“Mother?” he called out.
The room was streaked with sunlight coming in through the open window. A chair was pulled up next to the edge of the bed where a table stood with a half-eaten bowl of mush, a pitcher, and a glass all waited. His eyes searched for her thick, brown hair, finding instead a soiled wet cloth draped over the back of the chair, blocking his view of the bed. He stepped inside the room a little more, only to find the covers tossed back and the bed empty.
“Mother?” he called out again, this time a little more frantic.
“Och, Seamus. There.”
Flora pointed to a heap on the floor just in front of the window. Seamus dropped Flora's hand and rushed over, with Flora close on his heels. Moving gently, he rolled the figure overonly to find his mother's pale, gaunt face staring back at him. Her once thick brown hair had turned stringy and gray. It was nearly impossible to believe that this woman was indeed his mother. But as he collected her in his arms to bring back to the bed, her eyes fluttered open, and he saw the memory of her come back to life.
“Seamus? My son?”
Her voice shook as tears gathered in her eyes, hiding the deep brown orbs behind them. Seamus' blue eyes were just as hidden behind tears of his own. Even Flora was unable to stay unaffected by the emotions in the room.
Moving as softly as he could, Seamus carried his mother back to her bed and tucked her under the covers. He smoothed the blankets and then her hair, the same way she had done countless times for him when he was younger. She leaned into his touch, as though it was her lifeline. Judging from the blood coming through the bandage and staining her shift and sheets, he wasn't convinced that wasn't the case.
“What were ye doing on the floor?” he asked, sitting in the chair, picking up the cloth to wipe her brow.
“I-I heard horses. I thought it might be ye. But they were wearing Campbell's colors. This must be a dream.”
Her eyes squeezed shut, the idea too painful for her to keep her eyes open any longer. Seamus reached for her hand and squeezed it.
“It is nae a dream. I am here. But I came from the east, so ye would nae have been able to see me.”
Behind him, Flora moved to the window to check the view. Her face gave away when she saw what Caitria had seen; Campbell and his men quickly approaching. They didn't have much time to spare, but Seamus was determined to soak up every second he could get with his mother.
“Ye are truly here?” she asked, her hands searching his face, trying to convince herself that he was real.
“Aye, Mother. I am here.”
They leaned into each other, the heartache of a mother at long last coming to an end. Her breath was shallow and quick, but she seemed just as determined to make the most of the moments they had.
“Please forgive me, Seamus. Ye must ken how sorry I am. Please, say that ye will forgive me.”
Her pleadings were frantic, working her up into a breathless state. He needed to keep her calm and still if she was going to survive. She needed to rest, not worry about him.
“There is nothing to forgive ye for,” he answered in his most soothing voice.
“Seamus, please, forgive me for leaving ye. Ye must ken, surely ye must ken, that I never stopped thinking about ye. There was nae a single moment in any day that ye left my thoughts. I hated myself for allowing them to take me from ye. I should have fought for ye, I should have insisted that ye come with me. Could ye ever forgive me?”
The raspy weakness of her plea tugged at Flora's heart. She could only imagine how Seamus was feeling. It must have been overwhelming to hear his mother vie for his heart so earnestly. It was what he always wanted but did without. She had seen the way he had convinced himself that his mother didn't want him. To be told now, all these years later, that the opposite was true had to be a shocking revelation.
“Of course I forgive ye,” Seamus choked out. “There is nothing to forgive, really. Ye were every bit a captive as I was. But if ye feel as though ye need my forgiveness, it is yers.”
Caitria sobbed, the cries shaking her whole body, mumbling confessions of love over and over again. Seamus perched on the edge of his chair, doing all he could to hold her. Flora put a handover her mouth to stop her own cries from sounding. It wasn't her moment to interrupt.
“What was that?” Caitria asked, her eyes nearly shut from the pain.
A loud bang echoed up through the walls, reverberating throughout Caitria's room. Flora rushed back to the window only to find Campbell's army slamming a battering ram into the wavering wood of the gate.
“Seamus,” Flora called out in warning.
The ram struck again. Her eyes turned to the gathering soldiers in the courtyard and those lined on the ramparts. She could barely make out Finn's arm swinging as he gave the order for the archers to unleash their arrows. The battle was beginning. They couldn't afford to stay any longer.
“Seamus,” she said again, this time turning.
It was then she realized that they couldn't afford to leave. Caitria's eyes were closed, her breathing shallow and thready. Seamus had given up on the chair and climbed into the bed beside her, holding her in his arms. From across the room, their eyes met, admitting what they both already knew; Caitria would never open her eyes again. The walls shook and the shouts of men filled the air, but Flora and Seamus stayed silent. She let him hold his mother until he was ready to let go. For a moment longer, Seamus studied his mother's face, as though he was trying to commit it to memory. When he looked back at Flora, the emptiness and grief there was almost too much to bear.
Stepping away from the window, Flora moved back to the bed. Seamus gently placed his mother on her pillow and slid out from beside her. He took great care to tuck in her blankets and brush her hair away from her face. Finally, he bent to press a kiss to her forehead. When he stood, tears streamed down his cheeks in silence. Flora stepped into him and clasped his cheeks in both hands, using her thumbs to brush away the tears.
“There are nay words,” she whispered, “to take away this pain. I wish that I could. I wish I could do something, anything to make this different. But there are nay words.”
“Ye are wrong, my love,” Seamus tells her, leaning into her touch. “I can think of three words that would make all of this much more bearable.”
She looked at him expectantly. As if he were putting on physical armor, Flora watched as Seamus tucked his emotions back inside and slipped into his role as Laird. When he answered her, he was no longer the boy who had just lost his mother, he was a great leader, ready to defend his people.
“Let's kill Campbell.”
