Glynis met his eyes over the children’s heads and gave him another warm smile. “Saint Bridget’s Day is the day we celebrate home, hearth, and family.”
This was the kind of home that Alex had dreamed of when he was a child. He sighed with contentment as he glanced at the faces of the folk who had gathered in the old keep that Glynis had made into a home. He nodded at Tormond, who—if he wasn’t mistaken—had his hand on Bessie’s leg beneath the table.
Glynis sent Sorcha to the door to call out, “Brigid, come in.”
“Welcome, Brigid,” the other women chanted. “Your bed is ready.”
Glynis took the doll from the table, and everyone gathered around as she laid it in a bed of rushes by the hearth.
“This is called Brigid’s wand,” she explained, as she tucked a smooth, straight birch stick in with the doll. “The saint uses the wand to bring earth back to life.”
“I think I know what the stick is supposed to represent,” Alex whispered in her ear.
She gave him a mock-severe look and then handed Una a bowl of water and a bowl of salt. “Set them outside for the saint to bless. We’ll use them all year in medicines, for Saint Brigid’s Day is also a time of healing.”
Alex knew she chose Una for the task because the lass had a special need for healing.
“These will bring healing and protection to each of us in the months ahead,” Glynis said, as she cut a strip of cloth for every member of the household to leave outside the door for Saint Brigid to bless.
Alex took his to please her, though Glynis had already healed his wounds.
The last ritual of the night, after the feast, was for the head of the household to smother the fire and rake the ashes smooth. In the morning, they would look for signs of the saint’s visit in the ashes. Alex made quick work of the task, for it was the last thing between him and taking his wife upstairs to bed.
Later that night as he lay with her in his arms, Alex thought of his blessings and the many changes wrought in his life over the past months. As Tearlag predicted, Glynis had fulfilled his deepest desires.
“Ye gave me everything I longed for but didn’t believe I deserved,” he told her. “And ye made me a far better man than I thought I could be.”
“I look forward to every day with ye,” she said, as she rested her palm over his heart. “Ye make me so happy.”
He did make her happy. But then, Glynis had surprised him from the start.
HISTORICAL NOTE
One of the joys of doing research for a historical novel is discovering real-life characters and events that no one would believe if you made them up. Happily, sixteenth-century Scotland is a treasure trove of such finds, and I included a number of them in this book. After five hundred years, many details are unavailable or disputed, and the line between historical fact and legend blurs. This, of course, gives a fiction writer room for imagination.
Shaggy Maclean and Catherine Campbell did marry. The incident with the tidal rock, including Shaggy’s subsequent visit to the Campbells, is a well-known tale, though these events occurred a few years later than I make them. In 1523, Shaggy was murdered in Edinburgh, probably dirked in bed. It was generally believed that John Campbell, Thane of Cawdor, was responsible.
John Campbell’s wife, Muriel, is also a real historical figure. According to the stories, Muriel was stolen by the Campbells from outside Cawdor Castle when she was very young, was raised in the Campbell chieftain’s household, was married to John at twelve, and had a happy marriage. I was lucky enough to visit Cawdor Castle and see a carved mantel commemorating their marriage.
James IV’s death in the Battle of Flodden led to a long minority rule by his son, which fostered factional fights for power. Under the dead king’s will, Margaret Tudor, who was his widow and also Henry VIII’s sister, initially served as regent. The Douglas chieftain, who makes an appearance in
Antoine D’Arcy, a French nobleman known as the White Knight, was a real person who came to Scotland to assist the next regent, the Duke of Albany. Apparently, D’Arcy had visited Scotland earlier to participate in jousting tournaments. As with the other historical figures, I filled in his personality to suit my story.
My character Connor’s half uncles are loosely based on the real sons of Hugh, the first MacDonald of Sleat chieftain. Because Hugh named two of his sons Donald and two Angus, I changed most of their names to reduce confusion. My version of how two of these men were captured is wholly fictional, but the manner of their deaths is consistent with stories told about them.
I based Magnus Clanranald on a Clanranald chieftain named Dougal. The real Clanranald chieftain was actually assassinated by members of his own clan, and his sons were excluded from the succession to the chieftainship.
I adjusted travel times as well as the dates of some events to suit my story. Except for Dunfaileag, all of the castles mentioned in this book existed, though some are in ruins now. There is a Loch Eynort on South Uist, but I have no idea if it has secret bays and inlets. I hope I can visit it one day and find out.
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Available in November 2012
CHAPTER 1
ISLE OF SKYE, SCOTLAND
1508
Duncan MacDonald could defeat any warrior in the castle—and yet, he was powerless against his chieftain’s seventeen-year-old daughter.
