A chill wind whipped around the walls of the inner keep,
biting to the bone and making the guard on duty dream of a warming fire and a
willing woman. He didn’t see the shadow
that flowed across the upper bailey, merging with the deeper pockets of
darkness.
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"Shadows" by Sharyn Yee |
The guard inside the huge doors of the keep didn’t have the
distraction of the wind and cold. He
snapped to attention as the young woman passed, shivering as her icy blue eyes
passed over, then through him.
Once inside the great room beyond the heavy doors, the noise
of a busy household preparing for a late meal swelled and pulsed. The rhythm of connected lives flowed around
the slim form with barely a ripple,
“Oy my girl, you lost?” The friendly voice matched the
baked-apple face and round, stubby body it came from.
The girl shook her head, and gave the woman a small smile
before looking out over the bustle of the great room again.
“Well, I’m Mrs. Joyce, and I been over the household here at
McLennan Keep for near twenty years now – ever since Lady McLennan was lost to
us. I know every soul here, but yours.”
When clear blue eyes flicked to hers, Mrs. Joyce felt the
power in that gaze and nodded. “Every
soul. Every soul ‘cept yours, ‘cause you
don’t have one.” She patted the arm that
had gone stiff and icy cold. “Be still,
my gir…my dear. I know what you be, and
why you be here tonight. The McLennan is
above the stairs, and I think he’ll be glad of the company.”
Tipping her head in the direction of the stone stairs, the
housekeeper forced her eyes up to meet the woman’s. “I’ll show you the way, though I’ve no doubt
you could find it with no help from me.”
Those clear eyes warmed and a slight smile tilted the
corners of full lips. Mrs. Joyce watched
the fire of her hair glint as the woman nodded and followed her across the room,
silent and graceful. None stopped her,
spoke to her, or showed by act or expression that they were aware of a stranger
gliding through their midst. The black
of her dress and the lace cuffs and collar seemed to absorb the light without reflecting
any back, pulling what shadows were in the room to her like a cloak.
At the top of the stairs, Mrs. Joyce pushed open a door and
stepped into a chamber hung with heavy tapestries and dominated by an
elaborately carved bed. The frail man
who occupied it slept, dwarfed by the size and weight of a bed that appeared to
have outgrown him.
“Laird McLennan?”
Mrs. Joyce called him name gently, a hand on his thin shoulder. A frown creased his well-wrinkled forehead,
and he turned his head away without opening his eyes.
“Laird McLennan, you have a visitor.” She leaned down closer, her voice soft with
pity, “I know you’ve pain, Laird, but you’ll want to wake for this
visitor. She’s come special to see you.”
His face turned back to hers, brown eyes gone to muddy gray
with age and pain meeting hers. For the
first time since he’d been struck with this final sickness, she saw hope
reflected there. She stepped back and let
his gaze travel to the silent woman at the foot of the bed.
“Aisling?”
Mrs. Joyce started at the name of the McLennan’s wife, gone
twenty years now, and wondered if the cursed illness had at last stolen the
proud man’s mind as well as his body.
Before she could speak, the woman looked back over her
shoulder and touched a finger to her lips with another small smile.
“Aye, Fergus my love.
I’ve come to sing for you.” She
sat on the edge of the bed and took his thin fingers in hers.
As the woman’s voice rose in song, Mrs. Joyce watched the
lines that pain had etched fade from the Laird’s face and his eyes clear. There were no words that she could hear, but
peace and comfort rode in every note, and she realized that the normal babble
of voices from the great room below had gone silent.
The last note trembled through the air, and the old man’s
eyes closed on one last breath.
The housekeeper was standing in the doorway of the empty
chamber when the laird’s son and his wife reached the top of the stairs. A look at the tears on her face told them all
they needed to know.
“We…we thought we heard singing,” the young man's voice was a question.
“Aye, Laird McLennan,” Mrs. Joyce nodded, letting the
title drape over the old laird’s son like an unfamiliar cloak. “The McLennan banshee never forgets, never
fails.”
This post is my response to a project in which myself and several others wrote a story based on the picture you see above, created by the inestimable Sharyn Yee. I've included the links to the other stories this picture prompted below - visit, comment, ENJOY!
"Redheads" By AmyBeth Inverness
"The Meeting" by James Yee
"Do Not Fear the Shadows" by Gwendolyn Wilkins
This post is my response to a project in which myself and several others wrote a story based on the picture you see above, created by the inestimable Sharyn Yee. I've included the links to the other stories this picture prompted below - visit, comment, ENJOY!
"Redheads" By AmyBeth Inverness
"The Meeting" by James Yee
"Do Not Fear the Shadows" by Gwendolyn Wilkins
Awesome! I was sitting on the edge of my chair until the end, waiting to see for sure if she was benevolent or evil...or somewhere in between!
ReplyDeleteThis was just awesome! i wasn't sure what to expect!! totally caught me off guard in a awesome way!! fantastic writing!!! thank you!!
ReplyDelete*Applauds* Well done. I love seeing how all of us at least hint of seduction even if not fully spelling it out. :)
ReplyDeleteAlso TOTALLY different settings in each and different reasons. Well done one and all! :)
I loved this story, it had so much atmosphere, I can tell you must really love this era, you never slipped out of the mood. I wanted to leave a personal thank you, using your name, but I think I must be blind I couldn't find your name anywhere on your site. I even checked the About Me page. Perhaps you could sign that off with at least your first name. So good luck with your writing, whoever you are.
ReplyDelete