Highland Magic

by K. E. Saxon

  Daniel laughed.

  Branwenn stiffened, but then her face and her shoulders crumpled as tears welled in her eyes. “You find it amusing that he’s bro-o-ken my heart?” She bounded to her feet and headed with as long and dignified a stride as she could manage, straight for the door. Her watery sight was set on the entrance and never wavered. She prayed Callum was too far away and too involved with his lady-love to notice.

  Daniel was so stunned by what had just happened that it took him a minute to follow her. She was almost to her chamber door when he caught up to her. “Branwenn!” he called out.

  She turned and looked at him. She hesitated, but only for an instant, and then she turned the handle to her door.

  Daniel grabbed hold of her wrist, stopping her forward stride into the chamber. “Wait! Let me explain!” he said urgently. “I laughed not—and why you would believe I was capable of such a cruelty, I truly would like to know—because your heart was broken. I laughed because the thought of Callum wooing any lady but you is utter nonsense.” His sister stood so still, her head bowed, her demeanor much too quiet, that he knew she was in a great deal of anguish.

  Daniel pushed the bangs away from Branwenn’s brow so that he could see her face more clearly. “He loves you,” he said softly, “cannot you see that?” She shrugged and shook her head. Tears still leaked from the corners of her eyes, but she did not swipe at them. “Branwenn, the man has asked you to wed him, how many times now?”

  Branwenn opened her mouth to speak, but Daniel put his fingers over her lips. “Nay, do not tell me, for that will also be the number of times I should have kept you from being seduced by that silver-tongued demon.”

  “If he loves me,” she said thickly, “why does he not tell me so?”

  “Because he is a lackwit. Truly, I do not see what is so wonderful about Callum MacGregor. ‘Tis all I’ve heard lo’ these many moons since first hearing his name, that he could charm the gown off of the Virgin Mary. Truly, I believe I’ve had my fill of such talk.”

  Branwenn giggled. Was Daniel jealous of Callum’s ability with the ladies? Then, she remembered. Nay, ‘twas that Callum had threatened a clan war, he’d wanted so badly to wed Maryn, Daniel’s wife. Of course, that was before Daniel had wed her.

  Daniel relaxed. Thank God! He grinned. “What find you so humorous, may I ask?”

  She gave him a little slap on the arm. “You, silly.”

  * * *

  Callum waited only a few more minutes after seeing Branwenn, followed by Daniel, leave the hall before bidding his good-nights as well.

  He would have loved to go directly to Branwenn’s chamber, but another, smaller, just as precious, love called him to her first. His daughter. He must see Laire’s sweet face and spend a few minutes with her at this, what had become, their special quiet time together.

  * * *

  Daniel hadn’t been gone from Branwenn’s chamber more than a half-hour when a soft rap came on the door.

  She knew who it was. Callum. But he’d not gain entrance this night—nor any other, for that matter. She’d not share her body with a man whose eye could wander so quickly and disloyally to another.

  Callum looked both ways down the passage. No one about. Good. “Branwenn?” he said in a low voice into the crack between the door and its jamb. “Open the door, my wee fey Mai, so I can finish mapping the hills and dales of your sweet form with my tongue and teeth.” He scratched the wood lightly with his fingernail. “Open for me, sweet. We were just north of the delta of your desire last eve when we quit, and I’m parched. I’ve a craving for a long draught from it. Quench my thirst, fair one.”

  He’d been amused—and thrilled—when he’d seen her hurrying from the great hall earlier. Clearly, she was as avid as he to end their eve with the family and begin their eve with each other.

  On the other side of the door, Branwenn bit down hard on her knuckle as she stood, not two paces from the wooden portal, to keep from giving him leave to enter.

  “Braaan-wennnn,” Callum said softly, pleadingly.

  She threw back her shoulders and took a deep breath. He would not go away on his own, ‘twas clear. So, she must do the thing she dreaded. Tell him ‘nay’.

  In two strides, she was at the door. Opening it a crack, she peeked out and said, “Go away.”

  “Have you been crying?” he asked in alarm. “Are you ill?” He tried to push the door open in order to enter but she pressed herself into it, not allowing the motion.

  “Nay, I’m well. But you must leave, for ‘tis clear to me now we should not continue meeting as we have been.”

  Callum’s heart began a mad thumping in his chest. “Why? Has there been talk about us?”

  “Nay, but ‘tis clear you are keen for the lady Isobail, and I have no wish to be with a man whose eye can be turned so quickly to another.”

  “Isobail?! But I have no desire for that lady!” Callum knew ‘twas not the time—if ever there would be—to give her the truth of his past relationship with David’s mother. “We are only old acquaintances—she is the older sister of my friend Robert MacVie—remember you him? He lends his skill as knight to the Maclean clan?”

  “And this is why you stood so close to her this eve? Why you spoke not more than three words to me? Why the two of you had your heads together in privy conversation, off in the corner of the hall?”

  Callum’s mouth set in a grim line. He could not reveal the topic of the conversation, for ‘twas Isobail’s to reveal, not his. Her dire sickness had taken him by surprise, and saddened him greatly. He wanted only to aid her these next sennights—or, hopefully, moons—as she struggled to get her affairs in order. “‘Twas not as you believe, Branwenn. Not at all. I swear this to you.”

  “Oh? Then, of what did the two of you speak? Surely, if ‘twasn’t lover’s talk, then it can be openly shared with me—your current lover.”

  Callum sighed and scrubbed his hand through his hair. “I wish I could reveal it—I do. But...’tis personal; something that she told me in confidence, and I have not the right to reveal it to anyone without her permission.”

  So, Branwenn thought, ‘twas just as she’d suspected. He was the lowest, silver-tongued, liar of a cur dog, the vilest breaker of hearts, the last man on earth she should have ever trusted with her love—or given her maidenhead to. “Fine.”

  Somehow, in the last hours, the tide had turned for her, and she could not—would not—share her bed or her body with this man she loved so desperately, not again. Not, that was, unless he somehow—at last—gave to her the words she craved to hear above all others. And ignored—and mayhap, was even rude to—the lovely Isobail, as well, of course. “This has been a mistake—my mistake—and I’ve decided I shall not commit it any longer. Go back to your chamber, Callum, for you’ll not gain entry here this night—nor ever again.” With that, she shut the door and threw the bar across it to lock it.

  Callum stood there stunned a moment, his hands fisted at his sides and his breathing harsh. He could not yell, or bang on the door, or—hell—break the damn thing down, as he would have loved to do at that moment. Nay, ‘twould cause the scene he’d so carefully been avoiding these past days.

  After another moment, he at last turned and, not so gently, strode down the passage and down the winding stair, to the corridor that led to his own chamber door.

  * * *

  The next morn, a somewhat puffy-eyed Branwenn settled quietly next to Maggie at table to break her fast. Isobail was seated next to Grandmother Maclean and in an animated conversation with that lady.

  Maggie placed her hand on top of Branwenn’s. “Are you not feeling well, dear? Should we call for the physician?”

  Branwenn took in a deep breath to relieve some of the pain of heartache in her chest before answering. She smiled as brightly as she was able and shook her head. “Nay, no need. I’m well—just a bit sleepy still.”

  Maggie, misinterpreting the reason for Branwenn’s lack of energy as being the
result of a late-night tryst with her son, smiled cheerfully and gave Branwenn’s hand a little squeeze. “Well, that’s fine then. Would you like some of these raspberries, dear?”

  “Branwenn, Isobail was just telling me that she would enjoy a bit of fresh air after the meal. Why don’t you show her the garden in the north bailey?”

  This, of course, was the very last thing Branwenn wanted to do: spend private time with the object of her jealousy and dread. “Aye, I’d be pleased to do so,” she answered, and, surprisingly, didn’t choke on the words. Surely, she’d just earned at least one of her wings in the celestial choir.

  Callum walked in with Bao just then, the two still grinning over some jest or other—who knew what warriors spoke of outside the hearing of the ladies?

  Branwenn’s heart leapt to vibrant life. But Callum only gave her a brief, rather irritable nod and went to sit beside Isobail. Her heart twisted painfully in her chest. Was he still angry at her for not allowing him entrance into her chamber last eve? For swearing that he’d not be allowed entrance, in fact, ever again? She’d had time to think on that last a bit, and had already begun to waiver on the decision. But, with his rude rebuff just now, a new worry came to mind: Was he content to have done with her and simply pressing the point that their time together was over? Oh, God. ‘Twas true!

  For, tho’ he had, at first, seemed vexed with her when she’d said they could no longer be lovers now that his other lady-love was in residence, he’d not seemed as...well...as persuasive as she believed he should have been, when she’d shut the door in his face and thrown the bar, were his feelings for her as deep as hers were for him. Why, he hadn’t stayed outside her door more than a few moments afterward. Surely, if he truly wanted her he would have...she knew not...pleaded with her a bit longer? Pounded on the door? Demanded entrance? Rammed the door down, as he’d done that wooden covering in the tunnel entrance? Well...mayhap not that, for she wouldn’t want him to hurt his shoulder again. But, still, some show of force would have soothed her hurt and given her a bit of hope that ‘twas truly herself he craved.

  Suddenly, the filet he’d given her had the weight of a cornerstone upon her head. She would take it off directly after the meal and never put it on again, for she would not wear a gift from someone who clearly held no feeling for her any longer.

  * * *

  Callum felt as slithery as a slow worm, but couldn’t seem to stop himself from playing this childish game with Branwenn. He wanted her. He wanted her very, very badly. But he knew not how to get her back in his bed, and eventually—he was determined—into a loving, wedded union with him.

  So now, he’d decided this morn—actually, he’d only decided in the seconds just after seeing her at table a few moments past—that he would try to break down her resolve with the hammer of, hopefully, searing jealousy.

  “Your lady is not well-pleased with you this morn, I think, Callum,” Isobail said softly, an amused smile on her lips, as her eye scanned down the table and rested on Branwenn’s red-cheeked countenance. She cleared her throat and then coughed quietly into her palm. “Pray, pardon me. This sickness is sure to get the better of me soon.”

  Callum’s mouth turned down at the edges in a sad frown. “Isobail, are you certain you are that unwell? There’s no hope for recovery?” Guilt assailed him. While he’d been stewing in his own selfish thoughts and feeling sorry for himself, his friend had been struggling with the pain of knowing she was not long for this world and must settle her affairs.

  “Aye...and nay, there is no hope,” she replied. But then she brightened and sat up a bit straighter. “Let us not dwell on me and my dreary prospects. Let us instead speak of you—and your obvious devotion to the lady Branwenn.” She chuckled and shook her head. “I truly never thought I’d see the day when you at last tumbled from that pedestal the ladies placed you on, my dear Adonis, and humbled yourself at the feet of your Venus.

  “Aye, tho’ in the legend, ‘tis the other way ‘round—a thing, I assure you at this moment, I crave were the case. For, I’d not reject her advances, I assure you.”

  “So you will wed the lass, then?”

  He turned and his eyes drilled into the object of his desire. “Aye,” he said with certainty.

  “Good. For I have a request of you. Will you meet me in the garden of the north bailey in, say, an hour’s time?”

  He turned and studied her face a moment. With a brief nod, he replied, “Aye. But I will have to tell Bao that I’ll be late for the training field this morn.”

  Isobail nodded. The solution to the problem of her son’s future just fell, like manna from heaven, softly and directly into her lap.

  * * *

  “Oh, Isobail! When I think of the terrible epithets I threw at your head in my mind last eve—and this morn as well—I want to wither up and die! Can you ever forgive me?” Branwenn sat on a stone bench in the garden next to Isobail, her hand settled on the lady’s lower arm.

  Isobail smiled, then chuckled softly. “Aye, I can forgive you. Am I not a woman as well? Do I not understand the pain of love seemingly not returned?”

  “Seemingly? Nay, ‘tis clear the man’s sole interest whenever we meet is to bed me. And that desire, I fear, is a craving that, once satisfied fully, will wain and then ‘twill stray to the next delectation his eyes settle upon.”

  Isobail studied her a moment. “I...think not. Not this time, Branwenn. There is more in his feelings for you than lust. And you should list me well, for I have known Callum for many, many years.”

  Branwenn’s heart soared, but she tamped down on the feeling. She’d not allow her own hopes to cloud her vision where something as important as her future with Callum was concerned. She shrugged, “Mayhap.”

  Isobail squeezed Branwenn’s hand. “Nay, not ‘mayhap’, but ‘truly’! He loves you, Branwenn. Accept it, rejoice in it, return it, and, for heaven’s sake, begin your life with him before ‘tis too late!”

  Branwenn broke away and stood up. “I cannot! Do you not think I crave to ‘rejoice’ in the knowledge of his love for me?” She turned, her arms crossed over her chest, and stood staring down at the lavender growing next to the bench. “But, he has revealed naught more than desire whenever we meet.” She briefly turned her gaze to Isobail when she said, “That, and some terrible scheme to wed me—which I attribute as guilt for taking my maidenhead.” She shrugged and turned back to the lavender. “Until he says the words, tells me how deeply his feelings run for me, I can only react to how he behaves when we are together.”

  Why, after all the times now that she’d shared her body with him, had he never felt compelled to tell her he loved her? If, in fact, he did, as Daniel, and now Isobail, were so inclined to believe. Lord, she herself had nearly screamed the words several times now when she was deep in the throes of release. But, fortunately, thus far, her heart’s instinct for survival had somehow always put a lock on her tongue just as she would have said them.

  Lord, what a callow lass she’d been that first night. She’d truly believed the words would tumble from his lips, like sugared berries, if not during, then certainly after she gave him her virginity. But, nay, all she’d received was a demand that they wed. And that, she was sure, had more to do with his jumbled-together feelings of honor, guilt and, no doubt, fear of reprisal from her older brothers. Not to mention his grandmother. And Maggie. And mayhap, even Laird MacGregor. And what about Reys, if he found out? Aye, now that she thought about it, fear no doubt had more to do with his desire to wed her than did guilt or honor.

  * * *

  Callum whistled as he strode across the north bailey toward the arched entry to the garden. The day was bright, with just the right amount of chill in the air to make training outdoors pleasant. Daniel and Bao were close to the end of what they’d set out to teach him and they would be returning to their families soon. ‘Twas too bad that they’d no doubt be away from them at Michaelmas, but at least they’d be home for Oidhche Shamhna, the eve of Samhainn. H
e walked through the archway and stopped dead in his tracks. Branwenn. And Isobail. Together. That could not be good. For him, at least.

  * * *

  Isobail looked up and, seeing Callum, motioned for him to come to her. He nodded and began striding toward them, but his visage was rather tightly drawn. He was no doubt worried she had let slip to his lady-love their youthful—rather foolish, now that she thought on it—carnal dalliance, and believed himself to be walking toward his doom. She smiled gently, but inside, to herself, she chuckled. Poor Callum. ‘Twas comical, really, the depths to which he’d sunk, at least where the lady Branwenn was concerned. For, who among his many past amours would have believed it possible that he would have had to resort to the childish game of jealousy to try to win the hand of his true love? He, with the silver tongue of the devil and the beauty of a god?

  “Branwenn,” she said then, “look you, we have a visitor whom you will be pleased to see, I’m sure.”

  * * *

  Branwenn turned and froze. Callum! Oh, Lord. She felt the heat of the flush that rapidly traveled o’er her face and neck. What a fool she’d been last eve, first accusing him of playing her false, then not believing him when he gave her his promise ‘twas not the case. She’d even closed the door in his face! And now, by the look upon his countenance, ‘twas clear he held only disgust for her. And with the way he’d behaved this morn, no doubt he’d decided to accept her refusal of his troth and move on with his life.

  She had to get out of here. She could not, could not, face him now. She had to have some time to herself first to think what she could do, say, to gain his forgiveness before speaking to him again. And, then, should she gain his forgiveness and he want to resume their affair—was she willing to do such again without his vow of devotion? She just truly knew not! Her eyes darted first to the right and then to the left, but there was no other way out of the garden, except through the entrance that Callum was now in direct line of.

  “G’morn, Branwenn,” Callum said when he at last stood before them, but there was little modulation in his voice. And his eyes held no warmth.