Chastised but annoyed, Myrna bowed her head. “Of course, Uncle,” she said deferentially.
There was a pause, and in a cold tone that wasn’t any different from the one he’d use discussing business, the Laird said, “I suppose by now ye’ve heard how it all happened back in Kinnear? Sad business.”
Myrna’s eyes burned with tears, and she didn’t look up. “They say Eithne survived.”
“I doubt it,” the Laird said, and now his cold demeanor broke, and there was a hint of regret in his voice for the first time. “Me poor sister. She deserved better than this. She and yer sister were foolish to stay.”
Myrna looked up in a sudden flash of anger. “Foolish? Nay. Take that back.”
Her uncle raised his thick eyebrow in surprise. “What would ye call them, then?” he asked. His expression was near-impossible to read.
“Brave,” Myrna replied without hesitating. “Me mither – yer sister – was one of the bravest women in this whole world, and I cannae believe ye’d dishonor her by suggesting otherwise. The only one with a lioness’s heart to match her own is Eithne. Ye’ll see that for yerself..”
“So ye believe that she’s on the way here, do ye?” Laird MacDonnell asked, raising an eyebrow. “Ye really think she survived the attack and is also gonnae make it all the way here herself? A woman alone?”
Myrna blinked at him. “Ye mean to say ye havenae sent any men to fetch her? Yer own sister’s bairn!”
Laird MacDonnell did not like that. He scowled at her. “Dinnae question me love for Siobhan,” he said severely. “I dinnae have men to spare. In case ye havenae noticed Clan MacDonnell isnae functioning as grandly as Kinnear once was. We have our own fair share of battle-wounded. Ye and yer servants and the Kinnear women and children we’re hosting are proof enough of me kindness. That I cannae spare a soldier to look for yer sister is regretful, but…”
Myrna bit her lip. He was right; she should be more grateful; she and the women and children who had escaped the slaughter had been fed and cared for since the moment they got here.
It hurt like a thousand swords without Eithne, but she needed to appreciate what her unclewasdoing. “Forgive me, Me Laird,” she said. “I’m just…I’m upset at the news of what has happened to me family. I dinnae mean to be disrespectful or ungrateful.”
There was a silence, then eventually, Laird MacDonnell nodded. He spoke in what Myrna was sure was supposed to be a quiet, comforting tone. “Ye’re young yet. Ye need yer time to grieve. Dinnae worry; I’ll look after ye. This time next year, we’ll have ye a fine husband. Perhaps ye can marry Gregor. Ye could even be the next Lady of the clan, eh?”
Myrna tried her best to make her expression neutral. She had no desire to marry Gregor, the Laird’s oldest son, nor any of her cousins for that matter. Like Eithne, she didn’t want to marry until she found love, and she was sure she wasn’t going to find it with any of the Laird’s two sons. She knew that it was normal for women to marry their uncle’s children, but it didn’t sit right with her that she should wed any of them.
He was looking at her, waiting for an answer. “Maybe,” she allowed. “Was there anything else, Me Laird?”
He huffed. “Nay, lass. I just thought I should greet ye. Ye’re dismissed,” he said, then looked back at whatever he was writing as if she’d already left.
Myrna waited a moment or two to see if he’d say more. Her mother had always said that Laird MacDonnell had been a taciturn, unfriendly boy, which was why brother and sister had so little contact, but she’d hoped…well. It didn’t matter now. At least Myrna was safe, and for that, she could be grateful.
* * *
That night, Myrna tossed and turned in her bed, the pictures in her head not quite a dream and not quite a memory. She saw all three of them as children. She’d only been seven, her sister eleven, and dear Killian already fourteen. She wasn’t often allowed to tag along with her older siblings, and she’d been delighted at the opportunity.
“I can swim much farther than ye and faster as well,” Eithne teased. The two older Kinnears stood by a burn while Myrna sat on the ground a little further off, playing with two shiny pebbles.
“Nonsense,” Killian replied confidently. “Ye’re just a bairn and a lassie at that. I’m near a man. Ye’d be better racing against wee Myrna if ye want a fair competition.”
“And what’s wrong with being a lassie?” Eithne asked, her temper flaring while Myrna watched. Myrna could always tell when Eithne was angry because it was like all of her emotions crackled around her. “Lassies can do anything that lads can do, and better. Is that nae right, Myrna?”
“Aye, Ennie!” Myrna chirped, eager to be included. “I’m a lass and yer a lass and mammy and—"
Killian laughed. “Aye, alright, alright. But I’ll tell ye one thing a lassie cannae do, Eithne. Something ye’ll never manage.”
“And what’s that?” she asked with her hands on her hips.
“Beat me in a swimming race!” Killian announced. Then before Eithne could react, he was in the water and swimming away.
“Ye cheater!” Eithne shrieked then jumped in after him.
Myrna dropped her pebbles and ran along the length of the burn, following her siblings as they swam. Every time one of them poked their head above water, it was only to take a breath and shout joking insults at the other.
At some point, even with her tiny legs, Myrna overtook the swimmers and ended up at where the burn pooled into a little pond. She was immediately distracted by the little silver fish darting about in the water.
Myrna bent over the pool, trying to catch one, mesmerized by their silvery dance. But they were too quick, and the rocks too slippery, and suddenly she was falling…
