Page 32 of Cottage in the Mist (Time After Time #3)

“Overjoyed at the news, Graeme pledged his love, and begged her to marry him. And they did so, in secret, fearing for the wee bairn’s life.

But Graeme also believed that he could convince his father to accept his bride.

His father, a great laird, ’twas no’ happy with the news, but could see that his son would ne’er be convinced to leave the lass.

So he agreed to accept the union and invited all of Tyra’s clan to a great feast to celebrate the nuptials. ”

“The Red Wedding,” Lily whispered, her stomaching quaking with the image.

“I’m sorry?” Tildy responded, her brows furrowing in question.

“It’s from a book. By George R.R. Martin. It’s not important.” She waved a hand for Tildy to continue.

Mrs. Comyn nodded. “The Comyns had doubts of course about the sincerity of the Macgillivray laird. Kendrick was his name. But they went nevertheless, willing to put aside their distrust for the sake of Tyra and her happiness. And so the two clans gathered at the Macgillivray holding. Then sometime during the celebration, the Macgillivrays rose up against the Comyns. The party was a trap, meant to lure the Comyns to their deaths.”

“Oh God,” Lily said, her breath coming in short bursts. It felt as if the story were happening to her. A Comyn in love with a Macgillivray. “So Graeme turned on her?”

“Ach, no,” Reginald said, taking up the tale. “He remained true to his love, jumping in front of Tyra to save her from his father’s blow, if the story is to be believed. And his own father struck him down.”

“And Tyra?” Lily managed to choke out, tears filling her eyes for these long dead people.

“She lived,” Tildy responded. “Somehow in the melee, her kinsmen helped her to escape. But men were killed on both sides. For the Comyns it was a slaughter. And when it was over, very few were left standing. But Kendrick, the mastermind of the entire ordeal, managed to escape unscathed. He was quick to point fingers at the Comyns. At Tyra in particular. Claiming the Comyns attacked the Macgillivrays. He blamed her for his son’s death.

Even claimed that she had been the one to kill him. ”

“How horrible,” Lily cried. “But the story doesn’t end like that, surely.”

“Well, it wasn’t a truly happy ending,” Mrs. Comyn admitted.

“Tyra had lost her one true love. But she still carried his bairn. And swore to love Graeme’s child until the end of her days, knowing that through the babe, a part of Graeme would live on.

So in the end, love found a way. Even in the wake of tragedy, Tyra held on to her love.

“But both clans were destroyed. The Macgillivrays more so even than the Comyns. With so many dead, they were scattered to the far corners of Scotland, their power lost. And of course they blamed the Comyns. Although fate was no kinder to them. They too were eventually scattered and fated to a lesser history. But that’s not truly the end.

The legend has it that when the circle is again complete—Macgillivray and Comyn joined by love, then both clans will rise to power again.

“As I said, however, there’s only sparse evidence to support the truth of what really happened.

We know that Tyra truly existed. And that Kendrick was laird of the Macgillivrays at the time.

We also know there was a battle between the two clans.

And that the Macgillivrays were decimated by the outcome. ”

“But you have nothing to prove that the lady in the portrait was Tyra. Beyond the fact that it’s old, I mean.”

“Just the ring,” Tildy said.

“The ring?” Lily answered, her voice catching as she struggled for words.

“Yes. The ring.” Tildy waved off her husband, who was clearly about to protest. “I’m afraid I left the best part of the story out.

You see, supposedly when Graeme and Tyra first married, she had a ring made specially for him.

And he wore the ring from the moment they were wed until that fated day.

” Tildy paused, her gaze shooting to the portrait.

“After he was struck down, Graeme apparently held on to life for short while. And Tyra held him close as he breathed his last. And then before her kinsmen spirited her away, she took the ring, and according to the story, wore it on a chain around her neck until the day she died. There are some who say the circle in the legend refers to the ring. That when a Macgillivray again wears the Comyn ring all with be right with the clans.”

“Which is a lovely story, except that the ring doesn’t exist.” Reginald crossed his arms over his chest on a cynical sigh. Clearly the man wasn’t a romantic.

“But there is proof. Right there in the painting. The lady is wearing the ring,” Tildy insisted.

“Ah, but even though it is clear she’s a Comyn, it’s more than possible that someone romanticized her painting by adding the ring. Or maybe it’s some other ring altogether.”

“But there’s writing on the ring,” his wife argued. “You can’t read it, but you can see it. In Gaelic. It says?—“

“ Mo chridhe gu bràth. My heart forever.” Lily spoke softly, her hand to her chest, her heart pounding so loudly she feared they could hear it.

“How in the world could you possibly know that?” Tildy asked, her expression puzzled. Reginald and Mrs. Abernathy also turned to her in question.

“Because—“ She licked her lips nervously and pulled the chain from beneath her shirt. “—because I have the ring.”