Highland Magic

by K. E. Saxon

  Laird MacGregor came in at that moment, for which it was clear the two ladies were very grateful. “I see you’ve recovered from your fever. Good, good.” A middle-aged dark-haired man of great girth and height, his heavy footsteps caused the table next to the bed to jump, making the water slosh out of the ewer and onto the floor.

  “Chalmers!” Callum’s mother sighed and shook her head, but hurried to clean the mess with the cloth she found next to the ewer.

  Her husband gave her a sheepish look. “Pardon, my beloved.”

  Callum rolled his eyes. Why must the man continually speak love words to her directly within her son’s hearing? “What reason did my father-in-law give for his nephew’s conduct?” he asked his stepfather, though his eyes never left his lithely built dark-haired mother. Would she never stop flitting about like a wee bird, lighting first here, then there? She needed more meat on her bones, and this was no way to go about it. “Mother, let the maids do that.”

  “The older pages dared him to do the deed,” Laird MacGregor answered.

  Callum’s eyes swung to his stepfather and he cocked a brow at him.

  “They’ve evidently been teasing the bairn,” Laird MacGregor continued, “calling him a coward, ever since his first night sharing quarters with them when he refused to take part in their secret guild’s ritual and walk the moor alone at midnight.”

  For the first time since realizing his drink had been tampered with, Callum’s wrath lessened. He smiled before he realized he’d done it and said, “Poor lad. I remember well the insults to my own manhood I received—and gave back in turn—when I first paged.” Callum shook his head, his eyes once again on his mother, following her movements as she silently tidied the bedchamber and found a stool for her aged mother to rest upon, but his mind focused inward, on memories that, until this moment, had been long forgot. “God’s truth, I do believe ‘twas the most difficult twelvemonth of all my years of training.” He turned his eye to his stepfather again. “They’ve formed a secret guild?” He grinned. “I wish I’d thought of that when I was their age.”

  Laird MacGregor’s countenance split into a big-toothed grin. Stroking his fingers over his bearded chin, he replied, “Aye, I thought the same thing when Laird Gordon told the tale to me this eve past!”

  “Maggie,” Lady Maclean said, half in jest, “‘Tis at last clear to me what you meant when you said ‘twas as if these two were cut from the same cloth. For, ‘tis truth, they do seem to love mischief-making.”

  Callum ignored the jibe. “What recompense did you extract from my father-in-law then?” he asked his stepfather.

  “I insisted he send his nephew to me to train. He agreed.”

  Callum chuckled. “Aye,” he said with evil glee, “I look forward to meeting my wee swine-loving poisoner.”

  “Now, Callum, I can see the cogs in that maniacal mind of yours turning,” his mother interjected, “and you mustn’t do anything to upset the poor bairn any further. He’s no father, he’s only Laird Gordon as guardian—and you know how churlish that man can be. Why, I’m sure the lad’s been punished enough.”

  Feigning a sigh of disappointment, Callum answered, “Aye, Mother.” But, in truth, he had no intention of meting out any further punishment on the lad—especially now that he knew of his parentless state. That thought reminded him of his daughter and he sat up straight. Worry furrowed his brow as he asked his mother, “Where is Laire? She was not exposed to my fever, was she?”

  “The babe is well, fear not,” Maggie hurried to reassure him. With a quick glance at her mother and then back at him, she continued, “‘Tis the main reason the physician gave for keeping us as far from this sick room as possible.”

  “Fetch me my shirt and braies; I want to see her.”

  “Chalmers, help me rise,” Lady Maclean said, holding out her hand toward him. “‘Tis past time we allowed Callum some privacy.”

  As the two exited, Maggie retrieved the items of clothing her son had requested from his clothing chest. “I’ll send up a servant to help you wash and dress.”

  “Nay, there’s no time. I haven’t seen my daughter in three days. I’m anxious to know for myself how she fares and I want to cradle her in my arms again.

  “You’ll have a bit of trouble, with the injury to your shoulder,” she reminded, her voice gentle.

  “I know, but ‘tis worth the discomfort.”

  “Be careful, else you could cause more damage to it—or worse, drop the poor lass.”

  “Aye, I’ll be careful.”

  She departed then as well, leaving Callum alone once more in his chamber.

  Though ‘twas difficult, he managed to wash and dress on his own. Within a half-hour, and with the aid of a cane, he managed to get himself to his daughter’s nursery.

  Now, as he gazed down at his sleeping bairn, nestled snugly in her cradle, he was reminded once more of her mother. She’d gotten Lara’s lovely, delicate features, as well as her wavy chestnut hair and large blue eyes. But she had a much more temperate nature. Where Lara had been extravagant in her reactions—one moment gleeful, the next in angry tears—this lass was calm, and had a sweet, cheerful disposition, for which Callum was thankful every day.

  The Gordons, specifically Laird Gordon, had hounded him at first to give the babe into the care of their own clan, but Callum could not do it. For, he suspected, ‘twas that very upbringing that had made his wife both spoiled with the need for luxuries and aggressive in her pursuit of male attention. And there was something more as well...some vaguely unnerving something in her manner, in her reactions to men, but especially to him the one time they’d made love, that made him wonder if she’d not been abused, mayhap even meddled with in a baser way, as a bairn. For his tenderness toward her that night had seemed to offend her, ‘twas only when he’d at last done her bidding and taken her with rough force—clearly causing her pain—that she’d finally found pleasure.

  But if he were right in his suspicions, he knew ‘twas not Laird Gordon who’d done the deed. For everything in that old warrior’s manner pointed to a moral, tho’ irascible, nature. Nay, ‘twas not her father, but someone else—he knew not who for sure, perhaps her stepbrother?—that may have committed such a vile crime against her. ‘Twas the reason he’d remained patient with her those first few moons of their marriage when she’d driven his mother mad with her demands and incessant complaints. He knew his mother had wondered why he would not take his wife in hand and demand that she behave in a more civil manner toward the staff, but he could never bring himself to reveal his dark suspicions to her. It had seemed too...privy a thing to discuss with her. And, without proof, it seemed wrong somehow, as if he’d begin some terrible rumor if he gave voice to the notion.

  Still asleep, his daughter took in a deep breath and made the sweetest wee sigh before smacking her rose-petal, slobbery lips together. He couldn’t help it, he just had to see those two cherubic white teeth of hers, so he lightly pressed down on her bottom lip a moment and gazed at the small red gums with their two snowy crests pushing through. He lifted his finger to her warm-as-sunshine, soft-as-down pink cheek and lightly stroked the back of it over the soft, sleep-warmed mound.

  Aye, ‘twas much better that Laire remain with him.

  That horrible day two moons past when he and his scouts had at last tracked his faithless wife and her contemptible lover—her grotesquely burned and still healing stepbrother, it turned out—to the cotter’s hut in the Gordon wood, when he’d heard those pain-wracked moans coming from within...and when he’d, at last, leapt from his mount and rushed inside the dark hovel only to find his wife bleeding to death from the puncture wound she’d received when she’d fallen from her charging horse onto a sharp branch of a fallen tree trunk and been pierced through, he never would have imagined how deep his love would grow for this wee one not of his seed.

  Tho’ his wife had been weak from the massive loss of blood, and near death at the time he’d found her, she’d still been awake
. ‘Twas then that she at last revealed to him who’d sired her babe—her honorless stepbrother—a thing he’d been trying to learn since the night of their wedding when he’d discovered the foul trick that had been played upon him. Laird Gordon had willfully refrained from revealing to Callum that his new bride would come with more than a settlement regarding the tract of land the two clans feuded over, but she would come already bearing another man’s babe. But seeing it from the old warrior’s perspective, ‘twas the best thing the man could have done to both make a pact with the MacGregors—and gain the advantage one last time, a thing any man of war would do—and see that his grandchild would not be raised outside of wedlock. A rather skewed, but still honorably intended deed.

  Lara had pleaded with him then to keep her daughter and raise her as a MacGregor, for her stepbrother refused to acknowledge his part in the matter and, tho’ she’d tried early on to lose the babe, she’d discovered within herself the past moons, while confined to her tower chamber—a punishment Callum had meted out when he’d discovered her in flagrante delicto with his old childhood friend, Robert MacVie—that she wanted her babe to live, to know the love of a parent who would keep her safe from harm.

  And, even now, he wondered if he could possibly love a daughter-germane more. For, ‘twas truth, that from the moment he first laid eyes on her the day of her birth last spring, he’d begun to love her as his own.

  His wee bairn began to fuss in her sleep, and in moments ‘twas a full-throated cry. The nurse rushed over to the side of the crib, but Callum shook his head and shooed her away with his hand. Bending down, he lifted his tearful babe into his arms, gritting his teeth against the pain the movement caused to his bruised shoulder. “Hush, wee one, and I’ll take you to your nurse.” He turned to the lady and asked, “Is it time for her next feeding?”

  “Aye, sir. And from the looks of your shirt, ‘tis time to change her swaddling clothes as well.”

  Callum, a look of chagrin on his face, gazed at the warm, wet stain now covering the left side of his shirt. “I was so glad to hold her again, I noticed not the state of her swaddlings.”

  “Hand the babe to me, sir, and I’ll have her cleaned and ready for her meal in no time.”

  Callum transferred the small, wet, still fussing bundle to the woman, but remained in the chamber for another hour as she washed, changed, and fed his most precious treasure.

  * * *

  ‘Twas not until late that night, when he was undressing for bed, that Callum at last recalled the cave, the key, the sea faery...and Branwenn.

  “God’s teeth!” Callum growled, hobbling with as quick a gait as his sore ankle would allow toward the hook that held his tunic. Not only had he—the one who’d been so adamant that the secret passage remain sealed and its two keys kept in the possession of the lady of the keep and himself—given his key away, but he’d given the combination as well! And to someone he believed at the time to be one of the fey ones!

  Rushing from the room, he clumped toward the stair and took them haltingly to the level above—to his stepfather’s and mother’s chamber. He pounded on the door. “Mother! I must speak with you in all haste!”

  The door swung wide and he was met with his stepfather’s rugged—and vexed—countenance. “Aye? What need you from your poor mother at this late hour? She’s worn thin and needs her rest.”

  Chagrined, reminded of his mother’s weakened state these past moons since the chill she took over the spring that she’d only just got over in the past sennights, Callum replied softly, “My pardon, but ‘tis truly of a very urgent nature—”

  Maggie came up behind her husband and nudged him aside. “What has you so upset, my son? You’ve not got your fever back, have you?” she asked anxiously.

  “Nay, Mother, fear not. But I must”—he glanced briefly at his stepfather—“speak with you privily. Just for a moment.”

  “Aye,” Maggie replied, scooting out the door and closing it behind her. After it gave a soft ‘snick’, she folded her arms over her chest and lifted her brows in question. “Aye?” she prompted.

  “I must borrow your key to the cave exit.”

  “Bu—”

  “Please, do not ask me the reason, for ‘twill all be revealed in a short time, I swear it.”

  With a sigh and a nod, Maggie swept the delicate silver chain holding the brass key from around her neck and handed it to him. Drilling him with a determined look, she said, “I shall expect to know the full of it come morn.”

  Callum placed his hand on her upper arm. “Aye, Mother,” he replied. “Now, you must get your rest, for I’ve no wish for you to lose what strength you’ve gained these past sennights.”

  “Aye, ‘tis glad I am that your grandmother arrived when she did to help with Laire, for she helped me recover as well.”

  Callum settled a light kiss on her cheek. “Sleep well,” he said softly and then turned and strode away.

  Maggie shook her head as she watched him leave. ‘Twas clear by the spark in her son’s eye that he was on a mission that would involve a bit of mischief—and, if she knew her son, which she did, quite well, in fact—‘twould involve a person of the gentler sex.

  Thank Heaven. For, since her daughter-in-law’s death—nay, ‘twas even before that—since that horrible debacle involving his true heart’s desire, Maryn Donald, two springs past, when he lost the Maclean lairdship and all hope of ever wedding the lass, she’d seen a much too somber Callum emerge. For, all his life before that time, he’d been the charming, ever affable, and much admired by the ladies, young man. ‘Twas all that had transpired these past moons that had matured him—but, to her way of thinking—had diminished him as well. And she’d begun to regret her and her husband’s decision to humor Callum in his rather strange need to block, and lock, the passage to the cave in the sennights after they’d buried Lara. For, it had not, as they’d hoped, enabled him to move forward with his life, to return to some semblance of his prior delightful, carefree self. Nay, instead, he’d grown ever more quiet, ever more serious.

  But this morn, when he’d nearly spewed his stomach over the outrage of the pig offal, had been the closest he’d been to his old self in much too long a time. And a romantic tryst with one of the fortress maids might just help to complete the restoration. With a lighthearted smile, she turned and entered her chamber once more.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 3

  Branwenn shivered. The night was cooler than she’d expected it to be, else she’d have brought one of the old cloaks with her that she’d taken from the keep to cover herself in after her midnight swim.

  Her mind had been full of thoughts of Callum all day—ever since her hasty departure from his chamber before dawn—so she’d decided a nice long swim might tire her enough to sleep. But no sooner had she finished the exercise than her thoughts turned once more to the annoying man. Did he remember seeing her in his bed this morn? Surely not. He couldn’t. He’d been much too benumbed by the effects of the sleeping draught, and the fever as well, to recall such a brief encounter. Surely.

  Though she was cold, she took her time returning to the cave. As she walked along the pebble-strewn moon-lit shore, she turned her thoughts to her next destination. She’d decided to travel to Perth. She knew the town well and felt sure she could find some means of supporting herself once there. Mayhap, she could find work in one of the merchant’s homes. There were plenty of them in a town that size and surely one of them would need to add another member to their staff. Or mayhap, she could apprentice as a spinster. She felt sure she could learn that trade, for she did well enough with needle and thread—and it could not be too different, could it? After all, there was thread involved in spinning as well, wasn’t there?

  And then, mayhap by the next Bealltainn, she could go home again—to the Maclean holding—to her brother Bao. Surely, by that time all would be settled to her royal cousin and the march lord’s satisfaction, and she would be free once more to live near the person who ra
ised her.

  She’d leave at first light. ‘Twas dangerous to stay a minute past that time, for she knew that eventually Callum would recall his time in the cave and be back to find the sea faery to whom he’d given his key. She’d left it under a rock just this side of the door leading into the tower chamber and she would find a way to send Callum word where to retrieve it when she was well on her way to Perth—tho’ ‘twould be a missive from the sea faery, of course. She sniggered. Wouldn’t she just delight in seeing the look on his face when he read that letter? Mayhap, she should scrape out the inside of a shell and crush it into a fine pink dust to sprinkle over the ink. Ooh! And she should dry a bit of seaweed to tie about the rolled missive as well. ‘Twould no doubt make the thing smell like the bottom of a fish barrel, but ‘twould be a just repayment for the rude thing he said to her this morn. Besides, ‘twould certainly add to the amusement of the scene.

  A few minutes later, she entered her cave and was just lighting another candle, when the unmistakable sound of male footsteps began to reverberate inside the cavern.

  Callum! Her mind reeled. He couldn’t wait until the morrow to return here? Nay, that would be asking too much of the gods of fortune, she supposed. And there was no doubt in her mind ‘twould be his too-handsome face she’d see in another minute.

  With the fleet speed of a falcon on its prey, she retrieved her ‘faery’ attire and almost literally jumped into them. She blew out the candles and stood, waiting, in the darkest corner of the cave. The sound of harsh breathing filled the midnight depths of the cavern chamber, but it took a second for her to realize ‘twas coming from her own throat. Closing her eyes—and her mouth—she willed herself to take in several slow, deep, quiet, breaths, tho’ her heart actually ached as it pounded against her ribs, and the urge to fill her lungs with more haste was almost too irresistible to ignore.