by Aubrey Wynne
“Then Rory MacDunn is your uncle?” Gideon shook his head. “He’s a good man. I’m glad the truth came out about the sheep.”
“My cousin was in Dunderave when Craigg was caught in his lies,” added Lachlan. “I imagine he liked the scunner less than me.”
“I certainly don’t trust the seedy shaver,” he agreed. “It’s hard to believe Lissie is related to him.”
Lachlan grinned. “Ye can choose yer friends, but yer stuck with family.”
Someone yelled from the courtyard that the bride had arrived. Maeve took Gideon’s arm, and they moved to the entrance. Before they left the hall, Kirstine noted that he had attached Lissie to his other arm.
“May I?” asked Lachlan, extending his arm. She placed his fingers on his.
Outside, Nessie waited in a wagon, her cheeks glowing in her muslin rose gown. Her shining, dark hair fell loose over her shoulders, crowned with a ringlet of pink flowers.
“Right foot forward for good luck,” someone yelled.
“Yer father hated these old wives’ tales. I’ve almost forgotten some of them,” she heard Maeve tell Gideon as the girl stepped down with the correct foot.
A piper led the procession to the kirk, followed by neighbors who sprinkled a trail of flower petals, the groom, and then Lachlan escorting the bride. The bagpipes serenaded the party as they stopped at the front steps. The men were splendid in their tartans with dress sporrans and glinting dirks, hair clean and shining, beards trimmed or faces shaved. The women wore their best satin or silk dresses or earasaids, plaids over their shoulders or across their chest, depending on their station.
At the ancient kirk door, Reverend Robertson welcomed the couple. Hamish gave Nessie a sheaf of wheat, and she gave him a piece of woven cloth, representing their promise to each other to provide for their home. Next, the couple exchanged a dagger and a bible.
“This shows his physical pledge and her spiritual pledge to defend their home,” the reverend spoke to the assembly. The guests crowded into the small church. Near the altar, Lachlan’s sword hissed as he unsheathed it to make a circle around the couple. As he did so, the couple said in unison,
“The Mighty Three, my protection be, encircle me,
You are around my life, my love, my home.
Encircle me, O sacred three, the Mighty Thee.”
Reverend Robertson finished the ceremony and presented the couple to the crowd. “You may kiss the bride.” Hamish took Nessie’s hands in his and stared at her for a long moment. Then he dipped his head, brushed his lips lightly across her mouth, and leaned his forehead against hers. Kirstine dabbed at her eyes with her knuckle, so happy for the young couple who had come so close to losing one another.
Aye, Brodie, it’s our turn next.
*
Brodie scanned the Great Hall. Never had he washed and dressed so fast. He had helped his pain-in-the-arse sister deliver the calf, and now he wanted Kirsty, a meal, and some good scotch. In that order. Maybe the scotch first. It was a cèilidh, after all.
The great hall glittered with hundreds of flickering candles. Peigi had ordered the chandeliers lit to fill the center of the room with blazing light for eating and dancing. The wall torches, also ablaze, cast dancing shadows around the perimeter. The banners of allied clans hung from the aged stone walls, along with medieval tapestries bought or made by previous castle residents. To the right, in the far corner, an elevated platform held the musicians. To the left, a dais was set up for the clan chief and his family or honored guests. When his grandmother refurnished this space, she managed to blend the old with the new seamlessly.
Brodie loved events in the ancient hall. He could feel his ancestors in this room, feel their joy and outrage, their hope and despair. It was as if they guided him, along with his grandfather, to honor this clan, these people, and help bring them not only prosperity but contentment. He looked up at the brass chandeliers purchased less than fifty years ago. Aye, Peigi understood the need to maintain tradition yet move forward in an ever-changing world.
He finally spotted Kirsty at a table with Rory MacDunn.
For the love of saints! His blood heated at the sight.
She was stunning in a midnight blue gown, layered with a sheer silvery material that shimmered as she reached for her cup. Her hair was swept back, fiery curls cascading over a slender neck. When had she gone from bonny lass to seductive and enchanting? His gaze lingered on the creamy mounds shown off by the neckline, then moved up to her full lips. His mouth watered. His appetite had changed course. Her dark eyes sparkled in the candlelight and she nodded.
On the dais, Calum stood, a glass held high. To the right of his grandparents were the original guests of honor, his aunt and cousin, and to their left was the newly married couple. Brodie’s chest swelled at the image of that poor girl, not only escaping a cruel father, but finding a loving husband. The good Lord could not keep evil from the world, but he gave people ways to fight against it if they listened and had the courage.
“A toast to family, to beginnings,”—Calum’s eyes looked up—“to endings. May God keep us within his sight. Long live the clan MacNaughton!”
“Long live the clan MacNaughton!” echoed the guests.
Then he passed the two-handled quaich down the table. The young couple filled the ancient vessel with whiskey and moved to the table below. Hamish gave it to his father, who took a drink then offered it to Lissie’s father, who stood in place of Nessie’s father. The couple then drank from the cup, and the hall resounded with loud cheers.
The quaich was a family heirloom. It was used when the bride and groom came from different clans, the double handle representing the joining of the families. A tradition as old dirt, as his grandmother would say. Brodie embraced the old rituals. Such customs bound their people together, gave them a common ground that transcended class or title. It was a comforting thought—that one belonged no matter his birth.
“May I join ye?” he asked after Hamish and Nessie had returned to the dais.
Kirstine grinned. “I’d like that.”
Platters filled with venison and pork, tender from cooking all day, were passed along the trestles. Well-seasoned vegetables, mashed tatties, warm bread, and freshly churned butter were set out in bowls and crockery. The wine and ale flowed. At the dais, Calum again called for their attention as the ceremonial platter of haggis was set before him. He stood, slid a polished blade through the boiled sheep’s stomach, and sliced it open. The skin split, ground offal, oats and grains spilling out in a steaming heap. The spicy aroma filled the air and a round of hurrahs rang out.
His mother called for him just as the fiddler let out a warning note for the music to begin. “Excuse me,” he said to those seated nearby. He stood and whispered to Kirsty, “Save me a dance?”
She nodded, and he felt her eyes on his back as he walked away. It would be tonight. He would ask her again, and this time, she would say yes. Brigid had finally confessed, desperate for his help with the calving: Kirsty was following Glynnis’s instructions and was anxious to marry him. Much to his surprise, Brodie had not minded his mother’s little plot and understood. He had not appreciated Kirsty before. Loved her, yes, but he’d taken her for granted. Brodie smiled, his determination as strong as the scotch.
But when he returned, the first set had begun, and Kirsty’s seat was empty. He searched the crowd and saw her beginning a set with MacDougal. Jealousy churned in his gut. Unfounded, granted, but the longer he watched the two, the more it roiled. She knew he would be right back. MacDougal would have asked her for another dance.
“Brodie,” said a soft voice at his elbow. “I’ve never thanked ye for helping that day my grandmother was ill.”
“I was happy to do what I could.” He looked down at Mairi, soft green eyes full of admiration, her coppery waves spilling down her back. “Ye look bonny tonight, Mairi.”
“Thank ye.” She blushed, then her gaze fell on Kirsty and MacDougal. “Would ye like to dance the
next set? I believe it’s a reel.”
The music had ended. MacDougal bowed to Kirsty and offered his arm. They moved between the dancers, walking back to the table. The older man leaned down and said something in her ear, and she nodded, then laughed. Brodie ground his teeth and took Mairi’s hand, weaving toward the next set of dancers.
As the two couples passed, MacDougal nodded. Brodie glared. Kirsty rolled her eyes.
Mairi planted her feet. “Enough!” She crossed her arms. “Brodie MacNaughton, I’m no’ dancing with a mon so he can send daggers across the room at the woman he loves. Kirstine MacDunn, shame on ye for making this poor mon all Friday-faced over ye.”
MacDougal grinned. “Miss Mairi, would ye care to dance with me?”
“I’d love to, Liam.” She cast a disgusted look at both of them.
Brodie stared at his shoes, then Kirsty. She peeked up at him through her lashes.
“Mairi’s right,” Kirsty murmured as someone jostled her from the back and pushed her against Brodie.
“Aye”. He inhaled the scent of heather floating from her hair. “Shall we join them?”
“I thought ye’d never ask,” she said with the sweetest smile.
“Minx,” he whispered in her ear before he took her hand.
The fast-paced reel began in a circle, all participants holding hands. They split off into four lines, connected at the center, and moved in a clockwise direction but not with hands held. No, the dancers put their arms around each other’s waist and twirled, which is why Brodie liked the reel. His palm cradled the curve of her hip through the thin muslin. She clung to him as the steps quickened. It was a teasing dance, their bodies pushed together from the momentum of the spinning, then separated. And then the clasping and whirling began all over again.
When the set ended, they were panting. Her chest rose and fell, her mouth slightly parted. If they were alone right now, he’d have kissed her. She seemed to read his mind.
“I need some fresh air.” She waved her hand in front of her face like a fan.
But each time they tried to slip out of the hall, a guest stopped them. Lachlan appeared, a grin on his face. “It seems ye have come to yer senses,” he said to Brodie before turning to Kirsty. “Would ye do me the honor of a dance?”
Brodie sighed, resigned. It was a cèilidh, after all.
An hour later, he led Kirsty across the courtyard and down the slight hill to the stable. The garden would have others enjoying fresh air and shadowed corners.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Where there’s no one to interrupt us.” He turned left at a mounting block. Brodie pulled her into the shadows of a small shed. She came willingly, her soft body pressed to his, her mouth upturned for a kiss. Who was he to make her wait?
His hand skimmed her cheek, then stroked her neck. He dipped his head, brushed her lips with his, and he was lost. His tongue plundered her mouth as desire seared through his core. Her hands threaded his hair. He cupped her bottom and lifted her, fitting her into him. She gasped, her nails dragging down the back of his neck.
“I love ye, Kirsty MacDunn,” he growled in her ear, setting her feet back on the ground. His doubted his control if they continued. Their last time together in the pines had played over and over in his head the past two weeks.
“I love ye too.” She pulled back just enough to look at him. “Will ye ask me tonight?”
“I will. And ye’ll say yes.”
“Ye’re that sure?”
“Aye, Brigid told me.” He grinned. “The jig is up.”
“What exactly did she say?”
“That ye were ready to forgive right away, but my mother came up with a plan to teach me a lesson.” Maybe not exactly what Brigid said. “And that ye yearned for me and was afraid I’d no’ ask ye again. So, I’ll put ye out of yer misery.” Maybe he added that last part.
“Ye’ll put me out of my misery?” Kirsty stepped back, her hands on her hips. “Ye can say that to me with a straight face?”
Bloody hell.
“Weel, ye’ll be waiting until tomorrow then.”
Kirsty gave him a wicked grin, stretched onto her tiptoes, and gave him a long kiss. Her hands trailed down his waistcoat as she pushed away from him.
“Brodie!” a voice called out.
Brigid was peering inside the stable. “Brodie, where are ye? Grandda is asking for ye.”
“Ye’ve been saved by a call of duty.” He tipped Kirsty’s chin up and gave her a quick kiss. “Ye may want to fix yer hair before ye return.”
Her hands flew to chignon. “Go, I’ll make myself presentable and meet ye back inside.”
Brodie tipped her chin and gave her a kiss. Before the night ended, they would once again be betrothed. Better yet, handfasted. Any more arguments would be settled living under the same roof. Better yet, a bed canopy.
Chapter Seventeen
Love Held Hostage
Brigid trotted along beside him as they returned to the castle. “What’s so important?” he asked when they were almost to the courtyard.
“Grandda just said to find ye, and meet him near the copse in the garden.” His sister grasped his arm. “Something has happened. I’ve no’ seen Lachlan or Gideon either.”
He nodded and turned from the castle entrance to go around the back. “Let me ken when ye find out,” she called after him.
He found Calum at the far end of the garden, a large plaid on his lap. “There ye are. I need yer help to remove a body.” His grandfather rose and headed toward the small wood.
“A what?” Brodie wondered if he’d drank too much. “Of an animal?”
“No, unfortunately. It seems Ross Craigg has revenge on his mind. Gideon and Lissie had taken some fresh air. She thought she heard a child cry in the dark and chased after it, Gideon following. Craigg was hiding with a hired thug, who grabbed Lissie.” Calum paused at a clearing, and Brodie saw the body lying on the ground. “Lachlan heard her scream, thank God. Gideon killed the ruffian. Yer brother ran his sword through Craigg’s side, but he got away.”
“Is Lissie hurt?” He tried to digest this information. Going from sweet kisses to murder was a bit boggling.
Calum shook his head. “Bruised a bit, as is Gideon. They’re both with Lachlan, who took a dagger in the leg from that bloody traitor. By God, the mon has pushed me too far.”
“He’s trying to sabotage the wedding?” It didn’t make sense to wait until after the vows had been spoken.
His grandfather shook his head. “Worse than that. The mon is out for blood. If Lachlan hadna been there, Craigg would have killed Gideon, and possibly Lissie.”
“The feckin’ swine,” rasped Brodie. “He’s mad as a March hare.”
“And needs to be skinned like one. He wants justice? By God, justice he shall have.”
“Ye want me to find him, then?” Brodie’s rage settled like a rock in his belly.
“No’ till first light. Yer grandmother doesna want Nessie and Hamish to ken yet, no’ on their wedding night. So, this will stay quiet until tomorrow.” Calum ran a hand over his face. “First, we need to move the corpse so none of the guests stumble on it.”
“Aye, we dinna need a posse of drunks on the moors at night,” agreed Brodie. They wrapped the dead man in the plaid and carried him to the tool shed. “He canna go far with a hole in his gut.”
“I dinna want ye out there alone. He may have more paid hooligans with him. Maybe we’ll get lucky, and he’ll be dead by dawn.” His grandfather let out a long breath. “I need to get inside. If anyone asks, Lachlan and Gideon shared a bottle and are sleeping it off. Lissie retired early.”
He nodded. “I’ll fetch Mrs. MacDunn for Lachlan.”
“No need. Enid is bandaging him and probably poured enough down his throat to make his sleep for a day.” Calum thumped him on the back. “Go find yer woman and act as if nothing has happened. We’re lucky there is only one casualty.”
Brodie understood. The more
people who knew, the harder it would be to keep quiet. Nessie had lived through hell in her short life. That bloody devil would not steal her happiness, not on her wedding night He followed his grandfather back into the great hall, skimming the hall for the silvery shimmer of Kirsty.
“What did ye find out?” Brigid asked from behind. “And dinna tell me ‘nothing’.”
“Craigg tried to cause trouble. It’s been handled, though. Have ye seen Kirsty?”
She shook her head. “No’ since she left with ye earlier. There’s Mrs. MacDunn. I’ll ask her.” His sister dodged between the guests.
He watched the older woman shake her head and point toward the entrance. Mr. MacDunn joined them, shrugging his shoulders.
Brigid returned, worry in her deep blue eyes. “They’ve no’ seen her either and her mother has looked about. She hoped Kirsty was still outside with ye.”
“I’ve no’ seen her since ye fetched me back to the castle. She should have been returned by now.” Foreboding shot down Brodie’s spine. “I have to find her. Tell Grandda where I’ve gone. He’ll understand.”
Heading to the stable, he broke into a jog. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Where are ye Kirsty, love? The question echoed in his brain. He’d find her. And never let her go.
*
Kirstine smoothed her stray curls as best she could. She smiled and licked her lips, where the taste of whisky still lingered from Brodie’s kiss. When he asked her again, later tonight, she would say yes. She began to hum and twirled herself around as she slowly made her way toward the stable. The night air was cool on her skin, but she was in no hurry to return to the crowded hall. Kirstine wanted to savor this moment, this flash in time when the universe came together and all was right in her world.
Aagh.
She paused in mid-spin. Was that a groan?
It came again.
“Who’s there?” she called out. Another soft moan coming from behind the barn. She pulled her shawl over her shoulders and moved toward the shadows. A horse snuffled. Perhaps it was an animal? She’d investigate and fetch Brigid if needed. Squinting into the dark meadow, she asked again. “Are ye hurt?”