by K. E. Saxon
“Aye? Crave you something from the trousseau, Callum?” Praise be! Maggie thought. He was going to ask her for the betrothal ring, she just knew it! Her mother was going to be thrilled that their plan was moving along more quickly than they’d ever dreamed.
Callum fought the urge to squirm. There was a distinct twinkle in his mother’s eye. No doubt, she found this highly amusing. She probably thought he was going to give one of his amours (of which there were no longer any) a token of his regard. But his purpose was far different. Callum cleared his throat again. This had to be the most humiliating thing he’d ever had to do. But his mind was made up and he would complete the task at hand—and it mattered not how much a love-struck fool he would look to his mother. “Aye, I’d like the gold filet. May I have it?”
His mother slumped a bit on her stool. “The gold filet? Aye,” she said, less enthusiastically than before, which surprised Callum, but he couldn’t think of what else she’d been hoping he’d be asking her for, “you may have it.” She rose and walked to the far corner of her bedchamber and opened a large chest. After moving the swaths of silk aside, she found the velvet pouch that held the filet and then walked back to where Callum sat and handed it to him. “Here, I believe this is the one you are wanting.”
Callum untied the string and loosened the opening of the pouch before slowly sliding the golden circlet out. He held it up to the light of the hearth. Aye, this would do. ‘Twasn’t the most ornate of hair ornaments he’d ever seen, but ‘twas certainly of higher quality than the one the lass had been given by his grandmother. “My thanks, Mother.” He stood abruptly and placed a kiss on her cheek. “I shall see you at dinner, no doubt.” And then he was off, giving her no chance to question him on his reasons for wanting the piece of jewelry.
He couldn’t say why it bothered him so that the lass had had so little of the finer, feminine things growing up, while he’d had access to as many as he’d ever wanted to bestow upon this lady or that, but it did. It did bother him. And it helped not his sore conscience to know that he’d been the one to cause her to irrevocably lose the only one she’d ever owned—the one she’d very nearly killed herself trying to retrieve earlier that morn.
He hurried back to his room and fetched the gord he’d so diligently looked for earlier by using his hands to measure the size, holding it just as he’d done with that silken hair-covered head of hers during those long, intense minutes in the cave when she’d pleasured him. Then he quickly settled the filet around its round mass to measure the size of the band. ‘Twould need to be made smaller, just as he’d suspected. Turning, he strode from the chamber and took off toward the smith’s cot. Since there were no craftsmen about that could take the amethysts from his squire’s ring and, using the gold from it, set them in the filet, he’d have to make do with whatever skill the smith could lend to the task.
A quarter hour later, the errand completed, he was off to the training fields to no doubt have his body broken with the strain of vigorous exercise by his cousin Bao.
* * *
When Branwenn returned to her chamber after supper many hours later the most lovely gold-filigreed filet she had ever seen, having three small, oval, amethyst stones inset in the design, lay resting on a bed of dark red rose petals atop her pillow.
After trying it on and finding that it fit her perfectly—Was this from Callum? How could he have known the size? And where had he gotten hold of it so soon after their talk?—she placed it back in its resting place on the pillow.
That night, she slept with her hand wrapped around the offering. ‘Twas the first gift she’d ever been given from (she hoped) a potential swain.
* * *
CHAPTER 5
“You have the look of your mother,” Bao said to Branwenn the next day as they walked toward the stables. They were set to take a ride to the seashore. “Tho’ she was a bit rounder than you when I knew her—for she carried you in her belly at the time. And your features are quite similar to hers. Lord, those eyes...” he said.
“Aye, you’ve told me of my resemblance to her often. I wish I could have known her.” Branwenn halted her stride and, turning to Bao, she took his hand and held it, saying, “Did she want me—love me?”
Bao lifted his other hand to her cheek and stroked it gently. “Aye, she did. She didn’t want to leave you—fought hard, in fact, to stay alive for you.” He sighed. “But, alas, in the end, she lost the struggle. And when I saw how sweet, how fragile, you were, I knew I would do aught that I must to keep you alive, safe from harm. And I did just that. I pray you don’t hate me for what I did.” Though they’d had a similar conversation the day she’d departed for Cambria, Bao still worried that his sister was repulsed by the degree to which he’d sunk into the depths of human depravity in order to raise her.
Branwenn threw her arms around her brother, holding tight. “Nay! How could I hate you? You sacrificed so much for me. I love you.”
Bao craned his head back and looked at her more closely. “That’s a fine-looking hair thing you’ve got perched up there, lass. Where did you get such a handsome piece? Did Reys give it to you?”
Branwenn shook her head. “Nay, actually...”—she lifted her hand to the filet and ran her fingers over it lightly—“I believe ‘twas Callum that gave me this.”
“Callum!” ‘Twas an accusation.
Branwenn’s head whipped up and around. “Nay, ‘tis not what you think,” she hoped she lied. “He only meant to replace the one he accidentally made me lose down the well this day past.”
Bao’s eyes narrowed as he studied the sheepish look on his wee sister’s countenance. There was definitely more here than met the eye. Mayhap a very brief, very serious, talk with Callum would be prudent at this juncture.
“Aye,” he said letting the matter drop for now.
* * *
Daniel was in the great hall, enjoying a draught of ale and a bit of cheese when Branwenn and Bao came through the door several hours later.
“Daniel!” Branwenn said excitedly, running straight into his open arms. “‘Tis so good to see you! How is Maryn, how is Nora, how are your clansmen?”
“You give him the greeting I should have received this day past?” Bao said, interrupting the loving reunion. “‘Tis I who raised you, whelp, not he.”
Branwenn gave him a slight shrug with a wink and smile attached. It didn’t escape her notice, either, that Daniel’s answer to that was a smug grin pointed directly in his brother’s direction. His words were to Branwenn, however. “‘Tis good to see you, too, my wee sister—this as a poke to Bao’s pride—and Maryn and our babe are fine, as well as all my clansmen.” He stood back, his hands on her shoulders as he put her at arms length and did a quick perusal of her from head to foot. “You’re just as beautiful as ever, wee one,”—Branwenn felt her cheeks pinken with pleasure—“but ‘tis truth, you need a haircut and a new gown.”—Now her cheeks turned hot with the flame of mortification—“Why ever has Grandmother not seen to this yet?” ‘Twas an accusation clearly directed fully upon his brother.
Bao shrugged, a bit sheepishly. “I asked her not.” He turned his gaze on Branwenn. “Branwenn? Has Grandmother made arrangements for some other clothes to be made for you?”
Branwenn bowed her head and nodded, saying in a small voice, “I believe the gowns will be ready soon.”
“And your hair? You cut it again, I see.”
Touching the strand of bangs lying to the right of her brow, she answered defensively, “Aye, ‘twas the best way to travel—I traveled as a lad these past moons.”
Bao shook his head. “Can you believe, my sister had hair whose tips brushed her calves the summer we hid in the Maclean cave.”
“Aye, and now I’ve hair like a lad.” No wonder Callum thought her young—why, he’d even called her ‘laddish’. Mayhap, he hadn’t given her the filet as a token of his regard, but truly as a salve to his guilty conscience for startling her and making her lose the thing.
Daniel, seeing her crestfallen countenance, hugged her to him, saying, “But you still look like a beautiful lass.” He shot a look at Bao that said, “We must find her a new dress. Now.”
* * *
Callum sat facing his two cousins in the solar an hour later. Tense and uncomfortable as hell, with the two men’s eyes drilling into him, he forced himself not to squirm on his stool. “I tell you, I only gave the thing to her as a replacement for the one I made her drop in the well when I startled her. ‘Twas naught else behind the gift, I swear.” But even he knew that was a lie. There was more to that gift than simply a soothing of the conscience. Why else had he been so impelled to have the amethysts—the same shade as her eyes—set in the ornament? Why else had he gone to the gardener and paid the man for one of his rare red roses?
Daniel’s eyes were shrewd as he assessed his nervous cousin. “I told you this year past that the lass is too young for you but, if you are wooing her in earnest...well,”—he briefly turned his gaze on Bao before returning it to his cousin—“‘twould certainly be a better match than she and the Norman.”
Callum’s cheeks warmed, and clearly, Bao noticed, for he drawled, “Aye, ‘twould be better to have her here—even with a callowling such as yourself,”—Callum swallowed a growl, but shot Bao a venomous look, which only made his cousin grin—“than to have her off in a foreign land, and in the Norman’s bed.”
The knot in Callum’s belly tightened and his teeth ground together, but he managed to keep his angry retort to himself. How could her own brother speak of such? Her. In bed. With the Norman. This did not sit well, but he’d be damned if he’d take the bait—for bait it most definitely was. So, he said in as even a voice as he could manage, the truth, as he knew it. “I have a daughter now. Mayhap, this year past, I did have an idea of wooing your sister, but the events since that time have altered my course.” He leveled his gaze on Daniel. “She is too young. I need someone capable of mothering my daughter—and Branwenn, tho’ a...ahem...well—mayhap ‘sweet’ is not the word, but kind-hearted, certainly—lass, is as callow as you accuse me of being. I cannot take that risk.” Needing to steer the conversation far from this very uncomfortable topic, he decided to take the offensive, specifically directing it to Bao. “Why the hell did you never give the poor lass a filet, for Christ’s sake? Every lass above the age of five has one. How cold-hearted can you be?” He stood and began to pace, now truly riled as he recalled this bit of Branwenn’s history. “Why, if you’d only seen how avid she was to retrieve that pitiful excuse for jewelry! I swear she was more in than out of that well, her toes barely still touching the ground beneath.”
His ploy must have worked, because when he turned back to the two massive warriors, they were both silent and had the most perfectly amusing sets of guilty expressions on their countenances that Callum had ever seen.
Daniel and Bao looked at each other and with a shrug, they rose to their feet and spoke at once.
“—Well, if that’s all there was to it...” Daniel said.
“—Aye, I should have gotten the lass a filet...” Bao said.
Relief washed over Callum. He’d just barely—just barely, dodged the dart.
* * *
“Oh! Grandmother Maclean! This is so lovely.” Branwenn looked up from the carmine velvet gown she held lovingly in her hands into Lady Maclean’s eyes. “But this is much too fine for me. I…I feel”—she shrugged self-consciously and touched her fingertips to her cropped hair—“odd wearing such fine things.”
Lady Maclean stroked Branwenn’s flushed cheek. “You are a lady nonetheless, and must apparel yourself as such. I’m sure, in time, you shall grow accustomed to the finery. Practice. Practice is what is needed. And this night, this gown, shall be a good start.”
She dipped her head and nodded. “Aye, ‘tis truth that I’ve admired fine things, but now…now that I have the opportunity to wear them….” She shrugged again. “‘Tis only that I thought I’d have a bit more time before I had to…well, I thought the clothes would not be ready for another sennight.” She lifted her gaze to Lady Maclean’s. “How were we able to get this one so soon?”
Lady Maclean did not miss the note of disappointment tinging the question and gave her foster granddaughter a gentle smile of encouragement. “Truth be told, lass, ‘twas your brothers who, shall we say, ‘twisted the clothier’s and then the tailor’s arm a bit and made them finish this one, and the chemise, for the feast we’re having this afternoon.”
A look of chagrin crossed Branwenn’s face. “Aye, I can only imagine Daniel and Bao would not want me showing up to a feast held in their honor looking like a beggar.”
Lady Maclean put her arm around the lass’s slumped shoulders. “Now, you surely know that they care not for such—‘tis your sweet countenance and loving nature they crave to be near. But, they understand how important it is for a young lass to have pretty things.” She placed a kiss on the crown of Branwenn’s head. “They did this because they love you, and I ordered the thing made for you for the same reason. We love you, lass.”
Branwenn’s face crumpled and she threw her arms around Lady Maclean’s neck, crushing the gown between them. “My many, many thanks. Lord, how I missed you!” she said thickly.
Lady Maclean held her for a time. What a sweet, sensitive lass Bao had raised. He’d done well. “There, there, dear. Dry your tears, or ‘twill surely make your brothers believe I beat you!”
Branwenn giggled and brushed her thumb under her eyes to swipe away the moisture. Clearly feeling much better now, she drew away from Lady Maclean and said, “You should have seen how humorless, how pompous all those Norman’s are, Grandmother! I loathed eating in the hall with them. They all looked down their noses at me—even the old, doddering goats—as if I were some poor relation or some such.”
Lady Maclean patted Branwenn’s hand. “Well, you are back home now where you belong.” And, if she had anything to say about it, the lass would be well-wed and carrying Callem’s babe under her heart long before that Norman swine ever stepped foot on Highland soil—if that turned out to be his plan. “Now, let’s get this on you, lass. ‘Twill be a fine foil for those lovely amethyst stones in the filet Callum gave you.”
Branwenn hadn’t thought of that. “Aye, ‘twill!” she said, hurrying behind the screen to change into her new cream-colored chemise with the intertwining carmine rose-and-purple violet stitched border, the stems of which were the exact color of Callem’s eyes. She swallowed a sigh. Would he think her pretty in the new gown? She prayed so. Mayhap, he would even ask her to dance with him after dinner, when the pipers played. A thrill of excitement ran up her spine. Callum.
She hurriedly drew the chemise over her head and tied the lace at the neckline into a bow. Hmmm. It certainly was a bit tighter than she was used to. And much lower than she thought proper, only just covering the rise of her breasts. Oh, God, did it hide the ugly freckle? Her heart raced as she frantically inspected the garment and how it covered her. She let out a sigh of relief. Aye, aye, it did. But, mayhap, the tailor had been in a hurry and had not cut it properly. She shrugged. It certainly wasn’t low enough to ruin it for use. Then came the gown. After settling it over her breasts and hips, she skillfully tied up the laces on the sides of the garment. This was when true alarm set in. She peeked around the screen at Lady Maclean. “Grandmother!” Her voice cracked with disappointment. “The gown doesn’t fit properly; it’s much too small in the bodice!” The material fit snugly under and around her bosom, lifting it up a bit and smooshing the two white mounds together.
Lady Maclean smiled gently, but inside she was doing mad cartwheels. “Nay, lass, it fits as ‘twas designed to do. Is this your first lady’s gown, then?”
Branwenn blushed. “Nay…,” she said, thinking of the one Gaiallard had given her, which had been one of his sister’s, and had not fit so well. Mayhap that didn’t count, then? “Aye, aye...I suppose it is,” she said, still unsure ‘twas properly fitted. But, reca
lling the fine ladies at the Earl of Pembroke’s castle, her mind settled. Aye, there had been much more skin displayed by them than she was used to seeing. Mayhap, ‘twas truly the fashion. She shrugged again. “Well...if you think it won’t make my brothers angry....”
“Why, lass, why ever should it? ‘Twas they that brought it back here for you after all.” She quickly crossed her fingers behind her back. ‘Twasn’t that much of a lie, was it? After all, ‘twas all for a good purpose. A wedding. And soon.
* * *
Branwenn was the first to arrive in the great hall an hour later—or, she thought she was, until she saw Callum step from behind the screen to the buttery with a tankard of ale in his hand.
His eyes did a quick sweep of her and his brows slammed together. He strode toward her. “Where did those come from!” he said harshly, his eyes fastened to the bosom ‘twas so hard to miss.
Branwenn’s hackles immediately went up. “What do you mean ‘Where did those come from?’ They”—she was so furious, she actually pointed at them!—“dropped from the sky, of course, and landed directly on my chest this very afternoon.” A brief pause and then: “Are you a lackwit?”
Callum’s cheeks burned. “Well, they weren’t there before...,” he said feebly, realizing how idiotic his words had been, still were, in fact. His rudeness, his irritability, his inability to say the right thing, kept surprising him with their appearance. There was just something about the lass that lifted the social shackles from his usually glib tongue, making him say every single thought in its exact tone and wording, at the precise moment he thought it.
“I bound them, you simpleton. I couldn’t exactly travel about as a lad with them hanging out for all to see! And I have been wearing your mother’s larger gowns since coming here, remember?” She shrugged and gave a quick glance to her breasts before lifting her eyes once more to Callum’s. “Besides, ‘tis not as if they’re the size of Jesslyn’s.”