had also said he must change, too, and this he still did not understand. So many lives lost unnecessarily, Highlander. You must right the wrong. What did that mean? What lives, what wrong? He supposed he had to be patient, but Maclean had never been a patient man. While he lived he had striven hard to complete the tasks needed to be done each day, and still found time to enjoy himself into the night. Maclean was not used to waiting for anything.
A bird cried shrilly high above him, and Maclean looked up. For a moment he thought he saw a golden eagle, far into the sky, but it was no more than a speck. Bella had paused for a rest, sitting herself down on a stone wall by some flowering heather. The wall ran by the old stones that stood two upright and one crosswise,forming a low doorway that led to nowhere. The stones had been here when the Macleans came, and no one dared interfere with them. They were Goddess Stones, Cailleach Stones. He wasn’t surprised to see them still here, weathered but unchanged.
Maclean remembered when he was a lad and he had run up and down these hills. Then when he was a man he had come here to teach the young men of the clan how to use a sword and to fight, to school them in the intricacies and brutality of battle. He had…had…
Maclean sighed. He saw the image for a moment, himself as a man, and then it was gone, as though a door had slammed on his mind. Resentment simmered inside him, both for the sorceress with her bewildering instructions and for Bella because he could not make her see him again.
“What am I doing following this bloody woman about? I am the Chief of the Macleans of Fasail! Dinna ye know, woman, that your job is to cook a man’s meals and ease his lust and bear his children? Men make the decisions, men make the rules and the laws. It is men who matter. Aye, it should be the other way around. Ye should be following me .”
Just then Bella sighed and rested her chin upon her hand. She looked sad today, her shoulders rounded, her full mouth turned down. Maclean imagined her thinking of the man she had driven out and wishing she had held her tongue. Well, she had only herself to blame, he told himself self-righteously, even while he secretly would have liked to pound the man senseless for the words he had used with her. But that was because hehimself never used cruelty in his dealings with women. A strong man had no need of it when correcting a gentle creature like Bella.
Aye, and she was gentle. Sweet and calm and gentle, like midsummer in Loch Fasail.
He reached out his hand, as if to brush her soft cheek with his finger, but stopped himself. She would not feel him; he was as invisible to her as the air they breathed. They were bound together, she not knowing he was here, and he fated to watch her and follow her about like a shadow.
“Is this my future? Is this the life I’ve been given by the Fiosaiche ? A life that is no life at all!”
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”
It was as if her words were addressed to him.
Startled, Maclean opened his eyes to find that Bella had climbed to her feet. Her sadness still lingered, but she had straightened her shoulders and her mouth was set as stubbornly as her chin. Maybe she was not so fragile after all, Maclean thought. He remembered when he had seen her through the window in her cottage, her eyes flashing as she faced the man. Aye, there was real strength there. He felt pride in her, as if she belonged to him.
Maclean smiled as she took a deep breath and set off at a march, back toward the cottage. And then he remembered what she had said. “Why should I no’ feel sorry for myself?” he belatedly shouted after her.
He had reason, hadn’t he? Just for a moment Maclean was tempted to turn and walk in the opposite direction, into the country of the Macleods of Mhairi, his enemies. Anything was better than being tied to abloody woman! He chafed against such bonds, longing for escape, longing for action.
The ground
A bird cried shrilly high above him, and Maclean looked up. For a moment he thought he saw a golden eagle, far into the sky, but it was no more than a speck. Bella had paused for a rest, sitting herself down on a stone wall by some flowering heather. The wall ran by the old stones that stood two upright and one crosswise,forming a low doorway that led to nowhere. The stones had been here when the Macleans came, and no one dared interfere with them. They were Goddess Stones, Cailleach Stones. He wasn’t surprised to see them still here, weathered but unchanged.
Maclean remembered when he was a lad and he had run up and down these hills. Then when he was a man he had come here to teach the young men of the clan how to use a sword and to fight, to school them in the intricacies and brutality of battle. He had…had…
Maclean sighed. He saw the image for a moment, himself as a man, and then it was gone, as though a door had slammed on his mind. Resentment simmered inside him, both for the sorceress with her bewildering instructions and for Bella because he could not make her see him again.
“What am I doing following this bloody woman about? I am the Chief of the Macleans of Fasail! Dinna ye know, woman, that your job is to cook a man’s meals and ease his lust and bear his children? Men make the decisions, men make the rules and the laws. It is men who matter. Aye, it should be the other way around. Ye should be following me .”
Just then Bella sighed and rested her chin upon her hand. She looked sad today, her shoulders rounded, her full mouth turned down. Maclean imagined her thinking of the man she had driven out and wishing she had held her tongue. Well, she had only herself to blame, he told himself self-righteously, even while he secretly would have liked to pound the man senseless for the words he had used with her. But that was because hehimself never used cruelty in his dealings with women. A strong man had no need of it when correcting a gentle creature like Bella.
Aye, and she was gentle. Sweet and calm and gentle, like midsummer in Loch Fasail.
He reached out his hand, as if to brush her soft cheek with his finger, but stopped himself. She would not feel him; he was as invisible to her as the air they breathed. They were bound together, she not knowing he was here, and he fated to watch her and follow her about like a shadow.
“Is this my future? Is this the life I’ve been given by the Fiosaiche ? A life that is no life at all!”
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”
It was as if her words were addressed to him.
Startled, Maclean opened his eyes to find that Bella had climbed to her feet. Her sadness still lingered, but she had straightened her shoulders and her mouth was set as stubbornly as her chin. Maybe she was not so fragile after all, Maclean thought. He remembered when he had seen her through the window in her cottage, her eyes flashing as she faced the man. Aye, there was real strength there. He felt pride in her, as if she belonged to him.
Maclean smiled as she took a deep breath and set off at a march, back toward the cottage. And then he remembered what she had said. “Why should I no’ feel sorry for myself?” he belatedly shouted after her.
He had reason, hadn’t he? Just for a moment Maclean was tempted to turn and walk in the opposite direction, into the country of the Macleods of Mhairi, his enemies. Anything was better than being tied to abloody woman! He chafed against such bonds, longing for escape, longing for action.
The ground
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