“Och, I’m coming.” Grandpa sauntered out of the house in his trews and a brown tunic, his hair and beard as thick as always and making him appear ten years younger than the sixty years he held. He grinned, his face lighting up as he caught sight of her. “Our Ella Marie is here.”
“I am, but no’ without mishap. I have so much to tell you both.” She grasped Grandpa and hugged him. “This is one tale you need to hear.”
“Come inside then and you can change out of those damp clothes and tell us all about it.” He pushed the front door open wider.
“Aye, we’ll have you warmed up in no time.” Grandma rested a hand at her back and steered her inside and across the main room toward hers and Grandpa’s bedchamber. Inside the room with its large bed and burgundy and blue patchwork quilt, Grandma swept the ambry curtain aside and foraged within. “Your voice does no’ sound quite right. Why is that?”
“I’ve no’ long recovered from a chill.”
“Danger abounds when a compeller loses their voice.” Worry flared across Grandma’s face as she pulled out a forest-green gown from the back, one which she’d sewn and gifted to Ella on her last birthday. Grandma laid the gown on the bed then hunted some more and pulled out a basket. From the top, she selected a shift and flapped it out. “Disrobe, my dear.”
“I’ll be glad to do so, even if for a gown.” She shucked her coat, shirt, and breeches which had chaffed the insides of her legs, pulled the shift on and sighed as the warmth of the warm cotton encased her.
Next came the gown. With her arms raised, Grandma slid the soft velvet over her head and it shimmered over her hips and swished to her ankles, the low neckline stitched with golden embroidery, the same detailing sewn along the sleeves which draped over the backs of her hands. She slipped her feet into the matching slippers Grandma set at her feet then fastened a golden girdle at her waist, the tasseled ends sweeping down to her knees.
“I’ll get these dirtied clothes of yours washed and on the line.” Grandma scooped up the pile of clothing and disappeared out the door with it.
She crossed to the window and pressed her hands to the windowsill. The morning sunshine streamed in and flickered over her. At least the storm had now fully passed. She embraced the warmth of this new day, her relief at being here with her most beloved kin, flowing through her. All she’d ever learnt of her skill had been at Grandma’s hand. Aye, the two of them held the same skill and during her youth, Grandma had taught her all she’d ever needed to learn in order to wield her ability wisely.
“Come, my dear.” Grandma peered around the corner in her blue woolen kirtle, one hand on the doorway. “A meal awaits us all.”
“Coming.” She joined her grandparents in the main room and sat at the table near the blazing fire while Grandpa poured warm apple cider into a goblet and passed it to her.
“I’ll comb your hair. You’ve gotten it into an awful mess.” Grandma scooped the comb from the kitchen bench and standing at her back, gently worked her knotted plait loose. “Tell me how you’ve ended up this way. I’m sure ’twill be an interesting tale.”
“I’m running from my handfast husband.” She sipped the sweet cider.
“Pardon?” Grandma jerked on her hair. “Oh, so sorry, my dear. You surprised me is all. Are you saying you’ve found your soul bound mate?”
“She better have if she’s now wed.” Grandpa leaned over the table, cut a slice from the loaf of bread and slathered it in Grandma’s delicious raspberry jam before setting it on a plate before her. “We Mathesons certainly dinnae wed those who arenae meant to be ours, that is unless we’re certain we are without our chosen one.”
“I can only say he’s my husband since I’ve given him my word to keep all his secrets safe. He has quite a few I’m afraid.” She didn’t doubt that like Ethan, her grandparents too would soon guess that any man she wed must surely hold fae blood. Never would she have wed another over waiting for her chosen one.
“Then we’ll presume him to be of fae blood even though you cannae say so.” Grandpa dropped into his corner rocking chair, one he’d made himself from a tree he’d felled last winter. Never had she seen another chair like it, the base made of two thick, half-moon shaped wedges attached to the legs. Back and forth, he rocked, his immensely curious gaze locked on her. “Tell us all about your husband and why he isnae here with you right now.”
“His name is Duncan MacKenzie and he’s the second-born son of the Chief of MacKenzie.”
“You have a MacKenzie for a mate?” Grandpa coughed. “You’re certain?”
“I’m certain.”