Gavin was beginning to feel as though he were in the middle of an inquisition. “Because I didna ask is all!”
“Why not?”
“Och, because I was distracted!”
Colin slid Gavin a knowing grin. His brother knew him too well. Still he asked, “By what?”
Gavin’s cheeks heated and he said defensively, “By the potstill, o’ course!”
Seana continued to play along. “Well, so… how was it?”
Gavin blinked, feeling dizzier now than he had in the girl’s presence. “How the hell was what?”
Now even Seana narrowed her eyes at him. “The whiskie, Gavin! The whiskie!”
Suddenly, Alison dropped her biscuit and slapped a hand to her forehead. “Och, I’m so verra confused!”
Leith turned to put an arm around her shoulders and offered her a kiss upon the cheek. “That makes two of us, my dear.”
Colin, the cur, merely lifted a brow and his grin spread wider. “Seems to me as though you’ve been in the sun too long, little brother?”
“Indeed you have,” Seana rushed to add. “Your face is the color of beets!”
Colin tapped her on the nose, and said, “That, my lovely wife, is called a virgin’s blush.” And he turned to give Gavin a knowing wink.
For the quip and for the wink, Gavin gave Colin a sour look, and having had quite enough of their ribbing, he raked his chair back from the table, certain that this conversation could go nowhere productive. “I dinna believe I am hungry after all,” he said and gave Brownie a whistle before quitting the hall.
The dog bounded after him.
“Bastard,” Leith said, but without meaning.
“What do you suppose that was all about?” Alison asked once Gavin had departed.
Colin stared at the door from whence Gavin had gone. “Were it not for those bluidy vows of his, I would think our dear brother was in lust.”
Alison screwed her face. “Nay! Not Gavin!” she assured.
“Och,” Colin argued. “I vow that boy’s blood is as red as mine.”
“Aye, well, he might be your little brother,” Alison rebuked with a lifted brow, “but Gavin hasna been a boy for quite some time in case ye havena noticed.”
Seana gave them all knowing smile and shrugged. “Could be he got into the whiskie,” she said softly.
CHAPTER 3
Outside, the moon was high and full, illuminating the courtyard well enough for Gavin to see behind the little chapel, where he spied lovers kissing beneath the moonlight, their legs obscured by the rising mist. From this distance, he could only see their silhouettes, but couldn’t make out who it was. It didn’t matter, seemed everyone had found someone but him.
He sat with his back to a stack of logs and Brownie laid dutifully at his feet. Petting the dog’s back absently, he tried not to think of anything at all.
Sometimes, it did a mon good to clear his brain and feed his soul—never mind his belly, grumble though it may.
He had no idea how long he sat there, but Seana appeared at his side. “You must be starved,” she said quietly, surprising him. Sometimes, it seemed she was made of mist, so silently did she appear. Must be a consequence of living in the forest, without the benefit of protection, and having to fend so long for herself, Gavin thought.
She wrapped Leith’s tartan about her shoulders and sat gingerly upon the pile of logs beside him.
Gavin shrugged. Indeed, he was hungry, but he planned to sneak back into the kitchen after everyone was asleep, so as not to hurt anyone’s feelings—most especially not Seana’s for he had grown to care for the lass.
“Ye look lovely in Brodie colors,” he told her and meant it. “It suits you.”
Seana lifted her shoulders, hugging the blanket possessively and smiling warmly. “Thank you, dear Gavin.” She tilted him a look, confessing, “The haggis was bad, I know. But I’m afraid me and Da made do with much simpler fare.”
He gave her a sympathetic look. “Do ye miss him still?”
She nodded. “Nary a day goes by that I don’t, but I know he’s still out there somewhere… watching o’er me.”
“It’s good to have faith,” he said, though he couldn’t seem to find any for himself these days. “Dinna fret, lass. For a time, even Meggie burned everything after Grandminny Fia passed.”
Her tone was hopeful. “Truly?”
“Aye, my brothers and I were doubled over for weeks with hunger pangs. We worked through supper and snuck into the kitchen when the moon was high. And Colin, the bastard, hoarded all the bluidy bread—the one thing Meggie knew how to do right.”
Seana giggled at the image he presented—all three brothers sneaking about in the middle of the night for victuals. “The Colin I know has always been a wee bit of a brat,” she agreed.
Gavin lifted both his brows. “A wee bit?”
Seana giggled again.
“Where are they now?”
“Colin and Leith?” She gave him a canny look. “Alison has them both cleaning out the hearth.
Gavin laughed. “Smart lass,” he said, but left it at that.
Above them, the stars winked like brilliant jewels in a clear ebony sky, despite the thick mist that swirled low to the ground. It was this sort of evening when the woods seemed almost surreal, full of blinking eyes and snapping twigs, unseen footsteps and whispers. The sort of night when a body could actually believe in faeries and wraiths. His Grandminny Fia had certainly believed in their existence, and she had walked about talking to them even in the broad light of day. Alas, it had earned her the first of the Mad Brodie titles. He glanced up at Seana, wondering if Seana and Alison would break that curse for Brodie women at long last.
Seana wrapped her cloak about her more firmly against the night air and demanded suddenly, “Tell me about this woman you met today, Gavin.”
Gavin peered up at her. She was quite lovely, his brother’s wife. It was no wonder Colin was enamored with her. She had a heart of gold besides. But she wasn’t anything at all like his painted lady.
He shrugged. “Not much to tell. I simply wondered if ye had e’er seen her,” he said, peering up.
“Maybe she was looking for a husband?” She winked at him. “There isna a woman for leagues who doesna fancy herself a Brodie bride.”
“They do not pine for me,” Gavin assured her. “Leith is head of his clan. ’Tis quite natural a woman would fancy him, and Colin... well, ’tis no mystery what girls might see in my pretty brother... but nay, no’ me.”
Seana chuckled. “Colin would not like it to hear himself called pretty, I think. But I can assure you there is no’ a woman in these Highlands who would not pluck oot her eyes to be your bride.”
He gave her a half-hearted grin. “If she plucked oot her eyes, then she wouldna have to see me—is that what ye’re thinking?”
Both of them laughed together and Brownie began to lick his paw, chewing at his nails.
“I have nothing much to offer,” Gavin said, this time without levity.
“Hmmm,” Seana replied and looked down upon him with furrowed brows. After a long moment of contemplation, she added. “My Da was of the mind that those woods are full of magik. He was certain my minny was a faerie... that he would join her once he passed this world to the next. In fact, the last few years of his life, he swore she was a cat—My Love, he’d called her.”
“A cat?”
Seana rolled her eyes. “I half believed it, because it seemed that bluidy cat was always aboot.”
“And what do you believe now?” Gavin asked.
Seana shrugged. “Well... I believe there are things we canna explain,” she confessed.
“Like what?”
She grinned down at him. “Like love, Gavin Mac Brodie. If love is not some form of magik, then I dunno what is.”
She stood then and shivered, wrapping her tartan more securely about her shoulders. “You should come in soon,” she suggested. And then added. “I’ll make sure Alison isna aboot the kitchen so ye
can grab yersel’ a snack—and dinna worry for my feelings one bit.”
She left him with a smile and another wink.
Thereafter, Gavin sat alone, contemplating her words, and the meaning of life. He stared at the little church they had built some years ago to their grandminny’s displeasure.
In fact, the structure had once been an ancient cairn—a particularly large one that had long been sacked. Gavin had shored up the walls with good sturdy beams and had constructed a timber roof.
“You’ll anger the gods!” Fia had railed. “What has this world come to!” And she would walk away, mumbling to herself about the arrogance of youth.
Unlike the chapel Meggie had begun for him on Montgomerie land, this one was simply a private place to bend the knee and pray—something he rarely did these days as he seemed to have lost his way.
That’s what the girl had said today, but how would she know? Lucky guess is all.
He sighed, knowing full well that in the past he had annoyed his siblings with his affinity for scripture. Still they had let him speak his heart.
Looking back on it now, he was not so certain he understood the desperation behind his studies, though he thought it had something to do with the turmoil in his soul—that emptiness he could not seem to fill no matter how many good deeds he carried out. Or maybe it was a safe diversion.
Love?
Magik!
Humph.
He stood, scooping up a stone into his hand as he watched the lovers behind the church hie away into the privacy of the woods and felt an unexpected stab of envy.
Tossing the stone halfheartedly in the direction of the new storehouse, he went inside, determined to finish his house within the week. Of late, it was the one thing that gave him a sense of satisfaction. After weeks of working on it now he was so close. Only the roof must be raised, and then he would begin the well. Once that was done, and he was prepared to till the land, then he would appeal to his brother Leith to trade him a few of the sheep and goats in return for part of his spring harvest.
Aye, and that also gave him a warmth in his breast that not even Seana’s whiskie could touch.
As for love... some things were not meant for everyone, he supposed.
And as for his painted lady was long gone by now, and he’d best cast the image of her out of his mind once and for all. It would serve no purpose to lose his heart over a woman, who, for all practical purposes, did not exist—no matter how lovely those painted breasts were.
Gavin spent the next two days tending to his usual duties. Neither the MacLeans nor the Brodies were prosperous enough to build the sort of garrison Iain MacKinnon held. But their clearings were hardly insubstantial, and every last man and woman must do their part.
Once finished, his new house would be a modest home made of good, sturdy mortared stone—hardly any bigger than a common hovel, but that suited Gavin just fine.
In these parts, only the MacKinnon laird had any sort of stronghold. Seated at the top of the bluff, Chreagach Mhor held the envy of every neighboring clan, for it rivaled even the holdings of the sons of Malcom Cean Mór.
Luckily for David—the youngest of Malcom’s sons—Iain MacKinnon had no designs on the throne of Scotia. With David’s nose so far up the English King’s arse it wouldn’t take very much to incite the people against him. And with a bloodline that hailed straight back to Kenneth MacAlpin, Iain would surely gain the ear of every Highlander were he to give a care. Thus it was no surprise to anyone that David suddenly seemed to be Iain’s staunchest ally. Anything the MacKinnon decreed, David echoed from the blufftops though it was not that way for all of the claimants to the throne.
Some had met other fates.
Trying to bar the image of his lady’s lovely painted body from his thoughts, he laid more stone in two days than he had in all the weeks he’d been working on his new house.
All three brothers worked side by side to build a new storehouse because, for once, the old one had been filled long before the coming winter. In part because the neighboring clans had begun to work together to trade supplies. The MacKinnons had an expert candle maker, whose candles burned true and bright, the MacLeans could grow tatties in just about any nook or cranny, the Brodies were all excellent farmers and sheep herders, and Piers de Montgomerie had Sassenach family to trade with in England. Gavin’s sister Meghan was an expert weaver, and her cloth was tight and soft. Now, the Brodies had Seana, as well, and some of the best whiskie in all the Highlands.
All in all this was shaping up to be the most plentiful winter they’d had since long before their father had led their clan. Their grandsire, for all his wenching, had been an excellent laird.
Gavin was only slightly concerned that Seana’s claim might come under scrutiny, for it would give the Brodies a stretch of land that had not been theirs previously. And yet, now that there was peace between the clans, and his sister’s husband owned the property adjacent to the south, and the Brodies owned the property adjacent to the west, he was certain that once he stood before the clan councils no one would deny him, particularly if he had gained the MacKinnon’s favor—which he planned to seek at once. And he didn’t foresee that the MacKinnon would have much dispute with the request for Seana’s father had occupied the lands below the cliffs of Chreagach Mhor for all his life, and Seana was now wed to his eldest brother, laird of the Brodie clan.
At any rate, the clans all regarded that particular stretch of property as No Mon’s Land, as it was hardly the most fertile ground to be had. As it was, the key to his success as a farmer would be in the dowsing of his well—something he wasn’t particularly looking forward to. He hadn’t known a good diviner since his Grandminny Fia, and he didn’t relish the thought of boring holes through that craggy clay to find a plentiful water supply.
Despite working shoulder to shoulder with his brothers, somehow, Gavin managed to get through the day without drawing questions about his visits to No Man’s Land or his mystery woman. Unfortunately, that was partly because one entire section of the new storehouse wall collapsed. Luckily for Gavin, it was Colin’s stretch of wall. Even now, his brother couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off his lovely wife.
Silly besotted fool.
At first light the following morning, while Colin repaired his damages, Gavin set out to speak to the MacKinnon. He found the entire household all up in arms over some escaped prisoner of David’s—a woman, he discovered, and he couldn’t help but think about his painted lady.
This prisoner, it seemed, was the sister of a rebel chieftain from deep in the Mounth—a rough range of hills in the northeast. She was meant to be a ward of the English King—as they had attempted to do with Iain’s firstborn son. Apparently, Iain had refused to join the search, because his young wife was currently in labor.
It seemed his timing couldn’t have been more poor. After what had happened to Iain’s first wife, Gavin wondered over the wisdom in waiting for counsel with him. If the labor didn’t go well, Iain wouldn’t be fit to speak. On the other hand, if the outcome was good, and the MacKinnon was gifted with a healthy bairn, and his new wife didn’t commit self murder as his first wife had, then he was sure to be pleased and in a generous mood.
With bated breath, he waited with Broc Ceannfhionn to hear the news, all the while Broc and his wife Elizabet argued over what to name their own child.
Gavin had to scratch his head over that one, because the sweet little babe was nearly six months auld.
“What do you call her now?” he asked Broc.
Broc frowned. “Babe.”
His wife placed a platter of sweets upon the table and prompted Gavin to take one. He didn’t hesitate, hungry as he was these days. “I want to name her Suisan,” his wife said in her gentle English accent. “’Tis a lovely name, don’t you think so?” she inquired of Gavin.
Not wanting to take sides, Gavin glanced at Broc, who was frowning all the more intensely now. The nose Broc’s dog Merry had broken sniffed with disapproval.
“Gavin is my friend,” Broc pointed out to his wife. “Ye canna campaign for his agreement.”
The expression upon Elizabet’s face was quite guileless, but her smile was calculating, although Broc, for the moment, seemed unaffected by both. “It’s a perfectly lovely name,” she contended.
To Broc’s credit, he shook his head, holding his ground—unlike his brothers who would have both capitulated at once. Mayhap there was hope for these men in love after all? Perhaps all that was needed was time to temper both his brothers’ moods?
Gavin shoved a sweet into his mouth, and took the opportunity to chew vigorously, thereby saving himself from having to respond.
Still smiling, Elizabet advanced upon her husband and sat upon his lap. Gavin’s cheeks heated as they began to whisper and peck each others’ faces, and he stood up to peer out the window at the MacKinnon’s stone keep, wondering how long before they received word from the tower above.
That tower
“Och, verra well,” he heard Broc say.
Gavin shook his head over the futility of men in love. By the saints, all that was truly needed to conquer these Highlands was a parcel of Sassenach women. The MacKinnon had two in his midst already—his own wife and now Elizabet. It seemed they were as good as Sassenachs already. But it was none of his concern; all he cared about right now was securing the lands below the bluff to farm.
Suddenly, there was a shout from the tower window—a joyous cry, and Gavin rushed outside to hear what was being said.
Apparently, everyone else had been waiting to hear as well for the houses all emptied into the courtyard below the tower.
“A girl!” the midwife shouted from the tower window. “A wee baby girl!” And then she disappeared again.
So Gavin waited, and much to his good fortune, the MacKinnon had nary a single reservation about his request. He sent Gavin away with his blessings and an imprint of his massive hand upon the small of Gavin’s back.
Gavin had to wonder how any man would dare defy that man for any reason. Like the Mackinnon’s father before him, he was a mighty force to be reckoned with.
Highland Song Page 3