Highland Magic

by K. E. Saxon

  Complete desolation washed over her. ‘Twas too late, then. Branwenn dipped her head in greeting. “G’morn,” she whispered thickly.

  He turned and took hold of Isobail’s hand, “G’morn Isobail” his voice held much more feeling when he said that lady’s name, Branwenn noticed. When he bent down and placed a quick kiss on Isobail’s cheek, Branwenn felt as if a knife had been driven deep into her heart and viciously twisted. Tears welled in her eyes, against her will. Damn it to the fiery pit of hell! Would she never be able to control this mortifying tendency to weep over him? She quickly turned her watery gaze to the lavender and then further still, to the bed of flowers just ahead. “Oh, look you!” she said as brightly as she could. “The last daisy of the summer is just there. I must cut it for Grandmother Maclean.” She hustled over and bent down to the task, surreptitiously scrubbing away the moisture from her cheeks on the upper sleeve of her gown.

  “Branwenn,” Isobail started, but a fit of coughing overtook her.

  “Isobail!” Callum yelled, falling to his knees in front of her and patting her back.

  “Godamercy!” Branwenn cried, and hurried over to sit beside the lady, placing her arm around her waist for support. “Callum,” she said anxiously, her eye never leaving Isobail’s constricted countenance, “she must have something to drink. Go you to the keep and bring her back some mulled uisge beatha.” She lifted her eyes only as far as his chin, saying, “Make haste.”

  “Aye.” Callum scurried to his feet and ran quickly out the entrance to the garden and toward the keep.

  In another moment, Isobail’s coughing abated. “Branwenn,” she said, her voice ragged, “I asked Callum to meet us here because I have a boon to request of the two of you.” She took the proffered kerchief from Branwenn and delicately wiped her mouth and nose.

  Branwenn felt so heartsick for Isobail at that moment that she would have given her anything she requested—even Callum—for ‘twas too cruel that such a young mother should be forced to leave this world before her bairn was grown. “Aye, whatever you need from me, I shall not say you nay.”

  Isobail smiled wanly. “Let us first speak to Callum before you give such a vow to me, for what I will ask of you requires both of your consents.”

  Callum jogged back through the entry to the garden, his hand resting over the top of the silver cup to keep its contents from sloshing over the rim.

  Skidding to a halt in front of Isobail, he dropped down to his knees and gently placed the cup between both of her hands. “Here, drink this down,” he said before helping her to lift it to her lips.

  Isobail drank deeply of the honeyed spirit. Afterward, with a sigh and a soft smile, she said to the two of them “My thanks. ‘Tis clear this sickness grows worse with each passing day.” With decided movements, she placed the cup next to her on the bench and, taking Callum’s hand, placed it on top of the one Branwenn had resting on her knee.

  Branwenn and Callum looked, for the first time that day, deeply into each other’s eyes.

  “I want you two to parent my son, David, after I am gone,” she said baldly. No time to slowly lead the two down the path of understanding, as she’d originally planned. That had just become ever more plain to her.

  Their eyes swiftly settled on Isobail’s countenance, a look of surprise clear on their visages.

  “But...we are not wed,” Branwenn said finally. Feeling the weight of Callum’s gaze settle on her face, she continued, “Is there no godparent to take the lad?”

  Isobail sighed and nodded her head. “Aye, my brother Robert, was assigned that duty. But he is in no position now—nor, might he ever be—to take on that task. He is, at this very moment, speaking with his liege, William, King of Scots, to try and negotiate a way of paying my father’s levy so that he—and our clan—will not lose our holding.”

  Callum’s brows furrowed. “Robert is in danger of losing his holding? How can this be?”

  Isobail turned her face away and gazed at the flowers growing in the bed to her right. “My father...”—she shook her head and sighed once again—“he spent his coin, and borrowed against future earnings, fighting the Norman earl that was bequeathed land to the south of our holding. And now, ‘tis all Robert can do to keep our clan, and our holding together.” She turned and gazed pleadingly at first Branwenn and then Callum. “Will you?”

  “Aye, we will raise your bairn. Worry not,” Callum said quickly, decisively.

  Branwenn’s brows lifted in surprise. And when she felt his eyes settle upon her face once more, she turned her gaze to him as well. There was warmth—and determination—shining brightly there now, again, praise be! “Aye, we shall.”

  * * *

  A bit later, after Callum and Branwenn had settled Isobail with Grandmother Maclean and Maggie in the solar, Callum took hold of Branwenn’s hand and silently led her back to the garden from which they’d just come.

  When they were at last settled upon the stone bench, their knees lightly touching as they faced each other, Callum said softly, “Why do you not wear the filet I gave you?”

  Branwenn nervously lifted her hand to her head and touched the place where the ornament had been, only a few hours past, then slowly let it drift down to settle once more in her lap. She sighed. “Because...I believed you no longer wanted me; were disgusted by my behavior last eve and pleased to have done with me.”

  Callum reached over and took hold of Branwenn’s hand and lifted it to his lips. He opened it and placed a kiss in her palm before bringing it up to his face and softly rubbing the back of her fingers against his bristle-roughened cheek. “Nay, I assure you, that is not the case. I desire you as ever, crave your touch as ever, beg your acceptance of my troth—as ever.” He brought his own hand up to her cheek and tipped her chin up with his thumb so that she now looked directly into his eyes as he spoke. “And ‘tis plain by your agreement to Isobail’s request that you are now ready to do just that. Let me first speak to my step—Why do you shake your head?” His spine stiffened and his eyes shot emerald fire. “Braaan-wennn,” he said warningly, “do not—do not—say ‘nay’ to me again. ‘Tis much too late for that. We’ve a foster son to raise—have you forgotten so quickly?”

  She twisted from his hold and turned her face away. “Nay, I’ve not forgotten. But, Callum, I will not wed you now. Let us first see whether the lady truly passes from this earthly realm, then”—she took in a deep breath and slowly released it—“I will wed you.” ‘Twas the least she could do for Isobail, wed Callum even if he’d not given his heart to her. After all, he’d not loved the lady Lara, and just look how kind and gentle—and generous as well—he’d been with her while they were wed. ‘Twas clear he’d make a wonderful husband; certainly better than the Norman would have been, even had he not been a deviant.

  Callum bit back a groan of frustration. So, they’d be meeting in secret again, hiding their affair from all curious eyes. He truly wanted to pull out his hair and yell like a banshee. Mayhap, even hop around like some wee brownie. “But we cannot continue meeting as we have much longer, else one of your brothers is bound to find out and skin me alive.”

  Branwenn turned to him. “Nay, you are right. ‘Tis why I’ve decided we should not do so again until we wed. If we wed, that is.”

  Callum stopped breathing. Not do so again? Until they were wed? He’d not even think about the possibility of not wedding her, but to go for who knew how long without lying with her again, making love to her again? ‘Twas too cruel a hell to bear.

  “Are you well?” Branwenn said, alarm in her voice. She placed her hand over his. “You’ve gone as red as a raspberry—do you need something to drink? Callum! Say something!”

  He forced air into his lungs. “I’m fine,” he said in a strained voice. “Will you at least walk with me after supper each eve?” Surely, he could find some way of testing her resolve, if they could spend some time alone together.

  Branwenn bit her lip. Then, at last, she nodded her head. “Aye, th
at should be fine.” She paused only a second before continuing, “but I shall ask Maggie to accompany us as well, as chaperone. She will allow us a bit of privacy, I’m sure, but not enough to raise eyebrows.” She smiled brightly. “Will that do?”

  Callum ground his teeth together. “Aye, that will do,” he said at last.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 8

  Callum fumed silently as he stood inside the entryway to the great hall a sennight later. That blasted new guard, Kerk, he was called, had sidled up to Branwenn as she stood with Callum’s mother next to the hearth awaiting the players’ next scene. Callum had only been gone from her side no more than a quarter hour, as he had been called upon by his stepfather to aid in settling a dispute between two soldiers stationed on the curtain wall, and the man had clearly taken advantage of the opportunity his absence afforded.

  Why had his mother insisted on inviting this thorn-in-his-side to supper yet again? ‘Twas the third night in a row, and each night, the guard found some way or other to maneuver himself into Branwenn’s company. Not only that, but ‘twas clear, she enjoyed the attention he bestowed upon her, for she blushed and gave him that shy smile that should only be given to Callum, her lover, and soon to be husband.

  A niggling worry, which he’d been forcefully pushing down these past days, reared up in his mind again, and this time, he allowed it audience. Was Branwenn more like Lara than he at first believed?

  On the cusp of that thought, Kenrick, a childhood friend and fellow clansman, came up beside him and followed the line of Callum’s vision. He elbowed Callum in the ribs and leaned close, murmuring, “She’s more lovely than your last, but will she be more loyal?”

  The trill of Branwenn’s laughter floated over to where they stood.

  Pressure built in Callum’s chest. He shrugged. But then she looked toward the entry and saw him and gave him a gleeful grin, motioning for him to come to her, and the pressure evaporated. With a nod to her, he said, “Aye, she’ll be loyal. She’s naught like Lara.”

  When, in the next instant, the guard, Kerk, brushed his fingertips over Branwenn’s and took the silver cup much too slowly from her hand before taking a drink from it, Callum growled and strode toward the two, leaving his guffawing friend in his wake. He tapped the new guard on the shoulder. When Kerk turned with a cocked brow and looked at him in question, Callum said, “I have something of import to speak with you about. Come with me into the antechamber.” He turned and walked toward the entry, feeling the man’s presence close behind.

  Once there, he said to him, “You are attempting to woo a lady who is already spoken for. She is my betrothed, in case you have not heard, so keep your distance.”

  The guard’s mouth twitched, then, as if he couldn’t hold in the mirth, he bellowed with laughter, shaking his head and slapping Callum on the back, before turning away and heading back into the great hall. Callum fought the flush of heat that effused his neck and face.

  For a long moment, he stood staring at the empty doorway. The guard’s laugh had been one of those deep belly laughs that one has when one knows something the other doesn’t and is thoroughly amused by the prospect. It set Callum’s teeth on edge. He stormed back into the great hall, fully expecting to find the guard once again at Branwenn’s side, but surprisingly, the man was now settled with some of the other guests at one of the trestle tables, drinking some ale.

  * * *

  A sennight later—it had now been fourteen long days, and nights, without Callum, for she was determined not to allow him to bed her again until she was certain of his feelings for her—Branwenn made a decision while breaking her fast. She’d go to the old woman that dwelled in the MacGregor wood—the woman she’d heard Maggie speak of in reference to Lara, though she knew not what Callum’s wife had asked for—and obtain from her a remedy of sorts. For, ‘twas clear from what she’d heard, that the lady had herbal concoctions and mayhap, just mayhap, there might be some that could give her heart some ease.

  * * *

  Callum watched Branwenn leave through the gate of the fortress and bells of alarm went off in his head. She wasn’t fleeing from him, was she? Or, worse, meeting Kerk, that pretty-faced new guard? He tossed his shirt and tunic on over his braies and, after giving a quick, but, he was sure, muddled explanation to Daniel as to why he was leaving so suddenly, he charged after her. Or, rather, ran to the stables, retrieved his mount, and then charged after her.

  Where on earth was she headed? She’d been noticeably loathe these past sennights, to stray past the walls of the fortress without him, or one of her brothers, as escort. Which, he assumed was due to some remaining dread that the Norman swine, Gaiallard de Montfort, would somehow find her and sweep her off to Cambria again. So, was she meeting that guard?

  Was Branwenn losing interest in him? God! If only he could convince her to let him into her chamber again—then, ‘twas certain he could remind her of her desire for him.

  Or—and this made his gut wrench at the same time it sliced through his heart—Is she more like Lara than he thought possible? Nay, no matter what his misgivings regarding her feelings for him, Callum could not believe she’d give her body to another so easily, so quickly, after their own carnal relations had been—and he was set on this—temporarily ended by her. Especially knowing how shy she still was to even allow him to look upon her naked form—a thing he had never yet been allowed to do. Nay, she’d not flit from one man’s bed to the next so quickly.

  Callum’s spine straightened. Nay, but she might allow the man a kiss. And that was truly enough to send his temper rising like volcanic spew straight to the sun.

  It took him a bit of time to find her tracks, but once found, an even more violent sense of alarm overtook him and his stomach twisted in his belly so tightly, it felt as if he’d taken a direct, unprotected, blow to it with a lance. She was headed for the old woman’s cot, he just knew it. His heart began to ache. Branwenn, Branwenn, he thought, I beg you, do not be doing what I think you are doing. Do not. Do not follow in the same wretched steps as Lara.

  * * *

  The forest lined the craggy shore of the ocean and it took a bit of time for Branwenn to traverse the glen that lay between the MacGregor fortress and the ocean. But, by mid-morn she was rapping on the splintered pine door of the old woman’s cot.

  And, in less than a quarter-hour’s time more, she was cheerfully making her way back across the glen, pouch in hand.

  In the next moment, the sound of thundering horse’s hooves broke into her thoughts.

  She came to an abrupt standstill, her heart leaping into her throat. Was she about to be trampled then? She turned her head this way and that, but couldn’t see from which direction the horse was traveling. Just as she’d decided she’d best scurry atop yon boulder, she saw him. Callum. And he did not look pleased.

  By instinct alone, she took a step backward. Unfortunately, the side of her heel landed on the edge of a rabbit hole and her ankle twisted. “Aieee!” she cried out, falling backward, right on her rump.

  “Whoa!” Callum yelled, pulling hard on the reins and jumping off his bay. “Branwenn! Are you all right?”

  Branwenn rolled onto her knees and stood, rubbing her abused backside with one hand. “Aye,” she said sheepishly.

  Callum continued to study her a moment, but then his eye stalled on the brown pouch, it’s string closure wrapped around her wrist. “Where did you get that?” he asked darkly. ‘Twas an accusation.

  Tipping her chin up and looking down her nose at him, she said, “‘Tis none of your concern.”

  Callum’s green eyes burned into her. “Aye, ‘tis definitely my concern, if you seek to use those herbs to make my babe flush from your womb.”

  Branwenn’s eyes grew round. “Your...your...your babe?!” she sputtered.

  “Aye, my babe.”

  Branwenn shook her head in wonder. “But, I carry not your babe, as well you know, for you made quite certain of that each time we”—she fluttered h
er hand in the air—“you know.” She grabbed a fist-full of the skirt of her gown. “Do you forget, this very gown I wear has more likelihood of that outcome than do I?”

  His eyes narrowed. “So, you do not attempt to lose my bairn?”

  “NAY!” she bellowed, and then: “Are you deaf, or only simple-minded?”

  Callum’s stance relaxed. A soft smile lit his countenance and his warm gaze heated her skin as it made a slow journey down her frame. “What have you in that pouch then, my wee fey Mai?” he said, his voice deep, smooth, sultry. He walked up to her and took hold of her wrist—the one with the pouch attached—and brought its underside up to his lips. He kissed her there, on the tender, sensitive skin that sheltered her now-leaping pulse and followed that with a deliciously evocative lick. “I’ve missed you. Have you missed me?” he asked softly. There was a twinkle in his eye as he looked up at her through half-closed lids.

  Her heart hammered in her chest. She swallowed hard and cleared her throat. “Uhh,” she croaked, “ahem...aye, I mean.” She couldn’t catch her breath. He did that to her. He turned her mind to mush and then the next thing she knew, they were mating like rabbits again. “Callum, stop. Please.”

  “But you taste so sweet, like rose petals dipped in honey.” His lips lightly traveled to the string of the pouch. He began to nibble at it with his teeth. His teeth, his moist breath, tickled the thin skin there and goosebumps formed on her arms. “What’s in the pouch, Branwenn?”

  Oh, what was the use? He’d no doubt find it ever so amusing when she told him, but her only other option was to stand here and allow him to seduce her instead. And she had no doubt that the outcome would be the same in any case. He’d have her so dull-witted with need for him, that he’d wrangle the truth from her before the last spark was extinguished.

  “‘Tis a love potion,” she said finally.

  His head sprang up and he dropped her wrist as if burned. “A love potion?” His eyes narrowed. “For whom is that potion intended? Not that new guard I saw you speaking with this eve past?”