Legend of the Mist (13 page)

“You must seek out your brother
and let him know how you feel,” he advised. “You must mend whatever rifts develop within your family. That is what our father, Alfrad Greybeard, always said.”

“And a wise man he was,” Einarr agreed.

Norah nodded. “I think I shall.”

And she
meant it. Wherever on the island he might be hiding, she would find Garrett, and she would put his mind to rest.

* * *

Late in the afternoon Norah set out to look for Garrett. She searched the most likely places first: the barracks, the village, the armoury. But he proved elusive.

Dusk was beginning to l
ower itself by the time she found him. It was a strange dusk; the sun reflected off the low-lying mist giving the entire island an eerie, golden glow.

He had
hidden himself in a small inlet on the western edge of the island. Here, when the winds were calm as they were now, the shape of the beach created a shallow pool that was relatively sheltered from the rough sea beyond.

They’d come here often as children, she and Garrett, and later the younger ones, too. They’d play for hours on the narrow beach
, searching out stones and shells and skipping them over the surface. Garrett and the children would even swim in the inlet if the weather was particularly fine. Norah never had.

When she spotted him h
e was sitting on a smooth, flat rock, the base of which was submerged in the water. He had taken his boots off, and was lazily swinging his bare feet in the gentle waves with the hem of his kilt pulled up to his knees.

“So this is where ye’ve been hiding,”
she called from the edge of the beach.

He
did not turn at the sound of her voice; he did not even flinch. It was as if he’d been expecting her, had come here to this place where they’d been so happy as children to wait for her. He gazed out over the glittering golden water as she approached and took a seat next to him on the damp, cool rock.

“Shove yer bum, will ye?” she teased, nudging his hip with hers. Her laughing tone coaxed a hint of a smile from him. He
shifted to give her more room.

“I havena seen ye for two days, and ye’ve only ju
st got back,” she said. “Why d’ye hide from me?”

“Ye ken why,” he answered, his voice barely audible.

“Are ye angry wi’ me?”

Garrett
tossed an annoyed glance in her direction. “Dinna play games wi’ me, lass.”

“Alright, then.
Let me tell ye what I think. I think ye hide from me because ye think
I
am angry wi’
ye
. Ye think ye have let me down, or at least ye think I believe that to be the case. And worst of all, ye’re warring wi’ yerself because ye see the reason for father’s decision. Ye see the wisdom in it: to sacrifice his daughter for the good of the clan. And ye canna reconcile what ye ken in yer head to be right wi’ what ye ken in yer heart to be wrong. How’s that, am I close?”

“Ye’ve always been perceptive,” Garrett shrugged. “
Aye, ye’ve got it right. And dinna ye dare tell me that I’m wrong. I
ken
ye feel that I’ve betrayed ye, whatever my reasons may be.”

“But I dinna, I swear it,” she insisted, pressing her hand to his
bare knee. “Perhaps I did at first, I willna deny that. I felt like ye were the one person who understood who I am. When everyone else avoided me, or expected me to behave in a way I couldna, ye were there to accept me, and protect me from them all. So aye, I did feel betrayed that ye hadna told me. I felt betrayed that ye didna try to stop father.

“But now,” she
asserted, “things have changed. I see that ye had no choice in this just as I have no choice.”

Garrett shook his head. “
And ye’ve had this complete change of heart in the span of two days? I dinna understand it.”

“Nor d’ye need to. In fact, I dinna think I could explain i
t even if I wanted to. Only, ye must ken that things
have
changed. I have accepted my fate, and I dinna blame ye for any of it.”

Norah watched her brother’s face as he mulled
her words over. As with Cook, a sense of guilt stirred in her belly for lying to him about what her fate would be. Or as good as lying, at any rate, by leaving that bit out.

At length,
he spoke. “I went away to Cowal because I couldna bear to see yer face every day and ken that I’d done ye wrong. But I also went away because I couldna bear to see those Norse beasts crawling over our island. And even though ye say ye’ve accepted it, I canna bear the thought of yer being forced to marry one of them. God help me, Norah, I canna bear it. I have stayed away as much as I can so that I dinna have to see it day in and day out.”

“But Garrett, ye’ve stayed away from
us
, yer family,” she argued. “And in doing so ye’ve denied us having
ye
wi’ us. When we need ye the most, when
I
need ye the most, I canna find ye. Ye’re not there to comfort me, and lead me, and be the right pain in my arse that ye can be.”

A genuine laugh
escaped from Garrett’s grim-set mouth.

“Ah, there, see?” Norah
pressed, leaning into him playfully. “There’s the smile I’ve missed these three years. Come back, aye? Dinna pay any mind to the Norsemen in our midst. Come back because I’m asking ye to.”

“I hate them, Norah. I bloody well hate them. Especially that Einarr.”

“No one says ye have to like them,” she agreed. “Just tolerate them as we all do. Or, if ye canna tolerate them, ignore them.”

Garrett peered long and hard at his sister
, evaluating the truth in her plea “Aye, alright,” he agreed finally. “But only for ye.”

Norah grinned. “I’d be offended if ye
conceded so easily for anyone else.”

E
leven

Garrett kept
his promise, and just as the islanders were beginning to take their seats for the evening meal, he strode through the entrance to the hall. With his head high and shoulders back he took his seat, daring any Viking before him to challenge his rightful place among the leaders of Clan Gallach.

“I’ll no’ speak of yer disappearance, lad, but I trust it
willna happen again,” Fearchar said in a hushed tone as Einarr took his place beside the chief. “I’ll no’ having ye offend them, no’ after we’ve worked so hard to maintain peace.”

Garrett
clenched his jaw and shot Norah a frustrated look. But at the pleading expression on her lovely face, he nodded begrudgingly.

“I’m here, am I no’?” he challenged.

The meal progressed uneventfully. Garrett held a tight rein on his manners and kept his mouth shut, answering only direct questions from the Gallachs; the Norse at the head table did not acknowledge him, but Norah noticed a hint of a smirk on Einarr’s lips at the young fool’s stubborn pride.

The moment the trenchers and platters were cleared away, Garrett rose from his seat as if it were
made of pins and marched back out the way he’d come. A few curious eyes followed him, but for the most part his petty act of defiance was ignored.

“Well, it was a start,” Iobhar noted
with a begrudging grin.

Norah
also considered leaving the hall after the meal had concluded. The itch to visit the broch had begun in her belly once more, and she longed to lose herself in its magic. But Einarr foiled her intention.

“Norah, come join us in a game of dice, ja?”
he called from across the hall. A group of the Norse had collected at one of the trestle tables to watch their leader and a Gallach warrior play at gambling.

Obediently she approach
ed, but politely refused. “Now sir, ye must ken I dinna play dice. What kind of a maid would engage in such a sinful pastime?”

Her tact earned her a twittering of appreciative laughter.

“I never play either,” Torsten put in, coming to stand beside her. “Einarr cheats.”

“Losing is losing,”
Einarr insisted. “There are no cheaters in war, only those clever enough and bold enough to win at all costs.”

His proclamation was met with a round of gruff
cheers by his men, while his opponent eyed the back of Einarr’s cards warily.

“Dinna ye worry, I’ll watch his cards and see that he plays fair,” Norah assured her clansman.

“I thought you did not play,” Einarr tossed over his shoulder.

She
smiled slyly. “Aye, sir, I dinna. But that doesna mean I dinna ken
how
to play.”

A beam of pride shot
through Torsten at his lady’s wit. Then he immediately chastised himself for thinking of her as
his
lady ... again.

As the game got underway more
spectators gathered. Large, powerful shoulders from both sides jostled each other for space. Norah and Torsten had begun the game a respectful distance apart, but slowly found themselves being pushed closer and closer until their arms were pressed together.

The moment they touched
, Torsten lost the last fragment of concentration he had for the game. His heart thrummed in his ears as her scent and her presence overwhelmed him. His entire body yearned for her. He imagined slipping his arm around her waist and pressing his lips into the hollow of her neck. He imagined burying his face in her silky hair. His ill-advised dreaming began to assert itself dangerously against the fabric of his braies, and he began to panic for if he did not stop, his desire for her would be visible to everyone.

W
orst of all, he thought she sensed his inner turmoil. And was enjoying it! She gave no outward sign of it, but he could read her thoughts by her very presence ... if such a thing was possible.

Which it was not.

Ridiculous!

Odin’s
arsch
, what was
happening
to him?

The moment the game ended he made his excuses and left the hall in much the same way Garrett had: as if the floor beneath his feet was made of brimstone. Little good it did; the moment he stepped outside into the night air
, thoughts of Norah returned.

Damn the incessant fog and heat
! It was disorienting; did nothing to help a man clear his mind. Angrily he kicked at the rippling blanket, sending a wave of white up in front of him. As it sifted back down to earth, the mist closed in around him, blinding him with whiteness.

Was it his overwrought nerves, or had
the mist had acted ... consciously?

Before h
e had a chance to dismiss the notion, he saw it: a face.
Her
face. But not quite. The shape was slightly longer, the eyes more like the shape of almonds, as exotic as the fruit itself. The hair, though, was the same deep red, like blood, and wrapped in a band of gold.

And
a symbol, a symbol which was frighteningly familiar and yet which he’d never seen in his life, was painted on her cheek. Pale blue.

She smiled, reached for him, and called a
word which he didn’t quite hear, in a language he did not know.

Or not a word, but perhaps ... a name.

His mind was shattering, it must be! Furiously he waved his arms through the mist, disturbing the illusion, and tramped towards the harbour where he jumped into one of the empty row boats tied loosely to the stone dock. Gripping the oars fixed to the sides he rowed himself back to Rysa Beag at full speed. Though his arms soon began to burn from exertion, not once did he slow.

Even the distance gave him no reprieve, for that night his dreams were assailed by faces. Painted faces
with the same symbols of blue; beautiful faces which called to him, beckoning him home.

“Have fun last night, Torsten?”
called Freyr the next morning. He grinned devilishly as Torsten slinked out of Einarr’s lavish timber dwelling.

“What are you on about?”
he replied, annoyed.

“We heard you moaning across the way
all night. My first thought was that you had a woman in your bed entertaining you; only I know there are no women here. Entertaining yourself were you? Might want to keep it down a bit like the rest of us do so as not to disturb those who want to sleep.”

Torsten scowled and brushed past the Viking captain, swearing at him as he did.

“Don’t be so sensitive,” Freyr laughed, “you’re not the only one who misses a nice, soft
fitta
.”

At the morning meal he found himself repeatedly gazing across the room to where Norah sat,
at the end seat of the high table. The recognition which he’d felt the first time he saw her was no longer an intangible notion that he couldn’t explain.

It was a boulder that had been thrown at his head, leaving him dazed.

“You’re going to have to get in line, I’m having the first turn,” said the man next to him.

“Are you
krasa
?” demanded Torsten. “Einarr will have your head if you touch her. And then
I’ll
have your
arsch
.”

“What do you mean t
ouch her? I was talking about that
dunga
next to her.”

Torsten’s
brows pulled together. “That is her brother, and I suspect he might kill any man that tried to crawl into his bed.”

The man looked at him as if he had worms crawling from his ears.
“Now I think you are the one that’s
krasa
. I’m talking about fighting the
veslingr
, not buggering him.”

Torsten shook his head, feeling rather foolish. “Of course you are, forgive me. Why, what’s he done?”

“You have not noticed? I thought that was what you were staring at. He’s been giving us challenging glares the whole meal. The boy needs to be taught a lesson, he does.”

From across the room Iobhar noticed the attention Garrett was attracting.

“Dinna be testing them,” he warned his nephew. “There’s no’ a one of them that willna hesitate to take up yer challenge.”

His warning
came too late, for the Norseman who had been talking to Torsten had already made up his mind. As soon as the diners had filed out of the fortress to begin their day, a large hand clapped onto Garrett’s shoulder just outside the main entrance.

“You want fight?”
the man said in poorly articulated Gaelic. “You look bad at me, you fight me, ja?”

“
Come on, leave it,” Torsten said to the man in Norse.

But
Garrett welcomed the confrontation. He stepped forward, rising to the larger man’s invitation. The man grinned and began walking backwards, his arms open, daring Garrett to follow him farther onto the open ground.

“Ye bloody fool,” Iobhar barked,
gripping Garrett’s arms and holding him back. “Ye’ll ruin everything we’ve achieved here, and that’s
after
he splits ye in two.”

“I can take him,” Garrett growled, straining against his uncle’s grasp.

“Ye’ll no’,” Fearchar commanded, wrapping his arms around his son’s waist. “I forbid it, lad.”

“Leave him be,”
Torsten repeated to his comrade. “What will you prove by killing him?”

“I’ll prove that he’s a
Hruga uskit’r
, that’s what,” the man snapped back, eloquent in his own tongue.

“He is the brother of Einarr’s bride. Einarr will not thank you for killing him.”

Torsten did not need to say anything more, for it was clear that there would be no fight. Garrett was already being pulled back into the fortress by a number of his clansmen.

The Norseman who had instigated the confrontation sneered.
“Looks like I won’t get the chance to kill him after all,” he announced to his companions. “It is time for the little
barn
to have some warm milk and a nap.”

Taunting laughter
filled the air. Norah, who had witnessed the transaction, stared after Garrett with sympathy. Then, glancing at the faces remaining, she realized with chagrin that a number of curious young eyes had witnessed the scene as well. They stared after Garrett, some in awe, some in fear, and some in confusion over what had just happened.

“Come children, shall we see if Lady Iseabal will
tell us all a story?” she said brightly.

“Yes, please,”
answered a chorus of small voices.

“
Oh, really, ye wee devils, canna ye go play?” Lady Iseabal sighed. “I’ve work to do.” When they would not let her go she relented. “Alright, alright. Come then, gather yerselves round.”

“Here, my Lady? Outside?” Greine queried.

“Why no’? I dinna think I want to be inside wi’ sour old Garrett anyway.”

Arranging herself on the ground in as ladylike a fashion as she could, she waved the
excited children closer. Even Cinead stayed to hear one of the lady’s beloved stories. He stood himself behind the group, a little behind Norah in a protective stance. A shepherd to his flock.

To Iseabal’s surprise
, a handful of Norse remained to hear the story as well, and stood in a semi-circle behind the group of children.

Cinead
glared at the two men immediately flanking him, and folded his arms tersely over his scrawny chest.

“I wasna expecting such an a
udience,” Iseabal laughed nervously as the mist closed over her lap.

“
We are many of us fathers, too,” Freyr answered. “It is always nice to hear stories we ourselves have not told hundreds of times over. You do not mind, do you?”

“
Of course no’, sir. Now then, wee bairns, what story shall I tell?”

“The one about the priest and the faerie,”
chirped Roisin.

“Nay, I’m sick to death of that one,” Cinead barked.

“The warrior and the gull, Mama,” Friseal called as he plunked himself down on his brother Madeg’s lap.

“I told ye that one just last night,” Madeg said, his
newly changing voice cracking awkwardly.

“What about the legend
, my Lady?” Greine suggested, glancing shyly at the Norsemen from under her lashes. “Our guests havena heard it before, and ye havena told it for a long time.”

“Legend?”
inquired one of the Vikings.

“Aye, the legend of Fara’s mist
,” Lady Iseabal confirmed, allowing a touch of mystery to colour her voice as all good storytellers do. “Would ye like to hear it, gentlemen?”

Raising their brows to one another
, they shrugged their powerful shoulders and nodded their great heads.

“
Fine then,” Iseabal began. “Many centuries ago—just how many no one kens wi’ any certainty—there were a lovely young lass who lived on the island of Fara. Her beauty, ‘tis said, were unparalleled. Her lips were as red and full as an English rose; her skin as smooth and fresh as cream. And her eyes: such beautiful eyes they were, eyes the colour of the sea before a storm ...”