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Fourteen-year-old Gwyn MacLaren stood on the Scottish hillside in the bitter cold of that dreadful January afternoon.

It was telling how she found herself more chilled on the inside than on the outside even though the weather was more frigid on this day than even she could remember.

All those who stood with her were much the same as each of them were silently grieving.

She and the rest of her fellow clansmen were all heartbroken and unbelieving of yet another tragedy.

"Is mother going to die, too?"

Gwyn was pulled harshly from her own distressed thoughts.

She moved her eyes quickly from the tips of her snow covered boots to Enya, her eight-year-old sister who stood by her side.

Hastily, Gwyn took both of her hands within her own and knelt down upon the frozen earth so she could gaze into the little ones stricken eyes.

As her young sister desperately clutched at her hands, Gwyn felt the pain of her inquiry and understood the obvious reasoning to the words she had spoken.

She supposed it was the same thoughts many had wondered, yet those with any sense had probably been too afraid to ask. Or at least speak of it aloud.

Gwyn leaned in towards her petite sister and placed her mouth near to her ear. It was not so she could speak in private, it was more so the uncertainties she would now voice would be easier to disclose having taken her eyes from Enya's piercing stare.

"No, my dear, our mother is not going to die. She is just so sad right now and is having a time of it. It is as if a sickness has taken over her mind and she is just struggling to overcome it. But do not fret little sister, she will recover in a short while just as she has in the past."

"But she looks so terrible! I have never seen her like this. And look! She can barely walk without father holding onto her so tightly."

As Gwyn raised her lashes to gaze where her young sister's eyes were trained, they settled upon the gaunt form of their mother.

She watched as the Lady Morwenna crested the hill and moved slowly in their direction with the Laird MacLaren at her side.

It was indeed true how her father completely supported her and she conceded she would never have made it this far on her own.

Gwyn closed her eyes from the sight as she repeated the words in her mind she had just spoken aloud, willing them to be true, "… she will recover…she will recover..."

"I know she appears quite unwell my little sister, but mother is strong for she is a MacLaren. Mark my words and you will see, she will be well given some time."

It was very apparent by the doubt in the little one's eyes the answer Gwyn had just muttered in an attempt to quell her sister's fears was sorely felt and not at all believed.

Even still, Gwyn was determined to only speak of positive thoughts and would not allow these devastating events to hinder her resolve.

"We must be patient with her and give her some time to grieve. She will be back to her normal self once again. Please, trust me in that regard."

Gwyn's words stuck like heavy lard within her throat but she spoke them just the same. She wanted desperately to believe in their truths, truly she did. Perhaps this was just her way of forcing the obvious from her mind and to replace those thoughts with hope.

As Gwyn watched her mother approach, she noticed immediately how her dark hair hung limply around her face and was neither tied in her normal neat plait at the back of her neck nor did it look as if it had been tended for a good share of time.

She also had to sorrowfully admit the Lady Morwenna looked worn and well beyond her thirty-three years.

If she had to be perfectly honest at least to herself, her mother looked as if she had lived twice that time.

But with all the events leading up to this day, it was no wonder she appeared this way.

"You are sure, Gwyn? She will not leave us? I am so frightened!"

As the sadness gripped at her heart, Gwyn drew in her breath and closed her eyes again to her mother's stricken face as she embraced Enya.

She herself was old enough to remember the great lady of the MacLaren in a different light, altogether.

This one standing before her held no likeness to the woman she had once been.

During those days that had long since passed, she remembered clearly their home was one filled with warmth and much laughter.

"Yes, my dear, I am certain she will be with us for a long while."

She heard the clearing of a voice and Gwyn's eyes were immediately drawn upwards to the priest who stood next to the hole in the ground.

He stood awkwardly before the tiny wooden box that held her infant brother.

As the benevolent man stiltedly shifted upon his feet, she understood there were hardly any words that could be spoken.

By the uncomfortable look upon his face, Gwyn could tell even Father Macfie was having a time of it.

How could he justify and placate anyone for yet another loss?

Nor had he been successful in readily providing any answers to the bewildering events leading them to this day.

And his vague explanation of it being 'God's will' held little comfort for any of them.

However, no one would dare question this dreadful outcome.

There were simply no words spoken that could attempt to soothe any of the MacLaren on this day. Especially the Lady Morwenna.

As the aged priest began to read from scriptures in a low nondescript tone, the heavy mists began to fall adding to the misery of this day.

"…and may Christ who rose from the dead, place the soul of this beloved child to rest in the bosom of Abraham…"

Gwyn conceded desolately none of the words Father Macfie spoke truly permeated her heart. It was simply so unfair and she was having a difficult time in coping with the grief that had once again, shrouded her family.

"…and may this tiny soul and the souls of all the faithful departed through the mercy of God rest in peace…"

As the priest's muttered words continued to fill the air all around them, Gwyn moved her gaze to her mother as she suddenly discharged a mournful cry. Her sob echoed loudly into the air and completely overshadowed the priest's blessings as she nearly shouted her words.

"God? Oh, God? Why oh why must you take yet another one of my babes before he even had a chance to live out his first day?"

The priest suddenly stopped speaking as all eyes within the small grouping were suddenly drawn to the Lady Morwenna.

Gwyn immediately dropped her gaze to the snow covered ground before her while her mother's profound question sent a shudder of pain through her body.

Absently, she watched as a large cluster of dead leaves swirled before her feet over the white of the snow.

As she followed with her eyes their meandering path, her gaze came to rest on the small expanses of ground marked by two more tiny wooden crosses.

And the place that held her two other brothers.

It was nearly beyond her comprehension that now a third would be added by their side.

"How can you leave me with two daughters upon this earth and force me to bury all three of my newborn sons? Why oh why, my Lord, must you be so cruel?"

Gwyn drew in her breath sharply. The reality of the Lady Morwenna's spoken words permeated the very depths of her soul while the sobs escaped her mother's body.

It was clear by the shocked faces of all those near they were horrified by what she had said.

Although Gwyn understood in her heart, her mother's rantings were garnered from reasonable thoughts.

'Why indeed were her parents left with their daughters instead of any of their sons?'

Of course, she did not speak those words aloud, but she heard them yet the same. Even though Gwyn was certain her mother loved she and Enya with her entire being, this made so very little sense even within her own mind.

Gwyn felt the tug at her hand once again as the whispered words came from Enya standing at her side.

"And father? Will he be well, too? He looks so very sad and weary all the time."

Gwyn conceded the Laird MacLaren had also aged much over these last years.

It was not only for the constant care of his clan, but Gwyn was certain it was also for the love and anxieties he held for his wife.

Watching her die a little bit before him with each devastating loss was exceedingly painful.

"My dear, you know our father is very sound. He has guided the MacLaren fairly and with so much strength for so many years. I am very certain he will continue for a generation yet to come. You can trust in my words, so do not fret, little Enya."

"Ashes to ashes and dust to dust…"

Gwyn vaguely heard Father Macfie falteringly say the final blessings over the young bairn as he was placed in his final earthly resting place beneath the ground's surface.

The air all around the small party was stilled and the heavy mists continued to fall as if God were crying with them.

Or for them. Gwyn fully believed this was all for the benefit of the lady of the keep.

Gwyn recognized there was no one upon this earth who deserved their compassion and support more than she.