She closed her eyes once more, hearing a fading woman’s voice in her head as she drifted off to sleep.
“I found the trail of the mountain mist,
Mountain mist, mountain mist.
I found the trail of the mountain mist,
But ne’er a trace of my baby, O!”
Chapter Two
Eddard MacGregor sat on the end of the jetty, looking out across the water at the mainland. So close and yet so out of reach. Would he ever set foot on it again?
He had just replaced two of the rotten boards with fresh wood and was taking a moment to himself, a rare occurrence. There was always someone needing something done.
He walked back and forth along the jetty a few times, making sure the boards were sound. Finally satisfied he stepped onto the grass and headed back to the village, his hammer in his belt, the few spare nails gripped in his hand. On an island so small iron nails were a valuable commodity.
The walk to the village didn’t take long. He strode through the heather as if it weren’t there, marching quickly, breathing in the sweet air of the island.
When he reached the village he heard a curse from inside the tavern. Pushing open the door he found John wrestling with the barrels, trying to lift one off his foot.
“Let me help with that,” Eddard said, lifting the barrel into his arms and heaving it up into the air. “I told you not to play skittles with them. You’re too old.”
“I struggle for quarter of an hour to lift that into place and you walk in here and hoist it in the air like it’s a newborn lamb. The devil take you, Eddard.”
“If you dinnae want my help, I can leave you to it.” He went to drop the barrel, catching it again at the last second.
“Nae, lad. I’m only joshing with you. Get it up there and join me in a taste test?”
“I havenae time to drink. I need to get on.”
The door to the tavern opened and an elderly face peered in.
“Early for a drink, isn’t it?” Eddard asked. “Are you coming in?”
“Ah’ve been looking for thee, Eddard. Have ye time to see to ma roof?”
“All the time in the world for my neighbor. Take care of that foot, John. Call me if it swells.”
“I will.”
Eddard followed Michael outside, slowing his pace to match the older man as they made their way across the village green, the sheep barely looking up at them as they passed.
Two minutes later Eddard was sitting atop of Michael’s house, pulling out wisps of rotten thatch and tossing them to the ground. He looked around at the other houses. All of them were falling apart.
The Laird wouldn’t let things fall to ruin if he knew. It was all the fault of that cursed steward of his. He only cared for what he could get from the clan, not what he could give to them. “It’ll all need replacing next year,” he called down. “I’ll do what I can for now.”
“I cannae afford the reeds,” Michael called back. “Ronald has doubled the taxes on them twice this season.”
“You grow them. Why not just use them fresh cut and dried?”
“He’ll find out. He always does.”
“Och, the man’s not got eyes everywhere.” He paused to wipe the sweat from his brow, looking out at the loch. In the distance a boat was approaching. Two figures were inside and the boat was sitting low in the water. “Knights,” he said, climbing back down from the roof.
“I told you he’d find out,” Michael said, looking nervously across the green as if he’d be able to see the water through the houses. “He heard us talking about it.”
Eddard shook his head. “He doesnae ken everything.”
