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CHAPTERSIXTEEN
After the heat of their passion, a chill soon set in–a rock in the middle of a pool was no place to spend the night, as much as they delighted in one another’s presence, in their closeness and in what they had shared. Murdina shivered, and she rose to her feet and took the plunge into the waters below, swimming across the pool with Kin following her behind. When they reached the bank, she pulled herself up onto the heather and held out her hand for him.
“You are a strong swimmer, Murdina,” he said, smiling up at her in the moonlight.
Their clothes were strewn on the rocks above, and Murdina was pleased to pull on her shirt and feel that pleasant sense of warmth that comes after a cold swim. The thought of the fire and lying down to sleep was appealing, and they made their way back to their campsite, where the pony looked up from its tether and snorted.
“He does nae think much of us,” Murdina said, laughing, as she patted the animals’ rump.
“You mean our dalliance on the rock?” he asked, and Murdina laughed.
“That was the first time I have…” she began, and he smiled at her and put his arm around her, kissing her on the forehead.
“So long as you do not regret it?” he asked, and she shook her head.
Murdina had been surprised by the force of her passions, but she had no regrets in giving into them. There was still so much about Kin she did not know–everything he did not know about himself, either–but in all they had shared, she had found no reason not to trust him, and in giving herself to him as she had done, it felt as though a greater depth of trust now existed between them.
“I daenae regret it–nae for a moment. Ye were… gentle,” she said, and he smiled.
“And you were a delight, though I have spoiled you for any future husband,” he said, but Murdina only laughed.
“Is that nae the reason I have run away? I daenae want a husband– nae one like my father desires for me, at least,” she said, wondering again what would be happening back on the mull.
Her father would be beyond angry, the castle in uproar, her sisters upset. But in the company of Kin, none of that seemed to matter. They had a mission, albeit an unknown one, and Murdina felt a sense of purpose, for at last she was being treated not as a mere woman but as an equal in partnership to a man whom, it seemed, wanted her as his equal.
“Then it is fortunate you have at last escaped,” he replied, turning to rake through the embers of the fire and place fresh wood to see them through the night.
Murdina sat down, glad of the warmth of the fire. It was a clear night, the stars twinkling in the sky above, and though it was dry, the clear skies would bring with them a chill. Kin sat down next to her, wrapping his cloak around them both.
“We should leave early in the mornin’–tis’ nae wise to linger long on the open moorland. My father’s men will still be searchin’ for us; we can be certain of that,” Murdina said, yawning and resting her head on his shoulder.
“But rest now, Murdina. You have had a long day. I will keep watch and then sleep when I am certain the night is still,” Kin replied, and before long, Murdina was fast asleep, her dreams filled with vivid images of her sister and the pursuit of her father’s men.
* * *
The only sound that came across the moorlands was that of a distant owl, its hoot echoing across the heathers. Kin imagined it swooping in its hunt, its majestic wings outlined against the starry sky above. Murdina was fast asleep, leaning on his shoulder, his arm around her. He thought back to the moment they had shared on the rock in the center of the pool. He had never known the touch of a woman to be like that–even if his memories of such encounters were vague and uncertain. He knew he had experienced such pleasures before, but with Murdina, it had felt different. She had aroused such passions in him and a burning desire for more.
But you cannot grow too close to her, he told himself, glancing down at her.
He knew how easily he could fall in love with her, but there was still so much which separated them, a gulf between his purpose–whatever it may be–and hers. He was grateful for her company, grateful to have companionship on this strange and unknown journey. But eventually, Kin knew there would come a parting of ways. He gazed into the flames, watching as they flickered and danced. His head was lolling, his eyes growing heavy, and before he knew it, he was fast asleep.
Fire–there was fire, somewhere in the distance, growing brighter, the flames licking up. Cries for help–someone was shouting, shouting his name. He tried to call out, but his voice seemed muffled, smoke billowing all around. It was dark, and Kin could hear voices nearby. He needed to warn them, to sound the alarm. The flames were rising, engulfing, and yet no one paid them any heed. Soon, there would be nothing left. It was as though they were on an island, the voices distant, unattached. He could see nothing save for the flames, still rising up, the heat growing stronger. He tried to call out again, to make them understand–to warn them of the impending danger. Someone must have seen the disaster looming–a castle, that was what it was. A castle, with flames licking up its towers, screams and shouts, but no one paying heed.
“Help them, damn you! Help them!” he cried, leaping to his feet as Murdina grabbed hold of him.
His voice echoed across the silent moorland, and he collapsed back to the ground, holding his head in his hands, tears streaming down his cheeks.
“Kin, wake up–tis’ only a dream. But what terrible sufferin’ ye have born. Ye are safe, daenae worry,” Murdina said, throwing her arms around him.
Kin looked up in astonishment. The dream had seemed so real, the flames of the fire engulfing the castle. But where was it? Was it merely the conjuring of his mind, a false interpretation proceeding from the oppressed memories so hidden and obscured–or was it something real, something he had seen with his own eyes, something he had been powerless to prevent?
“I… I saw a vision of hell,” he exclaimed, and she looked at him in astonishment.
“What did ye see? What was it?” she asked, and he shook his head, the dream still so vivid it felt as though he were trapped between it and his waking reality.
“There was a fire–flames, a castle. People were screaming for help, but there were others, those around me–they did nothing, nothing at all. It was as though they could not see or hear. I was trying to call out to them to make them understand. But I could not…” he said, his words trailing off.
There was something about this dream–it was no mere conjuring, no nightmare, even if what it showed was a nightmare in itself. There was truth here, a reality which had been his, even if the details remained vivid. This was not a dream but a memory. Of that, he was certain.
