by Lecia Cornwall, Sabrina York, Anna Harrington, May McGoldrick
But he could smell Cait on his fingers, on his skin, feel her imprinted on his body. He wanted her, loved her.
He couldn’t marry her. It roiled like agony in his belly. He had to choose another lass and take the fortune she’d bring him, the fortune he needed to save his clan. He ran his hand through his hair. “Which one?” he muttered.
He’d lain beside Cait and watched her sleep until the sky began to lighten just before dawn. She snored, and that had made him smile. Was that the flaw he’d sought, the one that was supposed to drive her out of his mind and his heart and kill his desire for her? The soft sound was charming and slight, hardly a flaw at all. There was nothing about Cait he didn’t love.
When dawn crept through the arrow slit, he brushed her hair aside, kissed her temple, and slid out from under her with his plaid. She sighed and slept on, and he climbed down from her unusual bed. He pulled on his shirt, wrapped his plaid around his hips, and began to buckle his belt. He set his hand on the latch and started to open the door, but she made another soft snort at that moment, and he smiled.
He unwound his plaid again. He couldn’t leave her this way, like a thief in the night who’d taken his pleasure, stolen her virginity, and gone away to wed another. She meant more to him than that. She meant everything.
But he had a duty to his clan, and he could not choose Cait. He tried not to think of her in Baird Sutherland’s bed, Baird’s bride, Baird’s wife, and because of that, Alex’s enemy.
He climbed up and wrapped his plaid around her, claimed her as his, for that single night, this one moment. “Mine,” he whispered without waking her. “Mo leannan.”
* * *
Cait was lying on something hard when she woke, but she was used to lumps in her unusual bed. She shifted her hip and tugged the coverlet close to her face. Alex . . . She was surrounded by the scent of him, the memory of making love. She reached for him, but the bed was empty, and she was wrapped in his plaid.
She sat up and stared at the door far below, at her gown, still lying on the floor, and at his plaid, wrapped around her naked body.
She felt glorious—a wee bit sore, but she snuggled deeper into Alex’s plaid . . . and felt the dreadful lump in the bed again. She rolled over, pushed at it with the heel of her hand, but it was too sharp to be a clump of old straw or matted feathers. It felt like a pebble. Or a boulder.
She poked it, shifted it, nudged it. Then she gasped. She lifted the blanket under her, and the quilt under that, and then an eiderdown, a rumpled plaid, and a sheet.
The light caught the huge stone and cast dazzling sparks of color against the walls of her little chamber, red and blue and violet . . .
Cait gasped and picked it up, stared at it. There was no doubt what it was.
She was holding the Culmore Pea.
* * *
“Come in,” Flora said at the sound of the tap on the door. She tossed a sheet over the new section of the seanchas, which would be unveiled at the wedding this evening, and rose to face her visitor.
Cait MacLeod stood before her, and Flora smiled. “Good morning. Coll said Alex found ye in the wood, lost.” Cait was wearing a pretty green gown, trimmed with flowers and vines, that fit her slender figure to perfection. Green for luck, the favorite color of the fairy folk . . .
“I slept hardly at all,” Cait replied, and Flora noted the blush as Cait raised her chin. “There was a lump in the bed, and I found this—” She opened her hand and Flora saw the Culmore Pea glittering in Cait’s palm.
Flora hurried forward with a cry of surprise. “Ye found it! Now let Alex say there’s no such thing as magic and miracles!” Cait smiled, but Flora noted it didn’t meet her eyes.
“What is it, lass?” she asked.
Cait set the ring down on the table. “I must leave Culmore, Flora. I was wondering if you’d help me. I—I need directions to Rosecairn.”
Flora’s joy faded. “Rosecairn? Why ever would ye want to go there?”
Cait gave up any pretense of a smile. “I have decided to wed Baird Sutherland after all. I am hoping that for a wedding present, Baird will agree to stop raiding Culmore, and to return Hector.”
“Do ye love him?” Flora asked, stunned.
“I-I will try to be a good wife to him,” Cait said, her cheeks flushing rose pink.
Flora crossed to take her hands. Cait’s fingers were cold as ice. “You’d sacrifice your own happiness for the Munros, for folk ye hardly know? For Alex?”
Cait shut her eyes. “Aye.”
Flora scanned Cait’s lovely face. She was sorrowful, not joyous, a bride who went to her wedding with regrets. Flora glanced at the Pea, bright and glittering as the dew on this Midsummer’s Eve morn . . .
She squeezed Cait’s hands. “Wait until tomorrow. Everyone’s busy with the wedding preparations today. Janet’s making the feast, Coll’s helping to collect wood for the bonfire, and Airril’s helping his grandfather make ready to recite the legend and marry Alex and . . . his chosen bride. Besides, the brides will want your help to dress for the ceremony. They all want to look their best, just in case. Och, ye helped them sew their wedding finery, and you’ll not miss seeing them wear it, will ye? When the unchosen lasses leave tomorrow, one of them will be able to escort ye to very gates of Rosecairn if ye still wish to go.”
Cait glanced toward the seanchas, but Flora linked her arm through Cait’s, and led her to the door. She kissed Cait’s cheek. “Because of ye, we have the Pea back again, and all will be well. It will be a fine celebration. Now go and help the lasses to make ready. Would ye ask Airril to come and see me? Auld Bryn will want to know the ring has been found.”
Flora shut the door behind Cait and let a sentimental tear fall. She took the cover off the seanchas. In the morning light, the colored threads shone brightly, and the Pea reflected shards of glorious light over the ancient tapestry. She looked at the half-finished scene at the far edge of the tapestry, at Alex’s fine figure in plaid and bonnet, and at the outline of the bride by his side.
She picked up her needle and began to sew. There were only hours left, and it had to be finished and perfect by the time the sun set tonight and Alex slipped the Pea onto the finger of his chosen bride.
Chapter Thirteen
Airril led Auld Bryn into Alex’s chamber as the sun dipped low in the sky. “The bonfire is waiting to be lit, and the brides are assembled for ye, Laird. Are ye ready?” the old seanchaidh said with a near-toothless grin.
Alex straightened his lace cravat and donned a fine dark green velvet jacket over his plaid. He glanced at the polished metal mirror that had belonged to his mother and saw the dour face of a careworn laird, not the joyful countenance of a bridegroom. He turned away and glanced again at the bridal contracts. When dark fell, and before the first stars rose in the sky, he’d be signing his name to one of them.
“Ye look very fine if I may say, Laird,” Auld Bryn said to the bookcase in the corner. “Have ye made your decision? Which lass is it to be?”
Alex frowned. He had only to speak one name, any one, but they all stuck in his throat. He wanted only one woman, the one he could not choose. “I’ve decided to leave it as a surprise.” It will be a surprise to everyone, including me . . .
Auld Bryn patted his sporran. “We’ve got the Pea safe and ready, and just in time.”
They walked out to the meadow, past the midsummer bonfire—which would be lit as soon as the first star appeared—to the marriage oak in the meadow where the joining of hands and speaking of vows would take place, as soon as the Pea was bestowed at sunset.
Near the oak, long trestle tables were decorated with flowers and laid for the wedding feast.
The crowns for the bride and groom sat at one end of the table, ready to be placed on the heads of the happy couple. Alex felt his lips twist bitterly and schooled his features into a flat, placid expression.
It had to be done . . .
He stumbled a step as he caught sight of Cait, standing separate f
rom the Munros, her smile fixed, her face pale.
He looked at the brides, standing in a row beneath the oak, looking fair and fetching, their smiles bright, their laughter nervous and hopeful.
Which one? He looked at each of them. None of them set his heart alight by walking into a room, made it impossible to see anyone else. Not like Cait. His Cait. Nay, Baird Sutherland’s Cait.
The shadows were growing long. It was nearly time.
Folk began whispering, speculating on which lass he’d choose. The brides’ escorts were sending him canny glances, winking at him, expecting their lass to become the next Lady of Culmore.
Alex ran a finger under his cravat and glanced at Cait. Coll was standing with her now, and Aggie, and Janet, and even Wee Morag. Even Airril was watching Cait from his place by Auld Bryn’s side. They all loved her . . . He loved her.
With all his heart.
Then Bryn held up the ring, and the rays of the sun shone through it and lit up the meadow. “I shall tell the story of the Culmore Pea,” he began, his voice ringing across the meadow. “Our first laird was out riding the moonlight, when he saw a lass of such beauty, he fell in love with her at once. He dropped to one knee and asked her to marry him, but she was the daughter of the fairy queen and could not wed without her mother’s blessing. But the queen refused to let her daughter wed a mortal man. Our laird had to prove himself in deed and battle, and show himself worthy of the fairy maiden’s hand. He swore before his own clan and the lairds and ladies of Fairy that he would love his lass always, and make her happy every single day of their life together.” He paused dramatically, and let the ring glitter. “And because the fairy maiden loved the laird in return, the queen relented and gave her blessing to the match. She gifted the couple with this very ring, set with a stone that holds the power to grant good fortune in the presence of true love . . . And so it has, for many generations, down through the ages, until today, when our own laird will place the ring upon the finger of his bride.”
He held out the ring to Alex.
Alex stared at the stone in the old seanchaidh’s hand for a moment. All he had to do was take it and walk toward the brides. He would pick up the hand of one of them and slide the ring onto her finger . . .
He glanced at Flora. She stood beside the rolled seanchas. She smiled gently at him and waited.
Alex looked again at Cait. She stood quietly among his clan, her expression placid. She got lost easily. She snored. She was kind, and she was beautiful . . . and she could offer him no tocher at all.
But he loved her . . .
“Laird?” Auld Bryn said. “The sun’s almost gone. Will ye take the Pea to your bride?”
Alex clutched it in his fist and began walking toward the brides. One step after the other across the meadow grass to where they stood in a row, their hands clasped, waiting. He looked at each lass in turn, hoping for a sign, or the kind of feeling he got in his chest when he looked at Cait.
But there was nothing.
He stopped walking. A murmur went up. She snored. She was kind, and she was beautiful . . . and she could offer him no tocher at all . . .
But he loved her. Oh, how he loved her . . .
Slowly, he turned to face Cait MacLeod. She met his eyes, held them, and he knew he could choose no other lass.
So he crossed to her and fell to one knee. “Cait MacLeod, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Her eyes widened, and her lips parted in surprise. He ventured a smile. “I love ye, lass. I love how brave and fine ye are, how beautiful. I love kissing ye. I love how ye snore. I am glad ye found yourself lost on Munro lands . . .”
There were tears in her eyes, and so much love it stole his breath away. “Oh, Alex, I—”
Hoofbeats thundered across the meadow, and a troop of horsemen reined in beside the oak, headed by Baird Sutherland. Beside him rode Hector, clad in a Sutherland plaid. A cry of surprise went up among the Munros. “Everyone stay where ye are,” Baird said.
Baird looked at Cait. “Well, well. Did ye not think to send word that ye were here, with my enemy? Today was supposed to be our wedding day, Cait.”
He dismounted and drew his sword. Alex pushed Cait behind him and drew his dirk. A cry went up among the Munros as Baird’s men trained their weapons on the crowd.
“What are ye doing, Hector?” Coll asked. “We thought ye were in a Sutherland dungeon, tortured and bleeding. Yet here ye are, and badly dressed for a wedding.” He spat on the ground.
Baird looked at Alex. “Aye, we’ve come for the wedding. My wedding. Hand over the Culmore Pea so I can put it on my sweet cousin’s finger and take your place as laird.”
Alex looked at him. “No.”
Baird raised the sword point to Alex’s throat. Alex didn’t flinch. “No?”
Cait tried to step out from behind Alex, but he wouldn’t allow it. He glared at Baird. “She’s mine.” Baird dimpled the skin of Alex’s neck, and a bead of blood appeared.
“Nay! Baird wait—I’ll marry you,” Cait cried.
Baird laughed, held Alex’s glare. “She’s chooses the victor over the vanquished.” He held his palm out to Alex. “Now give me the Pea.”
Cait raised her chin. “I will leave with you and marry you tomorrow, but not with the Pea, and only if you agree to leave the Munros in peace and never come back here.”
Baird growled. “I must wed you with the Pea, stupid Cait. It’s how I’ll become laird over the Munros,—by fulfilling the seanchas, and wedding ye before the sun sets. Is that not true, Hector? Bryn?”
Auld Bryn frowned, but nodded reluctantly. “The man who is laird must claim his bride with the fairy ring, and the fairy ring marks him as laird.”
Baird grinned at Alex. “Then give it here, Munro, or I’ll give my men the order to start killing, and we’ll begin with the bairns.”
Alex looked at his clan, saw the fear in their eyes. His men were pinned down by Baird’s warriors. He had no choice. He opened his hand and the rays of the sun shone through the Pea, turned it blood red. Baird’s greedy eyes were just as red as he reached for the ring. Hector stepped up behind Alex and held a dirk to his throat. “Weakling,” Hector snarled.
“Kill him,” Baird said gleefully.
But there was another flurry of hoofbeats, and the Sutherlands spun as a second group of horsemen rode in, far bigger than the Sutherland force.
Cait gasped. “Papa!” She tried to run, but Baird grabbed her arm.
Papa? Alex looked up at the Fearsome MacLeod and his army of clansmen. Hector held his strike, too surprised to cut Alex’s throat. The MacLeods were fearsome men indeed, and furious. Donal MacLeod took in the situation at a glance and glared at Baird, and his frown deepened. Baird twisted Cait’s arm behind her back where her father couldn’t see. “One word and Alex Munro dies,” he hissed in her ear.
* * *
Cait kept her back straight and her head high, for Alex.
Her father looked at the wedding crowns, the unlit bonfire, and the armed men. He frowned when he looked at Cait.
“I had a letter from the laird of Culmore saying ye were lost again, lass.”
He looked at Alex. “That would be you, I assume?”
Alex didn’t move.
Her father looked at Baird Sutherland with a fearsome frown. If Baird had known her father as well as she, he’d have the sense to be very afraid . . . “I was surprised that word of my daughter’s loss didn’t come from ye, Sutherland, the man who asked for her hand.” He looked at Cait. “Has the marriage taken place?”
“Nay, Papa. I don’t wish to—” Baird applied pressure to her arm, and she gasped.
“One more word and Munro dies,” he hissed in her ear.
“We’re just about to wed,” Baird called. “How nice ye were able to join us for the nuptials.”
Donal glared at him. “Nuptials? There won’t be any nuptials,” he said. He reached into his jack and pulled out a rolled parchment. “This is a letter fro
m your neighbors, Sutherland, and it’s signed and attested to by members of your own clan. They want a Letter of Fire and Sword signed out upon ye as an outlaw and a traitor. You’ve disturbed the peace, stolen, raped, and done murder.”
“The sun. We’re about to lose the sun!” Auld Bryn called. “I may be near to blind, but even I can see it’s getting dark. Where are ye, Laird?”
Baird shifted, reached for Cait’s left hand, holding the ring out. “Give me your hand!”
Cait took advantage of her sudden freedom and knocked the ring from Baird’s hand with a sharp blow to his wrist. The Pea flew out of his grip and arced through the purple twilight. He screamed, and Coll lunged forward and planted a dirk in Baird’s thigh, dropping him to the ground. Alex drove his elbow into Hector’s ribs, then spun and used the heel of his hand to break the traitor’s nose and send him to the ground, screaming.
The Pea still spun and tumbled through the air, shooting out rays of light as it fell . . . Alex reached out and caught the Pea.
But Hector’s blade was replaced by another as Cait’s father stepped in and pointed his sword at Alex’s throat. He froze and met the furious glare of the Fearsome MacLeod.
Cait caught her father’s arm. “Papa, no, I want to marry him,” Cait said quickly. “There’s not much time . . .”
Donal MacLeod cast a quick glance at his daughter. “Marry him? You’ve been lost, don’t know your own mind, lass. You’re coming home with me.”
She shook his arm, but the sword that dimpled Alex’s windpipe didn’t move. Alex held the Fearsome MacLeod’s gaze bravely. “Nay, Papa—I’m not lost. I’ve found exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
“The light is going!” Auld Bryn cried again.
“I’ll tell you everything later, Papa, but I must wed him at once, this very moment, before the sun sets.”
Donal cast a look at the sky. The setting sun was edging the mountains with orange light.
“Do ye love him?” he asked.
Cait smiled. “I do, Papa. ’Tis fairy bells, papa. You always said I’d hear them if it was true love.”
Her father scowled at Alex without lifting his sword. “Do ye love my daughter, Munro?”