The Firebird

He said, ‘Anna, when my leg is healed I must go to the King, and do what he would have me do, and for this next while, till the King has found a place where he may settle and be safe, my own life too must be unsettled.’ His quiet voice cast back a hollow echo from the wall of ancient stone with all its marble monuments. ‘But this much I can promise ye: when I am done my duty to the King,’ he said, ‘I’ll take ye to your mother.’

Anna hardly dared to hope. She had to tell herself again the captain did not lie, and still she asked him, ‘Truly?’

He was looking at her father’s stone, the oval shield and motto. ‘Truly. But it may yet be a while afore I can come back for ye. Both Colonel Graeme and myself have paid the nuns to keep ye for the year, if it proves necessary.’

Anna sagged inside. A year seemed far too long to wait.

He turned again, and seeing her expression said, ‘It may not come to that. I will not leave ye caged here any longer than I must.’

So he did understand about the bars. She sought to balance things by telling him again, ‘The nuns are kind.’

‘Aye, so they are, and they’ll take care of ye. But while I am away ye do your part, and guard your health. ’Tis one advantage of the cloister, that it keeps much illness out, but in the winter months ye must dress warm and not fall ill,’ he said, with such insistence that it made her think again about the little girl he’d had himself once, and had lost.

She did not feel it would be right to ask him how his daughter died, because it might call details to his mind that brought him pain. She only paused, and thought, and then asked, ‘Captain Jamieson?’

‘Aye?’

‘Is your daughter … is she in the same place as my daddie?’

For the painful space of several heartbeats she thought he might never speak, but finally he said, ‘Aye.’

‘And do ye think he’s taking care of her, as you are taking care of me?’

This time as he looked down at her his mouth curved not at all, and yet she thought his eyes looked as they did when he was wont to smile. ‘I’m sure of it.’

‘Well then,’ she told him, wrapping her small fingers still more tightly round his own, ‘she will be fine, I think.’

And so they stood awhile, with Anna gazing upward at the unicorns of Scotland held forever frozen in their dance, the three stars fixed in stone between them, and she prayed a very selfish prayer: she prayed the captain’s leg would take a long, long time to heal.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

She knew the day when it arrived, because he would not look at her. He took her hand as always while they walked, but he was holding it more closely and she’d chattered on some minutes before realising his gaze had not yet lifted from the floor.

He limped, still, but his jaw no longer tightened with each step of the offending leg, and when she looked to where the bandage just above his knee had always been, she only saw the fabric of his breeks now lying smooth.

She stopped, and made him stop as well, and said, ‘Your leg is healed.’

‘It is.’

‘And you will go now to the King.’

He gave a nod. ‘Aye. ’Tis my duty.’

She had practised for this moment, for she’d wanted him to see her being brave. The small betraying tremor of her lower lip was overridden when she raised her chin. ‘When will ye go?’

‘This afternoon.’

Too soon, she thought. It was not fair.

He seemed to read her thoughts. His voice was gently understanding when he asked, ‘And would ye wish to be a soldier still, and always be in duty bound to leave the people ye hold dear, as I must?’

Did he hold her dear? Her heart swelled proudly as she nodded. ‘If I were a soldier, I could follow you.’

‘Brave lass.’ His gaze fell warm upon her upturned face. ‘Ye’ll follow me already, with your feet or no.’ And seeing that she did not understand, he tapped the left side of his chest with his free hand and said, ‘I have ye here now, in my heart, and where I go I’ll have ye with me there, to keep me company.’

His gesture had reminded him of something, for he reached inside his jacket now and drew from it a long and folded piece of paper. ‘I have something for ye.’

Anna had to let go of his hand to take the paper, for she needed her two hands to hold it properly. She eased the stiff folds open and saw lines of words in bold black ink. The letter ‘T’ she recognised, and here and there the letter ‘M’, but all of it was written as a grown-up wrote, the slanted letters joined to one another, and she could not understand the words for all she’d never wanted more to know the trick of reading. Feeling frustrated, she asked, ‘What does it say?’

‘It is your song,’ he said. ‘The cradle song I sang ye, of the maiden and her wandering. The music’s there as well – ye see these notes across the top? When ye have learnt to read the words, ye can apply yourself to learning those as well, and then ye’ll know the way to sing it.’

Anna held the treasured paper with one hand while with the other she reached up to let her fingers skim the little blots of ink with stems that danced across the top part of the page, above the words, to make the music. It had been so many days since they had spoken of this song, she’d thought for sure he had forgotten. ‘You remembered.’

‘Aye. Did I not promise ye I’d write those verses down?’

She gave a solemn nod.