by Lynsay Sands
“And ye have given me many things as weel, Cathal.”
“A lot of trouble.”
“And a lot of passion. Aye, it wasnae always pleasant to love ye and think ye didnae love me, but, there was joy in the loving. Truly.” She grinned and ran her feet up and down his legs. “Tis better to have the joy be in the loving and in being loved.”
“Ah, my wee wife, I wish I was a poet or a minstrel. I would like to drown ye in pretty words. There is so much inside of me that I feel, but I dinnae have the words.”
She touched her fingers to his lips. “I love ye.”
“I love ye, too.”
“Ye dinnae need any other words than those, Cathal. Not ever.”
“Not ever. I will be living for a verra long time yet.”
“We Callans are verra long lived as weel.”
“Oh, I do hope so, love. I do hope so. For I need ye. Ye are my sun, my joy.”
Bridget brushed her lips over his, deeply moved. “Ye are getting much better with your words, Cathal,” she whispered.
“My wife, my mate, forever.”
“Do ye ken, I think those are the finest of all. My husband, my mate, forever.”
Epilogue
Spring 1476
Cathal frowned as he woke to a faintly familiar sound. He looked at his wife who was sprawled at his side sound asleep. As she should be, he mused and grinned, thinking of the long hours they had spent making love. He then frowned because the noise was not coming from her. He sat up and looked around to see if she had let in one of the cats again. Then he tensed and looked toward the window, beneath which sat the large cradle holding his twin sons. Mora had obviously slipped into the room and tied back the draperies just enough to let the sunlight fall into the cradle.
Cursing softly, he slipped out of bed, threw on his plaid, and approached the cradle. He was able to stand close by it yet stay out of reach of the sunlight as he studied his sons. The sound was definitely coming from them.
“Is it time for them to be fed?” Bridget called out in a sleepy, husky voice.
“Nay,” Cathal replied. “They are just purring.”
He continued to stare at his sons as he heard the rustle of the bedclothes and, a moment later, Bridget appeared at his side wrapped in one of the bed furs. “My sons are purring, Bridget.”
Bridget looked down at her lovely, perfect little babies. They were both on their backs, letting the sun warm their plump little bellies. They were also, most definitely, purring. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from laughing.
“Ah, so they are.”
“Men dinnae purr.”
“They arenae men. They are wee bairns.”
Cathal draped his arm around her shoulders, turned her to face him, and pressed his forehead against hers. “Bridget, my sons are purring.”
Seeing the amusement glinting in his eyes, she grinned up at him. “Aye, and loudly, too. And they are doing it whilst lying in the sun’s light like the fat, wee piglets they are.”
He grinned back at her. “So they are. Indeed, so they are. Might I ask when ye kenned that they could abide the sun?”
“I needed to be sure ere I told ye. I wanted to do one more wee test.” She briefly glanced into the cradle. “That will do.” She squeaked in surprise when he picked her up, carried her over to the bed and tossed her down on top of it. “They will soon be squealing for their food,” she said as he tossed aside his plaid and sprawled on top of her.
“Then they can wait a wee while. Their father needs to make love to their mother.”
“He does, does he?” She wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Aye, he needs to thank her for giving him the gift of children. He needs to thank her again for giving those children the gift of sunlight.”
“Cats love the sun,” she whispered.
He kissed her again. “And he needs to thank her yet again for giving him the gift of sunlight, too.” He brushed a kiss over her lips when she frowned slightly. “Ye are my sunlight, Bridget. Ye and your love have pulled me out of the shadows. And, to ken that my sons will ne’er have to hide in them is the greatest gift of all.”
“The shadows arenae so verra bad, Cathal. I found ye there, didnae I?”
“Aye, ye did, and, now, to show ye how grateful I am for that, too, I am going to make ye purr.”
“Oh, how lovely,” she murmured against his lips just before he kissed her.
Cathal soon heard her make the sound that never failed to heat his blood. It was funny in a way, he thought as he began to sink into the sheer joy of loving and being loved. He had never really liked cats.
THE HIGHLAND BRIDE
Lynsay Sands
One
“It will be fine.” Eva leaned forward to run a hand between her mount’s ears, and down its neck as she spoke. “Everything will be just fine. Those rumors about the MacAdies and MacNachtons having a lust for blood are just so much nonsense. Really,” she assured the beast. “And even if they were true…Well, the MacAdie laird would hardly pay Jonathan all those coins to marry me, merely to bring me to Scotland and drain me of my lifeblood. Surely, there are cheaper ways for him to feed.”
The mare snorted as she took the last few steps necessary to gain the hill they had been traversing. It was questionable whether the sound was a comment on her rider’s words, or simply indicated her relief that the hill was behind her, but Eva suspected it was the latter. Her words—with their hint that she might actually believe the rumors about the MacAdie clan—hardly deserved comment. Eva was almost embarrassed that she had dared voice them. Even if only to her mount. Not that she had anyone else to talk to.
Her gaze slid over the men riding with her; two in front, two behind, and one on either side. Six men in all and every last one stoic, grim-faced, and unapproachable. She made a face at the backs of the pair riding before her, knowing it was childish and rude, but they were rude, taciturn men. Scots all. Not one of them had said a word to her that wasn’t merely an order or instruction since leaving Caxton keep. Not that there had been much opportunity to speak. Their party had been riding nearly nonstop for two days now; traveling up hills then down again, sticking to the wooded areas and rarely moving at less than a trot. It had been a very long two days for Eva who had managed well at first, but had dozed off in her saddle several times today, and each time she had, it was only to awaken later to find herself seated before Ewan on his horse. Obviously in charge of this trip, he had apparently managed to ease her from her own horse to his without waking her, then had cradled her in his arms like a child while she napped.
Eva had been embarrassed the three times she had awoken to find herself so, but once aware that she was awake and alert, the Scot had merely stopped long enough to shift her back to her own mount and continued on. It was difficult to sleep on a rocking horse. Eva was sure those naps had only been short ones and that while exhaustion had allowed her to drift off into sleep, once she’d gained an hour or so of much needed rest, she hadn’t been able to stay asleep. She was exhausted and in desperate need of a good eight hours of uninterrupted rest, something she feared that she wasn’t likely to get soon.
Which was a terrible shame in her mind as her exhaustion was making it difficult to keep her usually positive perspective on things. Instead of thinking of this as a grand adventure as she probably would have were she not so tired, Eva found herself feeling lonely and frightened. She had left everything she knew and loved behind, and was heading toward a life in a foreign land amongst complete strangers, with nothing but the clothes on her back and the small satchel hanging from her saddle. The satchel contained another threadbare gown, a small painted picture of her mother, her father’s small blade, and little else. It was all Eva possessed in this world.
Not that she minded her lack of possessions, Eva was used to that, but did wish she’d been able to bring Mavis with her. The little kitchen maid, who was sometimes pressed into service as Eva’s lady’s maid, was the only fr
iend that she had. Eva had been closer to the girl than to her own brother. Mavis was the only person she would really miss. But Jonathan had refused to release the girl, and she doubted that these men would have welcomed another burden besides herself on this journey.
Eva grimaced at the thought of being seen as a burden by these men. She didn’t care for the designation much, but her brother had made no bones about the fact that a burden was all she had been to him since her parents’ deaths when she was nine. Despite all of her efforts to stay out of his way, her directing the servants for him, and even pitching in and helping them when necessary in an attempt to make up for what little food she ate…All of it had been for naught. Jonathan had found her presence unbearable to the point that when he was unable to find her a husband, rather than allow her to live out her days at Caxton, he had been preparing to send her to a nunnery. Then these men had arrived with an offer to bride her.
Eva shook her head at the way her life path had changed so abruptly. Two days ago she had awoken with the glum realization that this was the last full day she would spend in her childhood home. The very next morning, she was to be sent to the abbey to join her next older sister as a bride of God. Something Eva didn’t really think she was suited to. She had always thought of nuns as serene and graceful brides of the lord. And even Eva had to admit that she was anything but serene. As for graceful, it was not a word that had ever been used to describe her.
But that had been two days ago. By midmorning of that day, her future had been put into question when Mavis had sought her out in the gardens to inform her that six Scots had arrived and were bartering with Jonathan for her hand in marriage. Eva had—at first—been sure the girl was wrong about this. Her brother had told her repeatedly that he had nothing to offer as her dower, so there was nothing over which to barter. But, as it turned out, they weren’t bartering over what Jonathan would pay to be rid of her, rather what the Scots would pay to have her.
Eva had still been reeling in shock from that news when Mavis had informed her that they were MacAdies. Never having paid much heed to gossip, Eva hadn’t understood the relevance behind this news. Mavis had recognized this at once from her blank expression and had taken an unseemly delight in telling the tale of the nightwalking, blood-lusting vampires the MacAdies were claimed to be, adding a horrified “Oh, ’tis too awful m’lady. You, married to one of those monsters!”
Eva had shushed the girl, telling her it was all stuff and nonsense, but the maid’s words had plagued her ever since. It was nonsense, of course. Wasn’t it?
“Of course, it is,” she assured herself stoutly for probably the hundredth time in two days. After all, hadn’t Ewan and the five MacAdie men with him arrived at Caxton at mid-morning? In clear daylight? According to the rumors Mavis had repeated, they shouldn’t have been able to manage such a feat were they vampires who would perish at the touch of the sun’s light.
Of course, when she’d said as much to Mavis, the girl had explained that Cook had said that the MacAdies weren’t all vampires. That the laird had married a MacNachton woman who was one and some of the people of MacAdie had followed suit. Their offspring were half-breeds, but that there were still mortal men among them, a necessity to accomplish what the soulless bloodlusters could not. These men, she had announced, were obviously the mortal helpers, servants to the vampire, sent to collect her for their laird who was a son of the MacAdie laird and his soulless bride and therefore, unable to travel in daylight.
Eva had been less impressed with this news. Her only response had been a snort of disbelief which hadn’t been as convincing as she would have liked. The maid had managed to plant the seed of doubt in her mind with her tales.
“It’s silly, really, Millie,” Eva assured her mare. “There is no such thing as vampire. Tis a myth. Like sirens of the sea.”
“She’s talkin’ to hersel’ agin.”
Ewan managed to restrain the sigh that wanted to slip from his lips at Domhall’s words. He had rather hoped that the men wouldn’t notice that Lady Eva was again talking to herself. An unlikely feat when he and Domhall rode behind the woman with a perfect view every time she took the trouble to start mumbling away.
The lass had been doing so since they’d ridden out of the gates of Caxton keep that first afternoon on the long journey from Caxton on the northern coast of England, to MacAdie in northern Scotland. And the men had been pointing it out in worried tones ever since. It was obvious that they worried that their new lady was mad.
“The MacAdie willnae be pleased to find hissel’ landed with a mad wife,” Domhall commented.
Ewan sighed at these words.
“Nay, he willnae be pleased,” Keddy agreed. He’d been riding on the woman’s left, but now dropped back to join the conversation. “And nae doubt he’ll be blamin’ us fer it.”
“Nay,” Donaidh protested, dropping back from his position on their new lady’s right to join the conversation as well. “He’ll no blame us.”
“Aye. He will,” Keddy insisted. “He’ll think we drove her mad with tales of what to expect.”
“He kens none of us would do that,” Ewan said calmly. “Besides, she isnae mad.”
“Oh. Aye,” Domhall agreed. “And every sane woman talks to herself, then?”
“Sane Scots, nay,” Ewan allowed. “But a Scot, she isnae, is she? ’Sides, who’s to say she be talking to herself? Mayhap she’s merely soothing her mount.”
“Soothing her mount, is she? From sun up to sun down?” Domhall snorted at the very idea and Ewan had to grimace. The argument hadn’t sounded very convincing even as he’d spoken it, but the closer they got to MacAdie the more he began to fret on the situation. As Connall’s first, it was his place to look out for his laird’s best interests. And it didn’t seem to him that having the men arrive thinking the lass mad—and spreading that rumor to everyone else—was a good thing for Connall. He thought it might be a good idea to nip that tale in the bud ere they arrived, but suspected he could talk to the men until he was blue in the face, unfortunately, so long as the lass continued to talk to herself, his talking wasn’t going to do a great load of good. It was time to have a word with the lass himself and see if he couldn’t sort out whether she was insane or not. If she wasn’t, all well and good. If she was…well, Connall had a problem. But the least Ewan could do was see if he could keep her from talking to herself and putting that worry into the men’s minds.
Digging his heels into the sides of his mount, he urged his horse to a trot that sent him out in front of the men and to his new lady’s side. The woman glanced at him with surprise, then offered a tentative smile and Ewan really wished she wouldn’t. There was little enough to cause good cheer in this hard life, especially after two days in the saddle, and he was sure the men would see her constant smiling as another bad sign. He scowled to discourage it and was satisfied when it wilted away and her lips turned down. Ewan then began to search his mind for an inoffensive way to broach the subject of whether she were mad or not.
“Are you mad?”
Eva blinked at that abrupt question. “I beg your pardon?”
“Yer talking to yerself, lass. Are ye mad?”
Eva stared at the man who—by her estimation—had seen at least forty summers. She could hardly believe he’d had the temerity to ask such a question of her, or the question itself, really. It had never occurred to her that they might think her mad because of such a small thing.
“I wasn’t talking to myself,” she said finally.
“Nay?” It was a polite sound of disbelief. She supposed he had a right to it, since he must have seen her talking.
“Nay. I was talking to Millie,” Eva explained, aware that the other three men had moved up to listen to the conversation. The two who had been riding in front were also slowing and falling closer. She offered each of them a smile now, feeling sure it was important she not leave them thinking her mad.
“Millie?” There was open worry on Ewan’s face and he gl
anced around as if expecting to see some unknown woman pop up out of nowhere.
“My horse,” Eva explained patiently.
“Ah.” He relaxed at once, tossing a triumphant smile to the men around them. They looked less impressed.
“And would ye be expecting the horse to answer ye?” One of them asked, drawing a frown from Ewan.
“Keddy,” he said the name in warning tones.
Determined to remain unruffled, Eva merely smiled at the red-haired young man with the freckled face and shook her head. “Nay, do not be silly. Horses cannot speak.”
That seemed to be the right thing to say, Ewan had relaxed again and the other men were nodding solemnly in agreement.
“Nevertheless that does not mean she cannot listen,” Eva added.
“Ah.” The larger, dark-haired man who usually rode on her right gave a considering nod. “That’s true enough, Keddy,” he pointed out to the redhead.
Eva offered him a smile for supporting her, and tried to recall what his name was. She thought Ewan had called him Donaidh when giving orders.
“Why would you be talking to her, though?” The man who usually rode behind her on Ewan’s right asked. Eva thought he was called Domhall.
“Other than one trip to your court, she’s never been off Caxton land,” Eva said solemnly. “I fear she finds all of this just a bit unsettling, so I talk to her to soothe her.”
Millie—as well as Eva herself—had only been off Caxton land once, during the trip to the Scottish court where Jonathan had attempted to find a man who would take her without a dower. He had claimed to have chosen the Scottish court over their English one for two reasons; first, it was closer and less of a troublesome journey to make. The second reason had been that, thanks to King James’s present efforts to encourage Anglo-Scottish marriages in an effort to further firm the truce the two countries were presently enjoying, her brother had thought it might be easier to marry her off there despite her lack of dower. He’d been wrong. Whether the intended husband was English or Scottish, Eva wasn’t pretty enough, or accomplished enough to be desirable without a dower. Not that she minded. God had given her a fine mind and that would serve her well, long after age had stolen whatever looks she had been given.