“Ah, Papa.” She briefly lifted his hands to her lips. “Ye are such a rogue, but no lass could have a finer father.” She pretended not to see the glint of moisture in his eyes or the touch of color in his cheeks.
“Just ye remember that when next ye seek to scold me,” he teased, his voice faintly unsteady. “Now, we should get ye some food. Ye have eaten little these last three days.”
“My Robert is due to stop by,” said Elizabeth. “We can send him for some.”
“Robert is back? The men have already returned?” asked Jennet.
“Aye,” answered her father. “Just a day behind the messenger. Elizabeth’s fool mon steps by every hour to poke his gnarly head in the door. He fears I mean to seduce his wife. He sore tempts me to do just that.” He winked at Elizabeth, who laughed. “Ah, I believe I hear him stomping this way even now.”
An instant later Robert stood in the open doorway. He spoke with Elizabeth, offered his good wishes to Jennet for her continued recovery, and all the while he glared at her father. Artair simply grinned impudently. After Robert left, obeying Elizabeth’s command to see that food was brought to the room, Elizabeth and Artair tittered like conspiratorial children. Jennet was able to laugh a little as well.
After struggling to eat enough to satisfy Elizabeth and Artair, Jennet found herself alone with her father. “I feel so verra tired,” she confessed with a grimace of self-disgust.
“Then rest, dearling. Such black grief as struck you down can suck all the strength from a body. Aye, rest and once ye are strong again I will take you away from this place.” He brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. “If it pleases you, that is.”
Jennet took only a moment to decide. “Aye, there are too many memories here,” she whispered. “I need to be free of them.”
“Are ye certain ye willnae change your mind?” Ranald asked as, a fortnight after Jennet had collapsed with grief, she prepared to leave Dubheilrig with her father.
Jennet smiled at him. He wore his new honors as master uncomfortably. Standing with his family before the small manse, he looked painfully young. She was going to miss him, but knew he did not need her to stay. He but sought to hold close all those he liked and trusted during his time of uncertainty. She would feel guilty about leaving him except that she knew Hacon’s parents would give him all the assistance in ruling Dubheilrig that he could need.
“Child,” Lucais added, “ye ken ye are welcome to stay.”
“Aye,” Jennet replied as her father settled Murdoc in the sling she wore on her back, “but I cannae stay. Not now.”
Moving to Jennet’s side, Serilda briefly hugged her and kissed her cheek. “I understand. Return whenever ye wish. Ye and your rogue of a father,” she added with a brief smile for Artair, “will always be welcome.”
“Thank ye. I vow not to be such a burden next I stay.”
“Ye were no burden. Ah, child, did ye think I did no weeping? I but face my pain in a different way. In truth, I cannae help but wonder if your way holds more sense. One large bloodletting instead of a slow one.
“Now, enough of such talk,” she continued. “Please, return when ye can and when ye wish. Ye have many friends here.” She kissed Murdoc’s cheek. “As does this fine wee laddie.” Serilda moved back to stand with Ranald and Lucais before asking, “Where will ye go?”
“South,” replied Artair. “Mayhaps even into England. But first to Berwick. I still have friends there. We can abide with them for a time.”
“God go with you,” Lucais said.
The wish was repeated by all those who had gathered to say farewell. Jennet responded in kind as her father helped her onto her pony, then mounted his fine black gelding. She kicked her pony into motion to follow her father as he started down the path. As they passed the small chapel, Jennet paused, staring sadly at the gravestones. A moment later her father reined in at her side.
“This is a mournful place to linger, lassie,” he murmured.
“Aye, I ken it. I just thought of how poor Hacon lies in Ireland, not here. He so loved Dubheilrig, Papa. He should be here.”
“And he will be—in spirit. Come, loving, let us leave this place where too many memories haunt you.”
“Do ye think I can outride the memories?”
“Ye can try.” He winked at her and started on his way again as he added, “And a Graeme can do most anything he truly tries to do.”
Nudging her pony to follow, she smiled faintly. “Then let us begin and leave the spirits for the graveyards.”
“Spirits!” screamed a pale, sobbing Katherine as she burst into the great hall of the Gillard manse. “God help me, I have gone mad. I am seeing the specters of the dead.”
Lucais Gillard barely stopped his chair from toppling over when his daughter hurled herself into his arms. He wondered if the August heat had affected her mind. He held her trembling form close and looked helplessly at Ranald and Serilda, who sat on either side of him at the large table. A sound at the doorway drew his attention, and the man standing there firmly held it. For a brief moment he felt as terrified as his daughter acted. They had been told Hacon was dead and had believed it for six long months. He faintly heard Ranald and Serilda gasp in shock as they too recognized the figure.
He finally spoke, his voice weak and unsteady. “Hacon? We were told ye were slain in Ireland.” He wanted to join his wife and grandson in rushing to embrace Hacon, but a clinging Katherine kept him trapped in his chair. “Hush, woman,” he snapped, giving her a slight shake.
It took several more minutes to calm Katherine down. By that time Hacon and Dugald were seated and provided with food and wine. Hacon struggled not to reveal his impatience, tried to understand the shock he had given his family. But, he grew increasingly tense as his thoughts centered on one person—Jennet.
