Highland Magic (7 page)

Aye, ‘twas much better that Laire remain with
him.

That horrible day two moons past when he and
his scouts had at last tracked his faithless wife and her
contemptible lover—her grotesquely burned and still healing
stepbrother, it turned out—to the cotter’s hut in the Gordon wood,
when he’d heard those pain-wracked moans coming from within...and
when he’d, at last, leapt from his mount and rushed inside the dark
hovel only to find his wife bleeding to death from the puncture
wound she’d received when she’d fallen from her charging horse onto
a sharp branch of a fallen tree trunk and been pierced through, he
never would have imagined how deep his love would grow for this wee
one not of his seed.

Tho’ his wife had been weak from the massive
loss of blood, and near death at the time he’d found her, she’d
still been awake. ‘Twas then that she at last revealed to him who’d
sired her babe—her honorless stepbrother—a thing he’d been trying
to learn since the night of their wedding when he’d discovered the
foul trick that had been played upon him. Laird Gordon had
willfully refrained from revealing to Callum that his new bride
would come with more than a settlement regarding the tract of land
the two clans feuded over, but she would come already bearing
another man’s babe. But seeing it from the old warrior’s
perspective, ‘twas the best thing the man could have done to both
make a pact with the MacGregors—and gain the advantage one last
time, a thing any man of war would do—and see that his grandchild
would not be raised outside of wedlock. A rather skewed, but still
honorably intended deed.

Lara had pleaded with him then to keep her
daughter and raise her as a MacGregor, for her stepbrother refused
to acknowledge his part in the matter and, tho’ she’d tried early
on to lose the babe, she’d discovered within herself the past
moons, while confined to her tower chamber—a punishment Callum had
meted out when he’d discovered her
in flagrante delicto
with
his old childhood friend, Robert MacVie—that she wanted her babe to
live, to know the love of a parent who would keep her safe from
harm.

And, even now, he wondered if he could
possibly love a daughter-germane more. For, ‘twas truth, that from
the moment he first laid eyes on her the day of her birth last
spring, he’d begun to love her as his own.

His wee bairn began to fuss in her sleep, and
in moments ‘twas a full-throated cry. The nurse rushed over to the
side of the crib, but Callum shook his head and shooed her away
with his hand. Bending down, he lifted his tearful babe into his
arms, gritting his teeth against the pain the movement caused to
his bruised shoulder. “Hush, wee one, and I’ll take you to your
nurse.” He turned to the lady and asked, “Is it time for her next
feeding?”

“Aye, sir. And from the looks of your shirt,
‘tis time to change her swaddling clothes as well.”

Callum, a look of chagrin on his face, gazed
at the warm, wet stain now covering the left side of his shirt. “I
was so glad to hold her again, I noticed not the state of her
swaddlings.”

“Hand the babe to me, sir, and I’ll have her
cleaned and ready for her meal in no time.”

Callum transferred the small, wet, still
fussing bundle to the woman, but remained in the chamber for
another hour as she washed, changed, and fed his most precious
treasure.

* * *

‘Twas not until late that night, when he was
undressing for bed, that Callum at last recalled the cave, the key,
the sea faery...and
Branwenn
.

“God’s teeth!” Callum growled, hobbling with
as quick a gait as his sore ankle would allow toward the hook that
held his tunic. Not only had he—the one who’d been so adamant that
the secret passage remain sealed and its two keys kept in the
possession of the lady of the keep and himself—given his key away,
but he’d given the combination as well! And to someone he believed
at the time to be one of the fey ones!

Rushing from the room, he clumped toward the
stair and took them haltingly to the level above—to his
stepfather’s and mother’s chamber. He pounded on the door. “Mother!
I must speak with you in all haste!”

The door swung wide and he was met with his
stepfather’s rugged—and vexed—countenance. “Aye? What need you from
your poor mother at this late hour? She’s worn thin and needs her
rest.”

Chagrined, reminded of his mother’s weakened
state these past moons since the chill she took over the spring
that she’d only just got over in the past sennights, Callum replied
softly, “My pardon, but ‘tis truly of a very urgent nature—”

Maggie came up behind her husband and nudged
him aside. “What has you so upset, my son? You’ve not got your
fever back, have you?” she asked anxiously.

“Nay, Mother, fear not. But I must”—he
glanced briefly at his stepfather—“speak with you privily. Just for
a moment.”

“Aye,” Maggie replied, scooting out the door
and closing it behind her. After it gave a soft
‘snick’
, she
folded her arms over her chest and lifted her brows in question.
“Aye?” she prompted.

“I must borrow your key to the cave
exit.”

“Bu—”

“Please, do not ask me the reason, for ‘twill
all be revealed in a short time, I swear it.”

With a sigh and a nod, Maggie swept the
delicate silver chain holding the brass key from around her neck
and handed it to him. Drilling him with a determined look, she
said, “I shall expect to know the full of it come morn.”

Callum placed his hand on her upper arm.
“Aye, Mother,” he replied. “Now, you must get your rest, for I’ve
no wish for you to lose what strength you’ve gained these past
sennights.”

“Aye, ‘tis glad I am that your grandmother
arrived when she did to help with Laire, for she helped me recover
as well.”

Callum settled a light kiss on her cheek.
“Sleep well,” he said softly and then turned and strode away.

Maggie shook her head as she watched him
leave. ‘Twas clear by the spark in her son’s eye that he was on a
mission that would involve a bit of mischief—and, if she knew her
son, which she did, quite well, in fact—‘twould involve a person of
the gentler sex.

Thank Heaven. For, since her
daughter-in-law’s death—nay, ‘twas even before that—since that
horrible debacle involving his true heart’s desire, Maryn Donald,
two springs past, when he lost the Maclean lairdship and all hope
of ever wedding the lass, she’d seen a much too somber Callum
emerge. For, all his life before that time, he’d been the charming,
ever affable, and much admired by the ladies, young man. ‘Twas all
that had transpired these past moons that had matured him—but, to
her way of thinking—had diminished him as well. And she’d begun to
regret her and her husband’s decision to humor Callum in his rather
strange need to block, and lock, the passage to the cave in the
sennights after they’d buried Lara. For, it had not, as they’d
hoped, enabled him to move forward with his life, to return to some
semblance of his prior delightful, carefree self. Nay, instead,
he’d grown ever more quiet, ever more serious.

But this morn, when he’d nearly spewed his
stomach over the outrage of the pig offal, had been the closest
he’d been to his old self in much too long a time. And a romantic
tryst with one of the fortress maids might just help to complete
the restoration. With a lighthearted smile, she turned and entered
her chamber once more.

* * *

Branwenn shivered. The night was cooler than
she’d expected it to be, else she’d have brought one of the old
cloaks with her that she’d taken from the keep to cover herself in
after her midnight swim.

Her mind had been full of thoughts of Callum
all day—ever since her hasty departure from his chamber before
dawn—so she’d decided a nice long swim might tire her enough to
sleep. But no sooner had she finished the exercise than her
thoughts turned once more to the annoying man. Did he remember
seeing her in his bed this morn? Surely not. He couldn’t. He’d been
much too benumbed by the effects of the sleeping draught, and the
fever as well, to recall such a brief encounter. Surely.

Though she was cold, she took her time
returning to the cave. As she walked along the pebble-strewn
moon-lit shore, she turned her thoughts to her next destination.
She’d decided to travel to Perth. She knew the town well and felt
sure she could find some means of supporting herself once there.
Mayhap, she could find work in one of the merchant’s homes. There
were plenty of them in a town that size and surely one of them
would need to add another member to their staff. Or mayhap, she
could apprentice as a spinster. She felt sure she could learn that
trade, for she did well enough with needle and thread—and it could
not be too different, could it? After all, there was thread
involved in spinning as well, wasn’t there?

And then, mayhap by the next
Bealltainn
, she could go home again—to the Maclean
holding—to her brother Bao. Surely, by that time all would be
settled to her royal cousin and the march lord’s satisfaction, and
she would be free once more to live near the person who raised
her.

She’d leave at first light. ‘Twas dangerous
to stay a minute past that time, for she knew that eventually
Callum would recall his time in the cave and be back to find the
sea faery to whom he’d given his key. She’d left it under a rock
just this side of the door leading into the tower chamber and she
would find a way to send Callum word where to retrieve it when she
was well on her way to Perth—tho’ ‘twould be a missive from the sea
faery, of course. She sniggered. Wouldn’t she just delight in
seeing the look on his face when he read
that
letter?
Mayhap, she should scrape out the inside of a shell and crush it
into a fine pink dust to sprinkle over the ink. Ooh! And she should
dry a bit of seaweed to tie about the rolled missive as well.
‘Twould no doubt make the thing smell like the bottom of a fish
barrel, but ‘twould be a just repayment for the rude thing he said
to her this morn. Besides, ‘twould certainly add to the amusement
of the scene.

A few minutes later, she entered her cave and
was just lighting another candle, when the unmistakable sound of
male footsteps began to reverberate inside the cavern.

Callum!
Her mind reeled. He couldn’t
wait until the morrow to return here? Nay, that would be asking too
much of the gods of fortune, she supposed. And there was no doubt
in her mind ‘twould be his too-handsome face she’d see in another
minute.

With the fleet speed of a falcon on its prey,
she retrieved her ‘faery’ attire and almost literally jumped into
them. She blew out the candles and stood, waiting, in the darkest
corner of the cave. The sound of harsh breathing filled the
midnight depths of the cavern chamber, but it took a second for her
to realize ‘twas coming from her own throat. Closing her eyes—and
her mouth—she willed herself to take in several slow, deep,
quiet
, breaths, tho’ her heart actually ached as it pounded
against her ribs, and the urge to fill her lungs with more haste
was almost too irresistible to ignore.

* * *

Callum’s steps grew quicker the nearer he got
to the sea cave’s front chamber. Now that he was so close to his
goal, he began to wonder how exactly to go about this ‘unveiling’
of the lovely, tho’ ever sharp-tongued, wee mite of a lass known as
Branwenn. He had no desire to run her to ground—a thing he was sure
to be forced to do should he boldly reveal that he knew her true
identity. So he must tread lightly, give the impression that he
believed her to be the fey creature she pretended to be.

But, what on earth was she doing so far from
Cambria? She was supposed to be nearly wed by now to some relation
of one of the Norman march lords. ‘Twas evident that she had fled
her coming nuptials, that she was in hiding, but why? Hell, his
cousins had already endured a siege of the Maclean fortress by
Prince Llywelyn in order that he might force her to acknowledge the
contract he’d made with the Norman lord. And ‘twas a siege that
maimed, and nearly killed, her foster brother, Bao. Surely, she
would not have forsaken her promise to fulfill the contract when
she knew ‘twould only bring more Cambrian—and mayhap this time,
Norman—armies to her foster brothers’ land. And, no doubt, her
being here would be a bad omen for this fortress as well. So he
must not dally in sending word to his cousin that Branwenn was back
in the Highlands. They must begin to plan immediately for
reprisal.

But first, he must get her back to the
keep....

* * *

When Callum at last entered her cave chamber,
Branwenn stopped breathing and stood poker-straight, hoping he’d
not see her in the dark corner, as the light of his taper would not
travel much further past the place he now stood.

But, ‘twas not to be, for the man must have
the eyesight of a cat.

“Ah, ‘tis
fey Mai
, my rescuing sea
faery,” he said, striding with clear purpose toward her hiding
place. “I hoped I’d find you here, for you’ve something of mine I
wish mightily to retrieve.”

“Oh? And what
might
that be?” she
asked cheekily, lifting her chin a bit.

“Why, the key to the locks, of course.”

“‘Tis payment for services rendered, sir. Do
not you know that?”

Callum guffawed and set the candlestick
holding the lit taper on the ground beside him. “That be a good
one. And—I think not. Hand it over, please.”

“Nay.”

“Pardon?”

Branwenn cupped the sides of her mouth with
her hands. “
I said, Nay!
”

Callum, his arms akimbo now, stumped another
step toward her. “Give me that...”—’twas clear he wanted to use a
vulgar word, but managed to restrain himself—“
key!
”