Page 16 of The Highlander’s Fallen Angel (Brotherhood of Solway Moss #2)

“…life isn’t but a feather floating in the wind. One second it’s in your grasp, next second, it’s floating high, wondering what is to come.”

William Shakespeare – English playwright, 1564–1616

The cottage was made of stone and had a thatched roof in good repair. A one-story barn stood behind it, a row of crows watching. Midnight black with sunlight glinting off their wings, the large birds sat along the pointed edge and on some covered pedestals set about the yard.

There were at least twenty of them. Black eyes turned their way, judging them as they approached. Some lifted their wings, letting the breeze pick them up off their perches so they could swoop in circles over the visitors like carrion birds over a battlefield.

“A tip of their wings lifts them effortlessly,” Kenan said to no one in particular.

Tierney watched Kenan as he studied the crows catching the breeze. I will help him fix his glider. The oath helped her inhale past the continued heaviness of guilt. It was a familiar weight after living a life of shame.

The door of the squat cottage opened, and a woman stepped outside. Her white hair looked soft, and she wore it in a long braid accented with a few wildflowers to lay over her shoulder. The touch gave her a fairy-like air. Robes of pale blue covered her, and a braided belt woven of stained leather lay on her narrow hips. Her smile was gentle and accepting as she looked from Sara to Tierney, as if she already knew her secrets and accepted her despite them. Tierney remembered that knowing smile from the day she’d been hauled out of the icy sea.

“Welcome, Sara and Kenan,” the woman said, and several crows pierced the air with caws as if adding a jubilant proclamation. Henry stared up at the black birds with wide eyes. The wind blew, making Tierney’s hair tug against the pinned design that Eliza had fashioned.

“And welcome, Chief MacLeod.” Morag nodded to Rory and turned her gaze to Tierney, practically ignoring Henry. “You have come to introduce me to the angel who fell from the sky.”

Henry gave a little snort. If Tierney had been closer, she might have kicked his shin despite wanting to appear mature and demure. Henry brought out her wicked, childish ways.

“This is Tierney MacNicol,” Sara said, “and her father’s advisor, Master Henry Macqueen.”

“Lady Tierney and Master Henry, this is our aunt, Morag Gunn, our mother’s sister,” Kenan said.

Morag stared at Henry. “You came with Chief Wallace Macqueen when he wed Lady Tierney.” She tipped her head, studying him. Her scrutiny made him fidget. “And you remained at Scorrybreac after Tierney was taken away.”

Henry’s chin raised. “Chief MacNicol asked me to stay as his advisor.”

Morag looked from him to Tierney. “The trade was unfortunate for Lady Tierney.”

Henry blustered. “It was not a trade. I simply…stayed.”

Tierney smiled at Morag. “Please call me Tierney.”

“’Tis your title, Lady Tierney, as daughter to the chief,” Henry said, his voice tired over the old argument.

“Come inside,” Morag said, “before my crows think that lovely crown of shining hair is gold. They’re drawn to anything that sparkles.” She turned and glided effortlessly back into her cottage.

Tierney glanced at Kenan, a small smile on her lips. “I wonder what it would be like to have a crow perch upon my head.”

Kenan’s brows were slightly furrowed, but a grin emerged. “I imagine a great amount of tugging and pecking.”

Before she could follow Sara through the low, arched doorway, one of the crows fluttered down to perch on the lintel, a glossy black feather in its beak. “Oh,” Tierney said, stopping. The black eyes, which at a distance could sink into the background of its black feathers, were shining orbs that reflected the muted sun.

Morag appeared in the doorway, glancing up at the bird. “That is Madeline.”

Tierney heard Rory MacLeod choke, a low curse coming from him through a coughing fit.

“Really, Aunt?” Sara’s voice called from within the cottage. “You named the crow Madeline?”

Morag ignored her, keeping her smile on Tierney. “She’s presenting you with a feather. They are sociable birds and like to take and give gifts.”

Tierney smiled at the crow. “Many thanks, Madeline.” She took the feather from the shiny black beak. It was a sleek feather that looked blue and purple when she turned it in the sunlight. Tierney quickly pulled one of the hairpins from her head and held it out to Madeline. “And this is for you.”

The crow bobbed her head before leaning forward to snatch up the metal stick, flapping her wings to lift off, and several of her friends cawed, following her into the sky.

“Come in before they all want one,” Morag said.

Tierney felt a heavy curl drop down from her head and pushed it behind one ear while looking at the beautiful feather. Had Madeline plucked it from herself?

Kenan bent to look at it. “None of yer crows have given one of their feathers to me.”

“Me neither,” Sara said.

Morag ushered Tierney into a wooden chair across the table, but she met Sara’s eyes. “Even though you’ve also flown, you’re of the flame, child.” She turned her gaze to Tierney. “Crows are clever and cunning. Madeline recognized Tierney as a child of the wind and sky.” She smiled, her eyes searching. “Your element is air.”

“That sounds heretical,” Henry said, passing the sign of the cross before himself to ward off lurking demons.

Morag’s gaze rose to him where he stood near the door, an escape route. “God made the flame and the wind, as well as the water and the earth. What could possibly be heretical about that?”

When Henry didn’t answer, Sara rested her hand over Morag’s. “There could be unrest on the isle.” Sara glanced at Tierney.

Tierney swallowed down the bitterness of guilt that slid upward from her stomach.

Kenan stood behind her. Normally she hated it when someone stood behind her. She kept her back to the wall or some large piece of furniture. But Kenan felt safe to her, despite his large form and their warlike beginning. Perhaps it was their night of passion that made her trust him. He had loved her well and hadn’t hurt her at all.

“There is always unrest in our country, on our isle,” Morag said.

“We may have a new enemy from the mainland,” Kenan said. “Ranulf Matheson has been trying to take over the MacNicol Clan of Scorrybreac. We’ve chased him off, but we think he’ll return with troops.”

“Possibly his brother’s army,” Rory said.

Morag glanced at them and then at Tierney. “And he wants you, too.”

Tierney nodded.

“Then he will return,” Morag said.

“But they’ve handfasted,” Henry said. “It breaks the betrothal that Tierney’s father signed.”

“Which I did not sign and said I refused with every inch of my being.”

Morag looked up at Kenan with a wicked grin. “Handfasted. That will ruin all of Cyrus Mackinnon’s plans. I saw him riding across this moor two days ago next to his haughty sister.” The woman didn’t look surprised. In fact, she looked pleased.

“More reasons for you to consider coming to stay with us at Dunvegan,” Sara said. “Eleri and Eliza would also love to have you there.”

Morag shook her head. “I’ll be well enough here with my crows.” She stood. “But feel free to take refuge here if you feel unsafe.”

Henry made a snorting sound as if he was trying to hide his laughter, and Morag’s green eyes narrowed like those of a stalking cat. Either the man was a fool or he didn’t think their aunt could cause any harm. They may have been jesting about the newts, but Tierney could tell that Kenan’s Aunt Morag would be a terrible foe to have.

Morag walked to a row of little clay jars against a wall with labels scratched into the sides. Plucking one, she walked to Rory. “For your sore tooth. Rub this in for a week, and it will help ease the swelling and pain. Then make certain to wash it well.”

“My tooth?” he asked, and Tierney could see him moving his tongue behind his cheek. He looked at Sara.

“I didn’t tell her,” Sara said.

Morag moved past him toward the door, opening it, and her crows scattered in the yard as she walked out. It looked like more had arrived, a black cloud or a winged army. Tierney would need to start befriending crows at Scorrybreac. They were beautiful but intimidating.

“You are welcome to stay as always,” Morag said, “but if your visit here was to convince me to return with you, it is over.” She glanced at Kenan. “And I know you have much to do.”

“Aye,” he answered, looking grim.

Sara stood, and Tierney followed her out the door, the men following behind them.

“Have ye always had these black birds at your cottage?” Henry asked, waving his hands around as he followed her out. “Even when ye had a husband. I can’t imagine a man putting up with this foolish rabble.”

Tierney slid the gifted feather into her hair where the curved tip fluttered with the breeze. The scent of rain blew around them, making Sara’s horse neigh, and she noticed a dark cloud far off over the sea. Where they stood, the sun still shone.

“My husband tried to banish my crows,” Morag said, “but it didn’t work.”

As if being outside again had loosened Henry’s tongue, he continued with his prattle. “A weak man, then.” He shook his head.

Sara’s face paled, and Tierney wondered if her aunt really could turn Henry into a newt. This she had to see knowing Henry was building up to his usual rant about strong women. “A man must control his wife and family,” he said, “or he can’t garner any respect from the men of his clan.” Tierney had heard it all before. Unfortunately, her father had believed this poison from his advisor.

Morag moved swiftly across the ground. ’Twas almost as if she glided with the wind without the normal gait of a person setting feet to earth.

Pulling her hand from a pocket tied under her robes, she tossed what looked like seeds at Henry. His eyes squeezed shut, and he sputtered. The sun shone down on him, and Tierney saw that the dust had a sheen or sparkle to it. “What the bloody hell—?”

But his words cut off as twenty crows descended upon him, their black wings spread as they dove.

Henry screamed, his arms flailing as the crows pecked at the sparkling dust that had covered him.

“Aunt!” Kenan called.

Morag smiled. “They like sparkling things, like little shards of mica. Don’t worry, they won’t eat the mica once they realize it isn’t food.”

Kenan and Rory ran toward the man, waving their arms and yelling to scatter the birds. Henry’s eyes were wide, and there were at least two spots of blood on his face from hard pecks. “She’s a witch,” Henry called. “I will see her burned!”

The crows flew back to the roofline and the stands erected about the yard.

“Aunt Morag,” Sara said, “you can’t send your birds to attack people.”

“They weren’t going to kill him,” Morag said. “Just remind him to whom he’s speaking his rubbish.”

“I was rather hoping she’d turn him into a newt,” Tierney said quietly to Sara. Sara stifled a laugh behind her hand while they all watched the stubborn advisor pat himself down and stomp, trying to rid himself of the sparkling dust. The remaining sun reflected on the tiny bits of mica, giving his skin a glittery, golden sheen.

“My husband was a weak man, Master Henry,” Morag called. “He thought he could control me by beating me. But here I am, alive and well, and he is dead, rotted bones in the cold ground.”

The returned threat rolled out of her like quiet thunder. Morag Gunn was definitely safe on her own with her battalion of crows ready to attack. Henry’s face reddened, and he tucked his lips inward as if to stop himself from responding. He eyed the crows who watched the courtyard from all directions.

Sara gave Morag an encompassing hug, and Tierney stepped closer when they broke apart. “’Twas a pleasure to meet you, Mistress,” she said.

Morag took her hand. “Come here if you need a powerful woman’s protection.” Her words held true invitation.

“Thank you,” Tierney said, wondering if Morag would have been able to protect her and Maggie from Wallace.

Rory helped Henry rise into his saddle and handed him a rag from his belt to dab at the few blood spots.

Kenan stood looking at the road toward Dunvegan. “Someone comes.”

They all turned as the hoofbeats grew louder. Two riders raced toward them.

“Jok,” Rory said.

Kenan looked at Tierney. “And Jacob Tanner.”

Had the Mathesons already returned to Scorrybreac? Why else would Jacob be riding as if the devil chased him?