The Posy Ring Episode 95

McNeill was speechless for a moment or two. It was not a condition in which he ever found himself. He puffed out his cheeks and blew a breath out, slowly, buying time perhaps.

“Darroch will be angry,” he said at last, as much to himself as anyone else. He shook his head. “I think I shall just have to pay him. Siller settles most matters, does it not?”

He turned to Mateo, frowning. “But it must come out of your wife’s dowry, Spaniard. I take it...” he halted, anxious to regain his dignity.

“I take it you’ve changed your mind about the offer of Dun Sithe? I take it you want to stay here, on Eilean Garbh, and become my tacksman as well as my son-in-law?”

Mateo found himself bowing and nodding, still holding Lilias by the hand. The water dripping steadily from both of them somewhat undermined this attempt at dignity.

He realised that McNeill was trying hard not to laugh. “I do, sir.”

“Then so be it. Although I wonder that you had to half drown yourself and my daughter besides, to achieve what you could have had for the asking.”

It was much later when Lilias realised that, in the struggle to save Mateo from the sea, her chain had broken and the poesy ring had gone missing.

They spent time down on the seashore, hunting everywhere for it, but they never found it again.

Mateo realised that it did not worry him unduly. It seemed a fair exchange: a sacrifice of sorts, a ring, however prized, for a much-loved wife.

In due course, somewhat earlier than might have been expected, there came a much-loved daughter, too, the first of many children.

Perhaps the sea had taken what it needed in exchange for the gift of a future. Perhaps St Bride, whom he discovered was also responsible for boats and boatmen, had taken it for herself.

Seoras Darroch professed to be angry at the loss of a bride, but it soon became apparent that the delay on his side had been the result of his sudden fondness for one of his house guests, a lady of more mature years, whom he married very soon after.

They never heard from Francisco again. Stories were told that Elizabeth had betrayed the Scots yet again in her hatred of Spain, that although she had granted the ships safe passage, she had managed to get word to the so-called Dutch Sea Beggars, seamen of fearsome repute, who had waylaid the Scottish ships, and that many sailors had died in their attacks.

Still, some had managed to win home. Perhaps Francisco was one of them. They liked to think so.

The portrait of Lilias remained at Achadh nam Blàth, to remind McNeill of his elder daughter, although truth be told, he was always finding or making excuses to ride to the south of the island to see her and her husband in their hilltop house, where Mateo was always turning up elf shot with the cas chrom.

But perhaps the cold iron was effective against the wrath of the fairy folk, for no harm befell them. If McNeill noticed the inscription on the picture, he did not remark upon it, but then, he could not read.

Mateo de Tegueste fulfilled the single request that McNeill made of him, beyond the relinquishing of some of his daughter’s dowry to placate Seoras Darroch. Truth to tell, he would have taken her without a tocher.

He would have taken her even if she had come to him in her shift. But he did not say as much to Ruaridh McNeill.

That would have been beyond his pride and besides, Lilias had forbidden him from saying it, and he had fallen quickly into the habit of doing exactly as he was told, where she was concerned at least. Thus, they began how they meant to go on.

He did, however, change his name. Records show that in the year of Our Lord 1589, one Matthew McNeill, a visitor to the island and a gentleman, was lawfully married to Lilias, eldest daughter of Ruaridh McNeill, Laird of Eilean Garbh, of whom he subsequently became tacksman, holding lands at Dun Sithe, for himself and his many heirs in perpetuity.

***

Much later, they are all four of them, Cal, Daisy, Fiona and Hector, at Carraig. The humans have eaten cheese and biscuits and are still drinking an inadvisable amount of wine, while Hector has been salivating over the occasional piece of cheese that has come his way like manna from heaven. The weather seems to have settled for the time being.

The house is warm, bathed in late evening sunlight that is slanting in through the bedroom window at the back of the house. The sunset is colouring the western sky from deep crimson to palest pink but the living room is falling into shadow.

Fiona has shed her cardigan and sandals and has her feet up on the sofa, with Hector leaning against her to have his ears scratched. Daisy is in the big armchair and Cal is sitting at her feet, leaning back against her.

The temptation to stroke his hair is becoming too much for her but she is slightly distracted by Fiona’s presence. She is also worried about going back to Auchenblae. They have all drunk so much.

Given that Fiona will either be taking Cal’s bed or the sofa bed, she wonders where on earth she will sleep. Then she realises that Cal is stroking her feet. Surreptitiously, she reaches down and runs her hand across the back of his neck, where the hair grows softly over his collar.

“Right,” says Fiona briskly. “Sleeping arrangements. I don’t mind the sofa bed. It’s very comfortable. I take it Daisy’s staying. And there’s more room through there, Cal.”

Daisy finds herself blushing. But she sees that Cal has gone rather pink as well. The back of his neck has, anyway.

“Oh for goodness sake,” says Fiona. “Anyone with an ounce of awareness could see that you two are an item, so why pretend otherwise?”

“It’s kind of new for us,” confesses Daisy. “Is it?” Fiona laughs gently. “You two look as though you’ve known each other for years.”

This is true, and also disturbing.

Later Lilias realised that, in the struggle to save Mateo from the sea, her chain had broken and the poesy ring had gone missing

The Posy Ring, first in the series The Annals of Flowerfield, is written by Catherine Czerkawska and published by Saraband. It is priced at £8.99.