Eithne dreams northward

Eithne’s mind was elsewhere than on her feet, and she nearly walked into her father when she turned the corner.

“Ho!” he laughed. “You’re the one I should have called Cat. We never hear you coming.”

“Sorry…”

“Never mind. If you’re going to bed, it’s a trip up the stairs you’ve saved me. Two kisses for one!” He bent and kissed her, first on one cheek then the other. “Three!”

“Is my sister already abed?”

“Before you, for once. I hope it doesn’t mean she’s planning something.” He winked, but Eithne did not catch the joke.

“Ach, no! We never would!”

“I know it,” he smiled. “You two are my own angels.”

He kissed her again, and they said good night. Eithne stopped in her sister’s room to kiss her, and at last she went into her own.

Since Catan and Flann had moved away, each of the girls had her own room. Eithne sometimes missed the cozy chats beneath the covers with Condal, and she certainly missed the warmth of another body when the winter wind began to blow. She had the coveted corner room now, however, and that honor was worth the few inconveniences.

But there were also conveniences, such as the delightful breeze that blew in to cool her in the summer, for she had two windows now. One looked onto Lord Colban’s tower, so for modesty’s sake she had to keep it curtained, but the other looked out onto the tarn. It was a beautiful, melancholy sight, such as she loved, even on a nearly moonless night like this.

It was unlikely that any eyes but those of frogs could spy her from tarnward, so she did not draw the curtains. It would soon be time to shutter the window entirely, for the hills were already browning into autumn, and she meant to enjoy the view while it lasted. However, for modesty’s sake, she always undressed in the corner.

The room too and the empty bed she meant to enjoy while she could. Soon enough she would be married and sleeping with a man… though she thought there might be some delight in that too. More even than in her cozy chats with Condal.

What man, she did not yet know, but the eldest son of Lord Aed’s Irish wife was getting married for Michaelmas. There was nothing like a wedding for meeting a husband, and there would be men there from all over – even from the Highlands.

Eithne and Condal had privately decided that it would be a fine, romantic thing to be married to a Highlander and be taken away to the beautiful, melancholy Highlands, even if they were so far away from home. Eithne was sixteen, shyly romantic, and hungry for something to dream.

She put out the candles and laid herself down. She let the curtains hang open still, for she liked to look over the foot of the bed at the soft stars that shone on the horizon.

She might also have been aware that her window looked north, towards the Highlands.