Wild Rose of Ireland {Rewritten Edition}

Prologue: The Thistle's Sting

≽⊰⊹══════ {𝒫𝑅𝒪𝐿𝒪𝒢𝒰𝐸} ══════⊹⊱≼

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔗𝔥𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔩𝔢'𝔰 𝔖𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤
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Achill Island, Ireland.
October, 1743

Gales of autumn wind crashed upon the colossal sea cliffs that stood guard over the isle, carrying with it the scent of fresh rain. Each gust over the heather-speckled moors rustled the tall grass like ocean waves, their soft nature swaying back and forth, faster and harsher, as the storm blew in. Standing in the heart of the tempest was a young woman, her form clad in head to toe black. Long cascading tresses, darker than a raven's wing whipped around her violently as she stood her ground. Before her, laying still under the darkening grey sky, was a mound of freshly packed earth𑁋a grave. Silent tears fell from the woman's viridian eyes upon alabaster cheeks. The lass's attention not locked on the four headstones that stood before her, but the storm above. The sky seemed to darken and weep with her, for the final loss that left the girl alone in this world.

Those who lived in the nearby village gathered round, their heads bowed low as they paid their final respects. It was then Daniea raised her voice to the blistering heavens, keening as loud as her body would allow. The mournful, yet hauntingly beautiful cry rang out across the distance as her ancestors had before her. For a while she managed to stay upright, her hands twisting the bouquet of wildflowers in her grasp, as she fought her inner turmoil. Eventually though, the grief erupted as realization hit, the pain too much to bear𑁋 dragged her to her knees as woeful sobs replaced her song of loss. Not a soul moved to aid her, it was their way... the old way, to leave her be. One could not heal if one didn't feel the suffering, this was not a time to coddle but scream. Each surge of her broken heart was echoed by the torrential downpour. The rain beating down upon the small island, slicing its way to the ground in thunderous sheets. Collapsed on her knees atop that knoll, the rain continued to batter the funeral. The mourner's bodies soaked to their very bones as the newfound orphan rocked back and forth, her arms hugging her trembling body for dear life.

Time stood still as the storm raged, yet as everything in this world, it passed. The dark clouds parted, revealing a vibrant amethyst and periwinkle sunset. Hushed crimson tones from the dying sun bounced over the water as the gathering dispersed. Drinks and a meal were what awaited the friends of the deceased, but to the daughter left behind she only retreated to her silent cottage. Lying on the table was an opened letter, the wax seal crumbled in part to the harsh handlement of the parchment.

A leanbh (My Child),

It is nearing your nineteenth birthday and I shall not be there to celebrate with you. Instead I shall hopefully be with your dearly departed grandparents and uncle, watching over you from afar. I do not leave this world worried for you, daughter. You are wise beyond your years and have a temper that will give you strength when you fear you have none left. Never let your kind spirit be crushed, and do not follow in my footsteps, that is all I ask of you from this moment forward. I know life was not ideal nor easy, yet I hope to provide in death what I could never dream of in life. Enclosed is all the money we have saved over the years and the deed to all our lands. Do not stay here and mourn, I beg of you. Family is still yours to claim, your father, Taran Douglas resides in Scotland somewhere. Your memories are surely few of the Highlander, but I know in my heart he would want you by his side from this time forward. I kept you from him for my own selfish reasons, a burden he would never dare put upon you. You're his kin, his daughter. You have a clan. Go, find them and be free. Be happy. Happy Birthday my love, I shall always be with you. ~ Máthair (Mother)

In two days' time, Daniea would be leaving the only home she'd ever known for Scotland. The sting of the thistle in her blood beckoning, luring her back to the Highlands. This was her mother's dying wish that she would not be alone in this life, and for that she would begin the journey. What she would find was in fate's hands, and as it would turn out, fate would be entwining more than one thread that very day.