by Alisa Adams
“Right then. Brice did not tell Skye that he planned on staying here out of fear that she would leave,” continued Alastair. “Now, Skye has decided to leave… and I tend to agree with her. She’s a Highlander and clanswoman through and through, and her presence here bears no advantage other than that my son would not be alone.”
“But, Da… she is my betrothed. Her place is with me,” complained Brice.
“I disagree, laddie. As yer betrothed…” Alastair chuckled. “Well, ye are handfasted – since the fight with Mungo – but Skye can change her mind within the period of one year and one day. So, don’t be too sure of yerself.”
“I have to agree with your father on this one, Brice. Skye is better off back home. Also, we have much to arrange for your wedding.” Mary stroked her obviously disappointed son on the cheek. “It will be all right.”
The following morning, the temperatures had dropped, and the clouds raced across the empyrean with angry intent. It was as if these heavenly objects wanted to hail their wrath on the world below until they had disgorged themselves of their heavy bounty. It was one final attempt by the winter to halt the progression of seasons for as long as it could. Spring would have to wait for a little while longer until the winter had its way.
Skye and Brice stood on a hill with their horses a few leagues from Leighton Manor, overlooking the Northumbrian countryside. It was a land that was like a mosaic of ancient meadows and rolling hills with secretive valleys in all directions the eye could see. During their travels north, Skye and Brice had seen mysterious stone formations and ancient settlements that spoke bounds of bygone eras that had vanished and entered the annals of time. In places, the unspoiled wilderness reminded Skye of the Highlands. It was something she would never admit to Brice.
The wind had increased, whipping Skye’s long blonde hair into a frenzy of wisps that fluttered gaily and all over the place. She stroked the muzzle of her mare fondly. The animal had been with her all the way from Diabaig to England and back. Her gaze slowly shifted to look at the man she loved. Seeing him standing there before her, for possibly the last time in a very long time, made her heart burn with pain. She wanted to say something, but no words came to voice.
Like his father, he was a tower of a man, albeit with the refined body of an athlete. Whereas his father was bulky and strong, Brice was nimble in strength and without a gram of fat on his person. Skye knew that she could love no other. She even loved his sense of duty, no matter how much she tried to hate it at the same time; it was this noble attribute that would keep them apart for God only knew how long. The expression on Skye’s face softened when she saw his nose that was swollen and red from the beating it had received the day before and the purple bags under his eyes.
“I am sorry for that,” she said, pointing at the injury. She winced. She had nearly broken it again during their lovemaking the night before and that very same morning when she had kissed him ferociously as if it were for the last time.
Brice smiled at her. “I deserved it. I will never lie to ye again.”
“Ye promise?” Skye’s lower lip trembled. As a true lady from the north, she was never one to feel the cold. However, on this day it penetrated her skin all the way to her bones.
“Aye, I do, lass.” He reached forward and pulled her closer. He kissed her on the lips, grimacing slightly when her nose touched his. When he pulled away, he laughed.
“What?” asked Skye, her cheeks reddening from the heat that the contact had evinced.
“I was thinking of last night and this morning. Crivens, did I cry out in pain when yer nose touched mine.” He continued laughing. Brice needed something, just anything, to say to delay the inevitable. Usually, he and Skye could talk about anything for hours on end. But now it felt as if there was nothing more to say. It was as if this invisible barrier hung between them, keeping them apart.
A small smile of remorse played on her lips. “I ken… I hurt ye again.”
Brice stoked her cheek. “That is not what I meant. I thought it was funny. We could barely move our heads after that, lest I shout out again.”
“Aye, but the rest of our bodies moved all the more,” said Skye, blushing.
Again, she was acting contrary to her character. Saying such a thing would usually never have provoked embarrassment before. At this moment, she felt as if Brice was a stranger, no matter how intimate they had been.
When she looked up again, Brice was watching her closely. He smiled again when their eyes met in a conference of deep blue and grassy green. She smiled back, her entire frame shivering now.
“Lassie, ye are cold,” said Brice, pulling her closer.
Skye nodded. It felt so good to be held by him. She imagined that it would feel just the same when they would be old together. “I think it is the worry of losing ye again,” she said, teeth chattering.
Brice pulled back. “Ye will never lose me. I love ye… ye and no other, Skye, daughter of Mungo of the Clan Macleod.” He chuckled. “And do ye think I am mad?”
“Why do ye say that?”
“Ye ken what yer da would do to me if I broke yer heart. That little performance by the loch would be nothing in comparison. He’d probably emasculate me and hang my tackle and bawsack around my neck to remind me that I hurt his daughter.”
Skye shuddered at the notion, but she soon laughed when she saw Brice making strange grimaces of imitated pain and disgust. It was the first time since they had ridden out from Leighton Manor with Mary and the laird that she felt a little more light-hearted.
When her mirth settled, she got serious as familiar worries resettled. “Do ye mean that? What ye said before the ‘da thing’… Ye ken, when ye said that I will never lose ye?”
Brice kissed her gently on the lips. “Aye, lassie. I have never meant something more in my life.” He wrinkled his brow. “I am sorry for the way things have been between us since we got here.”
Brice held his woman close to him. It felt as if it would be for the very last time. He could inhale her fresh scent that somehow reminded him of home – not this home but the one at Diabaig. It spoke of the loch, the hills and the sweet blossoms on the hills all around. Her fragrance shouted of the past and of his childhood, and of hers, like their destinies had been forged before they were born and cemented the day they entered adolescence.
“And ye…. I will love ye all my life.” Skye frowned. “I am sorry for being such an old hag these past weeks. It was just the thought of losing ye that drove me insane. I couldn’t bear it.”
“So, ye decided to make things worse then?”
Skye giggled.
It had been a long time since Brice had last heard her do that. It generally was not her way to act girlish. She thought such behavior was for women who submitted themselves to men and heeded their every whim.
“I did, eh?”
“It’s more than all right, my love. Now, let us forget about all that and look to the future.” Brice somehow felt more confident, more so than he had done all of that morning. “Ye will be heading home with my ma and da. I dinnae want ye to be maudlin when we are parted. Think of it as if I am away on some errand for Da.”
“As long as ye return to me, I will do whatever ye want, Brice.”
Brice arched his eyebrows. “What has happened to my Skye? In her place, I find a dutiful woman.” He began to look all around them, imitating his search for the true Skye.
She slapped him on the shoulder. “Stop playing the fool, ye silly man, and kiss me.”
Brice needed no further encouragement. He carefully navigated his way to her lips, causing Skye to laugh again. Hearing her happy urged him on. He forgot about the pain as he claimed her lips with all of the force he could muster. Hearing her gasp with pleasure increased his ministrations until they were almost as one body. It was only they; nothing else in the world remained. It was all gone and replaced by this woman, this kiss – Brice wanted nothing more than to remain in this sweet nirvana for all eternity.
/> Lost in another world, a place she never wished to leave, Skye succumbed to the full force of Brice’s sweet assault. All of a sudden, she no longer felt cold. All there was, all that mattered, was his sweet plundering and the heat that progressed all over her body, inducing her skin to tingle. She kissed him back with equal passion; she pulled on his hair, needing more of him. Her thumbs came to rest on his cheeks. The feel of the stubble there made her crave him even more. It was heavenly bliss found on Earth.
Brice was the first to pull away. He breathed heavily as if had been running. He caressed her face, marveling in its beauty that was unique in so many ways. No other woman had such high cheekbones other than maybe her mother, Freya. Skye was firm to the touch from her head all the way done to her toes. For a heartbeat, he hesitated. Could he let this woman go?
“My love, it is time. My ma and da are waiting for ye, and ye have a long road ahead.” His heart nearly broke into a million pieces when he saw the expression of sadness on her face. “It will be all right, I promise.”
“I ken… It’ll just be so hard to be without ye. It was already bad enough when ye left for battle.” She took his hands. “I only had ye for such a short time.”
Brice nodded. “I ken it. Try and put yer mind on other things. Our wedding is a good start, eh?”
This made Skye smile. “Aye, that is a good idea. And those preparations take quite a while. Thank goodness I have yer mother and mine to help me. Also, my little sister will play her part, I am sure.”
“That’s the spirit.”
“Kiss me again, Brice.” Skye let him grab her one more time. It began to become even more passionate than the first when an authoritative voice broke them apart.
“All right, ye two; it’s time,” said Alastair. “If I have to see any more of that, I will fall off my horse.”
“Will you now? I remember a time when you were just as arduous as your son,” said Mary, smirking at her husband.
Alastair raised his hands before his wife could add any more anecdotes of their romantic history. “We leave now,” he shouted.
He pulled on the horse’s reigns and spun the animal around until he cantered away in a northerly direction. Mary, who like her husband had already said their farewells, smiled at Skye and her son before she followed Alastair.
“Skye, it is time.” Brice lifted his betrothed onto the back of her horse. “Remember, I will always love ye.” He did not wait for a reply; he slapped the animal’s rump, inducing it to dart off after his parents.
“I love ye too… and I will get ye back for that,” cried Skye, barely managing to stay atop her horse.
* * *
With a smile etched onto his features, Brice turned in the direction of his horse that was tied to a tree close by. It was time for him to continue with his plan. He only hoped that all parties involved would agree.
18
Only in the Clan Macleod
* * *
Diabaig, Highlands, April, 1347
* * *
The small waves in the loch lapped against the shoreline, which was a small white sandy beach, that when the sun caught it, shone like the snowy caps on the mountains in the winter. A few paces inland, the shore was claimed by lush green grass that in many places ran all the way up to the hills in the hinterland. At this time of year, those grassy green inclines were resplendent with purple foxgloves with their long stems that seemed might snap because of the wind, or shimmering white fairy flowers, or windflowers and more – all that spring had to offer was there for the world to see. These abundant blooms caught the late afternoon sun in various hues, making any wanderer stop and ponder.
It was like a separate world. High above were blue skies on which fluffy white clouds paused in their journeys, telling a story of the rains that were soon to come. The closest members of the Clan Macleod to these passing heavenly objects were the great horned cattle, shaggy beasts that stood indolently, grazing on the lush green grass on the gradients with hearty rips. Off and on, they nipped at the foxgloves or maybe a fairy flower, as if these blooms were a more appealing prospect.
Skye sat by Loch Torridon. It was where she felt closest to Brice. It was a quaint and happy place, made more alluring by the daisies and other blossoms that throve there. It had been close to a month since her fateful parting from the man she loved and not a day since had been wholly pleasant. She knew that she had to act like the future wife of a laird, but that prospect seemed more and more elusive as the days had turned into weeks. What if she was not to become a lady of the Clan Macleod but Lady Leighton instead? Could she do it? Was the love she harbored for Brice strong enough for her to leave the place she loved most in the world?
Ever since returning home to Diabaig, into the warm welcome of family and friends, the wedding preparations had taken center stage. Mary had been a whirlwind of energy, followed closely by Freya. Skye’s sister, Effemy, had done her best to soothe her sister and tell Skye sweet nothings, and she had been successful on many occasions. Skye remembered her as the quiet child when growing up and she had not changed at all since. At fourteen, she was two years younger than her and in many ways much more mature.
One thing that had struck Skye the most since returning from her long journey was that a burgeoning relationship had developed between Callum and her sister. Thinking about it, Skye realized that it made sense. Effemy was smart, cleverer than Skye in the realms of the theoretical – Mungo always did whatever he thought best for his daughters. While he placed more emphasis on physical training in terms of swordplay and other outdoor activities for Skye, he stressed more intense lessons in Latin, French, and Mathematics for Effemy. Coming to think about it, her sister had taken many classes with Callum when they were children.
A small smile played on her lips. What a fine thing if sisters were to become sisters-in-law also. Instead of provoking happy thoughts, this brought on more brooding concerning her future. It was so bad, like at times like this, that Skye thought she might keel over and die. She knew that she was needed in the castle, but she just couldn’t go. Her mind was fully occupied with thoughts of Brice and what he might be doing at this very moment. How could she think about the wedding now when she did not know whom she was marrying?
“I am sure he is fine and thinking of you,” said a familiar voice that immediately made Skye’s heart jump.
Skye spun around on her heels to face her sister. She studied her for a heartbeat. It always astounded her how different they were. Effemy was the complete opposite to Skye in every way but maybe their long blonde hair that shimmered golden in imitation of their mother’s. Also, they shared the same sparkling blue eyes that reflected Loch Torridon. And that was where the comparisons ended. Effemy radiated a kind of sweetness and ladylike grace that shone like a halo from an elegant round face. Whereas with high cheekbones, Skye exuded a certain fierceness of the warrior that was coupled with a female fecundity they both shared. Both of them were striking in their own different ways – Skye taller and more muscular and Effemy shorter and more femininely bodacious.
“How can ye always read my mind, sister?” Skye took Effemy’s hands and pulled her closer.
“That is because we are sisters and I love ye.”
“I love ye too, Effemy,” said Skye, feeling some of the weight on her shoulders lifting. Her sister had that effect on her. It was her calm manner that could probably soothe a bull on the rampage.
“Why don’t we sit down by the loch for a while?” said Effemy.
“I thought you came to fetch me and bring me back to the castle?”
Effemy grinned like a little sprite. “That can wait. Callum and I have had a rather good idea, and I think Brice will be of the same opinion. I’d even wager he thought of it himself. But first I need ye to do something for me, or otherwise, I won’t tell ye.”
Skye nodded. “Anything, sister.”
Effemy giggled. When it came to showing mirth, she was far girlier than her bigger sister. “Ye dinnae ken wha
t it is yet.”
“Well, tell me. I dinnae think ye’d ask me to run naked through the village.”
“Now, that’s an idea. The laddies would enjoy that.”
“Stop it…” Skye began to tickle Effemy like when they were girls. “Tell me now what ye have in mind.”
“All right, all right… release me.” When Effemy sat upright again, she said, “Ye must promise me that ye will stop this pathetic moping about like a lovesick troubadour. It’s so not like ye. Brice loves ye, and that is that.”
“But what about England? I dinnae ken if I could bear it there?” complained Skye.
“Stop being silly… Of course ye can do it if it is required of ye. What other option do ye have, eh? Either ye marry Brice and do what is needed as a wife or ye marry Doogle… The choice is yers?”
Skye stared at her sister as if she was crazy. In moments, her sister’s face could no longer hold its serious mien, as it began to crumple and she descended into fits of laughter.
“Ye were teasing me?” said Skye incredulous. She soon could not help but join her – Doogle was sweet, but the notion was hilarious. It took them ages to calm down again.
“All right, I will stop the moping,” said Skye, barely controlling herself. “Now, tell me… I need to know what is in that devious mind of yers?”
“Good, it will be easier for ye to stop yer pining after ye have heard this. This is a gem of wisdom I picked up on from Murtagh a while ago…”
“What’s that – ye have to get the laddie by the bawsack if ye don’t want him to run away?” said Skye, laughing because of her own imitation of the man.