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They searched among the wreckage a little longer, but Cillian was right–there was nothing there to explain the mystery, only further questions which remained unanswered. The tide was coming in, the waters washing over the wreckage. When the next storm came, it would carry away the ship's remnants, reclaiming it for the sea. Murdina knew she had been foolish to think the answer to her questions would be answered here, where only planks of wood and discarded chests remained.
“But nae bodies, either. Why is he the only survivor?” she asked, gazing across the sands.
To this question, Cillian had no answer. It was certainly strange to think that no other survivors escaped the shipwreck or that the bodies of the unlucky ones hadn’t been washed up on the beach along with the wreck. But there was little more to be gained from remaining on the shore, and with the tide now coming in, Murdina and Cillian retreated to the sand dunes, climbing up onto a point from which they could see across the mull to the mainland beyond.
“What dae ye think will become of us,” Cillian asked as they sat down to watch the tide coming in.
“The clan, ye mean? How can we hold out against the English? The cause is lost, though daenae tell my father I said that. Ye must see it, Cillian,” Murdina replied, and he nodded.
“Tis’ a cause with only a few adherents now. The popular tide is turnin’ against us. It will nae last another generation, even if there are murmurs of an uprising to come. The Hanoverians will nae relinquish the throne of England for some Stuart pretender with a few mercenaries at his back–and ye are nae to tell yer father I said that, either,” Cillian said, and Murdina smiled.
“Yer secret is safe with me; even if we are caught up in the belief of a noble cause, one we can surely win. But if my father has his way, I shall soon be married in deference to that cause–expected to be the mother of its next generation,” she replied.
The thought made her angry. She was not about to submit to her father’s wishes simply because it was her duty to do so. Murdina was a free spirit, brave and courageous, possessed of her father’s heart–and his stubbornness. While her sisters might willingly submit to their father’s demands, Murdina had no intention of marrying unless it was for love. There had been a time when she had known Cillian to be in love with her– but her father had not approved, and having known him since they were children, she considered him the brother she had never had, the closeness of their bond formed, not through romantic love, but a shared upbringing in a cause they had been taught was sacrosanct.
“Will ye refuse it?” Cillian asked, and Murdina nodded.
“I will dae so, aye. I will nae marry a man I daenae love, and I am certain my father will nae choose any man I ever could bring myself to love. I thought about runnin’ away the other day,” she said, and Cillian looked up at her in surprise.
“But where would ye go? Ye can hardly hide out here in the dunes for the rest of yer life,” he said, raising his hand over the wide expanse of sandy grassland laid out before them.
Murdina smiled. She had thought of going north, though she would soon come to the mountains, where the weather could be unforgiving, even in the height of summer. Edinburgh was the natural choice, but at a time of such uncertainty, and with her allegiances easily discernible, the northern capital would not be a safe place for a lone woman.
“Tis’ a foolish thing, I know. But I cannae remain here–nae when my father has such plans for me,” she replied.
“But what stopped ye? Why did ye nae runaway?” Cillian asked, and Murdina shrugged.
“I have nay where to go, and my father would soon find me. He wouldnae rest until I was brought back. Besides, there is some interest here, now… the prisoner,” she said, but Cillian only rolled his eyes.
“And what dae ye think will be made of him? Yer father plans to have him executed. Ye can dae nothin’ to stop that,” he said, scrambling to his feet.
A squall of rain was coming in off the sea, the low cloud bringing with it a sweep of mist–fine rain that soaks through, and the wind was picking up. Murdina, too, got to her feet, and the two of them scrambled down the dune and onto the path which ran parallel to the beach and into the narrow valley leading back towards the castle.
“But surely we cannae execute a man without knowin’ the truth of his crimes,” Murdina said, following Cillian along the path as the rain caught up with them and the wind churned up the incoming tide below.
“Yer father is the laird. He can dae as he pleases. But our prisoner should help himself by talkin’–he says he cannae remember anythin’, but that seems very convenient to me,” Cillian replied.
Despite his words against the cause, Murdina knew Cillian to be staunchly loyal to her father, even if the laird did not always repay that loyalty with his own kindness. He would take her father’s side, come what may–even if her potential marriage to an unknown suitor would cause him considerable sorrow.
“But if he cannae remember?” Murdina said, pressing the point.
“Ye cannae be that naïve, Murdina. He says he cannae remember, but that differs from doin’ so. I am certain he can remember. Now come on, we need to get back; I am already soaked through to the skin,” Cillian said, hurrying on into the valley.
But Murdina was not ready to return home just yet. She knew what would be waiting for her–the arrival of a suitor, one she would be forced to show hospitality to. Instead, she paused as the castle came into sight, calling out to Cillian, who was several paces ahead.
“I am goin’ to visit my sister,” she said, and Cillian shook his head, the rain now falling heavily in a relentless torrent, a rumble of thunder echoing across the mull.
“Ye are foolish, Murdina–but what can I dae to stop ye?” he said, and Murdina smiled.
“Nothin’ at all. Ye are a good friend to me, Cillian,” she replied, turning along the track which led to the kirk and the sight of her sister’s burial.
She remembered the fateful day of the funeral as though it were yesterday. The sad procession from the castle chapel, where her sister had lain for three days of mourning and the funeral rites, held by the graveside outside of the consecrated ground–for even the laird was not above the rules of the Church. Clansmen had traveled from far and wide, and though suicide was treated as a sin, there had been no judgment of Aoife, only the tragic mourning of a life lost too soon.
The grave was on a mound, just beyond the churchyard wall, and Murdina and her sisters had planted flowers there, which, in the early spring, were now budding. Aoife had always loved the flowers in the castle gardens, and the white and yellow buds which now poked through the grassy mound reminded Murdina of the sister she had loved and lost. The rain was driving hard across the mull, but Murdina found some shelter by the graveside behind the churchyard wall, and she kneeled down, caring little for the mud that now stained her dress.
“Dear Aoife, what would ye say if ye were here?” she asked, placing the palms of her hands on the grassy mound.
She liked to sit with her sister–particularly when there was a problem she needed to think through. Aoife had always known just the right thing to say–when to offer comfort and when to admonish. She had been possessed of wisdom beyond her age, which had often prevented Murdina from disaster. To have lost her sister had brought Murdina to the brink of despair, and even now, tears welled up in her eyes at the thought of her loss.
