Page 20 of Highland Spy

“I’ll get to that in a minute. Let me continue my story.”

“Of course. Go on.”

The fire snapped and crackled as Bridget continued to speak. “My mathair was so heartbroken by the deaths of all my brathairs at the same time, that all she did was cry. My faither wanted another son badly, even though my mathair was almost too auld to give him one. That’s when I was born. One day when I was a wee lass, my faither took me and my mathair fishin’ in the loch. We were in a rowboat, but the boat capsized. I was saved, but my mathair drowned.”

“I’m sorry, lass.” Caleb didn’t know what to say.

“My faither raised me on his own, feelin’ guilty.”

“Guilty? About what?”

“My mathair’s death. He saved me first, but when he went back for my mathair, it was already too late. After that day, my faither vowed to always protect me, and even managed to get the position of chronicler to the king.” She hesitated, as if there was something she was neglecting to tell him. Then, she finally continued. “Da didna want me to marry and leave him. So he dressed me in baggy clothes and made me braid my hair, so I’d look younger than I really was.”

“And ye like livin’ that way?” Caleb couldn’t understand why anyone would put up with that.

“No’ really, but ye realize, my faither is all I have. I’d do anythin’ for him.”

“But didna ye want to marry and have bairns, lassie? I thought every woman wanted that.”

Sadness filled her eyes and her lip trembled when she answered. “No’ everyone is so lucky,” she said in a soft voice. “But none of that matters.”

“Why no’?”

“Because my faither is no’ well. He is auld and his health is no’ what it used to be. I need to watch over him. He needs me.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Caleb looked over to the man sleeping on the ground. “He seems fine to me.”

“His sword hand was injured in his earlier years, and his arm cramps up terribly,” she told him. “He canna grasp a sword, or anythin’ anymore. That’s why he is no longer a soldier, but a chronicler instead.”

“Really.” Caleb thought it odd. “But bein’ a chronicler, surely, he has to grasp a quill. And I’ve seen him writin’ in the Highland Chronicles. It didna seem as if he had trouble holdin’ the quill at all.”

She made an odd expression, and her eyes darted back and forth. “Aye, but he’s learned to write, usin’ his left hand. However, he canna hold a sword in his left hand. So ye see what I mean.”

“I suppose so,” said Caleb, thinking her story didn’t sound right, but not wanting to rile her by asking more.

“Enough about my family,” she said, clearing her throat. “Tell me about yers, Caleb.”

Caleb was happy to hear a girl asking him about himself since it wasn’t often that it happened. People didn’t normally take an interest in him this way.

“Well, as ye already ken from yer faither’s writin’s in the chronicles, my da is Ian MacKeefe – one of the madmen.”

“Aye. He’s no’ the chieftain, Ian, but another Ian.”

“That’s right,” he replied. “And my mathair’s name is Kyla. She is the sister of Aidan – Logan’s da.”

“Aye, she is the small lassie who can outdrink any man when it comes to Mountain Magic.”

“Well, I dinna ken if that is true, but my mathair grew up with the madmen, and that’s how she learned to do all those crazy things,” he said proudly.

“What about yer siblin’s?” she asked. “I thought when we were at Hermitage Castle someone said yer siblin’s were there, but I didna have a chance to meet them.”

“Och, aye, I have many siblin’s,” he told her. “I’m the eldest. Then come my twin brathairs, Finn and Quinn, followed by my brathair Grant.”

“So ye have three brathairs, just like I had. Do ye have any sisters?”

“Two,” he explained. “Trea, and then Finnea is the youngest at six and ten years of age.”

“My, yer mathair must have always been pregnant for a while there,” she said with a slight giggle.