A Stockingful of Joy (2 page)

"Then you have his blessing to marry Parian," Kenneth said. "Do that, and you will have Kilernan. You have no choice."

"I do," she pointed out. "I came to you."

His dark eyes gleamed in the firelight. "Stubborn girl," he said softly. "Let us add to your sheepfold, or give you oats and barley to see you through the winter. We cannot attack a MacDonald castle for you."

"Then you must take the castle without bloodshed," she said impulsively. "The Glenran Frasers are said to be very clever."

"Without bloodshed? That," Kenneth said, "is impossible."

"We will gladly help you some other way," Callum said.

Hopelessness wrenched through her. "I must have Kilernan," she whispered. She had not told them the whole truth. Now that they had rejected her plea, her throat tightened over the words.

She doubted they would care to learn that she needed to provide a home for eight children, her cousins. Hugh MacDonald had not cared, either; he had told her that she was a fool to take on the responsibility. The Frasers might say the same.

She saw the dark Fraser frown deeply, watching her. His eyes seemed kind, and his gaze warmed her like a hearth fire. But he offered her no real aid, no solace. None of them did.

"Catriona," Callum said. "Please stay and share our feast."

Food would not solve her dilemma, though her stomach clenched in hunger; she had eaten little that day. Catriona glanced at the tables, which were loaded with dishes, greenery, and blazing candlelight, and looked away again. Her pride urged her to accept nothing from the Frasers now.

But eight hungry children awaited her visit later today. She could not deny them this chance for a Christmas feast.

"I cannot stay," she finally said. "But I will accept a gift of food for my cousins, who have no fine Christmas meal."

Callum nodded. "And for yourself?"

"I want nothing from you," she said proudly. "Farewell, and blessings of the season to you." She turned away.

A woman stepped away from the tables and came toward her, carrying a sturdy blond toddler in her arms. The mother was delicately beautiful, with copper gold hair and wide gray eyes. A boy with dark hair stood behind her, and two young children clung to her skirts, a boy and a girl who shared their mother's striking gray eyes. The children watched her curiously, and the babe sucked a finger and babbled, grinning. Catriona smiled at him.

"I am Elspeth Fraser, wife to Macrae of Dulsie, the lawyer," the woman said. "The Frasers here are my cousins. We were all fostered by Lachlann of Glenran. We do not mean to dishonor his vow to you, but please understand our position. I will urge my husband and my kin to look into the matter for you."

Catriona nodded. "Thank you. Farewell—"

"You look cold and tired," Elspeth said. "Warm yourself by our fire. Eat with us, and share songs and dances with us. It is Christmas, Catriona MacDonald. Be of good cheer this day."

Catriona hesitated, urged by her empty stomach, her cold feet, her lonely heart. She looked into Elspeth's silver eyes, and smiled at her beautiful children. She glanced at the tantalizing burden of cakes, meats, and cheeses on the table, and inhaled the scents of beeswax candles and fragrant greenery.

She glanced at the other women and children who watched her. They were all handsome, keen-eyed, looking at her with interest, and without suspicion. No one seemed anxious for her to be gone.

She sensed the warmth and love among these Frasers, as tangible as the aromas of ginger cakes and evergreens. Suddenly Catriona wanted to share in what they had. The desire and the need nearly buckled her knees. She starved for more than food.

But she could not endure pity or charity in place of the real help she desperately needed. When Christmas was done, the Frasers would still be enemies of the MacDonalds. The pledge marked by her silver brooch could not change that.

"I must go," she murmured. "Others wait for me."

Elspeth touched her arm gently. "Take this, then," she said. The older boy held a cloth bundle toward her.

"Cheese, cakes, and roasted meat," Elspeth explained. "The cheese has holes in it. Look through a slice, and you will see what will come to you in the new year. And there are candles to bring the blessing of light in the coming year. I added a flask of
uisge beatha
, too. May it warm you well."

Catriona took the bundle, blinking away the tears that pooled in her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered. "A happy Christmas and luck in the new year to all of you." She moved toward the door. Behind her, she heard a strong tread as a man strode the length of the hall.

"Catriona MacDonald." The voice of the dark Fraser, deep and mellow, sounded. She turned to see Kenneth Fraser walking toward her. "Stay. We will escort you home later."

She gazed up into his strong, lean face, into heavily lashed eyes of brilliant, warm brown, like firelight shot through polished, dark cairngorm. Somehow all the tempting, wondrous comforts of this place seemed to gather in those deep, rich eyes.

She shook her head. "I must go. A good new year to you."

"
Bliadhna Sona
," he said. "A lucky new year to you."

"Luck," she said softly, "is what I need most." She hurried toward the door, knowing he watched her.

Although they had refused to help her in the way that she needed, the Frasers' kindness made her ache inside, down deep where she had felt empty for so long. Their charity reminded her keenly that she lacked what existed in such abundance here. Loving kin, comfort, safety, and companionship were commonplace to them—and as rare as gold to her.

She shoved open the door and ran down the stone steps. During Yuletide, charity always flowed like wine, she told herself. They would gladly share with her now. Later, after the new year, the Frasers would once again be her enemies. Fraser pledges would prove false after all, just as her uncle had often said whenever he saw the snow rose brooch pinned to her plaid.

She ran through the yard, fighting back a sob. Then she tore the silver brooch from her plaid and tossed it into the ice-crusted mud.

Kenneth Fraser walked through the yard as the girl cantered away on her garron pony. He watched her until she was a dark speck moving over the snow-coated hills. He sighed and turned.

Something sparkled in the mud beside his boot, and he bent down to pick up the silver brooch. The snow rose, she had called it. Silver tracery, curved like flower petals, circled a round, pale pink stone. He imagined Catriona as a little girl, naming the brooch, cherishing the pledge it represented. But he knew that the Frasers had disappointed her.

Gripping the brooch, he walked toward the tower entrance, and looked up to see Duncan Macrae standing in the doorway.

"You want to help the girl," Duncan observed calmly.

Kenneth shrugged. "Someone should help her."

"If blood is spilled in feud between Frasers and MacDonalds, the crown will send fire and sword upon your heads. The Regent will not hesitate this time."

"I know." Kenneth frowned as he studied the sparkling brooch. He thought of the MacDonald girl, shining like a Christmas angel come to earth: gentle, graceful, and yet filled with a marvelous strength.

She stood proudly, but he had noticed the worn hem of her green woolen gown, and the peeled edges of her leather boots. He had seen the haunted look in her brilliant blue eyes, and the quick touch of her tongue to her lips when she had looked at the food heaped upon the tables. The girl had many needs, yet asked for only one favor, nearly impossible to meet.

"Lachlann pledged protection to her," Kenneth said. "We owe her something for that."

Duncan nodded. "We do. But we all signed that bond, Kenneth. We cannot do what she asks of us."

"True." Kenneth frowned. "Perhaps I should ride out to her shieling hut in a few days, just to be certain she is well. I do not like to think of her alone during the Yuletide season. She reminds me—" He stopped.

Duncan watched him evenly. "The girl does have a little of the look of Anna."

Kenneth nodded curtly. Anna, his betrothed, had died of an illness three years ago on New Year's Day. Since then, the Yuletide season had proved hard for him to endure.

Like Anna, Catriona MacDonald was slim and black-haired, graceful and strong. But Anna had always glimmered with humor and joy, her rosy cheeks dimpling often. Catriona MacDonald was somber and sad, her skin as pale and delicate as the rose quartz stone in her brooch.

She was not Anna; no one could be like Anna, ever. But he did not like the thought of Catriona fearful and alone on Christmas, or on New Year's, the day that Anna had died.

"You could ride out in a few days," Duncan agreed. "Make certain that the girl is well, and bring her provisions. We can at least see that she is safe through the winter. By spring, she will likely marry this Parian MacDonald."

Kenneth smoothed his thumb over the cold surface of the brooch. "And I will return this to her," he said. "She should know that it does have some meaning, after all."

«
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Juniper smoke billowed up from the central fire pit in a gray, stinging cloud. The tears that wet her lashes were the first she had allowed herself to shed in a long while. Catriona blinked hard, wiped her eyes, and grasped an iron poker to prod the high pile of evergreen branches that smoldered over glowing peat bricks.

Coughing, she waved her hands to spread the smoke to every corner of the little shieling hut to cleanse and purify and protect, just as her mother had done on every
Oidhche Challuinn
, New Year's Eve, when she had been a child. Such memories, bringing back her mother's kindness and loving companionship, had sustained her during these months of living alone here, without hope for her future.

The hut was hardly a fine fortress, but it was her home. Castle Kilernan was lost to her now. The memory of Christmas Day, and the Frasers' refusal to help her, stung as harshly as the smoke in her eyes. New Year's Eve was a time to gather blessings and attract luck to the household; she would honor her little home with the proper traditions, and hopefully turn her luck for the better.

She waved at the billowing juniper smoke. When she could scarcely breathe—her mother had taught her that the smoke must be thick enough to drive everyone from the room—she went to the door and pulled it open. Cold air and swirling snowflakes rushed inside.

She coughed and pulled her plaid snugly over her frayed gown as she watched the storm. Bitter chill snapped at her cheeks, and she ducked deeper into the plaid, keeping the door open while the smoke dispersed.

A small, solid body rubbed against her leg. She glanced down at the black cat who blinked up at her with pale green eyes. "
Ach
, pardon the smoke,
Cù," Catriona said. "But you and I will have some wonderful luck after the juniper is burned," she said with forced brightness. She reached down and scooped up the cat, and watched the snow pile wild and thick over the hills. The darkness had a soft blue tint, and the air felt gentle somehow, filled with promise and hope.

But she knew the dangerous reality of such a storm. Behind her the dim hut offered shelter and warmth. Tonight she would not set foot beyond the wedge of light that spilled into the flurrying snow.

No one else would venture outside tonight, either, although it was New Year's Eve, and likely near midnight by now. No one would come up to her hut for a traditional visit after midnight, bringing small gifts of food or drink or coin as tokens of good luck. The storm and the distance would keep visitors away. She was disappointed, but relieved to know that Parian MacDonald would not ride out to see her.

"Little Mairead MacGhille told me a wonderful surprise would come to me this New Year's,
Cù," she whispered to the cat. "She spoke of it when I visited the children earlier today. Perhaps she felt the approaching storm, though. All that snow is like a gift, wondrous and peaceful. Ah,
Cù—I hope the children are not alarmed by the storm. The snow had not begun when I left them."

Cù mewled and poured out of her arms. Thumping down to the rushed-coated earthen floor, he stretched beside the warm stones that encircled the fire. Catriona began to close the door, but a faint, steady sound caught her attention. She peered out, seeing little beyond the fluttering, lacy whiteness.

But she could hear the drums of the
gillean Callaig
, the lads of New Year's Eve, as they marched around the
clachan
, a cluster of a few farms and kale-yards. Even a blizzard would not stop them, although she doubted they would walk far with their torches and drums and songs. The young lads, with a few young men among them, would pound intense, driving rhythms on hide-stretched drums, and chant loudly; from this distance, only the strong beat penetrated the drifting curtains of snow.

She smiled, imagining their antics. They would be disguised in robes and animal hides, some wearing horns and acting like oxen, while others chased them, carrying blazing torches. Chanting and beating drums, they would circle each house to frighten away evil spirits, sending out the old year to make room for the new. They were given wine,
uisge beatha
, and sweet bannock cakes in return for bringing luck for the new year.

"Just as well no one will come up here in this weather," Catriona told the cat. "I have little food or drink to offer. Another poor omen for the new year." She sighed. "Who will set first-foot in my home after midnight, to bless it for the year?"

When she had been young, the adults at Kilernan had laughed and celebrated with midnight visitors, singing and drinking fine drams until the small hours. Whoever set foot first in the hall after midnight would determine good or ill fortune for that year. Tall, dark-haired men with pleasant natures, bearing small gifts, were the luckiest New Year's visitors of all. Blond men were quite unfavorable, and women might be lucky or not, according to their hair color and disposition.

But Catriona would have no midnight visitors at all, surely an unfavorable portent. She sighed, and watched the cat stretch on the floor. "You may not be tall,
Cù, but you are a dark-haired male. You will have to set first-foot in the door. We have to make our own luck this year." The cat only looked at her with disinterest.