The message that Tormod had been wounded was one that took the breath from Kenna’s lungs. She near fell into a swoon at the news, such was the melancholy that overwhelmed her spirit. What followed after she had been caught by Helga and supported by the young lass, she was not certain.

  She knew only that many of the women of Glasvhail whispered and muttered about her, behind their palms. Evidently as scandalised then by her perceived bond with the laird’s son, as they had been after she had assisted his escape. It hurt, with Kenna unable to bring herself to care. All she knew was that the kindly nobleman who had strove so very hard, for her affection lay dying in the distant south.

  All at once Kenna felt at odds with herself, for her own shock and pain. She had reacted far worse when Murchadh had disappeared, and had felt that hole torn all the wider at the news that he had truly passed, shortly before her forced departure, from Glasvhail. She knew this, just as she did that she felt guilty for being so concerned for Tormod.

  It felt akin to a betrayal towards not only Murchadh but also Cormac, in some way. He likely would have found such feelings on her part, for any other than his father an act of betrayal towards their family.

  If there was one of them who reacted far worse than she at this news, it was Eillidh. The wee lass burst into loud sobs that took her elder sister Doada’s greatest efforts to soothe.

  Most of the women of Glasvhail hardly shed tears for Tormod, as Eillidh did; the women and elders of Sgain were at once stricken at the news. A dashing figure, the second son of the Hatchet had over the course of his life, charmed more than one of them, with his handsome looks, his sincere care for all around him and his love for humour. He was easily the favourite of áed’s sons in the principal city of Caledonia.

  “Something must be done,” Proclaimed one man, who had not gone west with the High-King, on account of his wounded leg sustained from the previous conflict which saw Donnchad usurped.

  “Aye, we must send for the High-King!” Proclaimed the wife of another merchant, as stricken and infuriated at the news as he.

  “Quiet all of you.” Gruach retorted considering the news,” Badrách has been driven south, am I to assume that Baltair has left to pursue him?”

  “Nay, he has sent for Raghnall to support him along with Mormaer Farquar, but neither has responded to his entreaties.” The messenger answered at once, his brow furrowed, “His lairdship fears that Raghnall may have shifted his loyalties to Malmartin.”

  “Nonsense,” Gruach rejected at once, her voice severe as she reprimanded him, “And when you leave on the morrow to inform his Grace of these events, you shall keep from such wild speculation. Mormaer Raghnall is an honoured friend and almost a child or younger brother to him, and shall remain loyal.”

  It was unspoken but few people believed her words. The messenger did not reply in the negative or give voice to any more of his thoughts, but his doubt was visible for all to see.

  *****

  The Queen returned forthwith to the palace, to rest claiming to no longer feel well enough to speak to them, she had done a great favour to those of Glasvhail. She had broken through the spell of catatonia that had paralysed the mind and spirit of Ida. This was not to say that she was completely recovered, but she no longer spent the whole of her time awaiting the return of her men.

  Still shaken from the separation from her men-folk, Ida was to occupy herself with fussing over Doada. Something that the young woman was very grateful for, the matriarch was all but guilty of ignoring all others of the people of Glasvhail. This left many feeling wounded towards her, or resentful, such as Kenna.

  She wished she did not feel annoyed by this comportment on her friend’s part. She strove as best she could, not to show it, though it was difficult.

  Preferring to avoid the other woman, Kenna soon found herself often sitting by the sea, eyes to the south and sewing. Most of the cloth she utilised in recent days was wool; with this bolt of clothe a gift of the finest linen shipped from Lynette, by Gruach.

  The Queen had given over some small amount of the expensive cloth with the request that she sew several tunics for her sons. Agreeing to this, Kenna had set to work and finished it in but a few days, wherefore she was permitted to keep the rest of it herself.

  Quite what she might use this cloth for was a mystery to her.

  Eyes upon the horizon, Kenna could only pray and think back to her dream. The birth-dream she had had, when giving birth to her son had been filled with the sound of the sea.

  Quite why the sound of the sea in her dream should dominate her consciousness then, in place of the actual sea, remained a mystery to her.

  Thus, all she could do was stare out at sea, and sew.

  *****

  “Will you sell that linen bolt of cloth?” Helga asked her later in the day, seated next to her the subsequent day, distract by her own sewing of a woollen dress. Her company serving to distract the older woman from her sense of sorrow and helplessness.

  “I do not know,” Kenna answered her honestly, wishing at that moment that she could have been left alone.

  The desire to be alone was one that she had not expected, to feel towards the daughter of Conn and Ainsley. Ordinarily pleasant company, the lass had very evidently a strong desire to speak to her, and to pull her from within herself.

  Kenna ignored the exasperated look Helga sent her way, as she bit her lip.

  She attempted to sing but this had little effect upon Kenna, who carried on her sewing.

  Though she had tried not to let the remark regarding the bolt of cloth in her hands, she glanced down whilst the dark haired lass looked elsewhere. Distracted by one of the old crones she had befriended during their stay, in Sgain, Kenna was to realize just how deformed the cloth now looked. All the threads were properly sewn together it was certainly true, but it did not look like much beyond mere drapery.

  She must do something, she thought to herself in frustration towards herself, wherefore she asked herself one important question; what could she possibly sew?

  Deirdre had asked her once, if she were sewing a great tapestry once, with Kenna at the time having been unable to answer her.

  Such activities were rare, typically reserved for noblewomen who could afford plenty of cloth. Kenna for her own part had none of this sort of wealth, despite surviving as she was off the nearby city and farmers’ gifts, or by virtue of the Queen’s generosity.

  Yet, Kenna had been for years quite well to do, only to refuse to ever create such a thing. It could have been her crown jewel. As an epic was to the poet, or the cathedral to the master-builder or the most pious of abbots, she thought to herself, this was what a tapestry could be to her.

  This, the dream she had had the night she gave birth to Cormac and the memory of the Salmon’s tale of the great sea-queen he had seen out at sea with Waltigon.

  This in mind, Kenna began to take her stitches apart.

  *****

  She had it taken apart over the next few days, working gradually yet fixedly. As Kenna discovered when she at last began, such a laborious project required focus. Firmly ignoring the rest of the world which appeared prepared to do much the same to her in return, she set to work weaving the red cloth. She mingled it with some blue for the sea, for the skies she threw in dark-blue thinking it appropriate that she should depict the night-sky appropriately.

  Bright yellow was added here and there, to ensure that the stars were properly accounted for also. In this way she paid considerable attention to the smallest as to the greatest details of her tapestry.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Though she might well have preferred to go south, she focused upon this work and fought to keep the question of whether she wished to reunite with Tormod and Rhona or Cormac. It remained a mystery as much to her, as it appeared to, to others.

  Feeling shunned, Helga avoided her in those days thinking her ungrateful. Some of the previous haughtiness that had once upon a time dominated the lass returned, in full force. Kenna sometimes when she glanced up, noticed the sulking lass at the corner of her vision.

  Such was the focus she poured into this tapestry; she did not notice Eillidh approach her until it was too late. It was early morning, when the lass let slip a loud squeal that was also a cry, one that made Kenna jump and prick her left hand’s index finger.

  An uncouth curse escaped her lips for the first time in years, whereupon she glared at the lass who pointed at her.

  “Look! Look! Look at what Kenna is doing!” Eillidh shrieked to her sisters.

  Doada, who was distracted with sewing clothes for her future child alongside Ida, hardly lifted her head, while Helga who was sewing a pink rose on a scarlet red bolt of cloth. The size of a tissue, it was a remarkable work though quite why she had chosen to weave this sort of symbol was a mystery to a great many.

  Hissing in pain, Kenna scowled at the lass ere she shoved the work she had been busy with back into the small pack she had traded a small wool dress for. The middle-aged woman having traded a number of others she had sewn for silk and linen cloth.

  “Stop! Eillidh, stop shrieking,” Kenna hissed at her.

  “But that is a tapestry, is it not?” Eillidh asked curiously, “I thought only noblewomen make those. Does this mean you are a noblewoman now?”

  “Nay,” Kenna snapped with a roll of her eyes, trying to keep the stinging sensation from her index finger from showing on her face. “I also have no great desire to share it at the moment, lass.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because, it is not yet finished,” Kenna retorted wryly.

  “You should show it, it looked pretty,” Eillidh encouraged sweetly.

  Kenna pinched her cheek gently, to the amusement of the lass who let loose the first giggles she had let slip since the death of Ainsley.

  Grateful for her kind words and sentiments, Kenna was to spend the rest of the day playing with the lass rather than sewing the tapestry. As she did so, her thoughts continued against her wishes to Rhona, Tormod and Cormac.

  *****

  “You ought to consider recounting the tale of Cormac,” Gruach advised, as she examined the work that the peasant had put into the tapestry. The only person that the seamstress had shown her tapestry, at the insistence of the Queen, whom she had dreaded to show her work to. The monarch’s consort had however shown considerable enthusiasm for it.

  “I am not so certain, I wish to create such an image,” Kenna stated discomfited and feeling rather shy towards her own work.

  “What did you have in mind?” Gruach asked of her, absent-mindedly focusing her attention upon her own threads.

  The two of them were seated outside by the shore of the Forth, and were distracted by the movement of their threads. It was to Kenna’s surprise that the other woman had volunteered to pay for any cloth she needed for her tapestry.

  Seated apart from the rest of those from Glasvhail, as Kenna had been requested to join the Queen to the north of the city where there was a great many shepherds. At the foot of the mountain upon which sat the palace of the royal family, they were thus alone with only the guards of the king’s consort to guard them.

  The reason for this was because the Queen desired only her company, and to sew quietly with her.

  It was as they sewed together that they went on to discuss their children; Gruach had a passion for them. The mother of four children, and nearing forty years of age she was near the end of her birth-cycle as a woman. Several years older than Kenna, she went on at some length about her children.

  “Lulech is the eldest; he is quite the gifted horse-man though I do worry about Mael-Bethad’s growing exasperation towards him. He believes that Lulech lacks the wits and temper to rule,” Gruach complained.

  It struck Kenna at that moment that she knew precious little of the Tanist, that is to say the designated heir to the throne. There were not many people who worried over him, or who discussed the prince as he had yet to truly do aught else than feature in some of his stepfather’s tales or attend the coronation.

  He had been left in the north-east for he was close friends with the Mormaer of Gratnach and was on goodly terms with Thorsteinn, who had some sort of fondness for the youth. In this manner the soft delicate-natured youth, had contributed something to Caledonia, or so claimed Gruach. The youth in question, was already a man and one with a bride and was nigh on nine-teen years of age.

  Gruach then went on at some length, as they worked away at their tapestries, “The next eldest is Cináed, and there are times I do not know how to best manage him. He is full of passion, he is- er rather like his grandfather- my husband’s father was and er-” She stumbled for words to describe her second-eldest son.

  “He has the fire-blood of his ancestors,” Kenna remarked quietly.

  This drew an expression of surprise from the Queen who tittered, “Aye, aye fire-blood. I am simply surprised to hear a Lowlander use that term.”

  “How so? The people of Glasvhail use the term from time to time,” Kenna replied only to realize that it was a term she had never heard until the recent weeks something she admitted a moment later.

  “It is a Highland one,” Gruach stated firmly, with a serene smile only to become troubled and admit to her, “I must confess that though I love the south of Caledonia. MacDuibh is my cousin, however I feel little connection to the south, with my husband much the same.”

  “Aye, what of it,” Kenna asked confused by this admission.

  “I worry that the south feels neglected, it is something my husband hardly thinks of,” Gruach said gaze distant. “He loves the south, but loves the north all the more. He is of a mind that the danger is that the north begins to feel alienated from the south, if all her kings go south and never return.”

  “I suppose,” Kenna said not sure what she should say in response.

  “It is for this reason that I value your company so, Kenna,” Gruach said to her earnestly, “I do not know the south as you do, and neither does Mael-Bethad.”

  “What of your other children?” Kenna asked of her friend, weary of the discussion of the south of Caledonia. It reminded her continuously of her son, and friends who were in the south and at risk, in the conflict that had overtaken the whole of the kingdom.

  The others she was told of were Siomon and Donada the third son and daughter, of the royal couple. Both of these children had been left behind just as Cináed had been, in the north in Inverdúnis, where they were more likely to be safe from the enemies of the family.

  *****

  This was not the first day that they were to be found by the shore to the north or south of Sgain, sewing and talking together. The two of them, were to discuss legends, weaving, children and also the lack of difficulty the Queen had had with giving birth.

  It came about that she had done so far more easily than Kenna herself, so that she feared giving birth for reasons that had everything to do with her age. “I am not as young as I once was, for this reason I fear that this may prove the last thing I do.”

  After Kenna had assured her of her certainties, she would be alright even as she reminded herself to later go pray for her friend’s safety she was asked about the process of giving birth to Cormac. This was asked, she suspected because of the fact that the tapestry she had begun to weave, involved references to her birth-dream.

  “Cormac was a more difficult birth than that endured by my friend Ida, who went on to have a great many children.” Kenna said, when prompted she informed her of the nature of the dream, “As my master still possessed his home, I had moved into that of my husband. I do not know how it came about, but there was a fire that began that night. I was in the midst of giving birth when lo! I was saved by Murchadh, who carried us to safety wherefore he lay me down onto the grass to give birth. As the house was torn down, all I could hear was the sea, as I lost consciousness I believe I saw a large dear or Unicorn of some sort.”

  “What do you mean by deer or Unicorn?” Gruach asked of her bewildered by her mention of some animal being near her as she gave birth.

  “I do not know, it came from across the sea I think, it was a dream and wore a mane that was aglow as the stars are.” Kenna told her quietly, eyes full of the memory of that dream and of the sound of the sea. “I knew when I held him, he was to be named not Muiredach or Waltigon as Murchadh wished for but Cormac.”

  “A beautiful story, how long did it take you to recover?” Gruach asked of her, intrigued by the tale.

  “Near to three weeks all of this time was spent in the house of my master, with Cormac taken care of by Murchadh,” Kenna informed her friend her mind focused upon that distant day. The memory of the flames, of the terror and pain that she had endured that day, and of the sound of the sea that had been her only solace was a strange one. A memory that at the time had caused her to quake and shudder years, after the fact yet had overtime become one she loved.

  Murchadh had risked all for her, and though he had regretted the loss of all he had ever owned he had in time laughed off the pain, and come to regard that moment with little regret. He had told her whenever she had asked him, regarding the fire and why he had so few regrets towards it, ‘I have you and Cormac and need little else.’ His words were still her favourite ones, he had ever uttered.

  *****

  It was as they sat by the sea with Ida to one side of them, and Doada upon Kenna’s other side. Seated by the sea, they spoke that day all four of them sewing not tapestries that day, but sewing banners.

  That which the older woman was busy at work upon, was the lion that Mael-Bethad favoured, whereas Kenna worked upon a strange banner that was a mixture of áed’s crossed-axes and a blue background. The blue reminded her of the sea, which she had by this time come to love, as much as Cormac and Murchadh did.

  Ida and Doada though were sewing together clothes for the future child of Doada and Bhàtair.

  It was as they chattered that a new messenger arrived, this one not from the south but the west.

  “The High-King has engaged in battle with Crinen,” He announced ere he stated, “But has received news that Mormaer Ardagh MacDuibh and Argolath have chosen to advance upon Sgain. You are thus; ordered milady to head north to Duntealach and the command of the city of Sgain is to be left in the hands of brother Iomhar.”

  “What is to be done?” Doada asked worriedly, turning now to the Queen who paled at the news.

  “What of Raghnall?” Gruach queried through lips that trembled at the news that MacDuibh had begun to advance north to aid Badrách.and with the Argolath moving around the lands of Strawthern to pincer Mael-Bethad between himself and Crinen.

  “He has failed to respond,” the other man replied.

  “We must do something milady!” Ida said as frightened as Eillidh might have.

  Gruach gave it some thought, her head bowed she at last made her decision over what to do about the invasion from the south and south-west of her husband’s lands.

  As she spoke the blood of all listening to them, froze. For they had just realized for the first time in four years, Caledonia was in the grips of a civil-war.

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