Beneath a Dark Highland Sky: Book #3 (28 page)

BOOK: Beneath a Dark Highland Sky: Book #3
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46

 

It was Yuletide when Malcolm and Sorcha returned to her clan for a visit.

              The days had grown short and crisp with the cold. There was much joy at Sorcha’s reunion with her clan and celebration at the news that Gillis would marry the widow Caterina in the spring.

The great hall had been decorated with mistletoe and juniper, a tradition perhaps partly inspired by the Vikings long ago, who had hung fir and ash trees with war trophies for good luck. The main table and smaller tables had been garnished with holly and evergreen and a Yule log burned in the great hearth.

              Plum pudding was served followed by roast deer, goose, beef, pork, and rabbit. There were rich soups, thick pottages, stews and even a Cockatrice, made by combining a pig and a capon. The children were especially interested in the gingerbread and the cake shaped like a wild boar.

A special wassail bowl made of wood and decorated with ribbons was passed around so all who drank from it would enjoy good luck and good health. Glasses filled with spiced wines and ale were raised high in toasts.

Malcolm and Sorcha gathered the servants together and distributed small gifts. Cloth, leather goods, new tools, and supplies of salt and spices as well as food were presented in boxes. There was singing, and all who came to the keep and sang were given gifts of food. Wee lads played a game called “Hot Cockles” in which players took turns striking a blindfolded player, who had to guess the name of the person delivering each blow.

In the afternoons, people dressed in warm clothing and gathered on the marshes, which had been frozen over. They tied bone skates to their feet and skated on the ice. Sorcha laughed as she watched Malcolm wobble while he learned to skate for the first time.

For the time being, life had returned to normal. Maira was gone. Her father had banished her from Scotland and she had sailed to France. Seamus refused to accompany her after he learned what she had done in Edinburgh.

But there was the fear that if people who had seen Malcolm burned at the stake saw him among the living again, he would be greatly feared and life would become much more dangerous.

              For now they would live their lives. They would love each other to the fullest.

              One night after the evening meal, Malcolm whisked Sorcha off for a moonlit walk on the beach. Bright stars glittered in the winter sky. They stood together, in awe of the view.

              “There is nothing like the sky over Scotland,” Malcolm said. “What is yer favorite constellation, Sorcha?”

              “Orion, of course. Apollo taunted Diana about her skill with bow and arrow and declared she was not able to strike a certain dark object on the surface of the sea, which he pointed out to her. Diana shot and struck the object, unaware it was the head of her favorite warrior Orion, who was bathing in the sea. Inconsolable over his death, she placed him and his dog Sirius in the sky, and that’s why the constellation bears his name. ‘Tis such a heartbreaking story.”

Malcolm pulled her close. “There is no one else I’d rather share these skies and these stars with, Sorcha. Ye are and will always be the only one for me, my daring archer, my lovely, brave, and beautiful wife. I love ye so much. I remember the first time I met ye. Ye were sitting in a tree, the sun catching the red and gold highlights in yer hair, with an arrow trained on my hide. I think in that moment, even though I didna ken ye were the true Lady Douglas and ye didna ken I was Malcolm Maclean, my body and soul kent ye.

“My body and soul kent who ye were, lass. I
saw
ye. And I didna need a vision to realize how important ye would be to me. I ached for ye from that moment to be mine.”

              She leaned into his big, warm body, touching his face, looking into his eyes. His hand tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck and he pulled her close, kissing her with hot abandon, breathing her breath.

              “Malcolm,” she said, “I think this is the perfect time to tell ye.”

“Tell me what, lass?”

“I am with child.”

              His eyes searched hers.

              “Are ye…happy?” she asked.

“Oh aye, I could nae be happier.” Tears gathered in his eyes, happy, joyous tears.

              Moonlight reflected off the smooth blue pendant at her throat and he caressed it. “Ye’ll always be the magic in my life, Sorcha. Always.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Epilogue

 

In the days and weeks that followed their return to the western isles, the legend of Malcolm Maclean grew and spread. He earned a reputation as The Burning Man, a warrior with dark magic who could raise himself from ashes. No one wished to cross swords with him on the battlefield.

Malcolm would use his reputation to his advantage, because in the months and years to come, the king, despite building his magnificent churches, would fall out of favor with the people of Scotland and the enemies Malcolm and Sorcha would face—the enemies their descendants would face—would be much more dangerous than any they’d faced before.

 

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