They buried their motheron a Sunday, with only the priest in attendance at the church yard. Her lonely grave was set into the far reaches of the cemetery, near the stone wall.
So far from everything,Tosia thought as she studied the loose brown earth on her mother’s grave.So far from me.
Her mother had left instructions, that the king’s men were to arrive on the morrow and retrieve them, to pack lightly, and to keep her in their minds and hearts. That last command was a silly one — Tosia would never forget her mother. Even if she had set up this farce of a marriage.
Tavish remained close to her the rest of the day, which was as gray as they both felt. They spoke little, but what did they have to say? Nothing, nothing that wouldn’t bring sobs and painful reminders of their mother.
Packing what few belongings they was easy. Her nicer flaxen yellow gown, her combs, and she also took her mother’s clean shift, the one she hadn’t been buried in. Tosia thought she might wear it when she felt lonely, and thus expected to wear it often. She hadn’t known how severe her ache for her mother would be until she was gone, and it was an immediate knife in her heart, twisting into that unending pain.
She paused in her packing. Tavish stood next to her, placing his own items in his pack, and she took his hand. They stood there, side by side, holding hands as they stared into the air. It was just the two of them, and Tosia wanted to hold onto him, the last bastion of her home, for as long as she could.
Chapter Seven: All the King’s Men
Tosia rose early thenext morn, but Tavish had beaten her awake. Muffled speech floated past the door, but she didn’t have to listen to know what was being said. A neighboring crofter, MacIntyre, agreed to take the animals for a fair price, and Tavish was probably helping him load the smaller animals into a cart.
She wondered how long before the king’s men might arrive when Tavish rushed in, his hair and breacan flapping.
“Tosia, ready yourself. Riders on the western horizon!”
“So soon? Did they ride all night?”
Tavish shrugged and raced to the bucket to wash his hands as Tosia scrambled to dress behind the curtain that separated her bedding from the rest of the croft. Her worn brown kirtle from yesterday still hung on its peg, and she threw it over her shift, lacing up the front as she searched for her kerchief. Her rich waves of hair had to forgo the taming of a comb, and she needed something to makes herself presentable. She didn’t know who the king was sending to bring them to Dumfries, but she wanted to make the best impression she could, and as a poor crofter, she had few options.
There ‘tis! She found the kerchief on the low stool near her bed and managed to tie it under her hair as the drumming sound of horses rode up to their quaint cottage. This far from Edinburgh, the sounds of horses were rare, and the vibration made her chest quake under her shift. The time had come to leave the only home she’d ever known, travel across Scotland, and be wed to a man she’d never met.
Tosia had one final consideration to run away until Tavish flung open the door to welcome their escorts.
Hard men with rough hands and even harder eyes assembled outside the doorway.
“Tavish Fraser?” A deep, rumbling voice asked. Tosia appeared around the curtain with her pack and stood next to her brother in a pathetic display of solidarity.
“Aye,” Tavish responded in a strong voice. He didn’t fool Tosia, though, who felt him quaking under his breacan. “And my sister, Tosia.”
The rugged man flicked his stony gray eyes to Tosia and back to Tavish. “Do ye have your belongings? We are from the king, to bring ye to Auchinleck. The ride should take a full day, and we should arrive on the morrow. Dinna tarry.”
That final phrase was a command, one that neither Tosia nor Tavish would disobey. Tavish gathered his bag and joined Tosia as they walked out to the horses.
