Robbie would have been really pleased with her the next morning, because Catherine was so angry she was seeing red—although that might have something to do with the fact that she hadn’t slept all night, and her eyes were swollen and bloodshot from crying.
As clear as Caitlin was talking to her—in Gaelic—while they walked to Ian and Gwyneth
’s home, Catherine had heard Mary speaking last night.
Cùram was up to something, the owl had told Robbie. She’d seen thedrùidh on Snow Mountain, standing inside a ring of eerily glowing boulders as he spoke to the moon, his staff sizzling with sparks of energy as he raised it to the sky.
Caitlin suddenly pulled Catherine out of the way when at least twenty mounted warriors rode by, looking angry and tired and dirty. Catherine recognized Niall bringing up the end of the fierce-looking parade. He stopped when he spotted them and spoke to Caitlin. Again, Catherine didn’t have a clue what they were saying, only that it wasn’t pleasant by the looks on their faces. Caitlin took hold of Catherine’s arm again when Niall rode toward the keep and pulled her back into the lane, her steps rushed.
As soon as they reached Ian and Gwyneth’s home, Caitlin spoke to her parents at length, and Ian started shaking his head and wringing his hands.
Catherine pulled him outside the moment the conversation stopped. “What’s going on?”
she asked. “Is it news of Robbie?”
“Nay,” Ian said. “Niall has just come back from a farm over near Crag Mountain. The MacBains burned it down and stole all the animals last night.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“The family is unharmed. But Niall is upset because it was a bold move for the MacBains. The farm is only three miles from our village. And the farmer said he was given a message for his laird, that if we don’t tear down the dam that stops the Snow River from flowing onto MacBain land, they’ll bring every warrior they have and do it themselves.”
“Niall built a dam that cut off their water?”
“Nay. Nature built it about a month ago. There was a landslide off Snow Mountain that blocked up the river.” He shrugged. “Niall is willing to remove the debris to let the water flow again.” He screwed his face into a fierce scowl. “He just doesn’t care to have the MacBains telling him to do it.”
“But why are you all so worried? You only have to take down the dam, and everyone will be happy.”
“The reason my son hadn’t touched the landslide before now is because no one dares go near it,” Ian explained. “It was an unnatural occurrence. The sky lit with a terrible storm that night, Gwyneth told me, and the thunder was so loud that even the huts in the village shook, and several stones fell from the keep.”
Catherine clutched Ian’s arm. “Robbie went to Snow Mountain last night.”
“He did? Why?”
“Because he thinks Cùram’s tree of wisdom is there.”
Ian stared off into the distance, toward the tall range of mountains looming above them.
“Aye,” he said, looking back at her. “That would make sense.”
“We have to go after him. We have to warn him that he’s going to be in the middle of a war.”
“Nay. The boy must accomplish his task without our interference.” Ian set his hand on her shoulder. “His papa trained Robbie well, Catherine, so that he can fulfill his calling.
A woman and an old man would only get in his way, no matter how good our intentions. Come,” he said, urging her inside. “If he’s not back by tomorrow noon, then we’ll start worrying.”
That was easier said than done for Catherine, as she spent the rest of the day helping Gwyneth put her house in order. Not that she was much help, compared with all the women who came over with rags and soap and crude brooms and the men who came with hammers and material to stop the old roof from leaking.
Catherine kept getting in their way, until she finally decided she could best help by watching all the children they brought with them. Language wasn’t much of a barrier when it came to kids. Catherine drew pictures in the dirt with a stick, and the children would tell her the Gaelic names.
The sun took forever to move across the sky, and playing with the children made Catherine homesick for Nathan and Nora and the boys. She ate more indescribable food for lunch, and after an even scarier supper, she went for a walk with Ian to settle her stomach. He led her up to a cemetery surrounded by a white, weathered fence and stopped in front of a headstone.
“This is my son’s grave,” he said softly. “James. He was my fourth child, after Maura and Niall and Megan. He died six years ago, Gwyneth told me, in a hunting accident.
His horse fell while he was chasing a stag, and James broke his neck.”
Catherine squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You have another daughter named Maura? Will I meet her?”
“Nay,” he said, pointing beyond the fence. “She died when she was only seventeen.” He looked at Catherine and suddenly broke into a smile. “This Sunday after church, we’re going to extend the fence around her grave and bless the ground she rests in.”
“But why wasn’t she buried in here?”
“Because it was thought she killed herself,” he whispered fiercely, shaking his head.
“And we were forbidden to lay her in hallowed ground. But I’ve since learned it was an accident,” he added, squaring his shoulders. “She was running away to marry Robbie’s father when she fell through the rotten ice of theloch. It was a tragedy, not a sin.”
“She was going to marry Michael MacBain?”
“Aye.” He continued their walk, heading out of the cemetery and back onto the path. “It’
s a long story, Catherine. Let’s just say it’s the reason the MacBains and the MacKeages are at war. But I can right our wrong now and restore the peace.”
“You can do that without exposing where you’ve been for the last thirty-five years?”
“Aye. I’ve come up with a good story. I’ll tell them that when we were captured—
tenyears ago—I had a chance to talk to Michael and learn the truth.”
She squeezed his arm as they walked down the path toward his hut. “I’m glad Robbie brought you home.”
He patted her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Aye,” he said with a sigh. “But not nearly as glad as I am, lass.”
She was just about to say something else when three young men barely out of their teens stepped into their path and all started talking at once. Ian immediately pushed Catherine behind his back and spoke to them in rapid, spitting, and angry-sounding Gaelic.
“Run to Gwyneth,” Ian suddenly said, pushing her away.
Catherine didn’t bother to ask what the boys wanted but turned and ran down the lane when two of them sprang toward her. She darted between huts, scattering chickens and avoiding laundry lines and playing children.
She finally started to pull away from them when one of her pursuers suddenly shouted in surprise. Two minutes later, the other one grunted, tripped, and smacked into the wall of a hut.
Catherine kept running, unsure where the third boy was. She would have made it to Gwyneth’s house if a dog hadn’t started chasing her. She tripped and almost fell flat on her face, but for the strong arms that caught her and swept her off her feet with a laugh.
“You’re safe,” Robbie said, crushing her against his chest and continuing down the lane at a more sedate pace. His mouth was turned in a frown, but his eyes were smiling.
“You were about to get your second, third, and fourth marriage proposals.”
“What?”
“You’re a prize, Cat. You saved Ian from the English, and there isn’t an unmarried warrior around who doesn’t want you to be the mother of his children.”
“Oh, for the love of—Phew! What’s that smell?” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Good heavens, it’s you! Have you been rolling in manure?” Then she remembered she was mad at him. “Put me down,” she snapped, wiggling to get free.