Chapter Twenty-Six

"How did you know I would want to see the place where Grandda Thomas lived?" Tamsin asked, riding beside Liam.

"I had a feeling about it." He guided his horse closer to hers and smiled. She was lovelier in the morning than he could have imagined—and he should stop thinking of how she looked, and felt, in the night. Flexing his shoulder, the wound making the movement stiff, he shrugged. "Have you been there before?"

"As children we visited him with our parents. My mother was his granddaughter. But I scarcely remember."

"See the pine forest there?" He pointed toward the tall pines that had sheltered him. "I waited there after those rascals shot me. When I came out, I recognized the Eildon Hills, and knew the Rhymer lived near here. He is said to have met the Queen of Faery in those hills."

"And from there he followed her into the Otherworld," she said. Ahead rose three conical hills, the middle one slightly higher than its sisters, all of them deep blue in the midday sun, with patches of old heather and scrub along the inclines. "I dreamed of the hills once, after Grandda died, and I felt I should visit them someday."

He sidled his horse closer and reached out a hand. She joined hands with him and they rode in silence, the horses rocking them closer to the hills.

"What else have you dreamed?" he asked.

She hesitated. "I dreamed of you, once."

"Did you! And never said," he teased. "Who is keeping secrets now? Tell me."

"I dreamed I climbed down a rope out of a tower, with arrows flying all around. A knight stood below me. He was there to catch me. I let go and fell into his arms." She glanced at him. "Later I recognized you as the knight in my dream."

"By the very saints," he murmured. "You do have a way about you, my lady."

"I dreamed more recently that I was looking for you—outside Dalrinnie. But I could not find you, and then I was taken. Grabbed by someone. But I woke, and you were there with me. I think it was fear. Just—needing you."

Keeping her hand in his, he rode thoughtfully. "I am always here for you. There is some—kind of destiny here. I have not always believed in such, but this—this between us seems undeniable."

"I used to daydream about a man who could truly love me. I was so lonely at Dalrinnie, in that marriage. I wanted children. A home. I wanted to be free to speak the truth, too. But I had to hold my tongue and be obedient."

He pressed her hand. He only hoped he could give her what she dreamed most of. His own dreams had been in shambles for too long, until he had met her. Now, he dared to hope beyond the next step, the next day, into the future.

"I thought my dreams were all destroyed with Dalrinnie gone," he said. "I wanted a wife, a lady of my castle, a home where we both belonged. Much as you wanted. Now here we are, we two." He smiled slightly. "I wanted a peaceful place with children, with dogs, hawks on perches, horses in the stables, tenants flourishing on the land. A dream that big will take time. But now I think it is possible again."

"When luck returns to Dalrinnie with the lady and her harper?"

"Let us hope our luck extends beyond Dalrinnie to Scotland, love."

"Look there, ahead." She pointed. "Is that a hawthorn tree? And on that low hill before the Eildon sisters… See that stone keep?"

Liam peered ahead, seeing a slight mound where a tree rose, growing as two tall twisted trunks with a great arching, sagging canopy of leaves just turning a rusty color. The small white flowers of spring and summer were gone, the twiggy branches heavy with dark red berries. "Aye, hawthorn. The ballad says Thomas lived nearby and one day sat under a hawthorn tree to play his harp when the Faery Queen rode up. She took him inside the largest hill. Hold up here, lass, and we will walk," he added.

Liam dismounted, and walked over to help Tamsin to the ground. Making sure the horses were tied to low bushes nearby, he patted and murmured to them. He would always be grateful to his great sturdy stallion for keeping him safe, giving all he had, the night they were chased. Taking Tamsin's hand, he walked with her toward the old hawthorn tree.

"I can imagine him here," she said. "Sitting there, under the tree, with a harp."

Hearing a shout, Liam glanced around, on alert. An old man crossed the meadow toward them, walking with a cane, a dog beside him. The man raised a hand. "Who is that?" Liam asked, turning, waiting beside Tamsin as the man walked toward them.

"Good day," the old man called, coming closer. He was tall and bent, a fine gray tunic and shabby green cloak hanging loose on him. His face had a gaunt dignity and his hair was white and tousled beneath a flat cap. "I am Sir Thomas, and that is my tower house. And that is my tree. Who be you?" Stopping, he patted the head of the tall hound beside him.

Liam was pleased to see a sight-hound like the ones he so loved. This handsome beast seemed obedient, friendly, and kindly treated. "I am Sir William Seton, formerly of Dalrinnie. This is my wife, Lady Thomasina Keith of Kincraig. We do not mean to trespass."

Sir Thomas came closer, peering at Tamsin. "Thomasina! Is it you?"

"Sir?" she asked. "Are you—oh! You look so much like him!"

"I am Sir Thomas Learmont. The Rhymer's son." He smiled. "Your great-uncle. I remember you. One of the beautiful Keith girls, the child with the pale gold hair."

"Sir Thomas! I did not realize you lived here! We met when I was a child. How kind of you to remember me, and how good to find you here. You are well, Uncle?" She took his hand for a moment.

"Well enough, my wife and I both. She is home in Learmont Tower, just there, and would be pleased to see you. Will you and your husband visit for a spell? Walk those fine horses this way with me." He beckoned with the cane.

Tamsin nodded and began to walk with the old man, while Liam took the horse's reins and followed.

"When you were a wee bit lass," Thomas said, "I remember visiting Kincraig with my father. I was grieved to hear of your parents' passing. Your sisters and brother are well?"

"They are well. It is kind of you to remember all of us."

"We are kin! Your mother was my niece, my brother's daughter. After she married a Keith and moved to Kincraig, we did not see her much after that. Oh, she was kind and elegant. You have the look of her, you know, her eyes and her hair. A beauty. She wore blond braids to her knees always, I remember. And your father was a handsome and intelligent man, serious in nature, concerned for the fate of Scotland and for the welfare of his family. So much has happened since then—Scotland in turmoil, Edward of England stepping in to take over. We did not need that! Even now he can neither bend Scotland nor break it, much as he tries."

"We are doing our best to prevent it," Liam said. "Sir, may I ask—are you a prophet like your father?"

"Och, nay, that gift went past me. I was a knight and now I am a farmer. I once played the harp, learned at my father's knee, but I cannot play now." He held up his hands, fingers twisted, joints knobby. "I knew all the songs the Rhymer sang."

"My husband plays the harp," Tamsin said.

"Do you, lad?" Thomas gave him an assessing stare. Liam smiled and shrugged, wondering at the scrutiny. "Do you indeed?"

"And very well, too," Tamsin added. "Sir Thomas, could you tell me more about Grandda, and the legend of those hills too? Did he sit beneath that hawthorn, as they say of him? Did he go into the hillside with her?"

"He did say she found him under that tree playing his harp, and cast a glamourie over him, throwing her magic on him. He followed her into her realm and stayed for seven years. He said it was true. Three years with them was seven years out here. Time is not the same there, see."

"And he came back a truth-teller," she said.

"He did. Later, see you, he went back inside that hill at the end of his life and was not seen again. Some say the Earl of March killed him for predicting something he did not want to hear," old Thomas went on. "But that was not his fate."

"He was quite old," Liam said. "I heard it said he died in his tower. Not so?"

"Nah," said Thomas. "He went back to the faeries. He stood up one day and walked out the house, all the way to the highest hill there, where he met the queen. She was waiting for him, silver bells on her bridle and gold in her hair and all. Oh aye, he was ready to go with her."

Liam listened, bemused, wondering if old Sir Thomas was a little lost in the head himself, eighty if he was a day. "That is a fascinating tale."

"No tale. I saw him go. Come in!" Thomas waved them through the open gate. The keep was a modest stone block enclosed by a fieldstone wall.

He led them up the steps of the keep, where they met his wife. Dame Learmont was short, plump, dimpled, and merry. She bustled about, offering a hot drink of mint, berries, and honey, and served cheese and oatcakes.

Rather than sit with them at the table in the quiet, simply furnished hall, the dame retreated to a corner to sit at a loom and take up her work, colors and shuttle flying to and fro as she wove a handsome cloth of three or four colors. Liam could tell she was listening, a smile on her face, with fond looks for her aging husband.

"Heaven guided you here, I think," Sir Thomas said. "My father left me his house and lands here at Ercildoune, where he was born. My wife and I have no children to inherit this place. Our daughter died in childbed with her child, and our son, another Thomas, was lost in what I call Edward's war."

"I am so sorry to hear that," Tamsin said.

"Sad, aye. I thought to leave all this to the Keith children as my grandnieces and grandnephew, and I wanted to reach out to you. But Edward's war makes it difficult to do ordinary and important things."

"It does. Oh, Sir Thomas," Tamsin said, "my brother would appreciate this inheritance."

"It is not just for your brother. It is for you and your sisters too. My father would want these lands divided between you. He loved you and often said the four of you are special. He said he gave each of you something of his. Are you the scholar, my dear, or the healer? Or perhaps the bold wee sister?"

"The scholar, I suppose. He gave me his writings. I mean to honor those."

"I am glad."

"So you knew about the Kincraig children all along?" Liam asked.

"I did. But I had no good means nor the health to travel to Kincraig. Sir William, so you are a harper?"

"Aye, and a knight loyal to Bruce, who valued your father's counsel years ago."

"So I understand. Do you know what Thomas said of the harper?"

Liam frowned. "Do you mean the mention of a harper in a verse about Dalrinnie?" They had only discovered it—and here it was, come round again in this meeting. If he never marveled at miracles and magic before, he might have to begin, he thought.

"The very one. I heard the Dalrinnie verse long ago. Did we not, my dear?" He turned to his wife, working at her loom, shuttling and shifting in a rhythm.

"We did," she said. "The lady of gold and her harper to hold. Something like that."

"Aye! And you, lass, you have the truthy tongue?" Thomas asked. "I thought so. And a harper-knight for a husband. Good! Come with me," he said then. He rose and took up his cane, and the tall, leggy gray dog stood with him. "Follow me."

Liam and Tamsin crossed the hall behind old Thomas. The dog trotted along beside its old master. "That is a handsome hound."

"You ought to know. He is a Dalrinnie hound, descended from one called Colla when I was a boy."

"Colla! My grandfather and father had more than one of that name. I am pleased to hear it."

"We have had several of these hounds over the years and bred them ourselves. He is the last of those. When I go, he will go. And my wife—" He stopped.

"You and your wife," Tamsin said, "are always welcome with us. We are family."

"Thank you. Come. I want to show you something." Thomas grabbed a torch from the wall in a shadowy hallway and brought it outside, crossing the bailey in daylight, then inside an arched doorway down a corridor that went past a kitchen on one side and storage rooms on the other.

He led them down a few steps, where the torch became necessary. Liam held the door for the old man, the dog, and Tamsin as they entered the cellars. Barrels and shelves held food stores, grain sacks, farming implements, wooden boxes, even a pile of old muddy boots.

Opening a creaking wooden door, Thomas ushered them into a vaulted stone room. Liam ducked to pass under the lintel. Thomas, hunched with age, held the torch aloft.

"Thomas's things are here," he said.

Liam saw that the room held wooden boxes, a large chest, some chairs, a dismantled bed. Taking in the disarray, he wondered what this Thomas wanted amid the jumble.

"Here." The old man pulled a cloth off a large bulky shape to reveal a wooden chest. Opening its lid, he rummaged about and drew out a leather satchel. He held it out.

"Sir William, this should be yours."

"This?" Liam looked at him, puzzled.

"It is his harp." Thomas opened the satchel to show the uppermost edge of the harp, a smooth and sinuous curve of polished wood inset with moonstones in a spiral pattern.

"By the saints," he murmured, "it is a beautiful thing. I could never take this, sir."

"You can and you will. This is True Thomas's own harp, the one the Queen of Faery gave him, and you must have it."

"I could not, sir, but I am very grateful."

"Take it. You are the harper in the prediction he made for Dalrinnie. You are the harper that the golden lady, our Tamsin, found. You must have this. I have no use for it now, and no children or grandchildren to play it. Tamsin and her kin are my kin now. Take it and live well and make good music with it."

"Sir Thomas, it is an honor, truly," Liam said.

"It is a privilege, and so generous," Tamsin said. "What can we do for you?"

"For me? Keep this harp alive. Here, packed away, it is like a dead thing. My father would want his harp to be played."

"I cannot thank you enough," Liam said, and then reached out to finally take its weight in his hands. The harp strings chimed softly. It felt like his own harp, somehow.

"Thank me by making music with this, and by making your lady happy. And by allowing my father's legacy to thrive. It is what he would want. It is what I want."

"You will always be part of our family," Tamsin said. "We have much to make up for. You must come to Kincraig, you and your wife, to spend time with us."

"We would like that." He beckoned them out of the room and led them back out into the bailey yard. He paused, still in shadows, still holding the torch, the dog standing quiet and tall beside him.

"You know," he said, "the night my father went into the hillside, he was sitting by the fire after supper. Then he stood up. ‘My sand is run, my thread is spun, those bells are for me,' he said. And then he walked outside."

"To the hills?" Tamsin asked.

"Aye. We followed, my wife and I, but could not catch him. He began to walk like a young man, long strides and fast. A light appeared in the hillside, like a silver flash, and I saw a door open in the very rock. Then he was gone."

"He disappeared there?" Liam frowned. Was this possible?

"Aye. Ancient legends tell of a portal hidden inside those hills. The queen waited there for him, I am sure. She was his true love, much as he loved my mother. She took him back into her world. Perhaps he still lives in there."

"Forever," Tamsin said in a hushed voice.

"They say one day he could return to save Scotland. Remember that, you two."

"Aye so," Liam said.

"I have lots of stories, you know," old Thomas said.

"And I would love to hear them," Tamsin said.