Highland Yule: A MacLomain and MacLauchlin Hogmanay Tale

by Sky Purington

  “I see,” she murmured.

  While one might argue Aaron could have helped, in truth that would have been equally inappropriate. More familiar with battle wounds, best that Colmac assisted.

  “I dinnae recall any of it,” she said. “What happened? How were ye there when we were attacked?”

  “’Twas not all that far from the castle.” He tried to keep his gaze off the satiny flesh of her shoulder peeking through the shift. “Our scouts alerted us to yer presence, and we came straight away. There werenae many attacking ye but they were vicious enough.”

  “Aye.” Her grateful eyes lingered on his face. “’Twould have been a bad outcome indeed had ye not come.”

  He clenched his fists, not doubting that for a moment. All he could see was the miscreant with his blade to her throat. His leer while he dragged her backward.

  “Ye werenae handled well, lass,” he said softly. “Are ye hurt anywhere else but yer head?”

  “I dinnae think so.” Rona removed the blanket and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She rolled her shoulders and wiggled her toes, testing everything out. “Nay, all is well enough.”

  He knew he should turn around and give her privacy, but he was once again frozen in place by the sight of her pebbled nipples through her shift. At the obvious contours of her well-rounded breasts against the material. When he had helped Brighid take off her dress, he’d seen nothing but his own fear at her injury.

  Now, however, he saw clearly what he had missed.

  “Ye should,” he stuttered before he managed to rip his gaze away. He cleared his throat and finally had the decency to turn around. “Ye should get beneath the blankets again, lass. I will send yer aunt to assist ye. Though ‘tis likely cold now, I had a basin of water brought up and yer belongings are in the corner.”

  “I wasnae thinking,” Rona murmured, covering herself again by the sound of it. “I suppose I figured ye had already seen me so...och, ‘twas not right thinking that. All is well now.”

  “’Tis fine, lass,” he assured, turning back. “By the looks of the sky ‘tis late morn, so I imagine they have cooked a thing or two below stairs. Would ye like something to eat?”

  “Aye, but if ‘tis just the same I would like to eat in the great hall,” she replied. “Mayhap pay my respects to yer ma?”

  “She would like that.” In truth, his mother seemed an empty shell of late. Adrift. So it was impossible to know if she desired to see anyone. “I will let her know ye’re asking after her.”

  Rona nodded, peering at him. It seemed she wanted to say something more but was unsure.

  “What is it, lass?”

  She hesitated a moment longer. “I just wanted to say how sorry I am for yer loss. Not just yer clan members but yer kin...yer da and Bróccín.”

  He nodded in thanks. While he meant to let the matter rest rather than dwell in misery, he found himself wanting to speak of it with her. Mayhap because she knew his kin so well and had loved his brother as much as him. Or perhaps simply because she had once been a close friend. Someone he spent countless hours talking to and confiding in.

  “I wish I had been here to say goodbye.” He leaned against the wall and saw nothing but the past. “But as has been the case for many years, I was off fighting one skirmish or another against the bloody Sassenach.” He would never forget the scout who bore the bad news. “I had sustained an injury, so my laird insisted I return to the castle and be with ma. To watch over our clan until his return.”

  “It must have been terrible,” she said softly. “Returning to so much loss.”

  “It wasnae easy,” he confessed, sharing his thoughts with someone for the first time. He’d had to be strong for his ma and clan, leading them as his laird would have wanted him to. “But we MacLauchlins have been through worse.”

  One way or another, his clan had not been very lucky over the centuries. In fact, at one point, when housing young King Robert the Bruce, they were ruthlessly attacked and nearly wiped out. The few who survived took sanctuary with the MacLomains and as the years wore on, eventually rebuilt. Now, rather than being further inland from their allies, they were across Loch Fynn and closer to the sea.

  “Aye, yer clan has seen its fair share of hardship.” Rona glanced at his leg. “I am sorry ye were injured too.” Thankfulness lit her eyes. “But verra happy ye survived.”

  For the first time in far too long, he was too.

  If only for the chance to see her again.

  “’Twas a blade cut to the calf.” Again he shared something he rarely spoke of. “It didnae heal right.”

  Pain for him churned in her gaze. “Does it hurt ye now?”

  “Nay, not overly much.” He shook his head. “’Tis just a minor hindrance that affects my gait.”

  “What of when ye battle?”

  “I havenae had to battle much.” He was not about to tell her it tended to seize up upon overexertion and hurt quite badly. “But when I fought to save ye, it served me just fine.”

  In pain or not, he could have been down a few limbs and still found a way to slay any who dared harm her.

  “Had I the gift of foresight, I never would have traveled at such a time and put ye in harm's way.” A frown tugged at her mouth. “For that matter, I was foolish to have asked my kin to bring me all this way, to begin with.” She shook her head. “’Twas verra foolish. I see that now.”

  It was foolish, but he was never more grateful.

  “Ye’re here now and safe,” he replied. “That is all that matters, lass.”

  “Aye.” She looked to the window, her gaze a little lost. “Might I confess something, though?”

  “Aye, anything.”

  “I didnae want to be here,” she murmured. “I dreaded ever stepping foot in this castle again.”

  “I ken, lass.” He truly did. “I felt the same way when I returned.”

  “I imagine ye did.” Her sad gaze went to him. “Yet I think my homecoming is far better than yers. At least I’ve ye to greet me not the misery of a castle freshly haunted by loss.”

  It had undoubtedly been that. Laughter no longer rang through the halls. Wee bairns no longer played. He had left one clan and returned to another. Things had gradually improved over the past year as more clansmen returned from battle, but it would take time to get back to what they once were.

  As he had many times while sitting by her bedside last night, he looked to what now hung in his chamber. “Thank ye for the tapestry, lass. ‘Tis verra bonny...and comforting.”

  More comforting than she would ever know. For he had thought of that tree many times when away warring. The good times he’d shared with his brother under it but more so those moments with her. How many times had he wanted to touch her cheek? Press his lips to hers? Too often to count.

  But alas, it was not to be.

  He offered her a small smile. “We had many a fond memory beneath that tree, aye?”

  “Aye, we did.” She looked at it with as much sentiment. “I had hoped it would someday hang in this castle and bring ye good memories.” Curiosity lit her eyes. “Might I ask who hung it?”

  “Yer aunt.” He suspected, however, Brighid had been presumptuous in the hanging of it. “Did ye want it hung there? Or mayhap somewhere else in the castle?”

  “Nay.” Her gaze returned to him. “I like it hung here, and I think Bróccín would have as well. The tree was a place for all three of us, aye?”

  “Aye,” he murmured, glad she felt that way.

  “Might I see Bróccín's grave whilst I am here?” she said so softly he barely caught it. But then, by the way she gripped the bedding, she had braced herself for the asking.

  “Of course.” He was tempted to go to her, soothe her, but held back out of habit. “’Tis in back of the castle.”

  “Is it then?” she said, surprised.

  “Aye, where Bróccín requested it be,” he said. “Verra close to where ye first met.”

  “Oh,” she whispered, her
gaze misty again. “He did cherish that area.”

  “Aye.”

  Just like Colmac did.

  He recalled the many times Bróccín spoke of it. The love in his eyes. While it might have been torture for Colmac, she and his brother would have had a good life together. Bróccín would’ve doted on her endlessly. Such was clear by the way he’d left her gifts in their secret hideaway every time she visited.

  As if his brother reached out to him from the grave, he realized that was precisely what Bróccín referred to in his letter. “’Twas the hideaway in the side of the castle. That must be what he is talking about.”

  “Och, our hideaway! How could I have forgotten?” Her brows swept up. “Do ye think he hid something in there for me?”

  He nodded, positive of it. Their hideaway was behind a rock in the castle’s foundation. He and his brother had exchanged many secret missives in it when bairns. What’s more? Rona, their fast friend from the start, was indeed shown the location the same day they met her.

  Chapter Three

  Hours later, having bathed and dressed, Rona sat while Brighid combed her hair. Since Colmac had left, her thoughts had been on him and Bróccín. On their many childhood memories together. Especially that first day. She knew Colmac had been wary of her being informed of their hideaway spot, but in the end, relented to appease his brother.

  Colmac had always done that, hadn’t he? Given in to Bróccín’s wishes? But then he had taken his role of big brother quite seriously. Not surprising considering Bróccín had been sickly in his youth and Colmac often watched over him. She imagined had their roles been reversed, he still would have been overprotective, though. It was just in his nature.

  “Ye’ve a look in yer eyes I havenae seen in a verra long time, lassie,” Brighid murmured.

  “Aye,” she acknowledged. “’Tis being in this castle close to Bróccín’s memory...our memories together.”

  “’Tis some of that to be sure,” her aunt agreed.

  She frowned. “’Tis all of that.”

  “In part.”

  Rona frowned at Brighid, unsure what she implied. “In all.”

  “Aye, then,” her aunt relented on a sigh. “In all.”

  Brighid repositioned Rona’s head and kept combing. Yet her aunt knew blasted well she had piqued her interest. “Pray tell, what is the other part then, Auntie?”

  “Since ye asked,” Brighid replied fully aware she'd baited her niece, “the other brother.”

  “I dinnae ken what ye speak of,” Rona fibbed.

  “Aye, ye do, lassie,” her aunt said. “What ye seem to have forgotten, but my long memory doesnae, is that yer look now is one ye once wore.”

  “Of course it is,” she said. “I loved Bróccín.”

  “Aye,” Brighid agreed. “But never in the same way ye love the other one.”

  “Auntie!” She spun on Brighid with wide eyes. “How can ye speak such of me? How can ye speak such of the dead?”

  “I speak just fine of the dead,” Brighid cut back. “And speak nothing less than the truth about ye.” Before she could reply, her aunt went on. “I remember well the way ye gazed at the older brother there for a time. Yer heart was in yer eyes. Yer cheeks rosy with the same blush ye have now every time he crossed yer path.”

  “Aye, there was a time I fancied him some,” she admitted. “But ‘twas Bróccín who held my heart in the end. My love for him was verra true.”

  “I didnae say it wasnae.” Brighid set aside the comb, urged Rona to stand then looked her over, adjusting her MacLomain plaid around her dress. “Ye loved yer Bróccín well and true but ‘twas a different sort of love than what ye felt for Colmac.” Her gaze rose to Rona’s face. “Had he not loved his brother so much and turned his eye, things might have gone verra differently indeed.”

  What was she talking about? Impossible. It could not be.

  Rona stepped away and shook her head. “Ye dinnae know of what ye speak, Auntie. Ye cannae possibly be implying that Colmac felt anything for me beyond friendship.” She widened her eyes. “And even that was questionable in the end. He wanted nothing to do with me! Then he left without a backward glance.” She shook her head, recalling with crushing clarity the moment she learned he was gone. “He never even said goodbye.”

  “Aye, and mayhap ye should look at that again,” Brighid said. “Mayhap ye should look at everything with fresh eyes.” She gestured at the pine tapestry Rona had weaved. “Because there was certainly something in his eyes when I presented that to him.”

  “Speaking of which, ye didnae have permission to do that.”

  “But ‘twas for him.”

  “’Twas for the castle.”

  “Dinnae fool yerself, lass.” Brighid shook her head. “Ye always meant to give that to Colmac to bring him comfort.”

  “Aye, but still, ‘twas not yer place.”

  “Nay, its place is where it hangs.” Brighid nodded firmly. “If ye had seen the way Colmac looked at it ye would ken.” She snorted. “Then again, ye likely wouldnae have seen what was right in front of yer face anyway.”

  “I see things just fine.” Or did she? Either way, now certainly wasn’t the time to dwell upon it. Yet she could tell by the stubborn determination in her aunt’s eyes the best way around this conversation was to redirect it. “I see things better than ye, I might add. Much better when it comes to knowing when one person fancies another.”

  “Do ye then?” Brighid planted her fists on her hips and cocked her head. “What precisely have ye seen that makes ye such an expert?”

  “I think mayhap ye should ask Aaron that question.” She smirked. “’Tis safe to say ye two are in far more denial than I ever could be.”

  “Well, I...I,” Brighid stuttered, her face red against her white streaked brown hair.

  “I...I, what?” Rona cocked a brow. “Love Aaron and just dinnae know how to tell him?” She shrugged. “I’ll tell ye how, just come out with it already!”

  “By the bloody rood, ye’ve a tongue on ye, lassie!” Brighid ushered her out the door. “And an imagination that could get ye in trouble.”

  “’Tis an imagination that sees ye happy, Auntie,” Rona persisted. They started down the hall. “I see the way ye’ve looked at each other all these long years, but ye’re both too stubborn and pig-headed to take what’s right in front of ye.”

  “Ye need food,” Brighid stated bluntly. Chin up, seemingly of the mind to ignore the obvious, she nodded once. “Ye need nourishment to clear yer head. ‘Twill do away with yer fantasies.”

  “Yet ye werenae there with food when I awoke earlier,” she pointed out. “Where were ye anyway? ‘Twas awkward waking up to a man in my chamber.”

  “’Tis his chamber,” Brighid reminded.

  Oh, she knew that all too well. She could still smell Colmac's spicy masculine scent all around her. As if she had not been beneath his blanket but wrapped up in his arms. Against his hard body. Shocked by the direction of her thoughts, she barely caught what her aunt said.

  “Colmac was determined to watch over ye.” Brighid shrugged, her tone a wee bit too sly and definitely not truthful. “So I rested as ye requested.”

  They made their way down the barren hallway. Naught but a threadbare tapestry or two hung about.

  “I did request ye rest,” Rona conceded. “But that would not normally sway ye when ye’re set in yer ways.” She narrowed her eyes at her aunt. “What really happened? Because ye never would have left my bedside.”

  “I trusted Laird Colmac to watch over ye,” Brighid finally relented, still lying through her teeth about something. “And I really was verra tired.” Her brows flew up. She fluttered her fingers over her chest as if still caught in the trauma of battle. “The fighting was quite terrifying!”

  “Colmac isnae laird,” she reminded. “And enough of this. Tell me the truth. Why did ye really leave?” When her aunt remained silent, reluctant, Rona urged her on. “Just tell me already!”

  “
All right, all right.” Brighid shrugged a nonchalant shoulder. “I may have suffered a wee bit from yer potion.”

  “My potion?”

  “Aye, ye know.” She nudged Rona’s shoulder and whispered, “The one concocted by the witch.” Shoulders back, she nodded once, clearly the heroine in her own story. “I took a sip to make sure ‘twas safe for ye.” Her eyes rounded. “The next thing I knew, I was swept off my feet then sleeping soundly.”

  Rona stopped and stared at Brighid, truly curious. “Swept off yer feet by whom?”

  “It doesnae matter now.” Her aunt waved it away. “What matters is that I was safely tucked in bed until the potion wore off.” She nodded again and relented. “I must admit ‘twas a good rest.”

  “I imagine ‘twas,” Rona said. “Mistress Mórag has a way with herbs.” She tilted her head in question, anxious to get to the root of things. “And it verra much matters who swept ye up when ye...what? Swooned?”

  “I grew sleepy.”

  Liar. The truth of it was in Brighid's less-than-direct gaze. “Och, nay, ye swooned!”

  Brighid looked anywhere but at her. “I might have teetered a wee bit.”

  “Teetered?” Aaron admonished appearing at the threshold of a nearby door. “Ye flat out fell, lass. Lucky for ye, I am as sprite as ever in my old age and got to ye in time.”

  He cut a fine sight in his MacLomain colors, his typically unruly hair combed back neatly. In fact, if Rona did not know better, she would say he and Brighid looked a smidge more done up than usual. But then, that made sense considering what had happened.

  Could it be romance was finally getting around to blossoming properly?

  “Ah, so ye were my aunt’s dashing hero!” She gave her aunt a cheeky grin and winked. “Thank goodness Aaron was there and carried ye off to bed so readily.”

  “I did do that.” Aaron puffed up some before he sensed more to their exchange and narrowed his eyes. “Where I then left her of course.”

  “After a time,” came a soft, knowing voice from ahead. “But ‘twas good of ye to sit by her bedside and watch over her as ye did.”