Raven in the Runes

RAVEN IN THE RUNES

A Novel

by

Laine Stambaugh

Book II: The Heart Stone Trilogy

Raven in the Runes is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2024 by Joan Elaine Stambaugh

All rights reserved.

Published by

Ingram Spark

1 Ingram Spark Blvd.

La Vergne, TN 37086

ISBN: 979-8-9878612-8-8 (revised print edition)

ISBN: 979-8-9878612-9-5 (revised e-Book edition)

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of the author ([email protected]) or publisher.

Cover design by: Sana Asghar

Interior design by: MyRemotePro on Fiverr

Parmata

valdu

bilara!

(Knowledge is Power! in Delsiran language)

Part I: RAIDHO

(The Journey)

1

Northwest Alba (Scotland)

MacAoidh Stronghold

Summer, 1153 A.D.

Eilidh ran a clean cloth over the blade of her sword. The thick and humid air in the courtyard gardens seemed to vibrate with tension as she awaited her brother, Gregor’s, return with a new sword he wished to test. While she waited, she enjoyed the view of the bay from high atop the promontory where the MacAoidh stronghold sat. Not a cloud in the sky hinted of summer rain, which would bring welcome relief and cooler temperatures. She wanted to resume their swordplay, but she was suddenly filled with a nagging sense of foreboding. And not just about the weather.

Impatient, she paced back and forth along the path bordered by tall hedges. Despite her angst, she savored the freedom of wearing a man’s tunic and hose that she’d borrowed from Gregor for this exercise. Frustrated when he didn’t appear, she returned to her original spot and slashed her sword through the air for practice.

It was no secret that all four of her brothers were excellent swordsmen. And whatever they excelled in, so must she. If only she’d thought of gaining self-defense skills earlier, she could be a master swordswoman by now.

Eilidh yawned. She hadn’t slept much the past few nights, and her instincts were telling her that time was running out – but for what? And how could she be prepared for the unknown?

Tired of waiting, she plopped down on a bench and inhaled deeply. As she did, things began to swim about her, coming in and out of wavy focus. Alarmed, she glanced around. Although it wasn’t the first time this had happened, it had been quite a while since Eilidh had experienced one of these images, but she recognized the feeling of lethargy settling over her. She’d been nine when Grandmother Marsaili explained that a few women of the MacAoidh bloodline had inherited the ability to see the future, and for some, like Marsaili and her mother, they could see the past, as well. As a result, Eilidh’s parents had no choice but to wisely defer to Grandmother Marsaili in these matters.

Eilidh glanced up at the sky. Still no rain clouds. She wiped her damp brow and pulled her tunic away from her chest where the fabric stuck to her skin. After a few moments of slowly breathing in and out, she regained her sense of awareness. While her vision returned to normal, she suddenly felt her stomach lurch at memories that she’d long since buried.

She stood up quickly and marched toward the opening in the hedge that led back to the castle, refusing to allow the nightmare to ruin her day. It had been three years since The Incident. The power it held over her should have lessened over time, shouldn’t it? And yet, she still felt the shame of a naïve girl thinking magic could chase all her shadows away. The incident had taken place during her thirteenth summer … when everything changed. If only Grandmother Marsaili had been well enough to have attended that clan gathering and remained by Eilidh’s side.

Eilidh paused at the opening to the hedge path. She swiped at the gathering tears and straightened her shoulders when she saw Gregor coming towards her wearing a big grin.

Every once in a while, Eilidh wished she had been born the fifth son. If so, she could wield a sword in her own defense, if the situation called for it, without worry that her mother would consider it an unladylike pursuit. All of her brothers were trained as warriors, in case of an attack, so the clash of swords nearby was not unusual. If she had to do this in secret, as she had when her grandmother had taught her to read and write, then so be it.

You ready? Gregor called, removing his sword from its scabbard.

Without further ado, they resumed their earlier parry and thrust of swordplay. For the next half hour, while she concentrated on the techniques she’d learned that afternoon, Gregor surprised her with a counter-move she hadn’t seen before. She winced as the sharp tip of his blade grazed the back of her hand.

Gregor pulled back when he saw the spot of blood, his dark brows creating a deep furrow on his tanned face. Did I nick you?

Eilidh inspected the small cut. I’ll live. Keep going. She wiped the trickle of blood on the old braies she’d borrowed from him for the exercise. Show me how to make that move.

Gregor checked the tip of his blade, a wry grin showing how much he appreciated her ability to bounce back and not give in to tears like most young ladies her age.

He laughed. Heaven forbid I should know something you don’t.

Eilidh and Gregor had always gotten along well, even though their mother referred to Gregor as the mischief maker. Eilidh rather admired that about him.

You know I won’t give up until I can win, she responded.

He laughed and wiped his blade tip. Why am I not surprised?

Eilidh glanced at the hilt of the sword given to her by Grandmother Marsaili shortly after Eilidh celebrated her name day last autumn. Her mother was appalled, considering the sword an inappropriate gift for a lady whose father was clan chief, meaning her daughter must marry well and cease imitating her brothers.

Both Eilidh and her grandmother shared Raven as their spirit guide, so there existed a unique bond between them. And when Eilidh found trouble -- and she usually did -- Grandmother Marsaili was always the first to defend her and convince her parents their daughter meant no wrong.

As for the sword, Grandmother referred to it in Gaelic as Fitheach, due to the hilt bearing the engraved image of a raven in flight, wings outstretched as might be seen from above. Supposedly, it was created by the Goddess of the Moon, and was given to Eilidh’s grandmother when she was forced to flee her home and Druid family to travel north to MacAoidh land.

It’s too hot and miserable to continue. Gregor motioned to a nearby bench in the shade where they could cool down before going inside.

Eilidh’s personal servant, Muire, who had been standing in the background watching the pair, appeared with two mugs of cold water from the well. I thought you might like a refreshment on this uncomfortable day.

Perfect timing. Gregor gave a nod of thanks and drank nearly half the contents in one gulp.

Eilidh, grateful for Muire’s thoughtfulness, said, Thank you, Muire. You always seem to know when we need a drink. How do you do that? Eilidh took a long, refreshing sip.

It’s obvious. When the clash of swords and cursing stops, it’s time for water, she replied with a grin.

Sassy lass. Eilidh smiled wide, having known Muire since she was seven — the sister she wished she’d had.

As she watched her friend retreat to the tower, she wondered how Muire could bear each day since her husband had died of a short illness the previous winter. Unable to cure Fearchar, Muire’s husband, poor Grandmother Marsaili had been beside herself.

Left a grieving young widow, Muire would have been all alone at nineteen, if not for the MacAoidhs. And yet she never grieved around the family. Still, she was not quite back to her typically optimistic self.

Eilidh knew she would do well to follow Muire’s example and display an unshakable confidence to the world, if she was going to stay put and be able to embrace her passion to pursue knowledge.

Eilidh closed her eyes and concentrated on the sounds of bees humming nearby. Red squirrels raced up the bark of a tall pine, chattering as they climbed. A raven caw drew attention, and Eilidh’s eyes flew open.

That was when she spotted their servant, Bothain who’d been with the family since long before Eilidh was born. He approached the two siblings in their hedge hideaway and bowed respectfully, revealing a rim of hair not unlike a priest’s tonsure.

Pardon the interruption, Mistress Eilidh, Master Gregor, but your father requests the mistress’s presence … immediately.

Eilidh glanced down at her and her brother’s old clothing. What perfectly awful timing. I must change. She jumped up and grabbed her sword and shrugged at Bothain. Oh, bog feathers. Tell him I was outside searching for plant roots and will come as soon as I can.

Bothain nodded, despite the white lie.

She grinned and shot off for a side door into the tower, praying not to be seen. How wonderful to run without the encumbrance of a long skirt! Even so, she tried not to upset her parents on a recurring basis with behavior unbecoming a lady … if possible. She slipped inside the doorway without being seen, then raced up the stairs and made it to her bedchamber. Fortunately, Muire was busy elsewhere. She placed Fitheach in its scabbard and buried it in her trunk, under her clothes. Then she removed the borrowed tunic and hose and stuffed them inside an empty basket.

She quickly washed away the dirt and blood and then donned a blue-gray gown she knew her mother would approve. Afterwards, she tried tying the laces on the side that held the gown closed, but gave up when she couldn’t quite reach all of them. At least she would appear decent as long as she didn’t raise her arms. As soon as she finished meeting with her father, she would find Muire and ask her to complete the job.

She hoped her father’s summons was for some minor infraction and not the sword fighting lessons. There was no point in owning a sword if she didn’t know how to use it. And she refused to give up Fitheach or hang it on the wall to gather dust. She had plans for getting to know the weapon, which Grandmother Marsaili insisted possessed magical properties she must learn to use if she wished to achieve her destiny.

When she passed through the great hall, she found her father at his desk, hands behind his head as he gazed at the ceiling. She quietly seated herself on the other side of the table piled high with documents, quill pens, pots of ink, and a stamp that represented the MacAoidh chief’s seal. Eilidh glanced at the documents pile, wondering if there was anything of interest.

Her father sat forward, eyes growing round as he rested a hand upon the stack of documents. You look like you’ve been exercising in the sun. Have you and Gregor been practicing with swords again? He frowned, which was most unusual. He was a man who liked to laugh and share in the fun with his children. But that wasn’t always possible, not when his wayward daughter refused to settle down and marry.

Eilidh exhaled, glad she’d cleaned up and changed.

You appear out of breath, said her mother, appearing in the doorway. A lady walks slowly, and doesn’t work up a sweat like men.

Eilidh looked down at herself and winced, deciding to keep Gregor and the swords out of the conversation. She ignored her mother’s comment and instead turned to her father. "You summoned me, Àthair?"

We have something important to discuss with you.

Eilidh watched as her father’s twinkling eyes followed her mother, who was dressed in a fern-green gown that complemented the thick auburn hair piled high atop her head. She set a fresh mug of ale on her husband’s desk, then waved a slender hand at Eilidh. The expressions on her parents’ faces told her all she needed to know. They wanted to discuss The Marriage Matter. She slumped in her chair, trying to look invisible.

When her father didn’t immediately speak, Eilidh heard her mother gently clear her throat. Eilidh, are you alright?

Eilidh sat up and glanced around, wishing she could run off and join a convent. I’m fine. It’s just …

Her father took two long sips of ale, then set the mug down. He’d been a handsome man in his youth, his fair complexion now ruddy from time spent outdoors in all sorts of weather. Usually known for his ready smile and hearty laugh, he rested both forearms on the desk, suddenly appearing tired and defeated.

Eilidh, I’m not going to repeat what I’ve said over the past two years about you scaring off your suitors. That was then. This is now. You have lived with your family for almost seventeen years, safe and protected. But you are more than old enough to be a wife and mother. I wouldn’t be doing my duty to provide for your future if I didn’t find the best man possible for you to wed.

Eilidh’s throat tightened.

Her father paused as her mother rose and placed a hand on her arm.

Eilidh, we love you dearly, but you’ve frightened off every suitor we’ve invited. Her mother shook her head sadly. "There are no more decent unmarried men left in Srath Nabhair. We must look beyond our borders, and that may take some time."

We want you to feel fulfilled as a wife and mother, to have grandchildren and a pleasant life. But we’ve run out of options with your lack of cooperation, her father added.

Would her parents send her away to some far-off land where she’d never see her family again? Just like what happened to Grandmother Marsaili all those years ago? She choked back a sob.

Eilidh, as your father said, we only want you to be happy. Her mother pressed her lips together.

"But I’m happy here."

Her mother stood and gently lifted Eilidh’s chin. "Come, nighean. Let’s go and discuss what new gowns you might need for meeting your new suitors."

I don’t care about new gowns. I want to stay where I am.

Eilidh knew she sounded childish and petulant, but she couldn’t accept this major life change being forced upon her. Not without a fight.

Eilidh, go with your mother. That is the end of it. For now. Her father gave her that stern look that told her he meant business, but then his face softened. Who knows? You may be surprised to find a man who has a lot in common with you.

With that, he bid her farewell and Eilidh followed her mother to Eilidh’s bedchamber. Once inside, it suddenly occurred to her that just the thought of leaving her grandmother, her seanmhair, caused the back of her throat to ache.

I’d like to check in on Grandmother now, if I may.

Her mother nodded. That would be fine. Meanwhile, no sword practicing between now and your next meetings with suitors. You must be very careful not to bruise or injure yourself where it can be visible. She hugged Eilidh and stepped back. Now… why is your gown left unsecured? You can’t go to supper like that. Tsk, tsk. Her mother moved forward and efficiently tied the remaining laces, then stood back to regard her daughter. We can discuss the new gowns tomorrow.

Eilidh nodded, glad for the postponement. Everything was happening too quickly.

Her mother paused. Your father is doing the best he can, Eilidh. He worries for your welfare should anything happen to him. It’s only natural.

What Eilidh wanted to say in response was that she had four big brothers to look out for her. But her mother didn’t linger, as she walked to the door and closed it behind her.

Eilidh lay on her bed for some time, wishing she could cry. But warriors didn’t cry, her brothers insisted, so she hid her emotions behind a facade of indifference. When a knock sounded at the door and her grandmother let herself in, Eilidh was staring at the ceiling.

Grandmother Marsaili glided forward on soft slippers and laid a hand on Eilidh’s shoulder. I heard the news. More young men to meet. She turned and gazed out the window. I’m sure that bone-headed son of mine didn’t make the proposition very appealing, did he? She snorted and sat down heavily on a chair and began a fit of coughing.

Eilidh sat up. "Seanmhair, will you let me apply a poultice tonight when you retire? I’m certain it would help clear your lungs. And I would feel much better, as well."

Grandmother shook her head, eyes drifting shut for a moment while the cough passed.

"I’m going to be fine, ban-ogha. But that’s so sweet of you to offer."

Eilidh hugged her pillow for comfort, determined to change the subject now that her grandmother had agreed to be tended to. "Can we get out of this ridiculous marriage plan, Seanmhair? There must be a way. I can’t leave you!"

Grandmother squeezed Eilidh’s hand, then glanced away. "As much as I hate to say it, your father is right. It’s well past time for you to be starting your own family. You will survive this journey to wherever it may take you, ban-ogha. In addition, you must remember to be still at times, so you may hear what your heart is telling you. Listen carefully."

Eilidh moved to the window. "I don’t mean to be ungrateful or difficult, Seanmhair. I just want to be a healer in a place where I belong, with people I love and love me in return. She glanced down at the path leading to the castle from the bailey. Father wouldn’t send me away from Alba … would he? Is he that angry with me?"

Grandmother Marsaili sighed loudly. He’s frustrated, my dear. You’ve left him no alternative.

Eilidh rubbed her temples and closed her eyes for a moment. I guess I have no one else to blame but myself in this matter.

Her grandmother rose slowly and patted her granddaughter’s back. Perhaps. But you must make an effort to enjoy your time between now and the day you become a wife and take on new responsibilities.

Eilidh wondered how she was supposed to relax. She knew both her grandmother and father were right. And yet, she still felt a sense of betrayal. "Sometimes I feel more like a piece of property than the daughter of a clan chief. I would like to be informed, or at least consulted with matters that concern me. I’m not a child nor a prize horse." Frustrated, she shrugged and looked away.

It’s the way it’s always been for a woman.

Eilidh gritted her teeth. Well, I don’t like it. I don’t need a man to be a great healer.

Her grandmother shook her head, but there was a hint of amusement in her eyes. "You may ask for too much, ban-ogha. No wonder your parents are at their wits’ end. She took both of Eilidh’s hands and gazed at her with hazel eyes that could still sparkle on occasion. If a new suitor presents himself well, and your father approves, you must accept your fate. Be a participant in that endeavor. You do not want to end up all alone or married to someone you dislike, never knowing the bliss of love and family, do you?"

A moment passed as her grandmother experienced another coughing fit.

Anxious, Eilidh placed a hand on her arm. "Seanmhair, you must rest until supper. I’ll walk you to your chamber. Supporting her grandmother’s arm, Eilidh moved slowly down the hall to the bedchamber on the other side of the tower keep. Eilidh helped her grandmother onto the bed and fetched a glass of water. I will start on that poultice for you tonight."

Her grandmother accepted the water and indicated Eilidh should sit. You can do that later. Now, tell me why do you not wish to marry and have children? It can’t simply be to fill your life with knowledge.

Eilidh sat next to her grandmother on the bed. She couldn’t bring herself to tell Seanmhair about the attack three years ago. It still felt so raw. She’d come up with a standard reply she used. "I don’t mean to be impertinent, but why must I marry? If anything happens to my parents, the lads will care for me, won’t they, as Àthair cares for you since Seanair passed on to the Otherworld?"

Whenever Eilidh mentioned Grandfather Niall, Grandmother Marsaili’s shoulders would slump for a few moments before she responded. Then, she would take a deep breath and it was as if nothing had happened. It had been that way since his death four winters ago when he’d taken a fever and never recovered, even with all of Seanmhair’s considerable healing skills.

Her grandmother took a long drink of water, then Eilidh helped her lay back against the pillows as she heaved a heavy sigh. Family is one of the most satisfying things a woman can experience. Children give such great joy.

Eilidh’s throat ached. Children can also be a great disappointment to their parents. I’m not so sure I would make a good mother. She tucked the covers around her grandmother’s frail form. Whenever I see Friseal’s children, I’m never sure what to do. Her elder brother had married a MacLeod and moved far from Tunga, so Eilidh rarely saw her niece, Robina, nor her nephew, Lachlan. But when she had last seen them, two Yule seasons past, she’d noticed right away how Friseal had transformed from an idealistic lad into a doting, yet firm, father. I just don’t know what kind of mother I would be. Eilidh rubbed her arms as a chill breeze came through the window.

No one is born a perfect mother or father. It takes many years of patience and a lot of practice. If you can stitch a man’s arm back together as a healer, I predict you can adapt to raising young children.

Grandmother chuckled and snuggled under the covers. I’m just going to lie here for a few moments.

When Eilidh turned her head, her grandmother’s soft hair looked like a snow fairy the way it spread out over her pillow.

I’ll get that poultice started. You rest.

Before I forget, there is another matter we need to discuss.

Eilidh waited while Grandmother Marsaili coughed for several long moments.

Don’t try to talk now. I’ll be back shortly. Eilidh smoothed her grandmother’s brow. We’ll talk once you’re rested.

Her grandmother nodded, then lay her head back on the pillow as her cough subsided. For now.

2

As Eilidh observed her parents and brothers in lively conversation at the supper table, she remained uncharacteristically silent. Grandmother Marsaili had retired to her room, which worried Eilidh. So, instead of trying to compete for attention amongst her brothers, Eilidh focused on what she might include in a poultice that evening to help her seanmhair sleep through the night.

The warm, humid weather made her feel listless and she had no appetite. She pushed her food around on her plate, sad to think that Grandmother may be destined for her journey to the Otherworld sooner than any of them would have expected. Eilidh narrowed her eyes at her brothers in resentment. They weren’t as close to Grandmother as she was, so wouldn’t feel the loss. Seanmhair had taught her everything worth knowing.

As for the marriage matter, the other situation weighing her down, she expected her brothers surely must have heard the news. And yet, not one of them expressed sympathy that she was being forced to marry a stranger and most likely to leave the region. It seemed that they could care less who she married, just as long as she was someone else’s responsibility. Men were happy, simple creatures, Grandmother liked to say.

It just isn’t fair.

But then, something her father said quickly caught her attention and she set aside her worrisome thoughts. She picked up her tea mug and took a sip, trying not to show too much interest. "You’re going to take horses to auction in Inbhir Theòrsa?"

Aye. I will set out early tomorrow. Padruig and Gregor will come and help with the horses. Her father smiled at her, then reached for the last piece of roasted venison. You want me to bring you anything, my sweet lass? He tore off a piece of meat and chewed with enthusiasm. Ribbons? Lavender soap?

Padruig and Gregor were attempting not to break out into laughter.

Aye, she could use some scented soap to cover up the sweat from wielding a sword, Gregory said, with a chuckle.

Leith gave him a sharp look. Let her speak for herself.

I need nothing, Eilidh said, her voice small.

Well, that’s enough talk about unmentionable topics at the supper table. You lads will want to get a good night’s sleep to be ready to go with your father early in the morning. Her mother smiled sweetly and turned her attention to her husband.

A strange thought made its way to Eilidh’s confused mind. Was it possible she’d been too hard on her mother? That she loved and protected her daughter in her own way, every bit as much as her grandmother? Eilidh wondered if she’d missed that while focused on her grandmother.

For a moment, Eilidh nibbled her lower lip, as she gathered courage. She squared her shoulders. "May I please go with you to Inbhir Theòrsa? I won’t embarrass anyone or get in the way. I’ll sit, quiet as a mouse. I promise. She angled her hands as if praying. Please, please? I need to get out and see people my own age, Àthair."

We’ll be too busy with the horses, Eilidh. This is a business trip, not for pleasure.

Her mother heaved a sigh and glanced at her husband. On the other hand, if we both accompany you, I can take Eilidh to a seamstress in town and have her fitted for new gowns. She seemed to perk up. We could make a day of it, and stay the night at an inn. Would you like that, Eilidh?

Eilidh’s breath caught. Nothing could be more unappealing. But it was better than staying home and fretting over meeting a new group of suitors. "Um, aye, Màthair. That would be fine. As long as Seanmhair is doing well."

Of course, her mother demurred.

Her father shuffled his feet, looking down at the stone floor. Hmph. Hadn’t thought of that. He rose from the dining table and scratched his beard. I suppose that can be arranged. Gregor can drive the supply wagon. Leith and I will herd the horses.

I can help with that! Eilidh volunteered, not wanting to ride in a bumpy wagon the whole way with her mother.

Her mother’s lips pressed together in a straight line. I don’t want you smelling like a horse when we visit the seamstress.

She’s got a good point, said Gregor with a grin.

"There are worse things