Bruar's Rest

pain, as all that had happened reeled inside. Had she really imagined the whole thing? Far too many negative thoughts spiralled in her head; perhaps that was the problem. She did far too much thinking.
    Next day she helped Helen with some chores before heading out along the shoreline to explore, but no matter how she tried not to think about them, the Seer’s words dominated every step. Miles and miles of shoreline spread themselves under foot; it was easy to cover the ground when no heather or rock hindered the way. If she was going to live in these parts it was best that she become acquainted with the terrain.
    Pausing for breath she saw an old ruin among sand dunes; not far from the village of Durness and perhaps a mile or so from Helen. On investigation it seemed as if someone, many years back, had deserted it in the middle of building. It had a low wall and here she rested. Grasses dominated, but clearly visible on a concrete ledge lay a rusty trowel, hammer and scattered nails. The planks of wood that rotted beneath her feet may have been planned for a door. She wondered why this would-be home had been so suddenly abandoned.
    Time passed without her realising it. It was late when she noticed that daylight was fading, and along with it a thick haar was creeping inward toward the land. ‘I’d better shift myself and get back before the way is hidden in mist,’ she thought, hurriedly picking up the shawl that had slipped from her grasp. As she stooped, something lying on the ground caught her eye, a part-burnt piece of paper. Usually she’d have left it where it was, but something familiar about it made her pick it up.
    Fingers of wet mist, driven now by a strong breeze, pushed damp hair into her eyes; with the wind to her back she turned and looked at the article in her hand. How on earth could it be? She fell back and trembled, staring in utter amazement at the part-burnt photograph of her and Bruar’s wedding. Her own face was burned off! It was the very picture that had perished with everything else in the box back in the Angus glens. How had it got here?
    A whispering wind brushed her ears. She listened above the ocean’s swell, which was rising in a crescendo of water music. Someone spoke—the wind carried voices.
    ‘Surely I’m not dreaming this time!’ She called out, ‘Who are you?’
    No response; was her imagination taking over? Did she have the photo with her all the time but had forgotten? Had it fallen from her pocket without her noticing? She turned her head to look over some rocks on the horizon, but all she saw was a faint ray from the setting sun throwing a light through the thick mist, enough to show her path. For a moment she wanted to turn into the water, to rest on the tide and let it take her away to sea, some place where the loneliness and pain, and this creeping insanity, would not penetrate. It would be a place of dreams, a place where she needed no food, just a promise of sleep forever. In the empty place she stared at the wedding photo in her hand, then was aware of something moving. She turned to see the figures of two people holding hands in the setting sun’s glow; a tall man and a small woman. They walked towards the water and looked back for a moment. Megan’s tears came in torrents. ‘Rory,’ she cried, ‘you found your peace!’ ‘Now find yours, Megan,’ the wind whispered.
    In no time she was running along the sandy path, tears freely falling, releasing her from hopelessness and fear! With the burnt photo tightly grasped in her hand, her road now lay spread before her clearer than ever, with promise and hope. There was no doubt! She had to find Bruar; no matter where, when or how, she would find him.
    Her skirt lifted with a brisk wind that followed her. She felt better than she’d done for many a long while—now there was purpose to her life. Whirling around, she called into the mist that the wind was chasing, ‘You win, Balnakiel! I’m off to search in the King’s town, wherever that is, for my young man, and by God I’ll find him. Thank you, wherever you are, from the bottom of my heart.’
    Helen could see that whatever was going on in Megan’s head, she’d no control over. It was plain that her late brother’s daughter-in-law had a mind of her own. Anyway, this young woman was too wild for her quiet, church-going lifestyle. It was plain that she’d other plans, which didn’t include living with a staid woman, or an old man, come to