Chapter 196: Coven
*It’s a sisterhood of others like us. I’m lumping myself in there since I’m the only mon. – Papa Dean*
“You’re not part of the Coven,” Siobhan had told the Saints, “You’re not invited.”
Werewolf asked Grandmother Olivia about sending escorts. Dom asked if she could go since she was female. Whip asked if Knuckles could go. Toad knew better and Knuckles had not been seen since breakfast.
“I’ll make a concession.” Grandmother Olivia finally said as the Coven gathered near the tree line. “I’ll allow one of yer men to go, but I choose who it is. Do yeh agree?”
Dom and Werewolf agreed although they both felt as though they were being duped.
The women of the Coven wore simple white linen sheath dresses and wool cloaks with their family’s tartan. Papa Dean wore a cotton shirt and kilt with the Urquhart tartan. None wore shoes. They all wore silver necklaces with intricate knot medallions.
Knuckles and Nessie approached from their cottage hand in hand. She also wore a linen sheath and wool cloak matching Papa Dean’s kilt. Her hair was pulled back in a braid and tied with a thin leather strap.
With a hand on the back of her neck, Knuckles brought Nessie in for a kiss. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”
She smiled at him and then turned to join her Coven sisters. They began to walk down the pathway towards the pyre.
“Come along, Stephen.” Grandmother Olivia said and smiled over at Werewolf. “Yeh voted him in as a brother.”
Knuckles laughed. “Did you really think they would let you go to the Covenstead? Would you allow any of them to attend church?”
Seeing that what he said was true, they admitted defeat.
“Come on, buy me a beer before she drags me to the alter.” Knuckles suggested.
They all went to the front parlor where family, friends and locals were gathered. Stories were told about Grams and her long life.
At seven, she was struck with the Spanish influenza and learned to play chess from the British officers housed at the manor. Two decades later, after having recently lost her first husband fighting the Germans, Yankees taught her to play poker.
This was when she had her third child, Dean’s father, Fergus. She never did say who his father was. Or even if she knew.
She married again and had four more children. After fifty years of marriage, he slipped away in his sleep.
Her seven children gave her twelve grandchildren. And they gave her twenty-two great grandchildren.
Of those twenty-two was Fiona who was unlucky at love. She had a total of seven marriages, three to Nessie’s dad, Simon. Along with Nessie, her sister, Elsbeth, also had the gift. Her nephew, Bruce, was starting to show signs. But at four, it’s hard to determine gift from imagination.
In addition to her pyramid of children, Grams was well loved by her neighbors. The locals in both Fort Augustus and Invermoriston sought her out for advice and guidance.
Along with having the Gift, and knowing how to read cards, palms and tea leaves, she had lived through a lot.
“She was in me pub, just last week, pretty as yeh please,” a brown-haired man wearing a light blue Oxford shirt with little green Loch Ness Monsters all over it. “I says to her, a woman yer age aught not be drinking so much.”
“She was a drinker?” Werewolf asked in surprise and the group around him looked at him as if he had just said that the sun no longer existed.
“She was Scottish, born and bred, and loved a good draught.” The man said before continuing his tale. “She says to me, I’ve lived through it all, if yer ale kills me, tap a different keg.”
There was a round of laughter from the group. Several other people shared stories about her life. Including how she recently faced down archeologists wanting to study her stones. After she said no, they flew a drone overhead and she shot it down with a long bow.
When they came to retrieve it, she and her ninety-year-old son, Ronal, met them at the gates. Each armed with a hunting rifle. The magistrate was called and she sided with Grams.
The Coven came back in with Papa Dean carrying a simple wooden box. He sat the box in a place of honor on the bar. Whiskey shots were quickly passed around.
Seanair raised his glass and everyone else followed suit. “My mother always said that she lived through two millennium, two centuries and eleven decades. She survived Spanish influenza, countless end of the world scares and Y2K. And why?”
“Why the hell not!” came the thunderous response.
“She saw the rise and fall of empires, kings, tyrants, moguls and more idiots than should be allowed. But me mum, always the feminist, loved the rise of the hemline and fall of the neckline.”
Many men cheered at this.
“To Mary Anora Elsbeth Briggette Orcutt McMahon Stewart. May her next life be as long and blessed as this one.”
“To Grams!” someone called and it was then echoed by the rest in the room.
“I’ve never been to a Scottish wake before.” Emily said as she approached Nessie as Knuckles wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“I guess this would be considered a wake.” Nessie contemplated as Elsbeth approached her. She tipped her head towards the door and Nessie nodded. “Werewolf, how old were yeh when yeh first kissed a girl?”
“Fourteen. Maybe fifteen.” He said as he watched his son follow Elsbeth outside. “Ummmm….”
“She’s a good girl. But she has a lot of energy running through her. It’s an after effect.” Nessie said as she watched her seventy-two-year-old grandfather lead his wife up the stairs.
“Are they seriously….” Fiona scoffed shaking her head at her father.
“Oh, aye.” Nessie said looking around trying to pinpoint the babies’ laugh. “I plan on getting fecked meself.” She had a confused look on her face as she looked around the crowd. Knuckles put his hand on her neck and turned her to him. When their eyes met, hers widened and then narrowed. “Yeh knew.”
“I was told it would happen there.” He admitted softly.
“I always feel like these two are speaking a different language.” Werewolf admitted as his wife slid up against him.
“Thusa. Dìreach thu fhèin. Bho seo gu ruige m' anail mu dheireadh.” Knuckles murmured against Nessie’s lips in between light kisses.
“So, do I need to pick up the Quaich tomorrow? Or are you just going to do tie the knot tonight?” Lollipop asked.
“Morning or midday.” Moira corrected. “Always in the growing light. Never going into the dark.”
“Acht!” Papa Dean exclaimed. “We’re having us a penny wedding tomorrow at noon!”
There was a round of cheers from the half drunk room. Everyone began to leave talking about the excitement of a wedding.
“Really, dah?” Fiona scoffed and Papa Dean just shrugged.
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