Secrets

The prompt:  I gave you a tiny poem by Robert Frost to inspire you this week:

The Secret Sits

We dance round in a ring and suppose,
But the Secret sits in the middle and knows.

Sionn of Clan MacGoulan kept his distrust of the old woman well hidden. He knew her power from experience, and she’d promised these would be the last tasks she’d require of him.

“Be here, the second full moon from today, boy. You'll take the child at birth.” Lillian told him.

“Does she know the child is being taken from her? What if it carries the same taint as its mother? She was clawed by those hell hounds, she’s cursed.”

Sionn couldn’t forget the scene inside the MacClarren clan chief’s house. Pools of blood, the mangled bodies of the clan. The mangled body of his twin brother, Taog, there for his wedding feast. His betrothed alone had survived, though not untouched.

Lillian’s sharp voice brought him back, “She’ll know when the child is gone. I’ll not have a squalling brat getting in my way.”

“But the curse…” Sionn started.

“I know my business boy! The child is clean, and of MacGoulan blood. She is your problem. The mother is mine.”

“It’s a girl child? Are you sure, witch?”

Lillian snorted, “you call me witch, yet question my knowledge?” She glanced sidelong at him. “You have three boys. Be here, take your wife the girl child she wants.”

**********

Annag knew Lillian would be angry that it was taking her so long to complete her errands. She’d make sure to fill both baskets well with the roots and herbs the old witch and sent her to gather.

Though her body was heavy with pregnancy, she felt surprisingly strong. Whatever brew the old woman had been forcing on her had been good for her. The limp from a childhood accident was nearly gone, though she still pretended it for Lillian.

She stayed for the sake of her unborn child. None of the neighboring clans would give her sanctuary. They all knew about her wounds and what they meant.

Annag prayed the end of her pregnancy would not mean the end of her immunity to that curse.

She’d been using the many errands to assemble a cache of supplies. When her child came, they’d escape this prison. She’d find a way to live clanless and raise her child.

As she approached the cottage, she heard voices. Her heart began to pound with fear as she recognized the voice of her once to be brother-in-law conversing with her captor.

“And what of Donnchadh’s blade? Have you found it yet? Is it with you?” Lilian demanded of sionn.

“I have not. Ive searched the ruins of MacClarren and the land around it. Perhaps the faerie reclaimed it.”

Lillian replied with scorn. “Faerie. Fool! Keep searching, I want that sword, it’s the only thing could have killed those beasts!”

Annag's eyes narrowed, she purposefully rustled the brush she had hidden behind. The voices stopped and she heard Sionn's feet hit the earth as he trotted away.

She limped heavily around the bushes, her baskets all but dragging the ground.

“What took you, girl? It can’t take all day to gather a few leaves.” Lillian was angry, and not entirely with Annag.

Annag dropped her eyes to the woman’s feet, “I’m sorry, milady. It’s hard, getting up and down. The babe is heavy in me.”

“You're weak. Perhaps more duties will strengthen you.” She sneered and turned away.

“Yes milady” Annag replied meekly. Her eyes glowed with hatred at the witch’s back as she thought, “You’ll never find my father’s blade.”








And a little more of Annag/Anne Marie's story....