A barefoot lad in brown breeches and a dirt-smeared tunic, his eyes barely visible under his mop of black hair, crouched in the corner near one of the sleeping warriors. With a wedge of bread in his hands, he stuffed it into his mouth and chewed. She stepped closer, just as a lass dashed out from a shadowed side stairwell and in her blue kirtle and slippers, knelt next to the lad and handed him a sweet pastry.
The boy gobbled it down and the girl, her red locks tumbling in curls to her waist, offered her a welcoming smile and bounced across to her. “Are you hungry too? I can find you some food.”
“Nay, I’ve eaten well this day. I’m Christina.”
“I’m Fiona, the daughter of Gregor.” She motioned to the warrior disappearing with Mama down the darkened passageway at the rear of the great hall. “My father.”
“Oh, I must catch Mama up. She told me to remain close.”
“Then come.” Fiona hooked her arm through hers and skipped toward the passageway.
At the chief’s solar door, Gregor knocked and called out, “I bring a visitor, Chief.”
“Come in.”
“Follow me.” Gregor opened the door.
Mama lifted her chin and stepped inside the chief’s inner sanctum.
“I must go.” She smiled at Fiona and hauling the trailing ends of her plaid closer, shuffled in behind Mama. The solar held padded armchairs in a beautiful blue and gold thread and a large round table sat to one side. A lady wearing layers of rich golden velvet, the bodice cut dangerously low, rose from one of the padded chairs, bent over the chief at his massive oak desk and murmured something in his ear.
“Aye, wench, I’ll be with you soon.” The MacKenzie slapped the lady’s rear, and she giggled and sashayed out the door.
“Shh, this I cannae miss,” Fiona whispered as she snuck past her then ducked under the table and scuttled into the shadows.
Clutching Mama’s green woolen skirts, she peeked around her. A single lit candle on the MacKenzie’s desk cast its light over the chief’s weathered face and made the scar zigzagging through one of his thick eyebrows glow a grizzly red. Dressed in a belted plaid and loose-sleeved black tunic, he rose from his desk, his gaze flickering with intrigue as he crossed to Mama.
“Well, well,” he crooned as he halted in front of them. “This is an unexpected visit, Grace. It’s been five years. Whatever brings you here so late in the night, and unattended at that?”
“You know of my skill. Of those who live but are soon to die, I receive a vision.” Mama lifted one eyebrow, her voice firm and showing no sign of any unease. “You’re also aware of my promise to Beth, and tonight I’m here to honor that promise to my dearest friend.”
“Aye, Beth.” Teeth gritted, a low growl rumbled from him. “No one is permitted to speak her name within these walls, but I’ll allow you to do so this one time. Tell me of your vision.”
“’Tis the lads who need to hear of what I’ve seen. ’Tis imperative.”
“I see.” The chief scraped a hand along his bristly jaw, slowly nodded and eyed Gregor standing at attention to the side of the solar. “Wake my sons and bring them here. I’ll nay have any harm befall them.”
“Aye, Chief.” Gregor left and the chief tapped one foot, his gaze moving from Mama to her. “Who is the child?”
“My daughter, Christina.”
“Is she skilled?”
“Nay, and no’ all of the fae are skilled, as you well know.” Mama tucked her more fully in behind her.
Footsteps clomped down the corridor and Gregor returned with two sleepy-eyed lads trailing behind him. He nudged the lads forward to stand before their chief and Mama. Dressed in braies and loose tunics that reached their knees, they both tugged up woolen socks a few sizes too big for their feet. The boys appeared similar, although not identical. She could tell them apart, although who was who, she couldn’t wait to learn.
“Speak as you need to, Grace, but you’ll do so with me noting your every word.” The chief pushed an ink bottle and quill to the center of his desk and perched on the front edge as he eyed his sons. “Coll, Duncan, this is Mistress Grace from the fae village. She brings you a message you must heed.”
“More than a message.” With a tender smile, Mama lowered to her knees before the two boys. “’Tis so good to see you both. You must be Coll?” She grasped the hands of the lad on the left, the boy’s dark hair framing his face and prominent chin. “Your brown eyes are flecked with gold, just as they were at your birth.”
“Grace.” The chief thumped one fisted hand on his desk and rattled the dagger resting near the edge. “Tell them what you’ve seen and no more.”
“They must learn the full truth in order to heed my word, unless you wish for the death of your sons.”
“You intend to speak more in-depth about Beth?”
“I must in this case.”
“Damn it.” He fisted his hands then muttered, “Fine. Say what you will. None within this solar will utter a word after you’ve left.”