PART ONE: RUIN
1: A PROMISE CARVED FROM STONE
Craignure,
The Isle of Mull
April, 1335
THE WOODEN SHUTTLE cracked against the loom frame. Fiona’s mother had just snatched it from her daughter and hurled it across the weaving shed in a fit of temper.
“So that’s it then?” she panted, red-faced, eyes blazing. “We brought ye into this world, fed and clothed ye, gave ye shelter … and now, ye are deserting us?”
Fiona curled her fingers into fists at her sides. Guilt. It was her mother’s favorite weapon. But it wouldn’t work. Not this time. Months of planning had gone into this day, and Fiona wouldn’t have anyone ruin it.
Breathing in the familiar odor of lanolin and dye—her scent, earned through endless hours standing at her warp-weighted loom in this cramped shed—she faced down her mother. “I’ve more than paid my keep, Ma. Ye know that well.”
“Paid yer keep?”Nora placed her hands on her ample hips and glared at her. “Is that what ye reckon? While yer sisters tend the house and help with—”
“While my sisters sleep well past dawn and complain about darning their own stockings?” The words escaped before Fiona could cage them.
Behind her mother, Maisie and Cate exchanged glances. Maisie picked at a thread on her sleeve—one Fiona had mended just last week. Cate pulled a face.
Heat ignited under Fiona’s ribs. Let them act unbothered. Now she was leaving, the weaving that helped support their family would becometheirwork. From now on, they’d spendtheirdays in this shed. Finally, those two lazy chits would earn their way.
“The commission can wait.” A rough voice intruded then as her father’s bulk ducked through the low doorway, looming behind her sisters. Wood shavings clung to his leather apron, and the sharp tang of freshly-planed oak preceded him into the shed. “Lady Maclean will have to find another weaver. Family comes first.”
Fiona’s chest tightened. To her left, through the shed’s single window, she could see the morning sun glinting off the Sound of Mull. Freedom. Just half a day’s ride up the coast, her new loom awaited at Dounarwyse Castle. A large horizontal treadle loom, big enough to weave a grand tapestry. She could hardly believe her good fortune.
And her bullish father wouldn’t keep her from embracing it.
“No,” she said firmly.
Color flooded Bryce’s weathered face.
“I’m going,” she added, steadier now. She moved to the corner where her traveling bundle waited. Rough wool scratched against her palms as she lifted it. “Enough, Da. I have two and twenty winters. I have taken no husband. I have no bairns. Instead, I’ve woven while the rest of ye slept … and I’ll weave still. But not here. Not anymore.”
“Ungrateful slattern,” her mother choked out, eyes bright with outrage.
“The Chieftain of Dounarwyse has sent men to fetch me.” Heart hammering, Fiona sidestepped her mother and sisters and shouldered past her father, out the door. God help her, she couldn’t let any of them stop her. A new life was so close now, she could taste it. “I’d better go. They’ll be waiting for me on the waterfront.”
Bryce growled a curse. Behind her, her mother’s voice rose to a wail. “Ye’ll come crawling back! Mark me, Fiona Mackinnon. Ye’ll see what the world thinks of a lass too proud for her own family!”
But Fiona was already halfway down the garden path, hurrying past a tangle of rosemary and thyme.
Palms damp with sweat, her pulse still racing like a bolting pony, she clutched her bundle tight against her chest. The briny wind off the Sound caught her wayward curls, pulling some of them free from her braid. They whipped across her face and made her eyes water, yet she didn’t stop to tidy herself up. There was no time. Her family had delayed her as it was, and when she reached Dounarwyse, she’d be windswept anyway.
Her appearance didn’t matter. What did was that her long days—weaving blankets, drying-sheets, lèines, sacking cloths, and clan sashes—had finally paid off. She’d made a name for herself for her particularly fine, even weaving with tight selvedge, her speed and skill with complex patterns and multiple colors, and beautiful dye work. Eventually, Lady Kylie, the laird’s wife, had noticed her talent, and the job offer had come soon after.
Guiltdidtighten her belly then. In truth, an all too familiar sensation.
She should at least have given her kin warning of her departure, yet she knew her parents would only try to stop her.The manipulation. The threats. The insults. She’d wanted to avoid as much of it as possible. Even so, part of her was sorry.
I shall send coin back … to help them. She kicked herself then.Let Maisie and Cate pull their weight for once!
Nerves fluttered under her ribs like a sack of moths. Change was frightening. As much as she resented her family, for they took most of the coin she earned and treated her like their servant, they were all she knew. Life at Dounarwyse Castle would be different, and no doubt better. But it was still the unknown.
She’d been so determined in this decision, but suddenly, her courage deserted her.
