Scottish Myths & Legends by Daniel Allison

Author:Daniel Allison [Allison, Daniel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: House of Legends

One day, a friend of his mother happened to drop by the house. She happened to have her daughter with her, who happened to be about his age. Their mothers made an excuse to leave them alone to talk, and after that, the girl and her mother came by again and again.

This girl didn’t play the harp. She had no memory for stories and didn’t like to be out in the rain. But she was a hard worker, funny and kind, quick to laugh and quick to forgive. His heart warmed slowly to her, but once warmed, it stayed that way.

They married. She moved into the blackhouse, and soon her belly swelled. Her husband put his hand on her belly and imagined roots growing from his feet, through the floor and deep into the earth.

The time came for the baby to be born. The midwife arrived at the house, along with the women who would help her. The young woman who would soon be a mother began to shudder and scream.

Her husband panicked. The midwife told him birth was never easy; he could either calm down or go outside.

He stayed put and kept quiet. Afternoon became evening. Evening became night.

Still, his wife screamed. The look on the midwife’s face was different now.

‘What’s wrong?’ he shouted. ‘Why aren’t you helping her?’

The midwife ordered him out into the night.

It was June, close to midsummer. A clear June night on Lewis is a perpetual dusk. He was able to see clearly as he walked out of the village, away from Carishader and up into the hills. He had to walk. On he went, onwards and upwards through the myriad glens. He walked and walked, stopped to catch his breath and saw her.

His fairy lover was sitting on a rock, playing her harp, watching him.

‘Sit down,’ she said.

He sat down beside her.

‘You look troubled,’ she said.

‘I am.’

‘Why is that?’ she asked.

He hesitated. ‘It’s… it’s one of the goats. She’s giving birth, and it’s not going well. We’re worried we might lose the kid and her.’

The fairy’s slender fingers plucked at the harpstrings.

‘I don’t think it’s a goat that’s having trouble giving birth,’ she said. ‘They’re in a field full of pearlwort. I think it’s your wife.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘No, no, I don’t have a—’

‘You needn’t worry,’ she said with a laugh. ‘I was sweet on you once, but I’m not sweet on you now.’

‘Aye,’ he said. ‘It’s my wife.’

‘Then, for the sake of what we once shared, let me give you this.’ She reached into her pocket and took out a length of black rope. ‘Take this home. Tie it around your wife’s waist, and your wife and bairn will be fine.’

He took it from her and thanked her; she shushed him and said, ‘Go, quick!’

He raced like a stag down the hillside. Below him, he soon spied the village; he ran faster and was almost home when he halted.

Words whispered in his mind, too faint to hear. A dreadful suspicion took hold of him.

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