by K. E. Saxon
“Reys! Surely ‘tis not true!”
He shrugged. “For many years afterward—many years—until I found you, in fact,”—he turned to look at her once more—“I wore a hairshirt as penance for my sin.”
* * *
Two hours later, as Branwenn was dressing for the feast, her mind turned once more to the tale she’d gotten from her brother that afternoon. Her heart ached for him. Lord, the wide swath of damage and destruction that had been caused by Jamison Maclean. It amazed her still that such a vile, horrid devil could produce two such generous, honorable men as Bao and Daniel. God be praised that the evilness had not been handed down in the blood. She sighed as she washed her face over the basin. But, she supposed, ‘twas clearly not aberrant blood, but evilness of mind and spirit, as Jamison Maclean’s mother, Lady Maclean—and by all of that lady’s accounts, his father also—was a generous, honorable person as well.
What anguish Reys had suffered! And—this still amazed her, even now—to such an extent that he’d actually worn a hairshirt for years! She shuddered.
Drying her face with the cloth, she turned toward her bed, where a new emerald green gown was laid out. Yet another of her grandmother’s generous gifts. But the lady, no matter how much Branwenn whined, refused to have them made any larger. Branwenn lightly ran her fingertips over the soft silk of the bodice. ‘Twas much too form-fitting for her liking. It made her feel...exposed...too much in the light, and not far enough in the shadows, as was her liking. For, when she was not noticed, she could make graceless mistakes with no one being the wiser. And if her hair was not quite the right style or length—then, who would notice such?
With a sigh of resignation, she shrugged and began dressing and allowed her thoughts to wander back to her brother, Reys, and what he’d told her that day.
She shook her head in wonder. Her Cambrian relatives had actually been searching for her—all those years! What would her life have been like, she wondered, had they found her? Had they taken her back with them when she was but a bairn? She supposed her life would have been much as any other young lady of means. She would, no doubt, have been taught the rudiments of taking care of an estate and a husband, as Grandmother Maclean had set out to do near to fifteen moons past when Bao had left her with the lady for that purpose. But, that was before Reys had found her and scuttled her back to Cambria to wed Gaiallard, the Norman.
Aye, she would no doubt have had a much more prosperous style of life, and even might have—nay, would have—had the love of her family-germane, but she’d not have had Bao. And knowing all he’d sacrificed for her—that his love for her ran that deep, she worried what would have become of him had she been taken from him then. For, a lonely, desperate lad—a lad who’d been forced into the trade he’d been forced into—might never have risen above it had he not had a purpose for doing so. Her.
Nay, she was glad, desperately glad, that she’d not been found by her Cambrian family early on.
Looking down at the gown, she grumbled under her breath, but then smiled and shook her head before lifting the garment and wriggling into it.
* * *
CHAPTER 12
The bonfire crackled and popped in the cold night air, sending orange sparks and larger embers shooting into the sky, before quickly turning the lit wood coals to pale gray ghosts that flitted in the smoky hot breeze atop the fire’s mad dance.
And this night, Callum would dance as well, with her, Branwenn thought happily as she trudged across the bailey toward the section of the fortress where the bonfire had been erected. The pipers and other minstrels were already playing a lively tune and several of the young lads and lasses were twirling about together near them.
In her right hand, she held a basket filled with hazelnuts, and in her left, a cloth sack of apples. Grandmother Maclean had given her the nuts to toss into the blaze a bit later in the evening. They were marked with the names of the unwed lads and lasses of the clan and would, she’d said, when placed in the fire and popped, divine which lass went with which lad.
But the apples were for her. And Callum. Mostly for them to share together, as they had that day in the bailey. She sighed. Their first kiss. And what a kiss it had been! Even now, her knees wobbled with the fervency of the memory. But one of the apples would also provide a merry game. For, she would peel it, as was the tradition, in one long strand and then toss the peel over her shoulder. The shape it took upon landing would be the initial of his name, proving that they were meant to be wed. And there was no doubt in her mind that ‘twould be in the shape of a ‘C’—for ‘twas the most common shape, no doubt, that type of apple peeling would make. But, just to be certain, she’d slyly force it more to that shape as she tossed.
The stone of the curtain wall rose up behind the fire, she noticed as she approached, making eerie light and dark shapes on the stones. ‘Twas clear the fire was doing what it should: keeping the spirits of the evil dead at bay. She shuddered. Like Jamison Maclean, Bao and Daniel’s vicious sire—and the man who’d caused such torment in Reys’s life as well. Aye, keep him far away from her brothers, she thought, for he’d done enough to them while he lived.
Her eye scanned first one direction and then the other, landing at last on David. But ‘twas also the night when the veil between the world of the living and the world of the dead was thinnest, and she knew that the lad, along with Maggie and Grandmother Maclean, had set a trencher of food and a cup of wine out for Isobail, should she decide to visit her son this eve.
“Good eve, my love,” she heard just as someone placed a hand at her waist.
“Eek!” She whipped her head around. “Oh, ‘tis you! Good eve.”
“And, who else would be calling you ‘my love’,” Callum asked a bit peevishly, but there was a warm smile attached, so she knew he wasn’t truly angry.
She smiled as well. “‘Twas the thoughts I was having that made me jump when you touched me.”
A heated look came into his eye. “What, pray, were you thinking—something carnal involving me, I hope?”
With a chuckle, she shook her head. “Nay, ‘twas of the thin veil between us and the Otherworld, and the dead that may be in residence this very eve, that my mind had been turned to.”
Callum’s smile became a grin. “Truly? Are you frightened of ghosts and goblins, then?”
Branwenn swung around and faced him full on. “Are you not frightened? Even a wee bit?”
Callum shrugged and looked toward the bonfire. “Mayhap, when I was much younger, I was. But now?” He shook his head. “Nay, I’m not.” He turned an indulgent smile on her. “Should I put on my armor and fight the beasts back with my broadax and sword for you?”
She laughed and shook her head. “Nay, no need. For I have it on good authority that they’re more interested in food than flesh this night.”
Callum’s eyelids drooped and his eyes turned a smokey green as he studied her mouth. “Aye, and I am much more interested in flesh. Yours.”
She gave him a cheeky grin. “First, you must dance with me.” She twirled around and headed toward Maryn and Jesslyn, whom she’d spied just before Callum arrived.
“Dance?!” he croaked.
“At least ten times!” she called out over her shoulder and began to jog as he took off after her.
* * *
Much later, after they’d danced three times, which was as many dances as she could inveigle him into, Branwenn and Callum settled on a blanket a bit away from the bonfire, and the others. She took out a couple of the apples and gave one to him, before taking a big chomp out of her own.
Callum took a bite as well and lay back, resting on his elbows and forearms as he crossed one leg over the other. Looking up at the night sky, he said, “Lord, but there are thousands of them up there tonight, are there not?”
Branwenn craned her head back and looked up. “Aye, ‘tis lovely.”
“See that one?” He pointed up and to his right a bit. “That one is you, for you are the brigh
test, most dazzling star in the Highland heavens. No one can compete with your loveliness.”
“Callum!” Branwenn cried softly, and then she threw herself into his arms and kissed him, right on the mouth. She only prayed he still felt that way two nights from now when he saw it.
Callum chuckled behind his smushed lips and then wrapped his arms around her and strategically placed his hand over her sweet, round bottom before opening his mouth and taking a real taste of what she’d so freely offered him.
They stayed that way for several hot, sultry heartbeats, but finally Callum grasped the sides of her face in his palms and lifted her head from his. He was out of breath, but managed to say, “Enough! Else I’ll have you right here, right now, in front of the entire clan.” He lifted his head and gave her lips one last, quick kiss, before continuing, “I’d say we could go to your chamber for a while to finish what we started, with no one the wiser, but I know you’ll only say me nay—am I right?”
Branwenn dropped her forehead down on his chest and nodded. On a loud sigh, she said, “Aye.” After another moment, she sat up and grabbed another of the apples out of the sack. “Hand me your dirk.”
Callum’s brows lifted. “Pardon? Did you just ask me for my dirk?”
Branwenn grinned. “Worry not, I shan’t cut you for plying me once more with your pleas to bed me before we are wedded.”
“Ha! What a wit you are,” he said, but he handed her the knife.
She slowly began to peel the apple, beginning at the very top, where a portion of the stem still hung.
“What do you?” he asked, sitting up in a cross-legged position to watch her more closely.
“Why, I’m peeling the apple in one strand—know you not the custom?” She dared not take her hand, or her eye, off of her work, else all might be lost.
Callum’s brows drew together and his eyes narrowed as he tried to recall what custom she could possibly be meaning. After a moment, he shrugged and shook his head. “Nay, I suppose I know it not. What is it?”
“I’ll tell you in a minute, I must attend what I’m doing.”
Callum shrugged again, but remained silent.
“There!” she cried as she lifted the long, curly, sticky, strand of peel up high in the air to show him. “I did it!”
Callum laughed. “Aye, that you did, for I was a witness. So?”
Branwenn huffed and then said, “You shall see.” She settled the peel in as much of a circle as she could in the palm of her other hand and then tossed it over her shoulder. Twisting around, she looked into the darkness for the apple skin she’d just thrown. “Ah! There it is!” She hiked up her skirts and walked on her hands and knees toward the divining peel. “Hmm...how odd,” she murmured, her head cocked sideways.
“What? Let me see,” Callum said and crawled over to look at the thing as well. “What’s odd about it? Ah! Do you mean that it looks like a ‘G’?”
She cleared her throat. “Nay, not a ‘G’, ‘tis a ‘C’—‘C’ for Callum.” She looked up at him then.
Callum lifted his eye to her as well. “‘C’ for Callum? I ken you not.” He looked down at the apple skin again. “And ‘tis definitely a ‘G’ I see, not a ‘C’—look there”—he traced the design with the tip of his finger—“at the way the bottom end curves inward.” He nodded. “Aye, a ‘G’, not a ‘C’.” At last, her meaning dawned on him and he sat back on his heels. “Mean you that this was meant to divine whom you will wed?”
“Ummm...well...” She sighed and then nodded. “Aye.”
Callum laughed and grabbed hold of her hand, twining his fingers through hers. “You’re wedding me, two days hence, I care not what that apple skin says.” He looked down at the design once more and his eyes narrowed. “What is the name of the guard who liked you so well? I struck his name from my memory.”
“Callum! For heaven’s sake, you know Grandmother Maclean and your mother asked him to talk to me!”
He looked at her, his right brow lifted.
“Oh, all right. His name is Kerk.”
He nodded. “Good.”
Another thought struck. Looking down once more at the peel, he said, “And do not think that ‘tis Gaiallard de Montfort’s name that design signifies—”
Branwenn took in a sharp breath. It caught in her throat. ‘G’! Gaiallard!
Returning his gaze to her, Callum tugged her closer to him. “He will never have you. Never,” he vowed. “I’ll skewer him through if he even attempts such.”
Branwenn’s heart beat hard inside her chest as she studied her betrothed’s determined expression. After a moment, she nodded shakily and said, “I pray you’ll never have a need to prove that vow.”
Callum relaxed a bit and brought his other hand up to her cheek, stroking the soft rise of it with his thumb. “Aye, and I as well, but I am prepared to do what I must in any case.”
* * *
The next morn Branwenn woke up early, before the chimes of prime, and flew to the washstand. In seconds, she was heaving and gagging, sweating and coughing. “Dear God, I feel awful!” she moaned, swaying a bit on her feet as she washed her face with a damp rag. Had she eaten some meat that was off? Lord, she wondered if anyone else had the same illness. ‘Twould not be good if Grandmother Maclean got sick as well.
Oh, Lord! This was the night they were to have a small feast in anticipation of the wedding and larger celebration on the morrow, as well as to celebrate Samhainn. What if she was too ill to attend? Or, worse, what if she was too ill to wed Callum on the morrow? She vehemently shook her head. Nay, naught on this earth would keep her from saying her vows to him. Naught. Even if she had to be carried down on a litter, she’d be wed to her man by tomorrow night.
All at once, Reys’s words about his mother and the bucket came back to her.
She stumbled over to the bed and sat down with her hands gripping its edges. Nay. Surely not. For Callum had been very careful not to spill his seed inside her. But, how long had it been since her last flowering?
Let’s see...Godamercy! She leapt from the bed. She hadn’t flowered since...since...oh, God! A fortnight before that first night!
She began to pace, gnawing on the knuckles of her right hand. Would Callum be dismayed? She settled a splayed hand low on her belly. A babe! Their babe! A thrill of utter delight shot through her and she grinned. Nay, Callum would be glad, very glad. For, hadn’t he said he wanted five bairns?
And, after all, they’d be well wed by the time the babe arrived. So, ‘twould arrive a bit early—‘twas not such an unusual thing. Was it?
But, when to tell him? Her wedding night of course! For what could be a better gift than that?
Another thought struck on the heel of the last and Branwenn laughed out loud, though with just a bit of guilt as well as she’d never want the lass to know she’d ever found even one shred of humor in that mortifying situation. But she had actually spoken to Alyson, at length, about the monthly cycle just days past—and not once had it occurred to her that she, herself, had missed two of them!
* * *
Gaiallard de Montfort stood at the base of the incline that led up to the gate of the fortress. For a good bit of coin, he’d left his steed, armor, and other supplies with the old hag that lived in the wood that edged the sea. What he wore now was the clothing he’d purchased off a silver merchant in the town of Duglyn just after he’d arrived on the mainland.
Today, he’d do a bit of spying inside the fortress. He was well enough disguised that, as long as he remained outside the sights of Branwenn, Reys and Alyson, he’d be able to get the information he sought with little effort.
And, on the morrow, he’d arrive as himself—as planned.
* * *
“Give a promise to me,” Callum said sultrily into Branwenn’s ear from behind the screen she had just positioned herself in front of. ‘Twas late and the hall was filled with happy revelers enjoying the minstrels’ show.
A thrill of excitement traveled like a light
ning bolt down her spine. She made a brief nod, but kept her eyes strictly focused on the players several yards in front of her.
She felt his grin of satisfaction against her ear. “Stay perfectly still, completely silent, while I recite to you all of the wicked things I shall be doing to that delectable body of yours in just eighteen hours’ time.” He didn’t wait for a response, but continued in a deeper tone, “First, I shall remove that ridiculous veil that covers your lovely raven locks and toss it in the hearthfire. Beshrew my grandmother for making you wear it this eve!”
Branwenn chuckled despite herself, but quickly sobered when the person in front of her turned to regard her.
“For shame, my sweet,” Callum said, tho’ there was laughter in his tone. “For that transgression, you must now make forfeit to me your timidity and give yourself the ultimate pleasure this eve.”
Branwenn began to turn toward him, curious to know his meaning, but Callum quickly checked the movement by placing his hand at her waist.
“Nay love,” he said with a grin in his tone, “you must not give anyone understanding that I am here with you now, else they’ll surely separate us.” Giving her waist a slight squeeze, he demanded gently, “Stay still.”