Highland Song (8 page)

She stopped in the midst of putting a bite of oatcake into her mouth and looked at him, her expression slightly horrified, as though only now realizing how quickly she had dispatched his lunch.

“
Don’t stop,” he reassured her. “If you’re hungry there’s plenty more where this came from. I simply cannot fathom how you stay so small.”

Cat smiled, but not before shoving another bite into her lovely gob. She swallowed, and then said, “My brother says ’tis because I am cursed by a joint eater.”

“
A joint eater?”

She leaned to whisper into his ear as though it were a secret. “One o’ the invisible folk,” she said. “They steal your food so ye canna benefit.” She nodded, glanced at her side—where absolutely no one was seated—then placed a finger to her lips, as though to shush him.

Gavin stared at her, nonplussed. The entire situation was growing stranger by the instant.

She wasn’t a cat. Nor was she a faerie. And she most certainly wasn’t sharing her food with some invisible oatcake goblin thief! He didn’t believe it!

“
This is quite good!” she declared, plucking another bite of cheese and shoving it whole into her mouth.

Gavin couldn’t resist a chuckle. Never in his life had he seen a woman eat with such unrestrained passion. Just to be sure she got enough, he pushed his portion closer to the middle. She stopped chewing, watching as he adjusted the foodstuff upon the sack, and then turned and gifted him with another of her brilliant smiles.

Gavin felt a flutter in his belly that soared clear into his breast. Damn, but if he could witness such a thing on a daily basis, he gladly give up every meal.

“
Thank you,” she said softly. “Where I come from, if ye dinna fend for yourself, ye dinna eat at all.”

“
Me too,” he admitted, and eyed her circumspectly. “Where did ye say that was?”

Since the moment she had appeared, curiosity had been his constant companion.

She lifted her knees and put one arm about them as she spoke, hugging them like a child might. “Here and there,” she said glibly, though her gaze shifted to peek at him from her peripheral.

She was hiding something.

He sensed it, and knew it had nothing to do with magik.

“
I believe I’ve been there,” he joked, realizing she was not going to tell him the truth anyway.

She laughed, and her toes—lovely little things—curled into the soil. “What about you?” she asked. “Ha’e ye lived here all of your life?”

“
Close,” he replied, and he told her about his home life, about his sister’s marriage to a Sassenach—and the feud that had started it all. When Piers de Montgomerie had first claimed his clearing from David, none of the surrounding clans had been accepting of the fact. In truth, Gavin had no idea who stole the first goat, but they had begun a feud to rival that of the MacKinnon’s and MacLean’s. In the end, Montgomerie had stolen their sister and then had promptly wed her—somehow earning Meggie’s love in the process—not an easy task. As far as Gavin was concerned, that was all that mattered. If his sister was happy, so was he.

He told her about both his brothers and their weddings—how Leith’s wife had first coveted Colin and how Seana had coveted Broc and all the while Colin wanted no woman at all. In the end, Colin was smitten with Seana and Leith lost his heart to Alison while Broc, who secretly had coveted his laird’s wife, had wed a Sassenach cousin of Piers de Montgomerie.

The way she was looking at him suddenly made Gavin feel uncomfortable—as though she somehow sensed why he had been driven away from his home. She said not a word, but it was that shrewd look in her eyes—along with a touch of pity that was unfamiliar to him, except when he looked at himself through his own eyes.

He explained to her about his arrangement with Seana—so that she might better understand why he was here… away from his family. It wasn’t simply because he couldn’t bear to witness so much of something he would never have.

Gavin was two score and four years now, without ever having kissed a woman. He’d bedded only one, but regretted it immediately after, for once he’d quenched his body’s hunger, she had fled, looking ashamed, and Gavin had let her go, not knowing exactly what to do because he hadn’t loved her. He’d been just a lad with a crowing cock. And now every time they chanced to spy each other—especially in the presence of her husband—she averted her gaze.

Thereafter, Gavin had fought so hard to deny that part of himself his brother and father seemed unable to resist. Though his brother’s heart was true enough, Colin had somehow never noticed the tears that had spilled in his wake. But Gavin had, and his soul, he had cried along with every broken heart—because he remembered that terrible melancholy in the girl’s eyes. And later, he had been so involved with his studies and scripture that women saw him coming and fled the other way. Even his sister Meggie grimaced over the prospect of a simple conversation with him, in spite of the little church she had built for him.

He hadn’t realized how long he’d remained quiet, until Cat broke the silence. “So Seana lived out here all by herself?”

Gavin nodded. “With her Da... til she wed my brother Colin, aye.” He waved in the direction of the forest. “Her potstill sits out yonder.”

Cat tore a bite out of her oatcake, nodding. “I have seen it. Her
uisge beatha
has the scent of a verra good brew,” she told him, using the old tongue for its name. “But I didna try it,” she reassured. “’Tis verra bad luck to drink a new brew before the libation has been offered and I would never dare curse a mon’s brew—or a woman’s,” she corrected herself, and giggled. “But Seana is generous with her offerings, I think.”

Gavin’s brows collided, remembering all the cats surrounding the potstill. It couldn’t be that she had spied Seana at work. No. It was ridiculous to think she might have been a cat. “How would you know?” he asked casually, exploring her eyes. There were so deep a green that it made a mon think of a rich, cool glade. But they weren’t cat eyes, not at all.

Cat grinned up at him, her toes curling again. “The grass around her still is quite consumed.”

“
Aha!” Gavin allowed. It was true; not a bluidy thing grew about the potstill for at least a yard. He wondered idly what the
whiskie
must do to a mon’s gut, but didn’t say so.

“
Uisge beatha
has the power to heal, you know? It is a gift from the gods, and only a few mortals have been charged to keep the ancient recipes. Seana is a verra special lady.”

Gavin had never quite looked at Seana’s
whiskie
through those eyes. “A gift from the Gods?” he repeated, looking down at the ground, nodding though he wasn’t sure if he agreed.

“
Aye, and you’re a verra lucky mon if she shares her recipe with you,” Cat added. “Seana must trust you verra much?”

“
I did not say that,” Gavin corrected her. “I merely said I would supply her with grain and that she would share the profits.”

She seemed to think about that a moment and nodded. “Makes sense.”

There was one last oatcake remaining, and Gavin pointed to it, offering it to her.

Her delicate brows twitched. “Are ye certain? You havena eaten much,” she protested.

Gavin assured her, “I’ve had plenty lass, and your company is payment enough.”

As he watched, her face lit from the inside. Her green eyes glittered fiercely and, suddenly compelled to, he reached out to wipe a bit of blue paint that remained upon her cheekbone—just a little smidgeon, not enough to really capture anyone’s attention, unless one was inspecting every inch of her lovely face—which he was. Every time she turned away, he found himself studying every little thing—from her luscious mouth that had a natural upward curve, to her tiny little button nose.

She recoiled at first, and then realizing he only meant to wipe her face, she stilled, letting him rub the stain. “You’re a guid mon,” she offered suddenly. “If it please you, I would verra much like to help you finish building your home.”

Gavin responded much too quickly, dropping his hands at once. “I don’t need help,” he said defensively, and then regretted it, because her shoulders slumped and her smile faded by degrees. “But aye,” he relented quickly, “if it please you, then you may help.”

Her brilliant smile returned at once and she picked up the last oatcake, waving it before him one final time to give him a chance to protest. When he did not, she ate it slowly, savoring the delicious treat, and Gavin felt contented to the core of his being. Somehow, her presence comforted him, and if the truth be known, he found more pleasure in her company than he did in the building of his new home.

He didn’t dare explore that fact too closely.

Together, they spent the remainder of the day working on his door, and by the gloaming, there was a fine, sturdy door in place.

“
Where di’ ye learn to do such work?” he asked.

She winked at him. “I was born knowin’.”

Gavin frowned at her answer.

After talking together nearly all the day long he still knew next to nothing about her.

“
Ye’ve chosen a guid spot for your house,” she said, as they stood back to admire the day’s work.

Nestled against the bosom of the forest, the little house wasn’t conspicuously out in the open but neither was it so close to the trees that a good blaze might endanger the woodlands. And settled at the feet of
Chreagach Mhor
, it would escape the worst of the Highland winds. Up above,
Chreagach Mhor
rose against the afternoon sky, a majestic suzerain reigning over the landscape.

Cat examined the house with arms crossed. “
Cailleach Bheur
smiles upon you,” she offered.

Cailleach Bheur
was the blue-faced mother of winter, who struck up mountains to shield living creatures from the bitter winds. Gavin peered up at the fortress above on the blufftop, its enormous tower silhouetted by the setting sun, and shuddered at the thought of the MacKinnon’s first wife. After handing her husband their newborn bairn, she had flung herself from that tower window. Her death had escalated a thirty-year feud and forced all the neighboring clans to choose a side. Not surprisingly, they had all chosen the MacKinnon’s. It was a joyous occasion that his new wife had now born him a new babe. At night, the grey tower, with its golden light in the high window, looked like a candle in the darkness—a guiding light.

“
Do you believe in the old gods?” Gavin asked—as much out of curiosity as to appease his own lately wondering mind. When he’d first spied her, she had been wearing the woad of the painted ones—something no one, not even his grandsire had ever witnessed firsthand, for those people, like their stories, had long since faded from the memories of the living. Now it seemed they were nothing more than legend, except for the strange woman at his side.

Lowering her hands to her hips, she tilted him a questioning glance, her eyes studying him. And then she shrugged. “What does it matter what a mon believes, Gavin Mac Brodie... as long as he believes in something?”

Gavin blinked at her answer, taken aback by the simplicity of it.

“
With faith there are no questions,” she offered, “but without it there are no answers.”

In one fell swoop, she had slain both his curiosity and his ambivalence.

He stood there looking at her, admiring her lovely face, her beauty completely undiminished by the dirt beneath her fingernails or the dirty smudges upon her high cheeks. “I was wondering about the woad, is all.”

The green of her eyes glittered fiercely. “It is the way of my people,” she offered, but her expression forbade him to ask more.

Gavin sighed. It seemed he was destined to be left wanting, because short of tying her up and torturing her for answers, she didn’t seem inclined to give any.

When the time came for Gavin to leave, he felt a keen disappointment, though it had little to do with having to leave his nearly completed house. He found he wasn’t quite ready to leave Cat yet, though he knew he must. The woods were familiar but not so familiar that he was willing to go traipsing through the creeping mist at night.

Somehow knowing that she would not come along with him, and hoping to find a way to keep her around, Gavin offered her the use of his house. There was no reason for a good roof to go unused, he thought—especially when she had been the one to raise it.

Anyway, he was beginning to suspect that she had nowhere else to go, because she wasn’t in much of a hurry to get there. This time he purposely left her with his dagger for protection, his tartan for warmth and all the food that remained in the sack.

Still he was reluctant to go.

For the longest moment, as she stood in the doorway of his new home, wrapped in his tartan, Gavin had the greatest sense of longing… to reach out … and touch her.

Something in her eyes invited him… and yet… he didn’t quite trust himself—nor did he truly know what was expected. He only knew that his body ached and that if given half a chance, he would love to feel the sweet warmth of her flower open to embrace him.

Swallowing hard, he left her, though reluctantly, tearing himself away. He turned his back to her and bade his legs to move toward the forest, looking back only once… but it was his undoing, because in the twilight, she looked like a dream… a lovely chimera that would disappear with but a whisper of wind.

She waved, and he turned and made himself go, praying that she would still be there in the morn.

Tonight, he decided that he would tell his brothers that he intended to move out. Who knew where Cat might go once he occupied the little house. But maybe if she were agreeable, he would help her find shelter amidst his kin. With that in mind, he made his way home, seeing the woods in a whole new light.

As the fireflies lit to guide his way, and the cats all blinked as he passed, he thought about the will-o'-the-wisp. Maybe, just maybe, there truly was magik out there.