Highland Yule: A MacLomain and MacLauchlin Hogmanay Tale

by Sky Purington

  They climbed and admired the endless holly and ribbons strewn about. Colmac nodded and thanked a lass who gave him two mugs teeming with whisky. He handed her one, his smile firmly in place.

  “It doesnae seem right,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  “My clan doing so well when others struggle.”

  “’Tis what it is,” he replied. “What ye overlook is how much the MacLomains help not only their people but other clans at every turn.” He shook his head. “’Tis a rare clan that builds an extra wall and numerous cottages so that more might be safe. People that werenae even a part of their clan.”

  “Aye,” she whispered, proud. “They have always been exceptional.”

  “So ye dinnae need to feel guilt that ye see one thing here and another at my castle.” He gave her a pointed look. “All that matters is the happiness ye witness at both.” Warmth lit his gaze. “Because ye did, aye?”

  “I did,” she agreed. “Ye really have done well by them Colmac.”

  “I have only helped them along,” he replied. “Once my cousins get home from war, the MacLauchlins will start rebuilding. Mark my words.”

  “Now that ye have rebuilt yer clan’s foundation, how else can it be?” She squeezed his hand. “Never forget that. ‘Twas ye that brought yer people back from a verra dark place.”

  Clearly grateful for her words, he squeezed her hand in return. Near the top of the stairs, he leapt ahead despite his limp and opened the door for her. He bowed and made a hand flourish that she enter. “Wishing ye a verra warm welcome home, lass.”

  Just like it had all day, her heart skipped a beat as their eyes met. She nodded, curtsied in thanks then walked into the MacLomain great hall.

  She put a hand to her heart and took it all in. “’Tis just as I remember.”

  A fire burned on the monstrous hearth at the far side of the hall. As always, the faces carved into its mantle seemed to celebrate alongside endless folk. Candles and torches burned everywhere lighting monstrous tapestries depicting oceanscapes, and even a mighty Viking said to be their ancestor. Sweet and spicy scents filled the air and pipes played, echoing far and wide. Red berries speckled vibrant green holly, and festive ribbons hung all about.

  “’Tis bonny, aye?” Colmac whispered in her ear from behind, weakening her knees. “But not nearly as bonny as...”

  When he trailed off, she understood why. A little girl had just stopped in front of them and offered Rona a ribbon to tie in her hair for the holiday. She smiled in thanks and took it, staring for a moment before she looked at Colmac. “’Tis the same ribbon that tied the scrolls, aye?”

  “Aye, lass, ‘tis the verra same,” Adlin confirmed, joining them. He looked from the ribbon to her and shockingly enough, referred to the last letter Bróccín had left her. “Have ye not a question for me then, lass? Mayhap what should have been yers from the beginning?”

  Chapter Ten

  Adlin had insisted Colmac follow him and Rona up to her chambers, so he did, suspecting all the while what the former chieftain was leading her toward. What he was not sure of, however, was how he felt about that.

  After all, many a year ago, he had raced into this castle one Hogmanay night, hoping to have something forged for him despite the late hour. Where that had gotten to, though, remained a mystery.

  “Sweet Heaven,” Rona whispered, awed as Adlin opened the door to her chambers. “’Tis just as I left it.”

  “But of course, lass.” A fire crackled on the hearth and candles flickered. Food and drink lay invitingly on the side table. The air smelled faintly of evergreen and juniper. A clan true to Hogmanay tradition, someone would have walked from room to room earlier in the day with a burning juniper branch to discourage evil spirits and chase away disease for the New Year.

  “Did ye expect yer chamber would change, Rona?” Adlin arched a brow. “Ye’re kin.”

  She smiled and stopped when she spied what lay on the bed.

  “Lord above.” She drifted to the satiny red dress. “This is lovely.”

  “’Tis yers to wear this eve.” Adlin gestured to her bedside table. “But there is more, lass.” His kind gaze went to her. “Something awaits ye.”

  Her eyes widened at the scroll on the table. Just like the others, it was tied in red ribbon only the holly was fresh like the first missive. “It came from here.” Her attention returned to Adlin. “The ribbon around all of them came from here.”

  “Aye.” Adlin shook his head. “But not the letters themselves.” He looked from Colmac to her. “Those came from Bróccín.”

  “But how did he get the ribbon after he fell sick?” Colmac asked. “How did he get the scrolls spread about? The scroll that was there when Rona first awakened?”

  “I will tell ye later.” Adlin gestured at the scroll again. “Until then, ‘tis best ye spend another moment or two with yer brother, lad.” His gaze went to Colmac, quite serious. “For this is his last communication.”

  He left, shutting the door softly behind him.

  Rona scooped up the scroll, sat on the bed, and stared at it. “The last then?”

  “Aye.” He sat beside her and eyed it too, both sad and curious. “’Tis odd. Two days ago I thought I had long said goodbye to my brother, but I feel as if he stands here with us now...as if these are indeed his last words.”

  “Aye.” She untied it slowly, her gaze full of sentiment. “Though sad, I thought it would be worse...harder.”

  “There has already been a year of grieving,” he reminded. “Even longer for ye as ye were apart whilst he battled.”

  “Aye, ‘tis not just that, though,” she whispered. Her hands stilled on the ribbon, and her eyes met his. “’Tis because ye’re here going through it with me...giving me strength.”

  “’Tis good,” he said softly, tempted to kiss her again no matter how inappropriate the moment.

  “Verra good.” Her gaze stayed with his for another moment then she finally unrolled the scroll only for a small green velvet pouch to fall out of it. “What is this?”

  Colmac took it, fully aware of what it likely was. “First, the scroll then we will find out what is in this.”

  She nodded, her gaze lingering on it a moment longer before she read the letter. He was shocked to discover Bróccín had addressed both him and Rona this time.

  Dear Rona and Colmac,

  Rona, if ye made it this far then ‘tis my fondest hope ye make it all the way. ‘Tis time we say farewell once and for all, and for ye to live the life ye were always meant to. A life I took from ye. I was selfish and wanted yer loving light all to myself. Ye shone where so few did. Yet, in truth, I stole that light. It never belonged to me but another. So if I can give ye one final gift for Hogmanay from the beyond ‘tis that ye finally give yer heart to my brother as ye tried to do all those years ago...

  Her teary eyes met Colmac’s before they returned to the missive, and she kept reading.

  Brother, if ye are reading this, then ye are precisely where God intended ye to be from the start. A place I had no right to intrude upon. I was weak and lonely and loved her so. But that does not justify my actions. I took what did not belong to me because I could. I knew ye would deny me nothing. ‘Twas wrong a thousand times over and I can only hope in time ye will forgive me. That when we meet beyond this life, ye will embrace me as a brother once more. Now tell her the story behind the ring and might ye both find the Hogmanay that always belonged to ye...

  Until we meet again,

  Bróccín

  “What ring?” she whispered and looked at him. “What is he talking about?”

  “He is talking about something I gave him.”

  His gaze fell to the velvet pouch. Should he listen to Bróccín and tell her the truth or protect his brother’s actions? As it were, the contents of the pouch were supposed to have come from Colmac. Yet when his eyes rose to hers again, he knew he had to listen to his brother and tell her everything. All of it.

  Not
to benefit himself but because she deserved it.

  More than that, she deserved it to be presented to her the way Colmac had intended all those years ago.

  So he got down on one knee, poured the contents of the pouch into his palm then held the golden ring out to her. With two hands coming from opposite directions holding a crowned heart, it signified how strongly he felt both then and now.

  “Though I had started to suspect for some time,” he began, “when we danced together, and I gazed into yer eyes, I knew ye were not just the lass I loved but the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.” He looked at her with everything he felt. “So I raced off that Hogmanay eve to the one place I knew had a smith who could create a masterpiece. Adlin, of course, assured me he would make something that depicted how I felt. Something that said ye and only ye hold my heart.”

  He glanced from the ring to her, caught in the moment...the memory. “I could not wait to give it to ye. To ask ye to be mine...” He shook his head. “I wondered at yer reaction the whole way here and back. Would yer eyes grow as bright as they did when we danced? Or would they turn soft and sensual, wondering what came next?”

  She gazed at it, and tears welled. “What did come next, Colmac?”

  “Bróccín,” he said softly. “My brother was there waiting when I returned to MacLauchlin Castle. I had never seen him so happy. So full of life.” His chuckle was forced. “’Twas the first time I saw him bound up the stairs without getting winded.” Anguished, his gaze lingered on her. “After that, he seemed much stronger. Not nearly so sickly.” He squeezed her hand. “Ye did that. Ye gave him that added spirit and vitality. Renewed good health, ye ken?”

  “Aye,” she whispered. A tear rolled down her cheek. “It must have been a sight.” Her gaze fell to the ring. “But what of this, Colmac?”

  “This is yers, lass.” He placed it in her palm and curled her fingers around it. “’Tis my heart in yer hand.”

  Her eyes rose to his face. “Yet ye gave it to Bróccín that eve, aye? Ye gave him a ring ye had made for me?”

  “I did,” he murmured. “I didnae tell him why I had the ring, nor did he ask.” He shook his head, struggling with the difficult memory. “’Twas bloody hard handing it over but I thought...” He cleared his throat. “I thought I was doing the right thing at the time. That his needs were greater than mine...that I would survive losing ye more readily than he would.”

  Her gaze lingered on him, her expression troubled. “Why did he not give it to me upon our betrothal?”

  “I believe he wished to present ye with it the day ye actually married. Now I wonder if even then he felt guilty and couldnae bring himself to give it to ye.” Though hard to say, he finally told her the truth. “When I returned that eve, eager to tell him that I meant to make ye mine, he spoke first. He told me how he had fallen in love with ye. That ye lifted his heart in a way no other had.” He could still see the joy in his brother’s gaze. The excitement he knew all too well because he had felt the same. “Ye made him whole, lass.”

  She stared at the ring, and several more tears rolled down her cheeks. “’Tis verra beautiful.” Her gaze returned to him. “Ye do ken that Adlin giving ye this was his blessing to wed me. For only the greatest of loves wear rings like this in my clan.”

  “Aye,” he said softly. “Though theirs have gems at their hearts.”

  “They do,” she agreed. “But I prefer this...having the heart whole and untouched.” A sad curiosity lit her eyes. “But is yer heart so whole that ye could give me away that easily?”

  “’Twas nae easy,” he said between clenched teeth. “’Twas unbearable pain that didnae lessen with time.” He shook his head. “My heart has always been yers, Rona. Even in its broken state all these years.”

  She looked from the ring to him, her voice wobbly with emotion. “What will ye have me do with it then?”

  Now was the moment.

  This was what his brother spoke of.

  The Hogmanay that belonged to Colmac.

  Not Bróccín but him.

  God knew he would always love his brother, but his letters had both freed Colmac of guilt and given him permission. He’d been given the means to move on and finally be with his true love.

  “I will have ye marry me, Rona,” he said in answer to her question. While tempted to slide the ring on her finger like he had planned to years ago, he wanted her to think carefully first. To be absolutely sure considering the rocky path that had led them to this moment. So he wrapped his hand around hers and gazed into her eyes with all the love he felt. “If ye can forgive me and love me as I love ye, I would be verra honored to call ye my wife.”

  He stood, his gaze never leaving her. “I will give ye time to think.” It would be pure torture waiting, but she needed to come to her own conclusions. “Join me below stairs before the handfasting and marriage ceremony.” He brushed his lips across hers and headed for the door, pausing at the threshold with final words. “If ye are wearing the ring, then I know my heart is yers.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Aunt Brighid chatted away while she brushed Rona’s hair, but she barely heard a thing. All she could do was stare at the ring resting on the vanity. Her tears had finally dried, but her emotions remained conflicted. Part of her was sad, another angry, and then there was pure joy.

  A sense of elation she was not sure she should feel.

  “Ye havenae heard a word I have said, aye?” Brighid met her eyes. “So what are ye going to do?”

  She blinked and tore her attention from the ring. “I dinnae know.”

  “Well, that is a tad bit better than not marrying the lad.” Brighid resumed brushing and announced yet again, precisely what she thought of the matter. “Love like this comes along but once in a lifetime. Ye’d be a fool to turn it away.”

  “And what makes ye such an expert on love?” She arched her brows at her aunt, hinting. “Unless, of course, ye’ve experienced it firsthand?”

  Brighid looked skyward. “Would ye listen to my advice if I had in fact experienced love?”

  “’Tis more likely.”

  “How much more likely?”

  Rona narrowed her eyes. “Somewhat.”

  “Not good enough.” Brighid shook her head. “If ye swear ye’ll take my advice, I’ll tell ye the truth of it. I will tell ye my deepest secret.”

  Rona rolled her eyes and shook her head. “’Tis no secret that ye love Aaron.”

  Brighid huffed. “What makes ye think that’s my deepest secret?”

  “Ha,” she exclaimed, smiling. “So ye do love him!”

  Her aunt scowled and shook her head. “What do secrets and lovin’ Aaron have to do with each other?”

  “They are one and the same.” She grinned. “Ye just got turned around in yer own set-up.”

  “Aye, mayhap.” Brighid winked. “But at least yer bonny smile has returned.” She urged Rona to stand so she could look her over. “And a dress like this deserves its owner to be verra happy indeed.”

  The garment was exceptional. Cinched at the waist with gold material, the arms and skirt were flowy, and the material so fine it barely made a sound when she moved.

  “Ye look fit to be wedded, lass.” Brighid’s gaze was misty. “Come, sit next to me a moment so we can talk as we should.”

  “I thought we were talking.” She perked one brow then another. “All ye have to do is admit ye love Aaron. That would make ye a true expert on giving romance advice and all.”

  “Och, we were just teasing and jesting.” Brighid tried to cover her tracks, circling the conversation back around to what she thought was good logic. “Though ‘tis always best to take my advice.” She shook her head, grabbed the ring, sat, and patted the bed beside her. “Nonetheless, that isnae what ye need to necessarily hear right now.”

  Yet she suspected that was precisely what she would get from her aunt.

  “Ye’ve told me everything, and I am happy ye confided in me,” Brighid began when Ro
na sat. “Though I cannae help but wonder what still has ye so conflicted because ‘tis clear in yer eyes ye are.”

  Brighid considered her then went on. “Whilst ‘tis a hard thing to accept the love ye two gave up, ye said yerself Colmac being the sort of man who would do that for his brother, was part of why ye loved him. Not only that but ye’re not the sort of lass who would begrudge the actions of youth.” She gave her a pointed look. “Now ye’ve been given far more than most. Not only do both clans approve of the match,” her eyes grew round as saucers, “but Bróccín has given ye and Colmac his blessing from the afterlife.”

  “So what is really bothering ye?” Brighid continued. She tilted Rona’s chin, so their gazes were aligned. “Because I know ye love Colmac with all yer heart. What, then, is holding ye back from sliding that ring on yer finger where it belongs?”

  Honestly, once she sifted through her emotions, she knew the truth of it. “Fear.”

  “Fear of what, lass?” Brighid asked gently.

  “Of caring so much again,” she murmured. “Of loving a man so deeply who has the ability, if he sees no other recourse, to turn from me once more.”

  “Aye, but ‘twas a lad who turned from ye all those years ago,” her aunt reminded. “And a man who turned back.”

  “Colmac was a man fully grown when Bróccín and I were betrothed for years,” she reminded, “and he never put a stop to it. He was willing to let me marry his brother.”

  Brighid’s gaze widened again. “Och, ye cannae fault him for that, lass. He was but seeing through a decision he made long ago.” Her eyes rounded even more. “What kind of man would he be if he tried to break up the love ye and Bróccín found?” She shook her head. “No man ye should be marrying, that is for sure.” Before Rona could respond, her aunt tucked the ring in her palm, quite serious. “Whilst my heart is truly saddened that Bróccín is gone ‘tis overjoyed that ye’ve another chance at love. A love that has been trying to flourish for far too long. Dinnae deny yerself that, lass. Not for fear. Not for anything in the world.”