Page 37

Gwyn's once predictable world had quickly turned into a bitter abyss of pain and uncertainty.

As she stood upon the hillside, she felt the harsh winds as they bit unmercifully at her face all the while the clouds overhead churned turbulently.

As she slowly gazed upwards, she noted the stormy sky above appeared a reflection of her aching heart.

In that moment, she acknowledged the misery of her life in this wretched moment was overwhelming.

Before her was a large hole in the ground and her eyes were suddenly drawn to the wooden box sitting next to it.

Inside held the earthly remains of the Laird Chattan.

Her eyes were transfixed upon the slats of darkened oak understanding this would be the day his body would be placed into the ground forever.

The priest stood by her side in silence, waiting for the rest of their clansmen to gather so he could begin.

Gwyn was brought from her heavy thoughts when she felt the tentative hand of her son reach for hers.

After grasping of it tightly, she looked down at his grief stricken face.

It pained her heart knowing he was losing the only one he had known as father.

She wished she could disclose all she knew so he would know he had been truly loved by others and he was not alone.

Instead, she spoke only hoping to her words would help lessen his pain and reinforce he was not alone.

"My dearest son. I am so sorry for your loss and I grieve with you on this day. The best advice I can give you now is to remember the best of what he has taught you and he will live on in your heart. I also want you to know you are loved by so many and some you have never even met."

As she hugged him tightly, Gwyn moved her gaze upwards to look into the stunning blue eyes of Iver who stood on the other side of Durell.

There was a sadness upon his face as the intensity of his stare did not go unnoticed.

In the last two days, she had wanted desperately to go to him for all the comfort he would provide but she knew in her heart she could not.

Even in the Laird Errol's death, she would not do anything now that would shame her husband.

Nor could she do anything that would further incite the anger she knew to be held within her clan.

As a large portion of the Chattan encircled the ground that would hold their laird for the rest of eternity, Gwyn moved her eyes over the troubled lot.

She studied them carefully and found herself more than just a bit afraid.

While there had been much unrest in recent years, ever since the laird had died on that dreadful morn, it seemed there was even more tension among this sordid lot.

Slowly, Gwyn moved her gaze over each of her clansmen attempting to look at them within their eyes to ascertain their loyalties.

One by one as her stare sought theirs, most would drop their eyes immediately in complete defiance of the colors that they wore.

Never before had she felt such overwhelming disdain coming from anyone and the fright it inspired was nearly crippling.

As her eyes continued to move across the clansmen, she heard the priest begin to clear his throat, as he made ready to begin.

It was in that moment Gwyn's eyes found and locked with Philomena's in the distance.

She was standing across the way and towards the back of the crowd of the Chattan clansmen.

She was there all alone, and her eyes…the grief for her loss was overwhelmingly evident.

As Gwyn stared at who she deemed now to be her husband's true wife, another day in her distant past and another time flashed through her mind.

It was many years ago and when her family of the MacLaren all stood burying a child of their own.

The tormented face of her mother flashed within Gwyn's mind and she felt the heartache for each and every one of those losses anew.

Slowly, Gwyn reached beside her to the sleeve of the clergyman to halt his words as they began to come from his lips. Quietly, she spoke for no one else's ears but his own.

"Please, Father, just one moment more."

While very few had heard her words, Gwyn knew all eyes were upon her as she raised her chin in near defiance. It was a stance she needed to make and a mission she knew was imperative. She had made a solemn promise and one she would keep regardless of the implications.

Slowly, Gwyn moved around the imposing wooden box and beyond its heartfelt contents.

As she drew near to the line of warriors of the Chattan on the other side, they stepped aside and gave her a wide berth so she could move past them.

She did not hesitate until she stood directly in front of Philomena.

The older woman's widened stare spoke loudly of her shock and of her confusion.

"Come, Philomena, and take your rightful place next to the laird. He would wish it, as do I."

Without waiting for any type of response, Gwyn grasped the cold hand of the woman before her knowing what was appropriate.

While she was uncertain how her actions would be perceived within the Chattan, it was in that moment she cared little of anyone else's thoughts.

She knew in her own heart what was right and she had promised her laird to take care of her.

She would provide her open acceptance of this woman's rightful place and show this here before everyone.

This act alone would prove of her own loyalty to her laird.

Gwyn knew this woman who had devoted her life to him deserved nothing less.

'If those here do not understand nor approve, then I hope you will be damned to hell for all of eternity!'

Of course, Gwyn did not speak the words aloud as she passed the line of clansmen, but she knew in her heart this was the right thing to do. She would not have it any other way.

Gwyn never relinquished the hand she held as together the two women moved to stand next to their laird in remembrance. He had lived a long life and had done much to protect his own. She would not allow that to be forgotten by anyone.

"Ashes to ashes and dust to dust…"

The hand Gwyn held tightly within her own began to quiver after the priest said his final words over the earthly body of the laird.

Together they stood silently as the six men of the Chattan held firmly onto the braided ropes while lowering the box slowly into the ground.

When they had completed their duty and moved to the side, the women of the laird bent over to the ground and grasped a handful of dirt.

Simultaneously, they released the earth from their fingertips as it made a slight echo upon the lid of the box deep below the surface of the ground.

Gwyn watched in sadness as her son and then Iver did the same. Each one of them were paying their respects as dictated by ceremony while wishing their laird a silent farewell.

In that very moment, she realized one legacy was now gone and would soon be replaced by another. Gwyn had no doubts within her heart who she hoped would be allowed to lead, but the fear growing in the far recesses of her mind told her something entirely different.