“Aye, Goddess, we are here for You,” I whispered as Diarmuid and I tumbled into passion.
Our love magick was strong. That night when I left our circle I heard thunder rumbling overhead. I felt sure the Goddess had received our offering. She was shaking up the heavens in preparation for Diarmuid’s big announcement.
But the next day, when Diarmuid was to have met me at our secret place, he did not appear. Nor did he make it there the day after that. On the third day I sent him a tua labra: Where are you? Why can you not meet your love? But I received no response. I wondered whether he had received my message. Had something terrible happened? As each day passed, I waited for the rumble in the heavens to manifest itself on earth. Surely if I looked carefully, I would see Diarmuid tramping up the path to our cottage, his parents marching dutifully behind him, eager to work out with Síle the details of our union.
With the dawn of yet another morning I pushed open the shutter and peered out, longing for the glimpse of a Leapvaughn tartan or a flash of Diarmuid’s lovely blue eyes. The path was still but for a jackrabbit searching for greens. My rescuer had not come for me. at least, I thought, not yet.
That afternoon Kyra and I went to the woods to gather fresh summer herbs. While Kyra was cutting clover, I went in search of clove, which was good for settling the stomach. When our pouches were full, we went to the circle Diarmuid and I had gathered in so many times. There, on the rock altar, we consecrated our herbs. As we finished, I noticed that Kyra had been unusually quiet today. I watched her sorting herb pouches in her basket, her chestnut hair braided into a twist at the top of her head.
“You know, with your hair up like that, you look like your ma,” I said.
She smiled. “Falkner likes my hair free and loose, but ’tis too much to endure in this heat.” Leaving her basket, she lifted my hair from my shoulders and waved it over my neck. “You’ll roast under the sun with your hair down.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I must say I am worried about you, Rose. How many days has it been?”
I knew she was talking about how long since I’d seen Diarmuid. “Seven. no, eight.”
“Eight days and you still believe he’s coming back?”
“Of course he is. We rendered some powerful magick together, Kyra. Right here in this circle.” My hair slipped out of her hands as I kicked off my shoes and walked the circle. I had come to know every tree root and dirt clod in this sacred place. I went over to the green moss that had often served as our bed and sat down. “The last time I saw him, we performed love magick. Did you hear the thunder in the sky that night? ’Twas us, devoting our love to the Goddess.”
“I thought the rumbling was the sound of coming rain,” Kyra said. “Rose, I really am worried about you.”
“Don’t despair for me,” I said. “My Diarmuid will be here soon. You must help me plan the handfasting ceremony.”
Kyra smiled. “I shall be so happy for you on your wedding day, Rose. That a Leapvaughn could love you so. ’tis truly the work of the Goddess.”
I smiled back, trying not to worry. I didn’t want to admit to Kyra that I had begun to wonder what had happened to Diarmuid. Where was my love? Why was he taking so long to come to my clan and my coven and announce his intentions to marry me? I knew the Goddess intended us to be together, but my patience was beginning to wear thin.
We returned to my cottage and found it empty.
“Ma said she was going into Kirkloch today,” I said, pouring two mugs of cool tea. We set my share of the herbs out to dry, then went outside to sit in the shady grass, hoping to catch a breeze. Kyra told me of her first kiss with Falkner and of how they now kissed constantly, as if they’d both had their first taste of honey cakes. As I listened, I stared intently at the edge of the cottage path, willing Diarmuid to appear.
And lo, as my eyes strained in the distance, I saw the brush move, giving way to a pair of feet.
“He’s coming!” I cried, scrambling to stand and adjust my skirts. As I settled myself, I saw that it wasn’t Diarmuid, but a young boy. “It’s not him.” My voice dropped off in disappointment.
“But it is a Leapvaughn,” Kyra said excitedly. “Look at the plaid of his tartan.”
“Indeed.” My heart swelled as the young boy smiled at us shyly.
“I’ve a message here for Rose MacEwan.”
“That’s me,” I said, coming forward to meet him.
He reached into his satchel and removed a piece of pressed linen, much like the parchment we used in our Books of Shadows. Handing it to me, he bowed. “Good day to you.”
My heart swelled with joy as I held the note to my breast. “I can barely breathe!”
“Read it! Read it!” Kyra gasped.
I started to read. “ ‘My dearest Rose, it is with heavy heart that I write to you. I will always love you, but. ’ ”
The words began to stick in my throat. I could not speak, but neither could I tear my eyes away.
I have come to see that we can never be together. It was foolish of me to think we could marry, though I will ever think of you longingly in our special place of the forest. Think of me when you go there, for mine eyes will never feast on that place or on you again.
Please, Rose, do not cry for me. There will be others for you. Perhaps a stout, hearty Wodebayne lad? In the meantime, the best thing you can do is forget me.
Truly,
Diarmuid
Pain cut me like a spear through the middle of my body. I folded myself over the note, collapsing onto the ground. Sobbing in the dirt, I was barely aware of Kyra fluttering about, trying to get me inside, to fetch some water, to stroke my hair.
Diarmuid was not coming.
He would not marry me.
My life was truly coming to an end.
The days were a blur of swallowed tears and pain. When Ma first found me abed in the cottage, she pressed her hand to my forehead in alarm. “Are you ill?” she asked, her eyes stricken with concern.
“Quite ill,” I told her. “ ’Tis my digestion. Nothing tastes quite right anymore.”
She quickly set about placing cool rags upon my head and wrists and making me a special potion to drink. I watched as she boiled together meadowsweet, mint, and catnip leaves and flowers. ’Twas a lesson in herbs, but a painful one. I didn’t know how long I could pretend that all my pain was physical, but I couldn’t begin to tell my mother the truth about Diarmuid.
My Diarmuid!
I was devastated. How could he turn away from me? I pressed my face to the pillow as a new round of tears racked my body. Ma kept asking me where it hurt, and I lied and said that the pain was in my belly. I couldn’t bear to reveal that I was suffering a broken heart.
Kyra came to see me every day, bringing me flowers and fresh-baked biscuits that did sit well once swallowed. One afternoon Kyra stayed with me while Ma went out on an errand, and she encouraged me to throw on a summer shawl and venture outside the cottage for some fresh air.
The sun was hot, but there was a cooling breeze, making the heat tolerable. My body felt feeble, like a creaking old cart, but Kyra said that was from staying in bed so long. We sat under an ancient tree by the path.
“You cannot let one boy strike you down so,” Kyra told me. “You’ll forget about him in time.”
“Never,” I said, reaching to touch my belly. A tiny mound was growing there, though it was still too soon for anyone else to notice. “I cannot let Diarmuid go, for I am to have his child come Imbolc.”
Kyra gasped. “A babe! ’Tis no wonder you’re feeling ill.”
“Aye, but Ma’s teas of mint and meadowsweet have helped the illness in my body. ’Tis the pain in my heart that will not relent.”
“Oh, Rose. poor Rose!” Kyra rubbed my back gently through the shawl. “To be with child! It must be terrible for you. I wish you had told me earlier. I’ll help you be rid of it. There are herbs that—”