Highland Yule: A MacLomain and MacLauchlin Hogmanay Tale

by Sky Purington

  He recalled it clearly. How his heart seemed to stop beating when his brother told him. To Colmac’s mind, he had no choice but to become someone else to ensure Bróccín’s dreams were not dashed. He turned from Rona, ignoring her where before he had longed to be around her. Did his heart ever resume beating after that? Hard to know. But it never mattered.

  Not until now.

  He entered the festive hall and realized it very much mattered. She was here, and his brother’s words haunted them both. One way or another, Bróccín’s memory forced them to face things they thought behind them. Things, it appeared, they assumed they had long conquered.

  Yet he had not any more than she had.

  Their eyes met when she appeared in the great hall. Wearing a blue woolen dress and a festive green ribbon in her long, flowing hair, she was beautiful. So said all the admiring gazes that turned her way as she joined the festivities.

  The sound of fiddles, pipes, and merry people dancing faded away while he tried not to watch her out of the corner of his eye. Determined to give her peace, he stared at the fire or spoke with clansmen, anything to distract himself. But his gaze always drifted back to her.

  He wanted her.

  Just like he had since that first dance...before that even.

  “Well, then, m’Laird.” Brighid eyed him with a curious frown when she joined him. “Seems the pipe is merry and our lass is too.”

  “Aye, ‘tis good.” His gaze went to the clansmen flirting with Rona. They urged her to dance, but she kept shaking her head. “But is she merry enough, I wonder?”

  “I imagine she will be if ye save her from the buzzards swarmin’ her, aye?” Brighid’s voice went from curious to stern, her gaze pinning him in challenge. “So what say ye?”

  Recognizing a worthy adversary, he cocked a brow. “I suspect it willnae matter what I say.” He tipped his ale to her and admitted defeat before the war began. “But what I do, aye, Mistress?”

  “Aye, laddie, ye’re a quick study.” Instead of tipping her cup against his, Brighid took his mug, downed a solid swig and kept it, winking. “And ye’re right, what ye say matters little.” She gestured in Rona's direction, her gaze never leaving him. “What ye do, though, makes all the difference.”

  When Rona at last relented to a lad’s advances and twirled away in a jig, he knew Brighid was right. At least about him keeping a close eye on the lass. That’s what she meant, right? He drifted forward, watching Rona swirl in the firelight, laughing as she once did.

  Just like that, he was in the past again.

  The night they first danced.

  “Come then, Colmac!” Rona pulled him up from the bench, her gaze wondrous as she scanned the merry crowd. She focused on the couples before she looked at him again. “I want to dance like that!” She spread her arms and twirled. “I want to feel the passion!”

  He enjoyed her enthusiasm and allowed her to pull him into the crowd. They chatted as they always did, but all he could see was her laughing and dancing. That was all he could ever see lately. She had no idea, though, did she? Nay, she was a few winters younger and just coming into understanding what could be. The passion lads and lasses could feel together. A passion igniting in her eyes while she spun.

  She was no longer a bairn.

  They were no longer bairns.

  Nay, they were on the precipice of something so much greater.

  That’s when it happened.

  The pipes grew merrier, the crowd more rambunctious and she was shoved right into his arms. It should have been but a blip in time. They should have laughed and stepped back a wee bit.

  But they did not.

  Instead, they were caught in an unforgettable moment as he kept her close. Everything dwindled down to just them. His heart pounded, and his chest tightened while their gazes held. He never forgot the way she looked at him nor what he suddenly realized.

  He was in love.

  He had been for some time.

  Colmac had never felt lighter than he did after that dance. Something almost magical had happened to him. Something that surely only came along once in a lifetime. So he raced to MacLomain Castle that very night and sought out what he needed.

  Something that would show her everything he felt.

  “Colmac?”

  He snapped to awareness at the sound of Rona’s voice not in his past but right here in front of him.

  “Aye, lass,” he managed, jarred because he stood just beyond the dancing clansfolk and barely remembered moving.

  Seeming to understand the source of his stupor, her hand slid into his, and she pulled him to nearly the same spot they had their first dance. “Do ye remember, then?” She squeezed his hand. “Do ye remember what happened here?”

  “I do,” he whispered, tempted to pull her into his arms. Eager to relive the moment. To at long last hold her in his arms again and never let go.

  It seemed she spoke of something else, though.

  She nodded in the direction of the hearth. “Shall we look now? Surely that is what Bróccín referred to.”

  His gaze followed hers, and he realized what she meant. Before Colmac left for MacLomain Castle that eve his brother had told them he found another hideaway.

  “The rock that came loose from the hearth when Bróccín and I were dancing,” she said. “He kicked it aside then later discovered there had been a wee crevice behind it.”

  “Would that be big enough for a scroll?”

  “There is only one way to find out.”

  She started to pull him that way, but he stopped her, remembering his brother’s request of her in the last letter.

  “Nay, not yet lass.” He knew he should leave this alone but could not help himself. “He said ye were to dance again first.”

  “But I just did.”

  “Aye.” He pulled her into his arms. “But not with me.”

  Chapter Seven

  The moment Colmac pulled her into his arms, Rona knew they were on a slippery slope that only led in one direction. How else could it be when her heart raced and her breathing shallowed? Her eyes met his, and she was right back there.

  Back to the night, they had first danced.

  Everything she’d felt back then came rushing to the surface. The extraordinary sensation of floating in his arms. The surreal feeling that she was more whole at that moment than she had ever been before.

  Almost as if he completed her.

  “Ye really do look verra bonny this eve, lass,” he said softly. Just like he did that eve so long ago, his gaze roamed her face with admiration.

  Desire.

  Need.

  Most especially, love.

  Which meant it had been there back then. How could she have ever doubted she saw it? Worse yet, this meant Aunt Brighid was right.

  Colmac had turned from her so Bróccín could love her.

  Her vision blurred with tears, and she tried to speak, but nothing came out. She was too overwhelmed with emotion.

  “’Tis all right.” He seemed to understand what she was going through. “Ye dinnae need to say a word.”

  She managed a jerky nod, rested her cheek against his chest, and held on to his tunic for dear life as tears slipped free. She closed her eyes and drowned in the feeling of being in his arms. Of knowing that he had once cared for her. Yet with that certain knowledge came sadness and the same anger she had felt earlier.

  How could he have so easily turned from what existed between them? She understood he loved his brother and certainly did not fault him for that, but to turn from what had blossomed between them? To set it aside as if it meant so little? That hurt deeply.

  Then, on the same token, had he not, she never would have shared such a wonderful connection with Bróccín. She had truly loved him. Was their love different than what she felt for Colmac? Possibly.

  But it was love all the same.

  “Are ye all right, Rona?” Colmac eventually rumbled.

  “I will be.” She wiped away tears,
and met his eyes again, determined to finally get to the heart of things once and for all. To actually hear him say it. “Did ye love me, Colmac? Did ye love me and turn from me all those years ago?”

  For a moment, she did not think he would answer then anguish flashed in his gaze and he, at last, gave her the truth. More of it than she expected.

  “Aye, lass, I had been admiring ye for some time, but that eve, I knew it to be true.” He cupped her cheek tenderly. “I loved ye with my whole heart.”

  “Och,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut briefly before she opened them again. “Why did ye turn me away?” She tilted her head in question. “Why did ye push me into yer brother’s arms if ye felt that way?”

  “Because I was a fool,” Colmac ground out. He shook his head, clearly conflicted. “Or so it seems now, but the truth was, as ye well know, there wasnae anything I wouldnae do for Bróccín. He loved ye something fierce, and I couldnae take that from him.” Sadness flickered in his eyes. “Not after all the suffering he went through in life. The many illnesses.”

  While she admired his devotion, it still hurt.

  “And what of yer suffering turning from me?” she asked softly. “Or was there any?”

  “There was nothing but, lass.” Pain saturated his gaze. “I didnae realize how much there would be...how long it would stay with me...”

  Her heart caught at the look in his eyes. Should she ask? Dare she? How could she not?

  “And how long did it stay with ye?”

  “’Tis still with me at this verra moment,” he murmured. “Do ye not see it in my eyes?” He brushed her chin with the pad of his thumb. “Even now, when ye mourn my brother’s passing, I mourn what I gave up.”

  “Ye love me?” she whispered. “Even now?”

  “More now than ever.” Fresh torture lit his gaze. “But that doesnae change anything. Ye gave yer love to Bróccín and ‘tis his memory ye’re home to visit as it should be.”

  “Aye,” she managed.

  While their gazes held, she realized Brighid was right all the way around. The love she felt for the brothers was markedly different. Bróccín never made her feel like she did right now. Her heart never pounded, nor did her breath catch. She never felt this alive but instead, comfortable. Companionable.

  “We should go see if he left another scroll,” she said before she put voice to her thoughts and told him how she felt. Because he was right. She was home to say goodbye to her betrothed not fall in love with his brother all over again. Yet she feared as he nodded and pulled her after him, it was too late.

  It had been too late the moment she awoke in his bed and found him standing beside her.

  Colmac crouched at the corner of the hearth and peered at the area the rock had come loose from. “’Twas a verra small space.”

  “Aye.” She remembered Bróccín crouched in the very same spot fitting the rock back in.

  “It comes out easily enough.” Colmac pulled it free then peered in. His brows perked. “Och, ‘tis deeper than it used to be. Someone carved more space.”

  “Aye?” She leaned over his shoulder. “Is there anything in there?”

  “Aye.” He grinned, stood, and handed her a scroll just like the others.

  “My goodness.” She glanced from him to the scroll then removed the sprig and red ribbon. “Bróccín truly wanted to send me on a journey, aye?”

  “So it seems.” Colmac’s gaze remained on her face as she unrolled it. “What does it say, lass?”

  She read it aloud.

  My Dearest Friend,

  If ye’re reading this, then ye’ve had yer dance and likely now know of all that was set aside so that I might love ye. I knew the sacrifices made, and for that, I am sorry. I just loved ye so much. Do ye remember what I said to ye the night I proposed? What I hoped I might get from ye? Then where I wished ye always go? Might ye go there and discover even more...

  Yers,

  Bróccín

  “He called me ‘friend’ in this one.” She focused on that first because what the rest of the letter implied was difficult to wrap her mind around.

  It sounded like a flat out confession.

  “Aye, he called ye friend and,” brows furrowed, Colmac stood next to her and read the letter again, “it sounded as if...”

  When he trailed off, she nodded and carefully rolled the letter, finishing Colmac’s thought for him. “He knew we loved each other.”

  Colmac’s expression was hard to read. “I dinnae know if I should be upset with him or not.”

  “I think the time to be upset is long past.” Her eyes went to his. “Now is the time to forgive and move on. Like ye, I willnae think poorly of him. He was a good and kind man. ‘Tis best to understand that young love is capable of anything.”

  “Aye,” he agreed.

  Yet, like her, he clearly struggled with it

  “What did he say to ye the night he proposed?” he asked. “What did he hope to get from ye?”

  She touched her lips absently, recalling how Bróccín had stuttered he had been so nervous to ask. “A kiss.”

  Colmac arched a brow. “And did it happen?”

  “Aye.” She looked to the stairs. “In the hallway upstairs.”

  “All the way up there, then?” Colmac looked at her curiously. “Are ye sure ‘twas just a kiss?”

  “Of course, and a quick respectable kiss at that!” She rounded her eyes. “What sort of lassie do ye take me for?” She shook her head. “Yer brother was verra much a gentleman. He kissed me but one other time, saying all else would wait until we married.”

  Surprise lit his gaze. “Aye? In all the time he romanced ye?”

  “Aye!” She narrowed her eyes. “Again, what sort of lassie do ye take me for?”

  “One who would have been kissed well and true many times over by now had ye walked the same path with me.” He pulled her after him. “Let us head that way and see what we can find.”

  Dancing a merry jig with Aaron, Aunt Brighid grinned and winked at her in passing.

  As she and Colmac headed upstairs, his attitude seemed to change. There was a new set to his jaw. A bolder look in his eyes. If she did not know better, she would say while he still intended to honor her mourning period, his intentions, in general, had changed.

  “Where did he kiss ye,” he ground out at the top of the stairs.

  “What is it, Colmac?” She frowned. “Ye seem upset.”

  “Nay.” He shook his head, determination in his gaze. “Just impatient to find yer next message.” He cocked his head. “So where was yer kiss?”

  “In the alcove just around the corner.”

  He nodded and pulled her after him into said alcove. “Here, then?”

  “Aye, ‘twas here.”

  “Aye,” he agreed. “Where ye had yer first chaste respectable kiss. Now ye’ll get the sort of kiss ye should have got then.”

  He pulled her against him, wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and for the first time in her life, gave her the type of kiss she had long dreamed of.

  Chapter Eight

  While Colmac was certainly frustrated with his brother’s deception, his angst fled at the feeling of finally kissing Rona. He had dreamt of this moment again and again and found the reality of it even better. Understanding this was her first real kiss, he took his time, gentle and coaxing at first, until he could not help but relish her sweet taste and deepen the exchange.

  Far more receptive than he anticipated, she groaned and melted against him when their tongues met. While beyond aroused and hungry for her, desperate to take her, right here, right now, against the wall if he had to, he would not disrespect her like that.

  When it happened, and it would happen, he would make her feel things beyond her wildest imagination. He would spread her soft thighs and taste her sweet heat. Then he would spread her legs wider still, sink into her tight sheath and make her his at last.

  The longer he kissed her, the more eager he became so he relu
ctantly ended it before he did something she was not ready for. Not quite yet, anyway. He pulled his lips away, only to find her eyes shut, and her lips rosy from his kisses. He could stare at her forever this way, lost in his arms, within his touch.

  Her eyes slowly opened and met his, dewy and sensual, her voice hoarse. “Why did ye do that?”

  “Ye know full well why.” His voice was just as husky. “Because I have wanted to do it since that verra eve. To kiss ye as ye should be kissed...to love ye as ye should be loved.”

  “But ye didnae,” she whispered. “Ye let me go.” She searched his eyes. “Would ye have done so, had ye known Bróccín knew ye loved me? Would that have made a difference?”

  “I wish I could tell ye what ye want to hear, but I dinnae know, lass,” he said. “The man standing in front of ye now wants to reach back in time, take ye and never let go. The lad back then?” He shook his head. “He loved ye something fierce, but he loved his brother too. He saw the hardships he went through with sickness and how he never quite measured up to the other lads. How he always struggled.”

  He kept his gaze with hers, praying she understood. “There is little I wouldnae have done to give Bróccín genuine happiness...even if it meant forfeiting the love I felt for ye.”

  Rona's misty eyes remained on him for several more moments, her internal struggle obvious. Eventually, she pulled away and sank onto a bench, her gaze lost while she came to terms with his revelation. He sat beside her and waited, hoping she would be able to separate the actions of a lad from a man. Or at least understand the depths of his soft heart, especially when it came to Bróccín.

  “Though I have this great anger...” She gripped the edge of the seat and hung her head. “I cannae fault ye for loving yer brother so deeply. For having such compassion for a soul who didnae have it easy...who suffered.” Her eyes drifted to his. “So much compassion that ye would forfeit yer own happiness for it.”

  He put his hand over hers, never more grateful to hear those words. To have what was, in a sense, her forgiveness. Because had he allowed his heart to have its way back then and only thought of himself, they might already be wed. Mayhap even have a wee bairn or two.