“Awake, are ye?” was the first thing she said. “Good. I’d have been fair put out if ye’d have died in me best guest bed.”
Eithne, who had stood before Mrs. McRyver entered, hurried over to hug the woman. “Ye saved him. Thank ye so much.”
“Ye saved him, lass,” the matron told her, tutting. “Honestly, young man, I hope ye ken how much ye owe this foolhardy lass for the journey she made just to bring ye here.”
“I ken it’s a debt I can never repay,” he said formally, “Both to her and to ye and yer lads. Thank ye from the bottom of me heart, ma’am, and if there’s anything I can do for ye…”
“Well, ye can get up and give yerself a wash if the two of ye can peel yerself away from each other,” Mrs. MacRyver said bluntly. “If yer well enough to do that, then ye can come downstairs and meet me young men. And maybe open a window in here. Young lovers, I swear…”
Eithne laughed and said, “Och, I’m sorry, missus. I was just so pleased to have him back in the land of the living…”
The woman’s expression softened. Ivor was surprised how behind her charade of fierceness, she looked even younger than she had before. What had life done to this poor woman? “Never ye mind,” she said. “I was young once, as well. Come now, Eithne, help me with the produce.”
Eithne nodded, and with a final glance at Ivor, followed Mrs. MacRyver from the room.
Ivor waited a few minutes, then steeled himself for the greatest challenge of his life – getting out of bed and breaking the illusion of staying here with Eithne forever.
Chapter Eleven
The Sister
Myrna Kinnear received a letter from one of the few survivors of the slaughter of her home a few days after the fact. She grabbed it excitedly, certain that it was her sister or mother informing her of the success of the battle. The cook’s little daughter, Ellen, who was by her side, was very excited about the rest of the family coming to join them.
As she read, Myrna’s heart slowly sank into despair. Her home was gone. Her brother, father, and mother…all dead. She’d never gotten to say goodbye truly.
I wouldnae let them. I thought it was fair, bad luck.
And Eithne…where was Eithne? Everyone seemed certain she’d survived, but nobody had a clue how or why.
The maid who had written the letter had been a friend of Myrna’s. She had only survived because one of MacDuff’s men had taken a fancy to her. Myrna didn’t want to imagine what indecencies the poor woman endured and felt a rush of affection that the girl had taken the time to sneak a letter to her anyway.
‘Eithne survived the battle. Laird MacDuff brought her back here. There were rumors that she was to be married to him, but she disappeared into the woods like magic. Naebody kens where she went. There are all sorts of rumors, but we dinnae even ken if she’s alive.’
Myrna brushed the words with her finger. She knew that Eithne was not dead. She could feel holes in her heart, one for each member of her family and her clan who had perished at the hands of the devilish MacDuff. The space where Eithne lived, though, still shone – with hope, with love.
“What’s wrong?” little Ellen asked, her ten-year-old eyes filled with wonder.
How did Myrna begin to explain? She couldn’t. “Me family isnae very well,” she said, her voice choking up.
She had to think of Eithne. If she thought of the rest of them, she’d just go mad.
She’s alive. And she’ll find her way to me. I ken it.
It was with this mantra that Myrna managed to survive the next days of her life. Ten-year-old Ellen was her constant companion, and without her, Myrna wasn’t sure what she would have done. Ellen continually asked for stories about Myrna’s life growing up – Ellen didn’t have sisters – and so Myrna would dive deep into her memories of stories of how she and Eithne used to play.
“There was the time Eithne took me into the town without permission, and we rode a donkey until the search party arrived,” she told her. “There was the time when the first lad ever flirted with me, and Eithne gave him such a quailing look that he ran away.”
Story after story she told her, and Ellen made a good audience. She gasped and cheered in all the right places, and each story brought Eithne closer to Myrna once more.
Then she was called to her uncle’s study, asked to come alone. Her male cousins had mostly ignored her since her arrival, and she’d barely seen her uncle either. As she walked along the stone corridors of Castle MacDonnell, she couldn’t help but feel that she was about to be scolded very severely.
Her uncle was her mother’s brother, but he didn’t remind Myrna of the late Siobhan Kinnear at all. Niall MacDonnell was balding, short, and stout with a thick beard to make up for the lack of hair on top. He might have looked comical in other circumstances, but to Myrna right now, he carried an aura of intimidation as he stared at her from behind his ebony desk.
“Myrna,” he said. Her name sounded strange on his lips. He was her uncle, but she hadn’t seen him since she was a baby. “Sit.”
“Laird MacDonnell. Thank ye for seeing me,” she said politely, taking a seat where he indicated across the desk from him. “I’m sorry we havenae gotten to talk much since I got here.”
“I’m a busy man,” Laird MacDonnell replied. His voice held reproach as if she’d annoyed him by pointing out their lack of interaction. “I dinnae have time to be chasing after wee lassies. I saw ye as soon as I could.”
