The Faerie Flag Page 2

  He opened his eyes. The ancient relic looked down at him from behind its protective layer of glass. It didn’t look like much: a torn yellowed cloth speckled with faded red dots. There were many theories as to its origin. Based on dating evidence, historians thought it was a piece of cloth brought back from the Middle East during The Crusades. But the castle kept to the original legend – that the fabric had been a gift from the faerie princess to her son. It was much more popular with the tourists.

  “Twice, it has been used. Who knows when it may be required again?” Fin whispered the words from his tour.

  He walked over to stand in front of the flag, his footsteps light on the walnut parquet floor, and ran a finger along the edge of the gilt frame. A wild idea formed in his mind. Fin didn’t believe in faeries any more than he believed in Santa Claus, but he knew many legends had a foundation of truth to them. And if ever there was a time Clan MacLeod was in danger, it was now. What harm could it do to try?

  Don’t be an idiot. Faeries aren’t real.

  The Fairy Flag was the most famous relic of Clan MacLeod. It was worth thousands to them in tourist revenue, money which was desperately needed to maintain Dunvegan Castle and pay the expensive repair bills.

  Still, Fin couldn’t let go of the idea. He shook his head, letting his hand fall from the frame and walked over to the large window that looked out over the loch. Rivulets of rain blurred the view and he could feel the cold Scottish wind leaking through the windowpane.

  He loved this island, this castle, even when it was battered by wind, rain and hail. It was part of him. Unlike Caitlin, who’d been keen to leave their home for the buzz of a city, Fin was happy living here. Here, he could traipse through the heather, climb to the tops of Skye’s famous Cuillin mountains and bathe in the freezing water of the lochs. There weren’t many job prospects on the island, but that didn’t matter to him. Perhaps one day, he’d take over his father’s job and manage the MacLeod estate. He’d like that.

  Fin sighed and turned to leave, but as he passed the Fairy Flag, his feet stopped. Something tugged at him, from deep inside his chest, pulling him forward. Before he realized what he was doing, he’d lifted the frame from the wall and placed it, face down, on the George III mahogany card table. Pulling the penknife from his pocket, he pried up the clasps and lifted off the back of the frame. He reached out for the fabric, then hesitated. By taking the Fairy Flag out of its protective case, he would surely damage it. It was so delicate, it might even be completely destroyed. Was it worth the risk?

  Yes.

  The word sang in his heart, filling him with a strange certainty that he’d never felt before and a determination he didn’t know he possessed.

  If we do nothing, no one will be left alive to mourn its loss.

  The fabric smelt musty and felt more like paper than the silk he knew it to be. Stiffened by the years, it barely flexed as Fin lifted it from the frame. A tiny piece at one corner came free and fluttered to the floor. He swallowed hard, trying to calm his pounding heart. Gently, he cradled the flag in his arms as he slipped back out to the main staircase and through the door that led up to the chief’s apartment and the tallest tower of the castle.

  The wind whistled through the trapdoor to the castle roof. Fin looked down at the fragile piece of cloth in his hands. He should take it back, replace it in the frame. In all likelihood, no one would ever know he’d taken it. But the terror in his sister’s voice came back to him and that calm certainty washed over him again.

  I have to try. If there’s just a chance it could work …

  He pushed the trapdoor up and was almost blown back by a sudden gust of wind. Dark clouds scuttled overhead, driving the next band of rain across the water toward the castle. The small island of Gairbh Eilein was almost obscured by the incoming storm. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d paddled over there as a kid, but there were no boats out on the loch today. Even the seals had gone. A lonely seagull cawed high above, buffeted by a strong gust.

  Clutching the fabric to his chest, Fin hunched his broad shoulders against the wind and walked the few steps to the flagpole. There was no flag flying today, and the lanyard was neatly secured against the wind. The cold September air bit at his fingers as he tugged the fastening loose and eyed the cloth in his hand. He could see no eyelets in the fabric to fasten it to the lanyard. After a momentary hesitation, Fin cut into the fabric with his knife. He pressed his lips together, trying to calm the fluttering in his chest.

  His left cheek was almost numb and as he tied the final knot, drops of rain slammed into his face. He stood, letting the flag fall, sheltered from the wind by the tower ramparts. Grasping the thin lanyard between his frozen fingers, he sent out a desperate wish that the legend was true and that Clan MacLeod would be saved once again.

  Fin pulled hard, the Fairy Flag rising above Dunvegan Castle for the last time.

  Chapter Three

  For a moment, the flag fluttered in the wind, then a harsh gust wrenched part of it away. Within seconds, the remaining fabric was torn from the mast. Fin watched in horror as the wind ripped it apart, dropping it down on the rocks below where the crashing waves swiftly carried it away.

  The trapdoor behind him banged open and he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.

  “What on earth d’yer think you’re doing, lad?”

  Fin whirled around and looked into the angry eyes of the clan chief. “I-I was just …” He looked back at the rocks below, then up at the scrap of fabric still clinging to the top of the mast.

  Fin’s father appeared behind Malcolm, his face dark with anger. He grabbed Fin’s arm and dragged him toward the steep staircase leading back into the tower. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

  The trapdoor slammed shut behind them. They walked down in silence, but Fin’s ears still rang with the howls of the gale outside. His skin tingled, and when he blinked, the mist that clung to his eyelashes wet his eyes.

  Back in the drawing room, Fin’s father turned to him. “Now, what the hell did you think you were doing? You’ve just destroyed our most prized possession! Do you know how old that flag is?”

  Of course, he knew. He was a tour guide, for goodness sake.

  “I just thought perhaps it was worth try—”

  “What? You believe the faeries are out there? That they’re goin’ to somehow rise up and save us? I thought you’d left faerie tales behind when you were a bairn. You may be twenty-two, but I have a good mind to—”

  “I’m sorry, Father!” A sudden thickness in Fin’s throat stopped him from saying more. He stared at the floor, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes as he silently cursed himself for being such an idiot. Why did he always have to screw things up?

  “At least he tried to do something.”

  Jeanie’s footsteps crossed the room. “We could do with all the help we can get, whether from faeries or no.”

  “That is no reason to destroy what we have,” Malcolm replied. “I hardly think that bit of fabric is going to save us from the plague, but it was a valuable piece of our history that we can never replace.” He threw Fin’s father an angry look. “Get the frame cleared away, Andrew, then lock the door to this room. I don’t want people finding out about this on top of everything else.”

  Jeanie stepped to one side as Malcolm stormed from the room then beckoned for Fin to follow her. He glanced at his father, who was busy putting the pieces of the frame back together, and quietly slipped from the room.

  “That was a pretty stupid thing to do,” Jeanie commented as she walked along the corridor, past the library and dining room to the more modern staircase that led up to the family’s apartment. “But I have to admit, I had the same idea myself.”

  Fin sighed. “It didn’t work though, did it.”

  “Well, you never know. But I’ve always suspected the flag had used up its magic hundreds of years ago. There is so much of our history that’s lost that it could have saved the clan a hundred times. And it was such a frail piece of fabric.”

  Fin glanced up at her in surprise. “So you believe the legend then? You believe faeries exist?”

  She didn’t answer as they walked in silence until they reached the entrance to her apartment. There, she stopped and turned to him. “My grandmother told me that once, the faeries could be found all across Skye. In the woods, on the heather moors, by the trickling streams. They survive on the energy of the earth. But they’re afraid of people and hide away from us. Now they linger in the between places. Where the shore meets the sea. Where fields meet forest. Where day meets night.” Opening the door, she turned to him. “You may not believe in faeries, but when you’re out in the mountains or by the sea, do you not feel the magic of Skye?”

  Not waiting for an answer, she stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. Fin stared at the dark wood. Jeanie had never been one to talk nonsense. She was the most down-to-earth, practical woman he knew. But faeries?

  He retraced his steps to the main staircase, intending to find a quiet corner in one of the workshops to hide away in for the rest of the afternoon, but as he neared the bottom step, the front door flew open and his mother rushed in, her face stricken.

  “Where is your father?” Her voice was choked and desperate.

  Dread seeped into Fin’s veins as he saw the tears brimming in her eyes. “What is it? What’s wrong?” But in his heart, he already knew.

  “Flora?” Fin’s father stood at the top of the stairs, his hand gripping the bannister, knuckles white. He slowly started to walk down.

  “It … It’s Caitlin. I just had a call from James. She didn’t call him this morning and when he phoned the hospital, they said … they said she may have it. The virus. They’re keeping her under observation, but he’s not been allowed in to see her. Her own husband isn’t even allowed to speak to her …”

  Sobs choked the rest of her words. Fin’s father stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. Icy fingers clawed at Fin’s stomach as he stood rooted to the spot, unable to move.

  Not Caitlin. Please, not Caitlin.

  By late afternoon, Fin had had enough of being in the castle. The atmosphere was suffocating and all he could think about was what was happening to Caitlin and how long it would be before the plague reached them. Most people had gathered around the large TV in the staff room, which was permanently tuned to the news, or were checking their social media feeds for updates from friends and family in other parts of the world.

  The storm had blown over and as the early autumn light began to fade, Fin retrieved his motorbike from its parking spot in the garage and wheeled it down the drive. He wasn’t quite sure why he was being so secretive. It wasn’t as if they had been banned from leaving, but Malcolm had made it clear that it was safer for everyone if they just stayed in the castle. Less risk of anyone catching the virus. But Fin was pretty sure, at this hour, there wouldn’t be anyone around where he was going.

  The roads were deserted as he opened up the throttle and sped away from Dunvegan, leaning into the familiar curves of the road to Edinbane. It was usually a forty-minute drive to Uig, but he made it in thirty. Taking the small road down to Balnaknock, he eased off the gas. The putt-putt of the engine was the only sound to break the silence.

  Jeanie’s words came back to him as the sun began to dip below the horizon. You can find them where field meets forest. Where day meets night.

  Fin pulled over and parked the motorbike at the side of a wide passing place. It had been several years since he’d come here. As kids, he and Caitlin had played in Faerie Glen, the miniature hills and ridges seeming like mountains then. Of course, that was before Instagram and Pinterest had turned it into a magnet for American and Japanese tourists.

  He wasn’t quite sure why he’d come. Perhaps because it reminded him of Caitlin, or maybe because the miniature landscape did look like the kind of place faeries might live. A small lochan nestled between round, grass-topped hillocks, backed by a rocky escarpment. The gnarled, wind-bowed trees were already losing their leaves, and the bracken was burnt orange in the dying sun. Standing proud above it all was the basalt-topped ridge that tourists had, for some inexplicable reason, nicknamed Castle Ewan.

  A cool breeze ruffled Fin’s hair as he weaved his way between the mounds. The air tasted crisp, with the distinctive smell of fresh rain on grass. Being outside made him feel calmer, more in control.

  He descended to a grassy basin where spirals of pebbles covered the ground. Between them, stones had been perched on top of each other to create tiny cairns. Absentmindedly, he pulled one apart, scattering the pale stones across a nearby hillock.

  A white flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye caused his heart to leap and he jerked around.

  It was just a sheep. The animal gave an angry “baa” and jumped backward at Fin’s sudden movement, running away into the bushes. He shook his head. “Getting scared by sheep now, are you?” he muttered under his breath.

  Finding a boulder to sit on, Fin hugged his knees to his chest as the last rays of sun bathed the landscape in a soft yellow glow. There was another flicker of movement in the corner of his vision, but Fin ignored it, staring straight ahead, lost in his thoughts.

  But there it was again. He turned to see a wisp of light from the other side of a small, grassy ridge. Not a sheep after all. Had he been wrong in assuming he was the only person here tonight? Surely no one would be camping out here?

  Fin climbed off the boulder and strode up to the curve of the ridge to look down into the grassy depression. There was nothing there. He shook his head. Now you’re really going mad.

  But just as he turned away, he caught sight of the glow again, this time among the low, spiky bushes on the far slope of the dell. It was a strange, almost ethereal bluish light, not strong enough to be from a torch or phone. It faded momentarily, then returned as a young woman emerged from the shrubs.

  Fin blinked and stared in amazement, not quite sure what he was seeing. The ghostly light seemed to be coming from the woman. It waxed and waned, sometimes barely clinging to the edges of her form; other times, it expanded outward from her body, as if she were a beacon in the dark. A fine shawl covered her head, but when she lifted her face to the sky, it fell back to reveal pale, delicate features framed by hair so blonde, it was almost white. If it weren’t for the faint blush on her lips and cheeks, he might have thought her a ghost.

  Fin’s heart skipped a beat, the woman’s beauty snatching the breath from his mouth. A strange prickling sensation lifted the hairs on the back of his neck and he felt a sense of something unknown. Something exciting, yet slightly dangerous. Something magical.

  The woman began to hum, and Fin recognized an old Scottish folk song, one his grandmother had sung to him on cold winter nights. Her voice was soft and lilting as she danced around the dell, spinning in progressively faster circles, her arms held out and face turned toward the stars. Her long, thin dress – too thin for the cold autumn night – rose around her as she twirled, and as her movement quickened, the glow intensified until Fin could barely see the woman within it.

  Time slowed as he stared at her, entranced. The tips of his ears started to go numb in the cold, but he barely felt the discomfort. Finally, she slowed, the light fading as she spun to a halt and was just a young woman once again.

  She turned away, as if to leave.

  “Wait!” Fin cried. Life returned to his limbs. He scrambled up over the ridge and ran down the slope toward her. For a second, their eyes met, and an expression of pure terror twisted her face.

  Then she ran for the trees and disappeared into the night.

  Chapter Four

  Fin searched the trees and bushes of the glen. Thorns scratched his skin and tore at his hair, but he pushed on through the spikey bushes until he’d searched every possible place she could have hidden. Finally, he returned to the dell and slumped on the grassy slope, burying his face in his hands

  You eejit. You had to go and scare her away.

  A faerie. She must have been a faerie. It wasn’t just the glow that emanated from her. There was something about her that wasn’t quite human. But in the cold, dark night, he now began to wonder if he’d just imagined the whole thing. Was the stress of the past week and his desire to believe in something, anything, that could prevent the inevitable death from moving toward them making him imagine things that weren’t there?

  He bent over his knees and curled his arms over his head, tugging at the hair at the back of his neck. He didn’t feel the cold dampness penetrating his jeans or the icy tendrils of mist curling around his body. Anger burned inside him. Anger at the plague, anger at his father, anger at himself for being such an eejit. What had he been thinking?

  Tears of shame pricked at his eyes. Fin clenched his jaw, his hands balling into fists.

  I will not cry, dammit.

  Real men didn’t cry. Especially not a member of one of the oldest clans in Scotland.

  A faint breath of warmth caressed his cheek, but he was too absorbed in his thoughts to care. Yet, there it was again – a wisp of heat, like a summer breeze. But it was late September and the warmth of summer was long gone.

  Fin raised his head and blinked as a bright light surrounded him. He raised his hand to his eyes, a small gasp escaping his lips. The warmth penetrated his thick motorcycle jacket, making his skin tingle.

  At that moment, the light disappeared. The warmth was sucked from him, leaving him shivering on the ground. He suddenly felt empty, bereft of something he had not known he needed.

  A few metres away, the light coalesced around the form of the young woman he had seen dancing in the dell. She looked young, perhaps his own age but at the same time, something about her seemed ageless. Fear was etched into her marble skin, but her eyes were alight with curiosity. She took a step toward him, then backed away, before stepping forward again. Her hands twitched by her side.