O Night Divine: A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales

by Kathryn Le Veque

  The cook leaned back. “Even if ye do not love yer wife any longer, ye remain responsible. Ye gave yer word.”

  “Does she have a lover?” The words tore at his insides as he spoke them. He realized that if Bree did, indeed, have a lover then he would not blame her.

  Moira seemed saddened by his question. “Ye need to think about what ye really wish for and how ye want yer family life to continue before ye find out the answer to that question.”

  Laughter traveled into the kitchen from the people who were enjoying themselves. The sounds fell over him like an icy blanket, draining any cheer he could hope to have.

  That Moira had not answered the question worried him. It was obvious the woman knew the truth. However, it was not her secret to share, but one he and Bree needed to discuss.

  Once again, Naill returned to the great room. Tristan was now dancing with his wife and other men had joined their respective partners. People clapped as the music turned lively and he hesitated for a long moment, watching the happy expressions.

  Just then, he caught sight of Craig. Cairon and he sat next to each other clapping in time with the music. His son’s face brightened, and he blushed when Craig nudged him and then pointed to a young girl. After shaking his head, they both began laughing.

  Naill went to where his son was sitting. “We should go. I told yer mother we would not be too late.”

  Cairon’s face fell, his gaze moving from him to where a group of girls danced. “We will return tomorrow,” Nail told him and only then did Cairon stand up and follow behind him.

  Upon arriving at his house, Naill could barely wait for his children to go to bed so he could ask Bree questions. Millie slept in a blanket in front of the fire. Bree sat in a chair, also near the warmth of the hearth, brushing out her hair. It had been a long time since he’d seen her hair loosened. Amber waves fell past her shoulders as she continued her task, not looking at him.

  Cairon was half-asleep and, once he greeted his mother, stumbled up the stairs to find his bed.

  “I will take Millie to her bed,” Naill said, lifting the light bundle. He carried his sleeping daughter to the small cot and lay her upon it gently. Millie was fair, with the same coloring as Bree. Her rosebud lips were pursed in slumber, making his heart soften.

  When he returned to the main room, Bree had already began braiding her hair.

  “I like yer hair loose,” he said.

  “Mmm,” she replied noncommittally.

  “How do ye know Craig?”

  She looked at him, her brows lowered. “He is the one who brought coins from the laird. He spent time with the children and told me if we needed anything he was here to help. I believe Laird Malcolm assigned him to look over us.”

  Naill made a mental note to speak to Malcolm.

  “Everyone was enjoying themselves. Ye should have come.”

  For a short moment, she looked at him. “I prefer to remain here.”

  The woman would not continue to defy him. Naill bit back a curse. “I promised to return tomorrow. Ye and Millie will come with me. It is not a request.” He stood and went to bed.

  Chapter Three

  It would not do to cry. Bree waited until Naill was asleep before going to bed. For a brief moment, she considered sleeping in the main room, but she didn’t wish to worry the children if they woke to find her there.

  She slipped into the bed, Naill’s warmth immediately enveloping her.

  If only things could go back to how they were. There was a time when her husband was eager to return to her at the end of every day. Although he’d always been dedicated to the laird, Naill had managed to never make her to feel less important than his duties.

  Slowly, over the years, things had changed dramatically. At first, she blamed the constant crying of their babies. Then she wondered if he’d taken too much on as head archer. Finally, she decided his lack of attention and constant absences were caused by the clan battles against the McLeods. However, every other guard and archer returned home regularly. They took care of their families. Every family that was part of the laird’s guard was well provided for and were proud members in the village.

  During the early years of their marriage, she’d been paraded by Naill like a prize. However, lately, it was as if she were a widow. Naill was gone more than most other guards and archers. He’d volunteered for the last duty knowing it would leave her and the children alone during the harsher weather. Now, after three months, he’d returned, upset at her for doing what she could for their children.

  He’d not bothered to greet her. Instead, he had chastised her for chopping wood. Her chest constricted and she swallowed back hurt-filled tears.

  By the time afternoon came the next day, it could not be put off any longer. Bree found the least tattered dress she owned and put it on. There was a little tear on one side, but she could cover it up with her shawl.

  Naill frowned as if finding her lacking. “Do ye not have a nicer gown?”

  Bree looked to the children. “Go wait outside.”

  Cairon seemed to notice her expression because he grabbed Millie’s hand and pulled her outside. Upon closing the door, it flew back open.

  Doing her best to keep a low voice, Bree moved closer to Naill. “If I am going to embarrass ye, I can remain here or remain in the kitchens at the keep. This is the only dress I have that is suitable. My others are much too worn.”

  Unable to help it, she blinked back tears. “I asked ye for money to buy fabric during the fall. After saying ye’d bring some back from wherever it is ye keep it, ye never did. I have not had a new dress in years. I save this one for…” she couldn’t finish as painful sorrow filled her throat. Instead, she grabbed the closest cup and threw as hard as she could. The sound of the shattering clay felt good.

  Naill stood as still as a board. “Do not try to guilt me, Woman. I make plenty of coin to support this family well. If ye do not have, it is because ye do not ask.”

  “I must really enjoy the life of a pauper then,” she responded. “I love mending my clothes over and over. It is so gratifying to cut up an old dress to make clothes for our children.” Bree chuckled without glee. “What kind of a woman am I?”

  She continued, “Look at yerself! Ye wear a tunic that is tattered and has been mended too many times to count. I do not recall the last time ye purchased anything for our home and children. Even the bow and arrow yer son has was provided for him by the laird’s brother, Tristan.”

  When he started to say something, she held up both hands. “Don’t ye dare say another word. We are going to the keep. The children and I will return home. Ye should remain there. I do not wish to be married to ye any longer.”

  Upon arriving at the keep, Naill could not help but compare the other wives to his own. Although he thought his to be one of the prettiest, her dress was dour and faded, and her shoes almost worn through. He noted she hid her shoes by tucking her feet backward.

  Although she joined the other women and seemed to relax as they chatted, she kept smoothing her hands down her skirts as if trying to bring the tired fabric back to life.

  Also, in a similarly faded little dress, Millie ran in circles with other little girls, some who obviously wore newly made dresses for the occasion.

  His chest constricted when Cairon came to stand next to him and Naill noticed a rather long tear on the back of his tunic. Why had he not paid attention before? He had plenty of coin but had always thought not to need it and kept it there at the keep in a coffer in the laird’s study.

  “Yer tunic is torn in the back. Why did ye not have it mended?” he asked the young boy.

  Cairon shrugged. “I wear it to the mill, and it tears all the time. I don’t tell Mum because she gets sad every time we ask for mending.”

  Naill swallowed past the lump in his throat. Had he been so consumed with work and duty to the point of totally ignoring his family?

  Bree should have asked for coin. She should have come to him with concerns inste
ad of remaining silent. She’d claimed earlier to have done it, but he did not remember it.

  When the feasting began, the family sat together. They were joined by Merida and Tristan, who he was good friends with.

  “Ye are quite a good dancer,” Merida told Millie, who beamed. “How did ye learn to dance so well?”

  “Mum and I dance all the time,” Millie responded, “She is a much better dancer than me.”

  “Of course, she is,” Merida said while bouncing a baby on her knee. “Bree, ye have to join us when we dance later.”

  Naill noticed that Bree’s face turned bright pink. “I would, but I twisted my ankle earlier, so I can’t possibly.”

  It was a lie. He wondered why she said it, but then decided most of what his wife did lately was a mystery to him.

  Later, as the dancing continued, and most of the guests were in their cups, Naill neared his wife and took her elbow. He guided her to a corner away from earshot. “I have procured a room for us back there near the kitchens. I will put Millie to bed, she is half-asleep.”

  “That’s fine,” she replied, her gaze straight ahead.

  “Ye and I will sleep there as well.”

  This time, she met his gaze for a moment. “I prefer that ye do not join us.”

  It was not the time to argue with her. Naill huffed. “Fine.”

  Somehow, Naill managed to find an empty bed. The old rooms at the stables, that used to belong to Ruari Ross, the laird’s cousin, were empty. He trudged there after ensuring his family was settled, glad that no one stopped to ask where he was going.

  He’d been so annoyed after speaking to Bree that he’d imbibed more than usual, and now his head pounded. Usually, it was the morning that brought the aches. But this night, he was punished by feeling the effects of too much drink early.

  Grabbing a small bowl, he dipped it into a water barrel and poured water over his head. The frigid liquid helped relieve the headache. Shivering, he rinsed his hands and ensured his face and neck were clean and headed inside.

  The stable rooms were cold, but not unbearable. Thankfully, the cot had several thick blankets folded upon it. A servant must have prepared it in case someone came to sleep there.

  After removing his shoes, he laid on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. He was on the brink of losing his wife. Yes, he was saddened about it. However, he refused to take the full blame for it. He was not the one who wanted to leave the marriage.

  A light woke him. It was impossible that morning had come so quickly. Annoyed at the brightness, he sat up and blinked. The room had no window, so the light had to mean someone had entered with a lantern.

  “Put that blasted thing down,” Naill grumbled. “It is much too bright.” If it was Cairon, he would make sure the boy knew how angry he was.

  “Naill.” The voice seemed to bounce off the walls and through his head. The deep, familiar timbre reminded him of someone, but he wasn’t sure who.

  “Who is there?”

  The light swayed and Naill could make out the outline of a man, but the features were masked buy the lights and shadows. “It matters not who I am. I have been sent to take ye away to the past.”

  “Where I am going is back to sleep,” Naill snapped, and wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his dagger.

  When the intruder moved closer and closer, Naill got up from the bed. “Stop there.” He held out a hand and, immediately, his wrist was grabbed. Just as he swiped with the dagger, his surroundings disappeared and Naill found that he was floating up and over the keep. In the darkness, he could see the bonfires still burning in the courtyard. As they moved over the wall, guards walked to and fro.

  “Down there!” Naill called and several men looked around, but none looked up.

  The apparition held his wrist with one hand. In the other, whatever it was held a lantern. As hard as he tried, Naill could not make out its features. It was as if a mist continuously masked its face.

  “Where are ye taking me?”

  “To the past.” Once again, the familiarity of the voice made him search his mind for who it could be.

  Night turned to day and he lost interest in whatever it was that carried him through the air. Instead, he became fascinated by the appearance of the village below. It was the same and yet very different. It was not winter, but spring or summer. The green grass and flowers that swayed in the breeze were overly bright. The banners and signs in front of shops were much too lively.

  They landed in the middle of a field that he recognized as where he often spent time as a young man.

  Before he could ask anything, a beautiful, young woman walked down the path toward them. On her arm swung a basket. A soft smile played on her lips, her eyes searching for a shaded spot.

  It was a younger version of Bree.

  The wind blew stray amber hairs across her face and she brushed them away, the smile not fading. From the far right, a young man appeared and called to her. Naill recognized him. It was a young Duncan, a friend since childhood, who’d died during the battles with the McLeods.

  Immediately, he took a step forward to speak to the woman and stopped when the apparition spoke. “They cannot see or hear ye.”

  Naill ignored him and stalked to the young woman. “Bree. Is it ye?”

  The woman turned to see Duncan approach and her face brightened. “Ah, there ye are. I brought some food for us.”

  They settled onto a blanket, Duncan sitting much too close to his wife. “I have missed ye,” the man said, leaning forward to press his lips to Bree’s temple.

  “I saw ye just two days ago,” Bree teased.

  The young Duncan took her hand in both of his. “I wish to be with ye always. When will ye accept my offer of marriage?”

  Bree sighed and met Duncan’s gaze for a long moment. “I do not wish to hurt ye, but I am unsure. Ye know Naill is also courting me.”

  With a grunt of disapproval, Duncan shook his head. “What does he have to offer that I cannot? Ye have my heart and my vow to love ye always.”

  Naill couldn’t help but study Duncan. The young man looked to be on the brink of tears. He’d never been aware that his friend had been enamored with Bree. A strange feeling filled him. Why had Bree chosen him over Duncan?

  Bree cupped Duncan’s jaw. “I know ye love me and I do care for ye so very much. However, my heart belongs to Naill.”

  “He doesn’t love ye, Bree. He will not make ye happy. I love my friend, but he prefers his duty above all things. I visit his mother and bring her fare since he claims not to have time. How do ye think he will treat ye any better?”

  Bree was silent. She lifted an apple from the basket, but then let it roll onto the blanket. “I hope ye are wrong. I would hate to make a mistake in turning down a good man like ye.”

  Leaning over, he attempted to touch Duncan’s shoulder. For some reason, the need to apologize to the man was overwhelming. The pain in young Duncan’s face as he walked away made Naill want to race after him. Never once had the man ever acted other than kind to him and had always been a good warrior in the laird’s army.

  He turned to see Bree looking down at the basket, seeming torn as to whether to follow after Duncan or remain.

  The apparition once again grabbed his wrist and they flew into the air, seeing the village become smaller and smaller. Becoming dizzy, Naill struggled against the hold, not caring if he fell to his death.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and upon opening them, found himself to be in front of a small cottage. It was the first home he and Bree had lived in before he built the larger one in the village. When he peered through the window, he felt like an intruder at spotting a younger version of himself and Bree sitting at the table.

  Bree cried but smiled at the same time. “I am so nervous.”

  The younger version of himself hugged her and kissed her temple. “Do not fret. We will be blessed with a healthy babe. Ye will see. Perhaps ten more.”

  Her beautiful face was flushed when she lifted
it and looked at him. Although still trembling, her lips curved as she fought to smile. “Ten? I do not think I wish for ten.”

  He started for the door. He wanted to give them the good news that they’d have two healthy, beautiful children. The ghost, or whatever it was, stopped him.

  “Ye know what happened just a couple of days later?”

  Before he could answer, once again his wrist was taken, the sun fell and lifted, then the cycle repeated. Upon being released, Naill turned in a circle until he realized that he had remained at the cottage. Outside, his younger version was placing bags over the horse. His face was alight with excitement.

  “I wish ye didn’t have to go now,” Bree said, her hands wringing. “I do not want to be alone right now.”

  Young Naill rushed to her and pulled her tightly against his body. “I will speak to the laird and ask that I not be sent away so I may remain to work at the keep. I am sure once he learns that ye are with child, he will agree that I should stay behind.”

  “Thank ye.” She looked up to him with such faith and adoration that Naill had to look away from the scene.

  He’d asked and been granted to stay on duty at the keep. He and Bree had spent a wonderful spring and summer together.

  As Bree turned to go inside, his younger version rushed up to her and hugged her again. “Whatever ye wish, Bree, I will do my best to ensure ye never have to ask for anything. I will always provide for ye, ensure that ye and our bairns will feel secure and happy. Ye are more important to me than life itself.”

  Young Bree brightened, her face turning pink. “I love ye so much, Naill.”

  The young couple kissed passionately, their mouths as well as bodies pressed together, lingering. Finally, he lifted her into his arms and ran into the cottage, the trail of her laughter in the air.

  He stood outside, pacing back and forth between the cottage and a nearby tree. How had it come to be that things between him and Bree had changed so much? He had promised over and over to take care of her and to provide for their family.

  And yet, he’d failed. Not right away, but over time he’d become obsessed with becoming champion archer and then head archer and, finally, first into battle. When Duncan had died, he’d been filled with rage and had gone to battle after battle, almost as if wishing to join his friend in death.