“My laird,” Jack said, stopping abruptly.
Alastair granted him a wan smile. “Jack.” His bloodshot eyes dropped to the book in Jack’s hands. “I see you have Lorna’s music.”
Jack hesitated, suddenly feeling awkward. “Y-yes, I … Adaira gave it to me.”
Alastair began to walk in a slow, feeble gait. “Come, Jack. I’d like to have a few words with you.”
Jack’s stomach twisted as he followed the laird into the castle library. The doors shut behind them, enclosing them in the vast chamber whose air smelled of leather and old parchment. Jack watched as Alastair approached two chairs by the hearth, where flames burned despite the summer heat.
“Have a seat, Jack,” the laird said. “I won’t take much of your time.”
Jack obeyed, carefully setting Lorna’s composition across his knees. He opened his mouth to speak but then thought better of it. Waiting, he watched as the laird proceeded to pour them each a dram of whiskey. Alastair’s hands quivered as he brought a glass to Jack.
“Sidra says I can have one knuckle’s worth a day,” said Alastair, amused. His face appeared even gaunter, as if he had shed more weight since Jack had first seen him, only days prior. “I try to save it for a special hour.”
“I’m honored, laird,” Jack said.
Alastair carefully lowered himself into his chair, and the men drank the whiskey. Jack’s mind sharpened; he didn’t know if Alastair was displeased or relieved to see Lorna’s music in his possession, and he was pondering what to say when the laird broke the silence.
“The sea has been calm today. I take it that you played ‘The Song of the Tides’ last night?”
“Yes, laird.”
Alastair leaned back in the chair, a hint of a wistful smile on his face. “I remember those moments well. Those days and nights when I would stand close to Lorna, listening to her play for the folk. She would sing to them twice a year—once for the sea and once for the earth, to keep the spirits’ favor on us in the east.” He fell silent; Jack could see the memories take hold as the laird’s dark eyes turned to a distant, inward place. But then he blinked, and the reminiscent glaze was gone. Alastair’s gaze was keen as it returned to Jack. “I wanted to send word for you sooner, not long after Lorna perished. But Adaira told me to wait. I think she had full faith that you would return on your own.”
Jack shifted his weight, his palms beginning to perspire. He didn’t know what to say; he didn’t know how he felt, envisioning Adaira with such hope.
Alastair’s voice lowered as he asked, “Did my daughter see the effects that playing had on you?”
“No, laird.”
“You were able to hide the pain and the blood from her?”
Jack nodded. “Should I have—？”
“She doesn’t know of the cost,” Alastair gently interrupted. “I never told her, and Lorna kept the side effects of wielding such magic a secret.”
“You say Lorna only played twice a year for the spirits?” Jack tentatively asked.
“Indeed. She would play for the sea in autumn, and the earth in spring. It was part of her role as Bard of the East, although the clan never knew of it.” He didn’t mention Lorna playing for the fire or the wind, and Jack assumed that she had a reason not to. “It’s why I believed the spirits were at fault for snatching the lasses. So much time has passed since a bard sang for them, and I thought they were angry at us.”
Jack glanced down at the book on his lap, where Lorna’s notes hid within the pages. He felt the creeping sensation of unworthiness, and he wished that he had been given the chance to see her again. To speak to her as one musician to another.
“Adaira doesn’t know what playing for the folk will do to you, Jack,” the laird said, breaking Jack’s reveries. “But she will soon discover it, if you choose to become Bard of the East. It is a position of great honor, but this decision is one you should not make lightly.”
“I will consider all that you have shared with me, laird,” Jack replied. “And I thank you for telling me, for trusting me with Lorna’s music.”
“She would want it this way,” Alastair said. “She would be pleased to know you’re playing her songs. And she would want to see you compose your own.”
Jack was humbled. All his life, he had convinced himself that no one had ever seen anything worthy in him. But Lorna had. Even in her death, she was granting him a rare opportunity.