Highland Magic (30 page)

Drying her face with the cloth, she turned
toward her bed, where a new emerald green gown was laid out. Yet
another of her grandmother’s generous gifts. But the lady, no
matter how much Branwenn whined, refused to have them made any
larger. Branwenn lightly ran her fingertips over the soft silk of
the bodice. ‘Twas much too form-fitting for her liking. It made her
feel...exposed...too much in the light, and not far enough in the
shadows, as was her liking. For, when she was not noticed, she
could make graceless mistakes with no one being the wiser. And if
her hair was not quite the right style or length—then, who would
notice such?

With a sigh of resignation, she shrugged and
began dressing and allowed her thoughts to wander back to her
brother, Reys, and what he’d told her that day.

She shook her head in wonder. Her Cambrian
relatives had actually been searching for her—all those years! What
would her life have been like, she wondered, had they found her?
Had they taken her back with them when she was but a bairn? She
supposed her life would have been much as any other young lady of
means. She would, no doubt, have been taught the rudiments of
taking care of an estate and a husband, as Grandmother Maclean had
set out to do near to fifteen moons past when Bao had left her with
the lady for that purpose. But, that was before Reys had found her
and scuttled her back to Cambria to wed Gaiallard, the Norman.

Aye, she would no doubt
have had a much more prosperous style of life, and even might
have—nay,
would
have—had the love of her family-germane, but she’d not have
had Bao. And knowing all he’d sacrificed for her—that his love for
her ran that deep, she worried what would have become of him had
she been taken from him then. For, a lonely, desperate lad—a lad
who’d been forced into the trade he’d been forced into—might never
have risen above it had he not had a purpose for doing so.
Her.

Nay, she was glad, desperately glad, that
she’d not been found by her Cambrian family early on.

Looking down at the gown, she grumbled under
her breath, but then smiled and shook her head before lifting the
garment and wriggling into it.

* * *

The bonfire crackled and popped in the cold
night air, sending orange sparks and larger embers shooting into
the sky, before quickly turning the lit wood coals to pale gray
ghosts that flitted in the smoky hot breeze atop the fire’s mad
dance.

And this night, Callum would dance as well,
with her, Branwenn thought happily as she trudged across the bailey
toward the section of the fortress where the bonfire had been
erected. The pipers and other minstrels were already playing a
lively tune and several of the young lads and lasses were twirling
about together near them.

In her right hand, she held a basket filled
with hazelnuts, and in her left, a cloth sack of apples.
Grandmother Maclean had given her the nuts to toss into the blaze a
bit later in the evening. They were marked with the names of the
unwed lads and lasses of the clan and would, she’d said, when
placed in the fire and popped, divine which lass went with which
lad.

But the apples were for her. And Callum.
Mostly for them to share together, as they had that day in the
bailey. She sighed. Their first kiss. And what a kiss it had been!
Even now, her knees wobbled with the fervency of the memory. But
one of the apples would also provide a merry game. For, she would
peel it, as was the tradition, in one long strand and then toss the
peel over her shoulder. The shape it took upon landing would be the
initial of his name, proving that they were meant to be wed. And
there was no doubt in her mind that ‘twould be in the shape of a
‘C’—for ‘twas the most common shape, no doubt, that type of apple
peeling would make. But, just to be certain, she’d slyly force it
more to that shape as she tossed.

The stone of the curtain wall rose up behind
the fire, she noticed as she approached, making eerie light and
dark shapes on the stones. ‘Twas clear the fire was doing what it
should: keeping the spirits of the evil dead at bay. She shuddered.
Like Jamison Maclean, Bao and Daniel’s vicious sire—and the man
who’d caused such torment in Reys’s life as well. Aye, keep him far
away from her brothers, she thought, for he’d done enough to them
while he lived.

Her eye scanned first one direction and then
the other, landing at last on David. But ‘twas also the night when
the veil between the world of the living and the world of the dead
was thinnest, and she knew that the lad, along with Maggie and
Grandmother Maclean, had set a trencher of food and a cup of wine
out for Isobail, should she decide to visit her son this eve.

“Good eve, my love,” she heard just as
someone placed a hand at her waist.

“
Eek!
” She whipped her head around.
“Oh, ‘tis you! Good eve.”

“And, who else would be calling you ‘my
love’,” Callum asked a bit peevishly, but there was a warm smile
attached, so she knew he wasn’t truly angry.

She smiled as well. “‘Twas the thoughts I was
having that made me jump when you touched me.”

A heated look came into his eye. “What, pray,
were you thinking—something carnal involving me, I hope?”

With a chuckle, she shook her head. “Nay,
‘twas of the thin veil between us and the Otherworld, and the dead
that may be in residence this very eve, that my mind had been
turned to.”

Callum’s smile became a grin. “Truly? Are you
frightened of ghosts and goblins, then?”

Branwenn swung around and faced him full on.
“Are you not frightened? Even a wee bit?”

Callum shrugged and looked toward the
bonfire. “Mayhap, when I was much younger, I was. But now?” He
shook his head. “Nay, I’m not.” He turned an indulgent smile on
her. “Should I put on my armor and fight the beasts back with my
broadax and sword for you?”

She laughed and shook her head. “Nay, no
need. For I have it on good authority that they’re more interested
in food than flesh this night.”

Callum’s eyelids drooped and his eyes turned
a smokey green as he studied her mouth. “Aye, and I am much more
interested in flesh. Yours.”

She gave him a cheeky grin. “First, you must
dance with me.” She twirled around and headed toward Maryn and
Jesslyn, whom she’d spied just before Callum arrived.

“Dance?!” he croaked.

“At least ten times!” she called out over her
shoulder and began to jog as he took off after her.

* * *

Much later, after they’d
danced
three
times, which was as many dances as she could inveigle him
into, Branwenn and Callum settled on a blanket a bit away from the
bonfire, and the others. She took out a couple of the apples and
gave one to him, before taking a big
chomp
out of her own.

Callum took a bite as well and lay back,
resting on his elbows and forearms as he crossed one leg over the
other. Looking up at the night sky, he said, “Lord, but there are
thousands of them up there tonight, are there not?”

Branwenn craned her head back and looked up.
“Aye, ‘tis lovely.”

“See that one?” He pointed up and to his
right a bit. “That one is you, for you are the brightest, most
dazzling star in the Highland heavens. No one can compete with your
loveliness.”

“
Callum!
” Branwenn cried softly, and
then she threw herself into his arms and kissed him, right on the
mouth. She only prayed he still felt that way two nights from now
when he saw
it
.

Callum chuckled behind
his
smushed
lips
and then wrapped his arms around her and strategically placed his
hand over her sweet, round bottom before opening his mouth and
taking a real taste of what she’d so freely offered him.

They stayed that way for several hot, sultry
heartbeats, but finally Callum grasped the sides of her face in his
palms and lifted her head from his. He was out of breath, but
managed to say, “Enough! Else I’ll have you right here, right now,
in front of the entire clan.” He lifted his head and gave her lips
one last, quick kiss, before continuing, “I’d say we could go to
your chamber for a while to finish what we started, with no one the
wiser, but I know you’ll only say me nay—am I right?”

Branwenn dropped her forehead down on his
chest and nodded. On a loud sigh, she said, “Aye.” After another
moment, she sat up and grabbed another of the apples out of the
sack. “Hand me your dirk.”

Callum’s brows lifted. “Pardon? Did you just
ask me for my dirk?”

Branwenn grinned. “Worry not, I shan’t cut
you for plying me once more with your pleas to bed me before we are
wedded.”

“Ha! What a wit you are,” he said, but he
handed her the knife.

She slowly began to peel the apple, beginning
at the very top, where a portion of the stem still hung.

“What do you?” he asked, sitting up in a
cross-legged position to watch her more closely.

“Why, I’m peeling the apple in one
strand—know you not the custom?” She dared not take her hand, or
her eye, off of her work, else all might be lost.

Callum’s brows drew together and his eyes
narrowed as he tried to recall what custom she could possibly be
meaning. After a moment, he shrugged and shook his head. “Nay, I
suppose I know it not. What is it?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute, I must attend
what I’m doing.”

Callum shrugged again, but remained
silent.

“There!” she cried as she lifted the long,
curly, sticky, strand of peel up high in the air to show him. “I
did it!”

Callum laughed. “Aye, that you did, for I was
a witness. So?”

Branwenn huffed and then said, “You shall
see.” She settled the peel in as much of a circle as she could in
the palm of her other hand and then tossed it over her shoulder.
Twisting around, she looked into the darkness for the apple skin
she’d just thrown. “Ah! There it is!” She hiked up her skirts and
walked on her hands and knees toward the divining peel. “Hmm...how
odd,” she murmured, her head cocked sideways.

“What? Let me see,” Callum said and crawled
over to look at the thing as well. “What’s odd about it? Ah! Do you
mean that it looks like a ‘G’?”

She cleared her throat. “Nay, not a ‘G’, ‘tis
a ‘C’—‘C’ for Callum.” She looked up at him then.

Callum lifted his eye to her as well. “‘C’
for Callum? I ken you not.” He looked down at the apple skin again.
“And ‘tis definitely a ‘G’ I see, not a ‘C’—look there”—he traced
the design with the tip of his finger—“at the way the bottom end
curves inward.” He nodded. “Aye, a ‘G’, not a ‘C’.” At last, her
meaning dawned on him and he sat back on his heels. “Mean you that
this was meant to divine whom you will wed?”

“Ummm...well...” She sighed and then nodded.
“Aye.”

Callum laughed and grabbed hold of her hand,
twining his fingers through hers. “You’re wedding me, two days
hence, I care not what that apple skin says.” He looked down at the
design once more and his eyes narrowed. “What is the name of the
guard who liked you so well? I struck his name from my memory.”

“Callum! For heaven’s sake, you know
Grandmother Maclean and your mother asked him to talk to me!”

He looked at her, his right brow lifted.

“Oh, all right. His name is Kerk.”

He nodded. “Good.”

Another thought struck. Looking down once
more at the peel, he said, “And do not think that ‘tis Gaiallard de
Montfort’s name that design signifies—”

Branwenn took in a sharp
breath. It caught in her throat. ‘G’!
Gaiallard!

Returning his gaze to her, Callum tugged her
closer to him. “He will never have you. Never,” he vowed. “I’ll
skewer him through if he even attempts such.”

Branwenn’s heart beat hard inside her chest
as she studied her betrothed’s determined expression. After a
moment, she nodded shakily and said, “I pray you’ll never have a
need to prove that vow.”

Callum relaxed a bit and brought his other
hand up to her cheek, stroking the soft rise of it with his thumb.
“Aye, and I as well, but I am prepared to do what I must in any
case.”

* * *

The next morn Branwenn woke up early, before
the chimes of prime, and flew to the washstand. In seconds, she was
heaving and gagging, sweating and coughing. “Dear God, I feel
awful!” she moaned, swaying a bit on her feet as she washed her
face with a damp rag. Had she eaten some meat that was off? Lord,
she wondered if anyone else had the same illness. ‘Twould not be
good if Grandmother Maclean got sick as well.

Oh, Lord! This was the
night they were to have a small feast in anticipation of the
wedding and larger celebration on the morrow, as well as to
celebrate
Samhainn
. What if she was too ill to attend? Or, worse, what if she
was too ill to wed Callum on the morrow? She vehemently shook her
head. Nay, naught on this earth would keep her from saying her vows
to him. Naught. Even if she had to be carried down on a litter,
she’d be wed to her man by tomorrow night.

All at once, Reys’s words about his mother
and the bucket came back to her.

She stumbled over to the bed and sat down
with her hands gripping its edges. Nay. Surely not. For Callum had
been very careful not to spill his seed inside her. But, how long
had it been since her last flowering?

Let’s
see...
Godamercy!
She leapt from the bed. She hadn’t flowered
since...since...oh, God! A fortnight before that first
night!

She began to pace, gnawing
on the knuckles of her right hand. Would Callum be dismayed? She
settled a splayed hand low on her belly. A babe!
Their
babe! A thrill of
utter delight shot through her and she grinned. Nay, Callum would
be glad, very glad. For, hadn’t he said he wanted
five
bairns?