Prologue

The baby"s cry pierced the cold blue sky. Kneeling by the grave, Mairi Brown blinked back the tears and shut her eyes.

It was an icy cold spring day. The beach and the shore were as beautiful as could be, but also freezing and wild. The graveyard was a little way back from the port, but near enough to feel every spray of the tide blast across the weather-torn shore.

Kneeling at the grave, Mairi was shaking, but it was not entirely down to the cold.

"Wheesht, now," she murmured to the bawling wean. She pressed its blonde head to her chest and tried not to think how much the baby resembled her mother.

Just for then; she couldn"t look. It was too much.

The wind blew violently like a whoosh, taking her breath, and with it, a scream that lifted up and ran to the sea. Breakers crashed on the shore, mixing with the gulls" caws. For a moment, noise and emotion overwhelmed her.

Mairi stopped trying. Tears streamed down her face as she clutched the baby tightly to her face.

"Nae lass, nae greet..."

Whoosh!

The gust blasted so hard it almost blew away her headdress! And with it, the hair curled beneath the flimsy coif jettisoned from side to side, like a sail in a storm. Mairi blinked hard against the wild skies and tried to control her heart. But it was hard, as hard as controlling the winds and the rain.

The sorrow was overwhelming. She could not blame the wee bairn for screaming out loud. It was all so wrong. His family all gone, she was the only one there at the graveside. Her and his bairn…

Casting her blonde head forwards, Mairi leaned into the windswept grave.

Etched onto the rough stone, in barely legible writing spelled the words;

Here lies Tam Gillies, taken by plague, in the year of our lord 1502, blessed peace be upon him.

And, in even smaller script, just beneath; also, Annis Gillies, his wife, taken in childbirth 1501.

Mairi"s hands stifled her cries. She could take it no more. The grief was overwhelming. But that was not all. She sought to contain the truth inside.

Tam may have been dead, but it was not the plague that had taken him. He had died of a broken heart. Sobbing, Mairi dried a tear.

She had done all she could, but the poor man had just withered and died. Ever since the day that her sister had left him.

Alone, with a bairn, he had simply buckled.

Stroking the child"s cheek, Mairi held her tight. It was not the bairn"s fault. She did not ask to be born. Nor had her sister wanted her to be.

Casting her mind back, Mairi shook her head as she recalled Annis begging her to help "end it".

But she did not, she was too far on, and anyway, it was a sin. Annis had not liked this and had done everything she could to bring an end to the pregnancy, but it had not worked.

Cuddling the bairn, Mairi stroked its stray tresses. She had never seen a baby with such hair—bright, and blonde, and already long. A year to the day since her birth and her mother"s departure, now she was to lose her only other parent.

"Nae fash now," said Mairi, her voice sounding practical, when she very much was not right then.

She had done everything for the both of them, right from the start. Fed, clothed and comforted the bairn, while looking after the miserable father as well as she could. It was just fortunate that she had a plentiful supply of milk, owing to her own misfortune several months before.

Feeding the child was not a problem. The problem was her father"s fractured heart. Nothing could put it back together, and now he had left his poor wee lass all alone in her hands.

"Hark, Tam. I ken I cannae change anything that ma sister did, but I can promise ye this; I will take this bairn and keep her safe..."

Weeping, Mairi covered the earth over the newly dug grave. In truth, she could barely afford the headstone, but she felt she owed it to him. To his daughter.

It was so wrong. What had happened was tragic. And it was down to her to make it up.

Holding her head in her hands, Mairi sunk deep. The fierce horizon hurt her eyes. Against the sea, the dawn skies glistened, heralding a new day. But Mairi did not feel any of its hope. Only pain. All the same, she resolved to fight on for the sake of the wee bairn in her arms.

Her high cry shattered the morning sky. Clutching the child, Mairi held her close. No matter what arose, she would keep her safe. Nobody—man or woman—would ever hurt her!

Instead, she resolved to protect her from the world and its ugly truth.

The shrill wail blew on, refusing to die down, like the winds buffeting the shoreline.

But when Mairi looked down, the bairn was fast asleep; its blonde head burrowed and content. She wasn"t crying at all.

The scream had been hers.

* * *

16 Years Later

"Marisse, nae go...!"

Mairi Brown strained in her bed, feebly attempting to lift her head from the makeshift pillows.

Even for a blackhouse, the hut was gloomy. The thick, low walls surrounding the tiny room were barely visible from the middle—the only part where it was possible to stand up fully.

Tucked into the walls was a small makeshift bed, where Mairi tossed and turned.

The room was dark and drafty, and the tiny skylight let in scant light. Anxiously, Marisse clucked around her ailing aunt.

"Auntie, nae fash yerself... just rest! Gae on! Close yer eyes..."

Mairi groaned. "I cannae," she said, softly. "I dinnae ken if I"ll ever open them again!"

A deep frown furrowed Marisse"s brow. "Auntie! Dinnae talk like that!"

Marisse"s face changed to frightened. Immediately, Mairi regretted her choice of words.

"'Tis true though, lass...," moaned Mairi, and it was. The fever had left her pale and weak. One minute she was in sweats, the next shivering. Clarity came and went with the chills. Sometimes, she thought she could see Annis in the shadows. But despite this, Mairi found the strength to raise her head and look at Marisse.

"Auntie!" started Marisse, in protest. Mairi flagged her down.

"I am nae scared o" dying," she stated boldly. Yet, she was, but she kept that to herself. "And I am nae afraid o" being on me own...!"

Also untrue, but it was enough to make her niece stop dead in her tracks.

"Mairi! I..."

Marisse turned. Now Mairi had her attention. Stopping in the middle of the darkened room, her eyes glowed.

Mairi thought again, how luminously beautiful her niece was, much like her mother.

Marisse was hovering, as if torn between herself.

"Auntie, let me fetch the herbs, they will help. Yer fever will break... and it"ll only take a wee bit o" time!"

But Mairi shook her head. The motion made the room turn suddenly, and with it a strange light imbued the dark. Beside her, on the bed was Annis, her long blonde hair flowing fully. Mairi tried not to look. She knew her eyes were deceiving her, but all the same, it was a little unnerving. The sister she had not seen for seventeen years was right there, staring at her intently.

"Awa" and bile yer head," grumbled Mairi, shooing the vision away. Annis did not move, acting like she did not see. Instead, she sat and smirked, playing with a daisy, or something that looked like petals of a flower.

At that moment, Mairi was more irritated than anything else. Her anger in full swing, she glared at Annis.

"A fine time ye pick to come visiting now!" she muttered, staring through Marisse.

Maybe Annis did not see—after all, she was a vision. But Marisse did.

"Aunt Mairi?" asked Marisse, tilting her head. Her large blue eyes watched her glassily.

"Ach, nae ye," said Mairi, waving her hands around. Now Marisse eyed her even more oddly. Realizing that Marisse thought she had lost her reason, Mairi smoothed herself down.

It was a big effort. Her fever was raging, and she was floating in and out of delirium. For the time being, she ignored the sister at the end of her bed and concentrated on Marisse.

"Marisse, nae go, there is something I have to give ye!" Feebly, Mairi scratched around looking at the side of the bed.

Marisse stopped in her tracks. She was ready to go, her cape pulled around her shoulders, a basket in her hands.

"Nae fash yerself," said Marisse, seeing her aunt fret. "I can reach it down, wherever it is... cannae it nae wait?"

"Nae!" snapped Mairi. Every word was an effort, and it would not grow easier with time. In exasperation, she looked about.

"Och, fannybaws, I cannae find it!"

Her brow glistening, Mairi raised her head, only to see the supercilious smile of her sister. Moaning, she lay back on her pillow, but then Annis beckoned forward. Out of nowhere, she stuffed a silver trinket into her hand, then she vanished.

"What is it?" asked Marisse. She began to put down the basket and tended to her aunt. Pouring her some water, she came over.

"Here, drink this," she said, setting the cup to her mouth. Mairi pushed her aside.

"Listen," implored Mairi. Marisse stopped. "Come and sit down, lass!"

Quietly, Marisse sat down. If she had been thinking of protesting, she did not. Instead, she rested cautiously beside her aunt.

A chill raced through the air. The drapes in the cottage fluttered, knocking down a jug of ale.

"Ach!" groaned Marisse, but Mairi shook her head. As remnants of the ale trickled out, she lay back, smiling.

"Nae fash," said Mairi, eyes rolling. This is far more important than some spilled heather ale. "Ye ken about yer mammy and daddy?"

Marisse looked up. Whatever she had been expecting, it was not this. Surprised, her eyes widened.

"Aye," she said with one glance still on the unfurling heather ale, now coagulating into a puddle in the center of the cottage. "What about them?"

She could sense the surprise in her eyes. Her niece"s demeanor changed in an instant.

"Well, och, come and sit here, there"s something ye need to ken..."

Mairi"s speech slowed down, her breaths were coming more haltingly now. It was an effort to speak.

Marisse"s young eyes shone into hers. The cottage was dark and dank. Marisse had extinguished the fire during Mairi"s fever, and a wild chill ran through the air.

The small, damp blackhouse was filled with the lingering smoke from the peat fire which still smoldered in the grate.

Marisse"s gaze momentarily averted to the curling smoke coming from it.

"Perhaps I should stoke it..." she began, but Mairi shook her.

"Nae," she said, surprising herself with her grip. Her arm cast around Marisse"s white skin as she steadied herself on her pillows. "This cannae wait. Marisse, ye ken every time ye asked me about yer mam and dad..."

Marisse shot back to Mairi. "Aye," she replied, suddenly attentive.

Mairi took a deep breath of air. "Well, I always told ye that yer dad had died o" a broken heart, a year after yer mam... left..."

Marisse eyed her quizzically. "Left... ye mean, died, aye?" she asked, uncertainly. Her hand went to the compress by the side of the bed. Fretfully, she damped it down, but Mairi rejected her fussing, swiping it suddenly from her hand and all but casting it into the smoking embers of the fire.

Marisse looked up at her.

"Sorry," said Mairi. The fever was overcoming her again. She was delirious, but not so delirious that she did not know what to do. The shining necklace playing in her hand, she bit her lip. This was hard.

"So, my father died o" a broken heart," said Marisse, limply. She was looking at Mairi as if she was more than a bit unhinged, which hurt her badly. Although she could not blame her. After all, she was feverish, and she was delusional.

"Well, that bit was true enough," sighed Mairi, casting her dilated eyes into the dying fire. All of a sudden, she wished that the sister in front of her really was real, and that she could do all of this explaining.

She glanced at Marisse. She was saying nothing and had now fixed her look intently on Mairi.

"However, the other part wasnae quite..."

"My mother died...," began Marisse, filling in for Mairi. Mairi shook her head.

"Nae. Nae, she did not, that is just it. Sometimes, God help me, it would have been better if she did!"

Even as she said the words out loud, Mairi felt a sharp stab of pain somewhere around her heart. Her chest constricting fast, the breath within her began to fail.

"Mairi?"

Marisse"s eyes widened. She faffed and fussed, loosening Mairi"s already slack clothing and cooling her down.

For a moment, Mairi thought the end had come. The pains were so strong, so violent that she could hardly breathe. Then, they passed.

When she got enough wind to speak, Annis had disappeared, and the only face staring into hers was Marisse's.

"I"ll get the doctor," she started and immediately stood up.

Mairi pulled her down. "Fat lot o" good that"ll do...!"

She shook her head at Marisse. "I"m nae being bled like a pig by that great lummox!"

Marisse laughed, shattering the tension as Mairi grabbed her hand tight.

"God forgive me, lass, but I dinnae tell ye the full truth about yer mam. Ye see, she did not die, I..."

Marisse"s eyes widened. "Och, Mairi. I always kent it. Yer my real mam?"

Mairi collapsed back onto the pillow. This was unexpected. For a moment, there was silence as the air battled to come back into her lungs. Coughing and spluttering, it took a minute for her to be able to breathe again.

"God"s bones, nae!"

Mairi had only just finished coughing when she almost died laughing. It was a few minutes more before she was able to finish.

"Och, nae, my wee lass. In all but flesh, aye, I am... but nae, what I meant to tell ye was that yer mam dinnae die. Instead, she ran away to sea..."

Marisse must have thought that Mairi was raving. Her cheeks had turned very pale, even more pale than usual, and her eyes just stared.

Worried, Mairi touched her on the shoulder, making her flinch. "Marisse lass, did ye hear me? I said yer mam is still alive..."

A pause.

"Nae," said Marisse definitively. Pushing her long blonde hair away, she cast her face away from Mairi. Now she could no longer see what her niece was thinking.

"She is. At least, as far as I ken, which to be fair, I dinnae..."

Mairi"s thoughts cast to the vision which had appeared before her. Annis was still alive and well in her mind"s eye, although perhaps a year or two older than she recalled.

"Aunt, what do ye mean?"

Another great draft swept the room, this time knocking over pots and pans at the end of the house. Neither of them turned to see. Tentatively, Mairi held Marisse"s hand and sighed.

"I mean, I dinnae want to tell ye this. Och, Marisse, how I wish I really was yer mam. Yer mother... left ye. When ye were wee. She up and ran with another man. An Irishman, a sailor... she left on the seas and never returned!"

The brisk winter winds circled the hut. Marisse did not blink.

"A... a sailor?" she repeated limply.

"Aye," said Mairi feebly. The light was fading now, and her voice was growing weak. "I dinnae ken his name, only that she went to Ireland to be with him and to be a healer... I wish it wasnae true. Marisse, I am so sorry... Please, I dinnae want to die with ye hating me, but ye had to ken..."

Immediately, Marisse turned to Mairi.

"I dinnae hate ye," she said softly, kissing Mairi on the brow. She felt feverish and sweaty, but the tender touch on her head brought some relief.

"But Mairi, can ye tell me..."

Marisse"s voice trailed off. Mairi coughed loudly, interrupting whatever she was saying.

Then, she pressed her clammy palms into Marisse"s own, thrusting something small and cold in them.

"She was going to learn the art o" healing, that is all I ken..." she whispered. "She would have wanted ye to have this..."

But Marisse barely looked down at the small shape scrunched within her palm. Instead, she clasped onto Mairi"s hands.

"Mairi, dinnae close yer eyes, stay here with me," she beseeched, but it was no use. By the time she turned, Mairi was gone.

In silence, Marisse sat, holding her aunt"s hand until it became stiff. Only then did she stand, and in doing so, dropped the object fastened into the center of her palm.

A sliver of light fell to the floor. It was only by good chance that she found it again, but the wind blew the door ajar, sending a slice of moonlight into the dark house.

There, something glinted through the black, and Marisse scooped to pick it up.

Opening her hands, Marisse saw a small locket, shaped like a flower, on a long silver chain. She stood staring for a minute before fastening it on. Then she leaned against the walls and wept.

The only sense of security in her life was gone.