Jack was sleeping when the pounding on the front door shook the cottage. He startled and sat up in bed, blinking against the sunlight. His head still ached from spinning music into magic for the water, and he winced as heavy footsteps shook his mother’s house.
His first thought was that a raid was unfolding, and he stumbled to his feet, tangled in the blanket. The room spun until he reached out to lean on the wall, belatedly realizing that it was the middle of the day. The Breccans never came in the light, and he could hear his mother calmly speaking just beyond the door.
“He’s in bed,” she was saying. “What can I help you with, captain?”
“I need to see him, Mirin.”
Jack was still leaning against the wall when Torin opened the door.
“Asleep at this hour?” the captain said brusquely, but Jack could tell something wasn’t right. Torin began to search his room, beneath the bed and in his oaken chest.
“I was until you called,” Jack said. “Is something wrong?”
Torin turned to him with an impatient flip of his hand. “Lift up your tunic.”
“What?”
“I need to search your back.”
Jack gaped at him but consented, pulling up his garment. He felt Torin’s cold hand skate across his shoulder blades before tugging Jack’s tunic back down. The captain was gone before Jack could muster another word.
Mirin and Frae were standing by the loom, concern etched on their faces as Jack emerged. A few of the guards were finishing a search of the cottage, and they left in a whirlwind.
“What was that about?” Jack wondered.
Mirin glanced at him, wide eyed. “I don’t have the slightest idea, Jack.”
He frowned and returned to his room, opening the shutters. He caught a glimpse of Torin, striding across the yard to examine the byre and then the storehouse.
Jack reached for his plaid, buckling it at his shoulder. He tethered his boots to his knees and nearly collided with Frae in the common room.
“Jack, can I come with you?” she asked.
“I think it’s best you stay with Mum for now,” he said gently. He didn’t want her to worry, but he could see the fear creeping across her face.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Mirin demanded. “You’re ill!”
He didn’t know how she knew that, aside from the fact that he had overslept and looked pale. Or perhaps she sensed it in him—how music had drained a portion of his health.
Jack briefly met her gaze as he stood on the threshold. “I’m seeing if I can assist Torin. I’ll be back in time for supper.”
He shut the door before Mirin could protest, jumping over the garden wall to intercept the captain.
Jack took one look at Torin’s face and knew it was bad.
“Another lass?” he asked.
Torin couldn’t hide his grief. The sunshine washed over him, unforgivably bright. He refused to make eye contact and said, “Maisie.”
Jack drew a sharp inhale. “I’m sorry, Torin.”
Torin continued his brisk walk. “I don’t need sympathy, I need answers.”
“Then let me help,” Jack said, rushing to keep stride with the captain. He remembered Maisie sitting next to him at breakfast, mere days ago. How curious and charming she had been, giving him a gap-toothed smile. It made Jack feel sick to know she was missing. “Tell me what to do.”
Torin stopped abruptly on the road. His guards were in the distance, moving on to the next croft.
The wind soughed as Jack waited. He expected Torin to send him back to the house—Jack had never been strong enough or good enough to be one of the East Guard—but then the captain looked at him and nodded.
“Very well,” he said. “Come with me.”
Jack soon gathered all the pieces of what had happened the previous night. It galled him, to think that while he had been sitting on the coast and singing for the water, a man had walked across the hills, assaulted Sidra, and kidnapped Maisie.
Torin’s orders were urgent. He told his guards to search the hills, the glens, the mountains, the caves, the coast, the city streets, and the byres and storehouses of crofts. To study the knoll between his land and his father’s property for a blood trail and broken grass from boots that had fled, to look for a man with a wound in his back.
No one would be spared, Jack had discovered.
Torin challenged his guards to question even their own fathers, their brothers, their husbands, and friends. To doubt their kin, down to every branch and root of their family tree. To doubt those they loved most, for sometimes love was like dust in the eyes, a hindrance when it came to seeing truth.
The culprit could be any one of them in the east, and the air felt grim and heavy with disbelief as the news spread—another lass was missing, and the spirits were not to blame.
Jack had searched five crofts and the span of eleven different men’s backs when Adaira appeared, riding a mud-splattered horse. Her countenance was rosy from the wind, her hair braided into a crown. She was dressed in a simple gray dress with a red plaid knotted across her body. She dismounted before the mare had even come to a halt, and Jack watched from where he stood in a yard as she went to her cousin.
She knew about Maisie then. Jack could see it on her face as she spoke to Torin. The panic, the fear, the desperation. The cousins spoke for a moment, low and urgent. Adaira’s eyes suddenly flickered beyond Torin to find Jack in the shadows. Her gaze remained on him, the tension easing in her expression.
It still shocked Jack when she called him over. He felt like he was intruding on a private moment, especially when Torin raked his hand through his tangled hair.
“Jack,” Adaira greeted him. “I think we should tell Torin what we’ve been doing.”
Jack’s brow arched. “Indeed?” It was not a light decision to reveal a secret she claimed had been held by bard and laird alone, but Jack saw how necessary it was to bring Torin into their confidence.
“What is it?” Torin barked. “What have the two of you been up to?”
Adaira turned to the wind. It was blowing from the south. “We need a private place to speak. There’s a cave not far from here. Both of you, come with me.” She reached out to snag the reins of her mare and began to walk into the hills.
Jack trailed her. He could hear Torin give his guards commands to move to the next croft before he followed Jack with a heavy tread.
Adaira led them to a steep hill, its exposed side showing layers of rock. About halfway up was a cave, indiscernible unless one squinted. Jack stopped abruptly, staring up at the cave’s small, shadowed entrance.
He remembered this place. It had been one of his favorite caves as a boy, given how dangerous it was to climb into its mouth.
“Adaira,” he began to warn her, but she was already climbing, nimble and confident, even with her long dress and shawl. Jack watched, but his stomach churned when he imagined her slipping and falling.
Within moments, she had made it to the perch of the cave, and she paused to look down at them.
“Are you coming, Torin? My old menace?”
Jack frowned up at her. “I think we are a little old for such antics. Surely there’s another place more accommodating for this talk?”
She made no reply, but he watched her vanish into the cave. Jack glanced at Torin, who was regarding him with a strange gleam in his eyes.
“After you, bard,” the captain said.
Jack had no choice. Here they were, grown adults, and they were clambering up to a cave like they were ten years old again. He swore under his breath as he approached the rocky wall. All of this was ridiculous, he thought as he began to climb. He slipped, caught himself, uttered another curse, and then slowly ascended, following the path Adaira had taken.
He eventually made it to the cave, trembling from the height. Jack chose not to look down and eased into the cool shadows of the hollow space. It was dim, but he could faintly see Adaira sitting on the stone floor. He crawled to sit across from her, leaning back against the jagged wall, their boots touching.
The captain soon appeared, slipping into the cave in spite of his great stature.
As Jack waited for Adaira to speak first, he listened to water dripping, deep in the heart of the cave, and realized they were truly sheltered from the wind’s curiosity. Adaira was wise to take such precautions.
“I delayed in sharing this with you, Torin,” she began, “for two reasons. The first: I didn’t know if Jack would return to the mainland when I summoned him. The second: I didn’t know if what my father said was actually true. It seemed fanciful, and I wanted to see its proof before I gave you any hope.”
Torin scowled. “What are you speaking about, Adi?”
Adaira drew a deep breath. She looked at Jack, as if she needed reassurance from him. He gave her a faint nod.
She told her cousin the same story she had once told Jack, then told him about Jack singing up the spirits of the sea the night before, and what they had said.
Torin exhaled. His eyes seemed to burn in the dim light. “You called the folk to you?”
Adaira nodded. “Yes. Jack did. And we plan to do it again with the earth.”
Jack was staring at his lap, picking dirt from his nails until he felt Torin’s gaze.
“I want to be there when it happens,” Torin said.
“I’m sorry, cousin, but that won’t be possible,” Adaira replied. “It must be Jack and me, and us alone. I don’t think the spirits will manifest if they are being watched by anyone else.”
“Then I have questions I’d like for you to ask the earth,” Torin countered. “One—we know now it’s not the spirits stealing the lasses but a man. Who is this man? What is his name? Where does he reside? Is he working alone or does he have help? Second—where is he hiding the lasses, if they are still alive? And if they are dead …” Torin closed his eyes. “Then where are their bodies?”
Adaira and Jack were silent, listening to Torin rattle off queries. But when Jack shared a glance with her, he knew they were both thinking the same thing. The spirits of the sea hadn’t been forthcoming with their responses. What if the earth was no more helpful? Would Jack and Adaira be able to ask all of these questions?
“We’ll try our best to get the answers for you,” Adaira said.
“There is one more thing I’d like you to ask them,” Torin continued. “At the place where Catriona vanished, I found two red flowers lying in the grass. Shorn but unwilted, because they were enchanted. Strange, as I’ve never seen them grow in the east before. Sidra likewise didn’t recognize them, but I have a strong inkling they are being used by the culprit to either entice the girls or to pass unnoticed by us.”
Adaira frowned. “Where are these flowers at the moment?”
“With Sidra. She can give one to you, to show the spirits,” Torin said, turning his attention next to Jack. “How soon can you play?”
Jack hesitated. He wasn’t sure. He still felt weak from the night before, and he hadn’t had a chance to prepare.
“It will take me a few days,” he said, wishing he could give Torin the response he wanted. “I’m afraid I need time to study the music.”
“You haven’t looked at it yet?”
“No, he hasn’t had a chance to,” Adaira said. “My intention was to bring the music to him this morning, but I heard the news about Maisie and came directly to you, Torin. Now I’m about to take him home and give it to him.”
Torin nodded. “All right. Thank you, Jack.”
The captain departed, leaving Jack and Adaira behind in the cave.
A faint groan escaped her. The sound prompted Jack to study her face. Adaira had dropped her mask of confident, capable laird who was going to solve this mystery. In the wake of Torin’s departure, she appeared uncertain and anxious. She was weary and sad, and when her gaze met Jack’s, he didn’t look away.
“Can you come with me now?” she asked.
“Yes,” he answered, ignoring the ache that lingered in his hands.
He let her climb down first, so he could watch the path she took and mimic it. He shuddered to be back on solid ground until he realized Adaira had already mounted her horse and was waiting.
“Should I meet you there?” he said, giving the mare a wide berth.
Adaira smiled. “No. It’ll be much faster if you ride with me.”
Jack hesitated. The horse tossed her head and pawed the ground, sensing his reluctance.
“I don’t mind walking,” he insisted.
“When’s the last time you rode a horse, Jack?”
“Close to eleven years now.”
“Then it’s a good time to get back in the saddle.” Adaira slipped her foot from the stirrup, offering it to him. “Come on, my old menace.”
This was bound to be a disaster, and Jack groaned as he slid his boot into the stirrup, hauling himself up. He sat, very uncomfortably, behind her. He didn’t know where he should put his hands, where his feet should go. Adaira’s back was aligned with his chest, and he leaned away so the wind could still blow between them.
“Are you settled?” she asked.
“As I’ll ever be,” he replied drolly.
Adaira clucked to the horse. The mare began to walk, and Jack felt how stiff his body was. He was trying to relax, to let the horse’s gait melt through him, when Adaira clucked again. The horse lurched into a trot. Jack grimaced. Every thought was about to be knocked loose from his head.
“This is too fast,” he said, scrambling to grip the edges of the saddle.
“Hold on, Jack.”
“What?”
She clucked a third time, and the horse broke into a canter. Jack could feel the taunt of the ground as his balance teetered. He was about to tumble off and had no choice but to grasp her waist and sidle closer to her, so that no space remained between their bodies. He felt her palm cover his knuckles, warm with reassurance. She eased his hands forward to her navel, so that his arms embraced her, his fingers linked over the stays of her dress.
By the time they reached the castle courtyard, Jack was certain a few years had been shaved from his life and there were tangles in his hair that no comb would be able to tame. The mare came to a halt before the stable doors and nickered, announcing their arrival. Only then did Jack loosen his death grip on Adaira.
She dismounted first, a graceful slide to the cobblestones. She turned and held out her hand to him, wordlessly offering her assistance.
Jack scowled but accepted, surprised by how steady and strong she was, even as he was unbalanced. Awkwardly, he eased himself to the ground. He winced as he straightened.
“You’ll be sore tomorrow,” Adaira warned.
“Excellent,” he replied, thinking he couldn’t afford to let one more thing ail him.
He relinquished her hand and fell into stride beside her, now that he knew where she was taking him. They passed through the garden in companionable silence and ascended to the music chamber, a place Jack was coming to love. He brushed the dust from his clothes as Adaira called for tea.
“Are you feeling well, Jack?” she asked, looking him over as she walked to her desk.
He paused, wondering if she was at last noticing the effects of last night. “I’m fine,” he said. “Although I could wait another eleven years before riding a horse again.”
She smiled, sorting through a stack of books. “I don’t think I can allow that to happen.”
“No, heiress?”
She didn’t reply, nor did she need to. Jack saw the determined gleam in her eyes as she brought a book to him. It was only a matter of time before she would have him astride another horse.
“Here. The music is tucked within the leaves,” Adaira said, extending the slender volume toward him. “I know you might feel pressured to rush because of Torin, but if you need several days to study the music, then take them, Jack. I would prefer that we be prepared when we approach the spirits.”
“I think I can be ready in two days, at the soonest,” he replied, accepting the book. He admired its illuminated cover before opening it to find the loose parchment, hidden in the pages. He could not deny that a part of him was eager to learn this next ballad of Lorna’s. Anticipation shivered through him.
Jack had what he needed. He should go now. But he found that his feet were rooted to the floor, reluctant to leave so soon. His eyes lifted to meet Adaira’s steady gaze.
“I know you have many things to do,” she said. “But you should at least stay for tea. Let me feed you. Are you hungry?”
He hadn’t eaten that morning. He was famished, and he nodded. It was strange to think back to how this day had begun with Torin searching his room. It was strange to think how it was coming to an end, spending the last, golden hours of afternoon with Adaira in her study.
A servant brought in a tray of tea, scones, small mince pies, wedges of cheese, and oatcakes with cream and berries. Jack joined Adaira at the table, watching as she poured them each a cup of tea. He accepted it and filled his plate, his mind racing.
He was sharing a private meal with her. He could ask her anything, and the silence between them felt tender, as if Adaira would honestly answer whatever he felt brave enough to voice.
His thoughts brimmed with possibilities.
He wanted to ask her if she had any news of the Breccans and the trade she wanted to establish. He wanted to ask what she had been doing the past decade while he had been gone. If she had thought of him from time to time. He wanted to ask why she was unwed, because it continued to shock him that she walked alone when there was a horde of eligible partners in the east. Unless, that is, she desired to be alone. Which was fine, but he couldn’t help but wonder. He wanted to know if she was the one who desired him to stay a full year as bard, or if she was merely speaking for the good of the clan.
He wanted to know her, and that realization felt like a sting in his side.
The longer he stayed here on the isle—the longer he slept beneath the fire of the stars and listened to the sighs of the wind and ate the food and drank the water—the more muddled his fancies became, until he couldn’t see the original path he had carved for himself. The safe path, the one that gave him purpose and place on the mainland.
He took a sip of tea, dismayed.
A piece of him still craved that dependable life, the one in which everything could be predicted. He would become a professor. He would grow old, gray, and even more crotchety than he already was. He would teach younger generations the secrets of instruments and how to write music, watching his students transform their sullenness and hesitancy into confidence and prowess.
That was the life he had envisioned for himself. It was a life with little risk. A life in which every day felt the same and his music was subdued. A life of partaking only of comfortable things and of sleeping alone at night, because it would be impossible to find a lover who would endure all his irascibility and the oddness of his isle blood, year after year.
Did he want such a fate?
“You’re unnaturally quiet, Jack,” Adaira remarked, lifting the teacup to her lips. There was a speck of cream at the corner of her mouth, and he was staring at it. “In the past, that meant you were plotting mischief.”
Jack blinked. He would ask her the safest of his questions—ironically, the one pertaining to their raid-loving enemies.
“Have the Breccans agreed to your notion of trade, heiress?”
“They have,” Adaira replied. “But they’ve made a request of me.”
“And what is that?”
She finally licked the cream from her lips. “They want me to visit the west.”
Jack thought she was jesting. He laughed, but it was a cold, bitter sound.
“I fail to see the humor in this,” she said in a sharp tone.
“As do I, Adaira,” he countered. “Perhaps I should sing you the ballad of Joan Tamerlaine and how she was doomed the moment she stepped foot in the west. How Fingal, her sulky husband, and his bloodthirsty clan drove her to a premature death.”
“I know the story of my ancestor,” Adaira replied through her teeth. “There’s no need for you to sing it to me.”
Jack quelled his sarcasm and drained his tea for courage. He wanted her to understand why her answer had upset him. He set a softer gaze upon her, only to find that she wasn’t even looking at him. She was flushed, angry. She was pushing her plate aside, about to rise.
“Adaira,” he said, gently.
She became still, her eyes flickering to his.
“So they’ve extended an invitation to you,” he said. “Perhaps it is a wise thing to accept. You’d be the first Tamerlaine to behold the west in nearly two hundred years. Perhaps peace is indeed something attainable, and you are the one destined to bring the isle back together as one. But perhaps it’s unwise, and the Breccans plan to harm you. You are the sole heiress. What would happen to the Tamerlaine clan if you perished?”
Adaira was silent.
Jack studied her face. She was still so much of a riddle to him. He asked, “What does your father think? Have you spoken of it to him yet?”
“About the visit? No. But I imagine his advice would strangely align with yours.”
“Can a bard not give sage advice then?”
Adaira almost smiled. “Perhaps you can be both to me? Bard and adviser?”
“Does it pay twice as much, heiress?”
She was quick and drawled, “Does that mean you are choosing to accept the role of Bard of the East?”
“I am in the midst of deliberations with myself,” he said. “But that’s not what we’re discussing at the moment. I just presented you with the possibility that the Breccans are devising to harm you, Adaira.”
She released a deep breath. “I don’t think the Breccans plan to harm me.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I’m offering them something they can’t refuse. They need our winter stores. They need our resources when the ice comes. Why would they harm me when I am the first Tamerlaine to give that to them?”
“And yet they simply take what they want when winter comes,” Jack argued. “They don’t need you to grant them access.”
“But perhaps they are weary of it,” Adaira replied. “Perhaps they dream of a different life, one where the isle is united again and the two halves are restored.” She stood and walked to the window. Jack could see her reflection, shining in the glass. “In five days’ time, I am to meet Moray Breccan on the northern coast for a trade-by-trial. It’s a test, both to see what the west has to offer us and to measure their trustworthiness before I visit them.”
Jack listened to her every word. He had yet to take his gaze from her, and he didn’t know why his heart was thrumming in that moment, as if he had run from one side of the isle to the other. He wanted to scoff at the fanciful notion of peace, but this was the second time he had been encouraged to think of the isle as one again, its two halves mended.
He could have said many things to Adaira in that moment, and yet the question that slipped from his lips as a growl was, “Who is Moray Breccan?”
“The Heir of the West.”
Brilliant, Jack thought. Although why should he be surprised that the heir would want to meet her?
“So you will support me if I choose to visit?” she asked.
“It depends,” Jack said.
“On what, old menace?”
“On who you take with you.”
Adaira fell silent again. Jack was swiftly learning he didn’t like these silences of hers.
“Who are you taking, Adaira?” he asked again. “Torin and a retinue of guards?”
“No one,” she said.
“I’m sorry?”
She turned to face Jack once more. Her eyes were inscrutable as she looked at him. “They have asked me to come alone, as a measure of my trust in—”
“To hell with that!” Jack cried. The dishes on the table rattled as he stood. “Adaira, you shouldn’t even consider visiting them alone.”
“I know it sounds unwise, Jack.”
“It sounds foolish and deadly. You forget who they are.”
“I haven’t forgotten, and I’m not afraid of them!” she shouted, as if raising her voice was the only way to get Jack to close his mouth.
And he did.
He stood face-to-face with her and felt the tension in his bones.
She sighed again. Her weariness was returning, but her voice was calm when she said, “So you advise that if I go, I shouldn’t go alone. I suppose that means I need a husband before I visit the west. Two become one under matrimony, don’t they?”
Jack remained silent. He was flooded by a strange emotion, one that made him feel like he was withering. It was jealousy, and he had rarely felt it on the mainland.
He briefly wondered if he was falling ill; he shouldn’t have swum in the ocean at night, when a chill could set in. But as soon as he remembered the moment when they had broken the surface and Adaira had laughed, Jack knew he would choose to do it again, and again, even if time permitted him to redo the past. That he would follow her into the sea. And perhaps that was true only because Adaira held his allegiance and respect as his laird, but perhaps it was due to something else. Something that stirred his soul like breath on embers, rousing old fire.
Gods, he thought with a sharp intake. He needed to smother this feeling now, before it unfurled and grew wings.
Or perhaps he should let it fly.
If he became her husband, he would forfeit his life on the mainland. He would have no choice but to give up his plans to become a professor in order to remain with her, living out his days on the isle. The imagining made him feel cold at first, and his pride flared—all those years studying and working would be wasted—until he met her gaze.
No, not wasted, he realized. Because he would be Bard of the East, and this music turret would become his, and he would play songs for children like Frae and for adults like Mirin. By day he would belong to the clan, singing beneath the sun. But by night, when the stars burned, he would lie down beside Adaira, and he would wholly be hers, as she would be his.
Adaira continued to intently watch him, measuring his expression.
He swallowed, wondering if she saw the same vision he did. One where the two of them were united, bound, laying claim to the other. But then reality returned, rushing between them like a cold tide.
Surely not … Jack mused, and a warring medley of dread and desire rose within him. Surely, she would never want him in such a way, even as he felt static in the air between them. Surely, he would be daft to agree to it. But then Adaira smiled, and he imagined that maybe he would. Maybe he would agree to it, but only out of duty. If she asked him, that is.
“Don’t let me keep you from your study, bard,” she said.
She was dismissing him.
Flustered, Jack strode to the table, retrieving the book. You’re being ridiculous, he told himself. Assuming Adaira would ask him to wed her. She probably wouldn’t even consider him for a partner.
Jack didn’t grant her a bow, or a farewell. He was too angry for niceties, and he departed the room swiftly, the door slamming in his wake.
He didn’t realize Alastair was in the inner garden until he was nearly upon him. The laird stood on the stone pathway by the roses, as if waiting for Jack to emerge from the music turret.
“My laird,” Jack said, stopping abruptly.
Alastair granted him a wan smile. “Jack.” His bloodshot eyes dropped to the book in Jack’s hands. “I see you have Lorna’s music.”
Jack hesitated, suddenly feeling awkward. “Y-yes, I … Adaira gave it to me.”
Alastair began to walk in a slow, feeble gait. “Come, Jack. I’d like to have a few words with you.”
Jack’s stomach twisted as he followed the laird into the castle library. The doors shut behind them, enclosing them in the vast chamber whose air smelled of leather and old parchment. Jack watched as Alastair approached two chairs by the hearth, where flames burned despite the summer heat.
“Have a seat, Jack,” the laird said. “I won’t take much of your time.”
Jack obeyed, carefully setting Lorna’s composition across his knees. He opened his mouth to speak but then thought better of it. Waiting, he watched as the laird proceeded to pour them each a dram of whiskey. Alastair’s hands quivered as he brought a glass to Jack.
“Sidra says I can have one knuckle’s worth a day,” said Alastair, amused. His face appeared even gaunter, as if he had shed more weight since Jack had first seen him, only days prior. “I try to save it for a special hour.”
“I’m honored, laird,” Jack said.
Alastair carefully lowered himself into his chair, and the men drank the whiskey. Jack’s mind sharpened; he didn’t know if Alastair was displeased or relieved to see Lorna’s music in his possession, and he was pondering what to say when the laird broke the silence.
“The sea has been calm today. I take it that you played ‘The Song of the Tides’ last night?”
“Yes, laird.”
Alastair leaned back in the chair, a hint of a wistful smile on his face. “I remember those moments well. Those days and nights when I would stand close to Lorna, listening to her play for the folk. She would sing to them twice a year—once for the sea and once for the earth, to keep the spirits’ favor on us in the east.” He fell silent; Jack could see the memories take hold as the laird’s dark eyes turned to a distant, inward place. But then he blinked, and the reminiscent glaze was gone. Alastair’s gaze was keen as it returned to Jack. “I wanted to send word for you sooner, not long after Lorna perished. But Adaira told me to wait. I think she had full faith that you would return on your own.”
Jack shifted his weight, his palms beginning to perspire. He didn’t know what to say; he didn’t know how he felt, envisioning Adaira with such hope.
Alastair’s voice lowered as he asked, “Did my daughter see the effects that playing had on you?”
“No, laird.”
“You were able to hide the pain and the blood from her?”
Jack nodded. “Should I have—?”
“She doesn’t know of the cost,” Alastair gently interrupted. “I never told her, and Lorna kept the side effects of wielding such magic a secret.”
“You say Lorna only played twice a year for the spirits?” Jack tentatively asked.
“Indeed. She would play for the sea in autumn, and the earth in spring. It was part of her role as Bard of the East, although the clan never knew of it.” He didn’t mention Lorna playing for the fire or the wind, and Jack assumed that she had a reason not to. “It’s why I believed the spirits were at fault for snatching the lasses. So much time has passed since a bard sang for them, and I thought they were angry at us.”
Jack glanced down at the book on his lap, where Lorna’s notes hid within the pages. He felt the creeping sensation of unworthiness, and he wished that he had been given the chance to see her again. To speak to her as one musician to another.
“Adaira doesn’t know what playing for the folk will do to you, Jack,” the laird said, breaking Jack’s reveries. “But she will soon discover it, if you choose to become Bard of the East. It is a position of great honor, but this decision is one you should not make lightly.”
“I will consider all that you have shared with me, laird,” Jack replied. “And I thank you for telling me, for trusting me with Lorna’s music.”
“She would want it this way,” Alastair said. “She would be pleased to know you’re playing her songs. And she would want to see you compose your own.”
Jack was humbled. All his life, he had convinced himself that no one had ever seen anything worthy in him. But Lorna had. Even in her death, she was granting him a rare opportunity.
“Now then,” Alastair said, reaching for the whiskey decanter, “I’ve kept you long enough.”
Jack rose and left the laird in the library with a second knuckle’s worth of whiskey, having promised not to tell Sidra.
He emerged into the courtyard, where a breeze was blowing in from the sea, and came to a stop on the mossy flagstones to steady his heart. He didn’t know how long he stood there, but he soon remembered the book in his hand. Curious, he opened it to skim Lorna’s composition, “The Ballad for the Earth.”
She had written page after page of music far more complex than the ballad for the tides. Jack noticed her instruction at the bottom of the very last page. A warning that gave him pause.
Play with the utmost caution.
