to see clearly into his mother’s eyes. “Protect them, Mother, as much as ye can. Protect them from whatever lies ahead.”
Before his mother’s face faded from view, she acknowledged with a bow of her head. “I shall protect all of you as best I can, my son. I am never far from your side.”
ChapterNine
Faolan slipped just inside the wide double-doors of the stable, taking care to close them without a sound. Ciara was worried about the boy again. She had sensed he’d been in another scrape with the older lads around the grounds. In her condition, Faolan would not have her upset. He’d see to the lad himself. He’d tracked Ian to the boy’s favorite hiding place but it looked as though Maxwell had already found him.
Brown muck oozed, along with bits of straw and unidentified clumps of debris, down the sides of Ian’s face. Only his tiny, red-rimmed eyes peered through the clotted mess. His torn tunic hung off one shoulder; his tattered kilt dangled from his waist. His eyes welled with unshed tears; his little fists clenched and trembled at his sides. His mouth clamped shut and he stared at his feet, widespread in leftover self-defense. His entire body trembled with short erratic jerks.
Faolan scrubbed his face with his hands. The poor lad, the other boys had razed him with horse manure.God’s beard.Ciara couldn’t hear of this. She would be absolutely livid.
Maxwell frowned down at the boy; his thick arms crossed over his barrel chest. Circling the boy, he rubbed a thumb across his pursed lips as he studied the lad. “Ye know if I take ye up to the keep in your current state, Lady Ciara will have those boys’ heads on a platter.”
Ian remained sullen. He stared down at his feet and didn’t utter a word. He just shrugged one skinny shoulder, which succeeded in shaking free some of the foul-smelling muck that had clotted in his hair.
Maxwell made another circuit around the boy, wrinkling his nose as he used the handle of one of the rakes to push Ian’s soiled tunic back up on his body. “Why did they jump ye? I thought ye were getting along well with the other lads about the grounds. I thought ye had made some friends.”
Faolan edged closer. Ian’s answer would decide whether he lashed those boys’ arses himself.
Ian scuffed his worn shoe in the loose straw and clamped his mouth shut. With a sniff, he wiped his grubby nose on his sleeve, then sneezed as a bit of mud went up one nostril. “They said my ma was no better than a whore ’cept she tried to sell my body ’stead of hers.”
Faolan clenched his teeth, irritation seared through him at the cruelty of the youths. He’d teach those lads about selling bodies. They’d find themselves putting theirs to use scrubbing the stones lining the sluice leading out of the garderobes.
“What?” Maxwell grabbed Ian by the chin and forced the boy to look him in the eye.
Ian wrinkled his muddy forehead into a frown and knotted his dirt-encrusted brows. “They said she tried to sell me to the laird so how’s she’d be all set till she found herself a man to bide her through the winter.”
Maxwell rolled his eyes and planted his hands on his hips just below his wide leather belt. “Ian, ye know your mother only wanted to send ye to the keep to give ye a chance at living long enough to grow into a man. The woman was willing to stay the winter in her croft even though she knew she’d starve long before the winter solstice. Ye were there, Ian. Ye know there was no talk of money and ye also know what a help your ma has been to Mistress Sorcha in the kitchens. Surely, ye don’t listen to those boy’s cruel jibes when ye know they hold no truth.”
Ian shook his head so hard dirt showered from his clothes. “I know they lie. But I gotta defend Ma’s honor. I may be small but I ain’t no coward.”
Maxwell nodded, held his nose, and patted the boy on the back. “I know ye are no coward, Ian. Ye’re just a bit on the scrawny side and perhaps a wee bit ill prepared. Let’s douse a few layers of this filth off your body and then we’ll see if I can’t teach ye a few ways to fight the lying little buggers off.”
“Train him well, Maxwell.” Faolan had heard enough. He walked over to Ian, rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder and added, “Clan MacKay always needs warriors with a true sense of honor. We need men with courage against the gravest of odds. I see the bravery shining from Ian’s heart. I know he’ll serve this clan well. He just needs a bit of preparation…and right now, a bit of a bath.”
Ian stood taller beneath Faolan’s praise. His eyes shone as he raised his head. He swallowed hard, gave a nod, and puffed out his skinny chest. “Aye, Laird MacKay. I shall serve ye well. I swear it upon my verra soul.”
Faolan acknowledged Ian’s pledge with a curt nod of his head and motioned toward two buckets on the floor. “Then off with ye to clean away a bit of this filth so ye can work with Maxwell and begin your training.”
Ian looped the ropes of the buckets over his spindly arms and left the stables at an excited trot. He paused at the doorway and glanced back at the men with a thankful bob of his head.
Faolan waited until the boy had closed the door behind him, then turned to walk deeper into the warm depths of the stable. He settled himself on a built-in bench beside the stall and sank his weary head between his hands. “See to it ye train the boy how to defend himself, Maxwell. Ciara cares deeply for the lad. As her time grows near, she’s easily upset. She isnotto hear the details of this latest scrape and how cruelly the other boys treated him.”
Maxwell agreed with a solemn nod and stood with his hands behind his back. “What is it, Faolan? Ye seem o’erly troubled. Surely, ye’re no’ this upset over something as minor as lads brawling about the stable yard.”
Faolan worried his hands through his hair, raking his fingers repeatedly through the strands. He gazed across the stables; focusing his attention on some unseen object on the farthest wall.
How could he explain to Maxwell about his mother’s visit when he didn’t understand it himself? Gritting his teeth, he took a deep breath, then slowly closed his eyes as he spoke. “Mother appeared to me last night, Maxwell.”
“In a dream?” Maxwell asked. He frowned as he glanced about the stables and made the sign of the cross over his chest.
Faolan shook his head, clasped his hands before him, and then finally opened his eyes. “No. Her spirit came to me. She spoke to me through a mist.”
His gruff voice fell to a seldom used whisper as Maxwell lowered himself to the bench beside Faolan. “She came to ye from beyond the grave? Gads, man…what did she say to ye?” Leaning forward, he stared up into Faolan’s face. He cringed as though in physical pain.
Faolan scrubbed his face until the skin of his cheeks burned; his muscles tensed as though he were about to be attacked. “She said I must trust Ciara, leave her to her secrets, and enjoy the peace and happiness I’ve found for a little while.”
