Lord of the Black Isle (2 page)

Sometimes being a friend means mastering the art of timing.

There is a time for silence.

A time to let go and allow people

to hurl themselves into their own destiny.

And a time to prepare to pick up the pieces when it's all over.

—
The
Women
of
Brewster
Place
(1982)

Gloria Naylor (1950–)

U.S. novelist, producer, and playwright

Isle of Mull, Scotland

A few months later

Growing up, Elisabeth had always heard that the history of Scotland was complex. She'd never dreamed that by going back six hundred years, she would discover for herself just how complex it was… forbiddingly so.

Scotland was a puzzle of ten thousand pieces in which one tried to painstakingly find some semblance of order, shape, and color to be able to put it all together, forming a country, for according to her archaeologist sister, Isobella, Scotland had been known by many names: Albion, Alba, Alban, Pretanikai Nesoi, Cruithintuait, Pictland, Caledonia,
'O chrich Chat co Foirciu
, and Scotland.

It possessed a history that was powerful, sad, strong, persuasive, potently addictive, melancholic, and not easy to see clearly or understand without the skill of discernment. For how can you make a whole out of so many sad fragments? How can one assemble the bits and pieces of tradition, sprinkled with falsehoods, peppered with truths and scratches of Pictish symbols that no one has been able to translate, or the fragments of long-forgotten facts, faded memories, superstitions, myths, Druidic beliefs, Catholic documents, Roman writings, Viking legends—and then heap it all together and call it Scotland?

Scotland, Elisabeth decided, was still complex, for its people were as muddled as its past, with Picts, Celts, Norse, Danes, and Angles all coming together in a mix of language, history, and culture, rolled up with a mountainous landscape that rose out of the North Sea like a clenched fist.

No wonder she was confused. Making a decision wasn't as easy as it sounded, for after Ronan was torn from her future and her life, how slowly the days passed and bled into weeks, and the weeks became months, and the months became blurry until Elisabeth realized she had lost track of time.

Lethargy gripped her and passed through her like the fingers of thieves, stealing her spirit and stripping away her very soul. Life had no purpose. Inwardly, she was washed out and empty. The world was callous and cruel, and it left her indifferent. If only she could care… for something. And for a while she stayed busy, but now there were no ailments within the castle. Not even the animals suffered from any malady. And the sympathy others expressed and the sorrow she saw in their eyes whenever she passed were a constant reminder.

And pity was definitely not what she needed.

It was as if God had been busy and lost track of her—and the Black Douglas, too. She tried taking walks along the beach beneath Màrrach Castle, but the weather was turning cooler and the sky overcast, and she found herself more melancholy upon her return than she was before she left. She accompanied Isobella down to the caves where she was excavating, but that only reminded her of Ronan and memories of them helping Isobella and then picnicking on the beach afterward, and lying on the damp sand and feeling the luxurious weight of Ronan lying over her.

It
is
time
fer
ye
to
go…
The words floated across Elisabeth's mind, but she pushed them away for she knew where they came from and she wasn't in the mood to talk to the Black Douglas right now. She was very angry with him, and if he would show himself in human form, rather than as a meddlesome vapor, she would love to punch him flat out! However, she knew in her heart it was time for her to leave Màrrach and to find her own way in the world waiting out there.

But now the question was, where would she go? She knew no one, save the MacLeans, who had captured her in the past and held her prisoner, and the Mackinnons, who had rescued her and welcomed her as part of their family.

Day by day, she felt the urge to leave, for remaining here was not in the best interests of either her or Isobella. Although she was finally past the pain of losing Ronan, there were still so many reminders of him everywhere. She needed a fresh start, a change, an opportunity to present itself.
You
are
a
physician
. But there was always the possibility that leaving would be the worst thing that she could do.
What
if
I
end
up
in
a
worse
situation
than
I
am
now?
Then she wondered just how much worse things could be. She was slowly dying inside. She needed a new life. She needed to practice medicine, and if medicine would not come to her, she would go to medicine.

She rubbed her temples, wondering how she would ever solve this dilemma. Finally she thought: Go… leave… you know it will be best for Isobella and for you, and only time will tell if you made the right decision. Time is, after all, a great healer. And, if you fail, you can always return to Màrrach. She decided she would sleep on it, and if she still felt the same in the morning, she would leave as soon as possible.

She did sleep on it, and when she awoke, she had breakfast in her room, then dressed and went in search of Isobella, who would be sewing or knitting baby clothes in the solar this time of the morning.

On her way there, she passed the nurse carrying Isobella's baby boy, and she stopped a moment to croon over the beautiful, sleeping child, before she continued on her way. She had not gone far when she met Alysandir's brother Drust coming down the stairs. He inquired how she was doing, and they paused a moment to talk. She wanted to know what he thought, so she told him of her decision and why she felt leaving was best. “Do you think I am wrong to do so?”

“Nay, I dinna. I ken ye know yersel' better than anyone,” Drust said. “I dinna see there is much aboot Màrrach to help get yer mind off of my brother and on to making a new life fer yersel'. 'Tis no' an easy time ye will have o' it, no matter where ye go, but I think leaving here will give ye time to start yer life over, and that is the best choice available to ye right now. Have ye any plans as to what ye will do or where ye will go?”

“No, I only know I want to use my medical training. So it makes sense to go wherever I feel I would be needed. I have even thought about opening a hospital somewhere.”

“Och! If it is a hospital ye be wanting, ye should go to Soutra Aisle. It is part o' the House of the Holy Trinity, which includes a monastery of friars.”

Her heart began to pound with excitement at the mention of a hospital, for she had no idea there were hospitals in Scotland. “Soutra Aisle? Tell me more, please, for it may be exactly what I need.”

“'Tis a church of the Augustinian Order, and they have the largest hospital in Scotland. 'Tis on a well-traveled road between the border and Edinburgh.”

Filled with an adrenaline rush, she grabbed him with a big hug. “Drust, you are an angel. That is exactly what I needed to hear. I know I can be of help to them.”

“Weel, it isna a place for women, ye see, fer there are no nuns there, but dinna be forgetting that our uncle, Lachlan Mackinnon, is the abbot at Iona. I ken he would write ye a letter to persuade the friars there to take ye in for a short while so ye could learn from them, and then ye could be on yer way to finding yer own place.”

“Oh, Drust, that is an excellent idea! Would you see if you could get such a letter from your uncle? I would love it if the monks helped me familiarize myself with the medicines and procedures they use.”

“They are na monks, though. They are friars.”

Not being Catholic, she did not know the difference, so she asked.

“Both monks and friars give up all personal property and take vows of poverty, but monks live cloistered in monasteries, away from normal life. Friars live among the people, and they belong to an order rather than a certain monastery.”

“Oh, I had no idea there was a distinct difference. I will pray the friars will lean favorably toward me.”

“I will pray for that also,” Drust said. “And I will ask Alysandir to write to our uncle, and then Colin and I will take the letter to Iona.”

She gave him a bigger hug this time. “How can I thank you, Drust?”

“I canna let ye thank me without giving ye a warning. Ye should be careful how ye go aboot it, fer there could be those that would see yer knowledge as coming from the deil and that would get ye in a heap o' trouble. Mayhap it would be best to pay a call upon the parish priest, or even better, I shall accompany ye to Soutra Aisle with a few men. We will have to wait until we receive the letter from Lachlan, but in the meantime, ye can prepare yer things fer travel—but dinna take all o' yer things, or ye would surely fill Soutra Aisle until there was no room fer the patients.”

She laughed, endeared by his humor, his way of raising her spirits. “I will miss you, Drust.”

“Aye, and I will miss ye as well, but 'tis not going to be the last we see o' each other, ye ken.”

She smiled, feeling more optimistic than she had since the dreaded news about Ronan's marriage had arrived. “You have set my heart at ease, for I was worried about how I would find the right place to go and how I would get there. But please don't say anything yet to your sisters. I want to break the news first to Isobella.”

“Leave everything to me. I will speak with Alysandir as soon as he returns.”

She bid him good-bye and continued on her way to the solar, where she found her sister alone.

Isobella glanced up when Elisabeth walked in. “Good morning!” She looked more closely at her sister's face. “Getting up your nerve to try knitting, or is something else on your mind?”

“I have decided to leave Màrrach,” Elisabeth said, her eyes meeting Isobella's.

Isobella looked startled and then said, “Oh, Elisabeth! I shall miss you terribly, you know, but it's probably the best thing for you. I'm glad, really I am. Have you decided where to go?”

Elisabeth laughed at the excitement in Izzy's voice and told her about Soutra Aisle, setting her mind at ease.

Isobella was beaming. “Elisabeth, that is simply wonderful, and with an introduction from Lachlan, you will be accepted readily. But I will only let you go if you promise to stay in touch.”

***

Elisabeth spent the rest of the morning in the solar, stitching tiny, white linen gowns. Ronan flashed through her mind a time or two, and she wondered how he fared, and how things were between him and his bride. Only now, when she thought about such, she no longer felt the burn of the tears that spilled down her cheeks or the wrenching pain in her heart. Time had begun to work its magic, and she changed the direction of her thoughts from Ronan to herself.

That night, she thought about the things she should take with her to Soutra Aisle, which had to be few, considering she only had a saddle pouch to carry them. Remembering Drust's admonishment about taking too much, she smiled. She thought about the letter she would have from Lachlan Mackinnon, and it hit her that she was going out on her own among total strangers. She recalled her thwarted hopes and unfulfilled desires, and realized her future was not her own
.

I
will
be
satisfied
with
my
new
life, but never again will I be truly happy.
She caught herself and decided this was the last time she would give credence to such thoughts. From here on out, she would be positive, and that meant being more careful to rein herself in before she sunk into melancholia, even if it was the fate of some people to be ill-destined. It was also time to say a final good-bye to Ronan, for his name had become a repetitious litany that had lingered in the back of her mind long enough. She had made great strides to rid herself of the grief and memories that had been her constant companions.

Looking back, she still found it hard to believe that loving and grieving could hurt so much. It had been like a wound that bled constantly, and during those darkest days, she wondered if there would ever come a time when she could sit down beside it and embrace her loss as one would a long-lost friend. Grieving for him had made Ronan seem much larger and more perfect in her mind than he had been when they were together. In suffering, she had managed to forget even his little faults, the imperfections, the flaws she saw in him, until he was idealized like a statue in marble in a shadowed niche in her mind.

Of course, there were times when she still missed him or the sound of his laughter; the way his eyes smoldered when he took her in his arms; the feel of his hand upon her skin; the delicious weight of him when he came to her; the smoothness of his skin, the manly fragrance belonging only to him. Only now, she did not cry in order to cleanse the pain that held her in its grip.

She arose from the bed, lit a candle, and poured herself a goblet of something she thought of as an uneducated ancestor of wine, then dragged a blanket to the fire and wrapped herself in it. She saw this as an official separation ritual and the toasting of a new birth. She sipped the wine and stared at the low-burning flames until they were naught more than glowing embers. She sighed deeply, told herself for the umpteenth time she had made the right decision to leave and to focus on her future, and was soon fast asleep in the chair.

Early the next morning, she took a long walk down the beach. When she grew weary; she sat down on a rocky ledge and stared at the mesmerizing movement of the ocean.