Four goats and two kids poked their heads over the fence of their pen and started a congenial racket of greeting, but no one came out to see who the visitors were.
Four goats and two kids poked their heads over the fence of their pen and started a congenial racket of greeting, but no one came out to see who the visitors were.
Theyve gone somewhere, Jamie remarked, squinting at the house. Is that a note on the door?
It was: a scrap of paper pinned to the door with a long thorn, with a line of incomprehensible writing that Bree finally recognized as Gaelic.
Is Young Ians wife a Scot? she asked, frowning at the words. The only ones she could make out wereshe thoughtMacCree and goat.
Nay, its from Jenny, her father said, whipping out his spectacles and scanning the note. She says she and Rachel are away to a quilting at the MacCrees and if Ian comes home before they do, will he milk the goats and set half the milk aside for cheese.
As though hearing their names called, a chorus of loud mehhs came from the goat pen.
Evidently Ians not home yet, either, Brianna observed. Do they need to be milked now, do you think? I probably remember how.
Her father smiled at the thought but shook his head. Nay, Jenny will ha stripped them no more than a few hours agotheyll do fine until the evening.
Until that moment, shed been idly supposing Jenny to be the name of a hired girlbut hearing the tone in which Jamie had said it, she blinked.
Jenny. Your sister Jenny? she said, incredulous. Shes here?
He looked mildly startled. Aye, she is. Im sorry, lass, I never stopped to think ye didna ken that. Shewait. He lifted a hand, looking at her intently. The letters. We wrotewell, Claire mostly wrote thembut
We got them. She felt breathless, the same feeling shed had when Roger had brought back the wooden box with Jemmys full name burned into the lid, and theyd opened it to find the letters. And the overwhelming sense of relief, joy, and sorrow when she opened the first letter to see the words, We are alive
The same feeling swept through her now, and tears took her unaware, so that everything around her flickered and blurred, as though the cabin and her father and she herself might be about to disappear altogether, dissolved into the shimmering light of the aspen trees. She made a small choking sound, and her fathers arm came round her, holding her close.
We never thought we should see ye again, he whispered into her hair, his own voice choked. Never, a leannan. I was afraidso afraid ye hadna reached safety, that yed died, all of ye, lost inin there. And wed never know.
We couldnt tell you. She lifted her head from his shoulder and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. But you could tell us. Those letters knowing you were alive. I mean She stopped suddenly and, blinking away the last of the tears, saw Jamie look away, blinking back his own.
But we werent, he said softly. We were dead. When ye read those letters.
No, you werent, she said fiercely, gripping his hand. I wouldnt read the letters all at once. I spaced them outbecause as long as there were still unopened letters you were still alive.
None of it matters, lass, he said at last, very softly. He raised her hand and kissed her knuckles, his breath warm and light on her skin. Yere here. So are we. Nothing else matters at all.
BRIANNA WAS CARRYING the family fowling piece, while her father had his good rifle. She wouldnt fire on any birds or small game, though, while there was a chance of spooking deer nearby. It was a steep climb, and she found herself puffing, sweat starting to purl behind her ears in spite of the cool day. Her father climbed, as ever, like a mountain goat, without the slightest appearance of strain, butto her chagrinnoticed her struggling and beckoned her aside, onto a small ledge.
Were in nay hurry, a nighean, he said, smiling at her. Theres water here. He reached out, with an obvious tentativeness, and touched her flushed cheek, quickly taking back his hand.
Sorry, lass, he said, and smiled. Im no used yet to the notion that yere real.
I know what you mean, she said softly. Swallowing, she reached out and touched his face, warm and clean-shaven, slanted eyes deep blue as hers.
Och, he said under his breath, and gently brought her into his arms again. They stood that way, not speaking, listening to the cry of ravens circling overhead and the trickling of water on rock.
Trobhad agus òl, a nighean, he said, letting go as gently as hed grasped her and turning her toward a tiny freshet that ran down a crevice between two rocks. Come and drink.
The water was icy and tasted of granite and the faint turpentine tang of pine needles.
Shed slaked her thirst and was splashing water on her flushed cheeks when she felt her father make a sudden movement. She froze at once, cutting her eyes at him. He also stood frozen, but he lifted both eyes and chin a little, signaling to the slope above them.
She sawand heardit then, a slow crumble of falling dirt that broke loose and hit the ledge beside her foot with a tiny rattle of pebbles. This was followed by silence, except for the calling of the ravens. That was louder, she thought, as though the birds were nearer. They see something, she thought.