Surviving Scotland by Kristin Vayden Page A

step forward and addressed my uncle. “I was curious and got lost. ‘Twas dark, an’ the mist made it hard ta find me way home. Ioan rescued me, truly. I didn’t realize I had gone so far, Uncle. I tho’ I was much nearer; the mists were deceiving.”
    And it was the truth, mostly. I was curious and I did get lost. I wouldn’t have found my way home if Ioan hadn’t rescued me. Though it wasn’t a lie, I knew it wasn’t the full truth either, and I hoped I had made the right choice. But when Ioan had clearly intended to take the fall for me, either my pride or cursed attraction to him couldn’t let him shoulder the blame.
    “Lass, I donna ken what I’m goin’ ta do with ye. Yer room. Now.” My uncle pointed to the stairs, and I nodded and walked away. I cast a glance back toward Ioan and he was watching me, a strange expression on his face. I offered him a small smile and went to my room.
    I wasn’t at all surprised when I heard a knock on my door. Reluctantly, I rose to answer it. Morag’s smile surprised me, and I let her into the room, glancing behind her to see if my uncle was going to make an appearance. Wasn’t I to be locked in my room? I deserved it. I did disobey him, but that didn’t mean I wanted it.
    “Lassie?” Morag called to me, and after casting once last glance down the hall, I closed the door and walked over to her. “Ye are lookin’ well. Some pink to yer cheeks.” Morag nodded as she began to run her gnarled fingers over my wrists, neck, and face, checking for something. “Ye are certainly a blessed one. Aside from the loss o’ some o’ yer weight, ye are as fit as afore ye took ill. We’ll thank the good Lord for that, we will.” She nodded and went to the fire to stoke it a bit.
    I watched her poke at a log and send sparks flying through the hearth.
    “Morag?”
    “Yes?” She glanced back at me and straightened her back carefully, placing the poker to the edge of the wall.
    “Who was… am I?”
    Morag’s face softened and she gestured for me to sit down. The wooden chairs were hard against my backside, and I wondered how uncomfortable they had to be for her. A quick flash of an image of soft brocaded chairs, covered in velvet, crossed my mind then disappeared. They seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place them. Shaking my head, I glanced back to Morag and waited.
    “Lass, ‘tis a hard thing ta suffer loss like yerself. I canna imagine what it feels like to miss part o’ yerself.”
    “It is difficult, but part o’ me is so busy learning and surviving that I almost don’t have time to worry about it,” I spoke quietly.
    “‘Tis a blessin’ then, lass. Now then. Where shall I start? The beginnin’s always a good place.” She chuckled to herself and then sobered, her blue eyes twinkling in the firelight.
    “Lass, ye were always an impetuous one. Trouble. That should have been yer middle name. Yer mither and father loved ye dearly an’ wished ta have more children, but a fever prevented yer mother from conceiving again.”
    “Did they love each other?”
    “Aye, verra much.”
    I smiled at the thought. Was there anything better than to know yourself to be born of love?
    “Yer mither, ach she was a bonny lass. Same rich golden waves o’ hair and sparklin’ blue eyes such as yerself. But she was taller.” Morag nodded, as if proud of her assessment.
    “Yer father was dark-haired with eyes that seemed black, but he always wore a smile. Yer mither would tease him so about his beard being unruly. Once he awoke with it braided and tied with a piece of leather. It was done as a joke, but yer father wore it all day, tellin’ the young lads that it was the way of marriage. Needless to say, they were none too thrilled with the prospect after that. They soon got over it, but I’ll never ferget Ioan’s face when he saw yer father like that. Swore he’d never get married ta a woman who’d do a thing like that.”
    “It doesn’t surprise me…” I