8
The next morning Tavish awoke early. He’d never found it easy to settle but being back in his old house had made it even harder.
He lay back on what used to be his parents’ bed, half expecting them to come in and throw him out, ask him why he wasn’t in his own bedroom.
He had lain back in the darkness, listening to the quiet breathing of Lindsey as she slept. She had that bad dream again, whatever it was that had disturbed her before.
He’d tiptoed through when she started moaning, shushing her quietly and holding her in his arms until she settled again. He refused to look at her as he comforted her.
If he looked at her, he knew what would happen. That weird feeling would bubble up again, the one he was determined to ignore.
Once he was sure she was calm he returned to his own bed and finally fell asleep, dreaming he was back home. He should have known at once it was a dream. His father was there. The house was crumbling due to a mist running through it.
The mist made holes appear wherever it struck, gaps in the ceiling that let in the daylight, holes in the floor. He was in his room playing with a wooden sword when he heard voices. He headed across the hall and found his parents talking. Neither of them noticed he was there.
“You have tae tell him,” his mother was saying.
“I cannae,” his father replied.
He lost the words as he stared at his mother. He’d never seen her, only heard her described by his father. Yet, he knew it was her. There was no doubt about it. She was beautiful, tall, hair tied in a coif, dress made of warm wool, tartan sash across her chest, locket around her neck.
She turned, noticing him standing there. “Hello, bonny boy,” she said, kneeling down in front of him. “Haven’t you grown so big since I last saw you?”
“Mother,” he replied, his voice trembling. “Is that really you?” Mist rolled between them, her face becoming harder to see.
Her smile faded as the mist began to swallow her, a tear rolling down her cheek. “I dinnae have long. The stone will save the clan. You must return it. Quinn was right. She is the key. Protect her.”
“I will, mother. I’m on my way. Are you really here?”
“I’m not as far away as you think. Tell your father I lo…”
The mist swallowed her up and then he was sitting up in bed, his heart pounding. He glanced around him. There was mist, rolling in through the shutterless window.
It was only a dream. She hadn’t been there. He had imagined the whole thing.
He was on his feet a moment later. It might have been a dream, but he couldn’t shake the idea that retrieving the stone was the key to everything.
The MacIntyres had stolen it a generation ago, besieging Castle Sinclair for months, grinding down the occupants. In the dead of night, a dozen of them had sneaked in and taken the stone.
The morale of the defenders had crumbled and the Sinclair Clan had paid dearly for that loss over the years, losing land and people to wars they should have easily defended.
With the English pushing at the borders and the Bruce still warring over Balliol’s accession to the throne, the Sinclairs needed a symbol, something to bring them together and make them strong.
The stone would do it. He would bring it back to them. Getting Lilias to tell the truth wasn’t important. Clearing his name wasn’t important. What motivated him to get moving was finally having someone who could help get the stone back where it belonged.
He went through to wake Lindsey up. Her room was empty.
Where was she?
He ran over to the window and looked out. She’d run off, of course, no doubt to tell the MacIntyres he was coming. Could he catch her in time?
He sprinted down the stairs and outside in time to see her walking across the grass, something in her arms. Were they fish?
“I found the loch,” she said, smiling as she approached him.
“Ah see you caught some fish.”
“I borrowed your knife, I hope you don’t mind.”
