prophecy. It was almost a relief to get to tell it again, even though he’d told it a thousand times before. It had been over a year since he’d done it last, and he was eager to see if he remembered the script. Of course he could not tell it verbatim. Percy Gordon would not know of Shakespeare and the tale of Romeo and Juliet.
“I will tell you first how the prophecy came to be.” Quinn moved to the side of the cell to lean his back against the bars there.
Percy walked toward the stairs and returned with the chair used by the blind man. He sat at an angle and Quinn got the impression the man did so to avoid the sight of the dead man more than to face Quinn head on.
“In the year 1494, the duty to one’s clan was far more important than any notion of love.”
Percy snorted.
“I must tell in the manner it was taught to me. You must bear with me if you would hear the whole of it.”
Percy nodded and waved impatiently.
“...far more important that any notion of love,” he repeated, getting a run at it. “Clan meant survival. Allegiances meant survival. And when our fair Morna’s hand was the price we had to pay for aligning ourselves with the powerful Gordons, Morna did her duty. Her true love, Ivar MacKay, understood. By the way, Ivar and Morna were not so understanding after all, but I’ll explain that later.”
Quinn returned to the script, to the part that always excited the crowds.
“Isobelle Ross was a witch...and Morna’s sister. And even though she was a strange and opinionated woman for those times, Isobelle loved her sister dearly. She would have changed places with Morna, but the Gordons would not consider a union with the wilder sibling who was already suspected of not being right in the head. But Isobelle couldn’t bear to see Morna suffer over the loss of her Ivar, so she placed an enchantment on a simple torque.”
Back in his day, Quinn would have pointed to a copy of the necklace they displayed upon a bed of black velvet. The crowd would have leaned in. Aye, but he missed the crowds.
“Isobelle promised Morna that one day soon a faery would claim this bit of silver, a faery bearing the Immediate Blood of both the MacKay and the Ross clans, one who would have the power to reunite our Morna with her Ivar. They needed only be patient.”
At that point in the show, he would have paused for a drink of water. He only hoped his little story would earn him the same when it was over.
“Unfortunately, innocent women were burned as witches, let alone strange sisters who spewed prophecy. Instead of Isobelle’s plan easing her sister’s aching heart, it broke the organ entirely. Word spread like the plague, and The Kirk came to put Isobelle to the witch’s test.
“Montgomery was laird and as such held some power. But there was no power to equal that of The Kirk in those times, or rather, in your times, Percy. Thus Laird Ross, my great uncle twenty-one times removed, was unable to spare his sister from condemnation. He was, however, able to change the manner in which she was to die.”
“The oddly shaped construction on the stone dais is truly Isobelle’s tomb, built by Montgomery for both his sister and the accursed torque, built there so she would always be near him. Isobelle was spared from a stranglin’ and a burnin’, but she could not escape her death sentence. Before the last stones were set, his very-much-alive sister and her offensive creation were sealed inside the wall by her brother’s hand.”
Quinn hoped that speaking of Montgomery as someone other than himself might help Percy come to picture them as two separate men. He struggled with the twist of his gut that reminded him that he’d promised never to tell the tale. But he wasn’t about to tell the most important secret of all. That secret would have to accompany him to his grave. He only hoped that grave was not destined to be a pile of ashes tossed into the North Sea, at the hands of a Gordon.
“Montgomery thought
“I will tell you first how the prophecy came to be.” Quinn moved to the side of the cell to lean his back against the bars there.
Percy walked toward the stairs and returned with the chair used by the blind man. He sat at an angle and Quinn got the impression the man did so to avoid the sight of the dead man more than to face Quinn head on.
“In the year 1494, the duty to one’s clan was far more important than any notion of love.”
Percy snorted.
“I must tell in the manner it was taught to me. You must bear with me if you would hear the whole of it.”
Percy nodded and waved impatiently.
“...far more important that any notion of love,” he repeated, getting a run at it. “Clan meant survival. Allegiances meant survival. And when our fair Morna’s hand was the price we had to pay for aligning ourselves with the powerful Gordons, Morna did her duty. Her true love, Ivar MacKay, understood. By the way, Ivar and Morna were not so understanding after all, but I’ll explain that later.”
Quinn returned to the script, to the part that always excited the crowds.
“Isobelle Ross was a witch...and Morna’s sister. And even though she was a strange and opinionated woman for those times, Isobelle loved her sister dearly. She would have changed places with Morna, but the Gordons would not consider a union with the wilder sibling who was already suspected of not being right in the head. But Isobelle couldn’t bear to see Morna suffer over the loss of her Ivar, so she placed an enchantment on a simple torque.”
Back in his day, Quinn would have pointed to a copy of the necklace they displayed upon a bed of black velvet. The crowd would have leaned in. Aye, but he missed the crowds.
“Isobelle promised Morna that one day soon a faery would claim this bit of silver, a faery bearing the Immediate Blood of both the MacKay and the Ross clans, one who would have the power to reunite our Morna with her Ivar. They needed only be patient.”
At that point in the show, he would have paused for a drink of water. He only hoped his little story would earn him the same when it was over.
“Unfortunately, innocent women were burned as witches, let alone strange sisters who spewed prophecy. Instead of Isobelle’s plan easing her sister’s aching heart, it broke the organ entirely. Word spread like the plague, and The Kirk came to put Isobelle to the witch’s test.
“Montgomery was laird and as such held some power. But there was no power to equal that of The Kirk in those times, or rather, in your times, Percy. Thus Laird Ross, my great uncle twenty-one times removed, was unable to spare his sister from condemnation. He was, however, able to change the manner in which she was to die.”
“The oddly shaped construction on the stone dais is truly Isobelle’s tomb, built by Montgomery for both his sister and the accursed torque, built there so she would always be near him. Isobelle was spared from a stranglin’ and a burnin’, but she could not escape her death sentence. Before the last stones were set, his very-much-alive sister and her offensive creation were sealed inside the wall by her brother’s hand.”
Quinn hoped that speaking of Montgomery as someone other than himself might help Percy come to picture them as two separate men. He struggled with the twist of his gut that reminded him that he’d promised never to tell the tale. But he wasn’t about to tell the most important secret of all. That secret would have to accompany him to his grave. He only hoped that grave was not destined to be a pile of ashes tossed into the North Sea, at the hands of a Gordon.
“Montgomery thought
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