As did the pointed glances Arabella and Lady Juliana turned on the girl. Not to mention the high color now staining Gelis’s cheeks and how she promptly lost the ability to meet Aveline’s eye.
“Who is she?” Aveline’s gaze flitted between the three MacKenzie women.
“She is no one,” Lady Arabella finally said, glancing up from her own needlework, but not without sliding another chastising look at her younger sister. “Gunna of the Glen is a widow, naught else. She dwells in a side glen near our cousin Kenneth’s holding, Cuidrach Castle, and is best known for her golden herrings.”
Gelis sniffed and began jabbing at her embroidery work with particular relish. “Herrings—bah!”
Ignoring her, Arabella set her stitching aside and stood, pressing a hand against the small of her back. “Prized smoked herrings,” she intoned, glancing round as if to dare anyone in Baldreagan’s crowded great hall to deny it.
“Smoked herrings and her skill in bed.” Gelis lifted her chin, accepting the challenge. “Our own father admits there isn’t a man in Kintail who hasn’t enjoyed her charms! She has masses of long, silky hair the color of soot and breasts said to bring even the most fierce Highland warrior to his knees at just a glance. Some even say she keeps herself e’er naked and that her voice alone is enough to—”
“You have ne’er seen her,” Arabella quipped. “Mother says she has a kind heart.”
Gelis snorted. “Mother likes everyone. Have you ne’er heard the glen folk call her St. Linnet?”
“Hush,” Lady Juliana admonished them, her own needlework long finished and set aside. “I am sure Lady Aveline has no wish to hear of a Glenelg joy woman.”
But Aveline did.
Especially since Gelis had let slip that Jamie had been known to pay calls to the voluptuous beauty. A creature said to be irresistible. Whether Linnet MacKenzie found her kind or no, Aveline didn’t like the sound of her.
But the matter appeared closed, as the other three women had clamped their lips together as tightly as if they’d bitten into something sour.
“Now you see why we must leave on the morrow,” Lady Juliana said after a few uncomfortable moments. “Our purpose in coming here has been met. Jamie now knows it would not be wise to visit the Garbh Uisge and you’ve promised to encourage him to be cautious if he does venture there.”
Aveline bit her lip. Having grown up with a bevy of sisters, all of them save Sorcha married and away, she’d relished the company of the MacKenzie women. Even if their stay meant finding out about a well-made joy woman in some faraway side glen, she’d be sad to see them leave.
She slid a glance across the hall to the high table where Munro sat eating his meal. He, too, would regret the women’s departure. Even now, occupied as he was enjoying cheese pasties and roasted chicken, no one could miss how his gaze repeatedly sought the lively MacKenzies. The pleasure he took in their company.
Pleasure that meant a much-deserved distraction.
Aveline’s heart dipped.
“I will miss you,” she said, returning her attention to the visitors. “Everyone will. You’ve only been here a short while—”
“Trust me,” Lady Juliana interrupted, glancing at Gelis, “it is better for us to leave before our welcome frays. A boiling cauldron can be cooled, but once it spills over, the damage is done.”
Standing, she brushed at her skirts. “Indeed, we should retire now and see to our packing. The way north is long and difficult. An early night will serve us well.”
“I am not yet tired,” Gelis objected, making no move to budge from her stool. “We’ve not yet told Aveline about our marriage stone ceremony. With her own wedding celebrations set for the spring and Jamie having squired at Eilean Creag, mayhap she’d like to hear of it?”
Clearly warming to the idea, she leaned forward, her eyes lighting. “Perhaps she’d even wish to come to Eilean Creag for the wedding? Use the stone—”
“Only MacKenzies can use the stone,” Arabella reminded her. “Jamie squiring at Eilean Creag does not make him a MacKenzie, much as we love him.”
Aveline tried to look interested, but what she wanted was to hear more about Gunna of the Glen.
More specifically, Jamie’s visits to her.
“Marriage stone ceremony?” she asked, her heart not in the words.
Gelis nodded. “’Tis a more romantic tale than any French ballad.”
But Aveline scarce heard her.
Her ears still rang with the girl’s earlier chatter about the raven-haired joy woman with her sultry voice and magnificent breasts. More discomfited than she wished to show, she stole another look across the hall, this time scanning the torch-lit entry for a particularly broad set of shoulders and a familiar flash of bright auburn hair.
But she only saw Hughie Mac making his hunched way toward her, his own auburn hair age-faded and streaked with gray.
He clutched his fiddle in one hand and his horn-handled crummock in the other, using the long walking stick to propel himself to where the women had claimed a reasonably warm and well-lit corner to do their stitching patterns.
That, and engage in female babble.
The latter being an occupation Aveline now wished they’d ne’er embarked upon.
But Hughie Mac had a way about him, with his laughing eyes and good humor. Older than stone and many claimed just as wise, he hobbled forward, his hazel stick tap-tapping through the floor rushes, his grizzled appearance somehow lost in the warmth of his smile.
Aveline sprang to her feet, quickly fetching an extra stool and setting it in the warm glow of a nearby brazier.
“The MacKenzies’ marriage stone?” Hughie Mac looked round as he lowered himself onto the stool. “I’ve seen it once,” he said, resting his fiddle across his knees and leaning his crummock against the wall. “’Tis a beautiful and mysterious stone.”
“Mysterious?” Aveline echoed, reclaiming her seat on one of the twin facing benches of a window embrasure. “I thought it was a marriage stone?”
“And so it is. In truth, a swearing stone like so many others scattered around our hills and glens,” Hughie Mac revealed, stretching his legs toward the warmth of the brazier. “A good-sized standing stone of a fine bluish cast and carved with ancient Celtic runes, the MacKenzie stone is more fair than most such stones but it shares the usual hole through its middle.”
“It’s the centerpiece of every MacKenzie wedding feast,” Gelis enthused, plopping down beside Aveline.
She curled her legs beneath her and grabbed a pillow, hugging it close. “At the height of the feast, four of our brawniest warriors carry the stone into the hall and parade it about for all to admire while our seneschal approaches the high table with a ceremonial chalice of hippocras for the bride and groom to share.”
“The happy twain and certain young lasses who have no business sipping such a potent concoction!” Arabella put in, claiming a seat on the window bench facing them.
Gelis rolled her eyes. “Father himself gives me my own wee cup—as you well know!”
“Our father would pluck down the moon if you asked him,” Arabella returned, flicking her dark braid over her shoulder. “Like as not, the sun, too. Even if fetching it down would mean forever branding his hands.”
Gelis flashed a grin. “Do not fault me if he loves me best.”
“He loves you both and none more than the other,” Juliana interceded, turning to Hughie Mac with an apologetic shrug. “They are young,” she said, and Hughie nodded, looking young as well, for the space of a breath.
His hair thick and rich-gleaming in the torchlight, his weather-worn face smooth and almost bonnie, and his crooked legs straight once more.
“Aye, they are young,” he agreed, the moment passed. “They also left out the most exciting part of their clan’s marriage stone ceremony.”
Aveline looked at him. “The mysterious part?”
Hughie shook his head. “The mystery is the stone’s origin,” he said, nodding to the clansmen who’d ga
thered near to listen. One handed him a brimming ale cup and he took it gladly, tipping back a healthy swig.
“The exciting part is the kissing.” Gelis leaned forward and swatted her sister with a tasseled cushion. “Is that not right?”
Arabella flushed. “You would enjoy the kissing part.”
Gelis stuck out her tongue. “’Tis the best part,” she said, smoothing her skirts. “Even if the silly legend has to be recited first.”
“Silly legend?” Aveline lifted a brow.
“The tale of how our clan came to possess the marriage stone,” Gelis told her. “But the kiss is better.” She turned to Hughie Mac, smiling. “Do you know the kissing part?”
“To be sure, and I do,” he said, taking up his fiddle. “After the ceremonial drink-sharing and the telling of the legend, the stone is carried thrice around the high table before the clansmen carrying it stop behind the laird’s chair. The newlyweds then join hands through the hole in stone. They vow to honor the old gods and ask for their blessing.”
He paused to wink at Gelis, playing a few lively notes clearly meant for her. “Then the groom takes his bride in his arms and the couple kiss—”
“Then they’re escorted abovestairs for the bedding!” Gelis exclaimed, her eyes alight and her cheeks dimpling. “Mother won’t allow us to join in that part,” she admitted, fluffing her skirts.
“Och, indeed.” Arabella rolled her eyes. “You’ve not missed a single bedding at Eilean Creag since you were old enough to realize everyone in the bedding chamber would be too ale-headed to notice you sneaking into the back of the room to watch!”
Gelis wriggled her braid at her sister. “At least I have learned about … things! ’Tis more than you can say.”
“I am content to learn such things when it is time for my own bedding ceremony,” Arabella snipped, her face scarlet.
“What is the stone’s mystery?” Aveline asked, noting Lady Juliana’s thinned lips and wanting to steer the conversation in a safer direction.
She glanced at Hughie, not surprised when he began playing a slower, almost heart-rending tune. “You said it’s stone’s origin?”
Hughie nodded. “No one knows the stone’s true history or where it came from. There is a legend, aye.”
Pausing, he waited until the hall quieted. “Magnificent as the stone is, its base is ragged and cracked as if it was wrested from its original location. All that is known is that the stone washed ashore at Eilean Creag and has been blessing MacKenzie marriages e’er since. ’Tis believed the power and beneficence of the old gods is vested in the stone.”
“Then tell the tale,” one of the younger MacKenzie guardsmen encouraged Hughie. Pushing through the crowd, he sat at the old man’s feet, and soon a few others joined him.
Even Munro looked on from the high table, though he made no move to leave the dais.
“Ah, well …” Hughie glanced at Lady Juliana and raised a scraggly brow. “If it is not too late, my lady?”
Lady Juliana looked about to protest, but then smiled and shrugged. “Those lasses would not sleep now even if I chained them to their beds,” she said, the affection in her voice taking the sting out of her words.
Looking pleased, Hughie set down his fiddle and flexed his fingers before he started playing a soft, poignant tune.
“The legend of the MacKenzies’ marriage stone hails from a distant time,” he began, his voice seeming to swell and deepen on each word. “A time when Scotland was young and the old gods still held sway.”
The hush in the hall thickened and those who’d gathered near edged closer. “Some claim the stone comes from the Land of Shadows, the hither side. If so, its true background will ne’er come to light,” he said, his words falling sweet now, flowing and golden as his music. “Others say that Mananan, the old Celtic sea god sent the stone as reward for the MacKenzies’ valor in battle. But most believe the stone has a more tragic past and that it is the version recited at MacKenzie wedding feasts.”
Reaching down to stroke Cuillin’s head when the old dog came to lie at his feet, he waited a few moments before he took up the tale again.
“Long ago, in an age before time was counted, a proud Celtic king dwelt not far from where Eilean Creag stands today,” he said, his voice carrying to all corners of the hall. “A powerful and bold man, no enemy dared challenge him and ’tis even said the devil avoided him, knowing even he couldn’t best such a formidable foe.
“The king had four daughters and they, too, stood in awe of him. Some might even say they feared him. Only his youngest lass laughed at his bluster, doing as she pleased and so sure of his love, she saw no reason to hide her wish to marry a young man she knew her father would deem unworthy.”
Hughie slid a glance at Gelis. “This daughter was his favorite. She was also his destruction. So great was his love for her that he raged for seven days and nights upon learning of her betrayal. For even though the maid’s sweetheart was a braw and pure-hearted lad, his bonnie face and strapping build would ne’er make up for his lack of prospects; the empty future which was all he could offer a bride of such noble birth.”
Aveline slid a glance at Gelis, not surprised to see the girl’s stare fixed on Hughie.
He had that kind of effect on his listeners and his ability to weave a tale only seemed to grow richer with age. Only Cuillin appeared restless, but with all eyes on Hughie, that was understandable. Rapt tale-listeners do not usually dole out tasty tidbits to hungry dogs.
Aveline, too, spared him only a moment’s glance, then looked back at Hughie, sorry to have missed even a few words of his tale.
“Devastated to see how gravely she’d misjudged her father’s favor, the lass and her braw laddie ran away, fleeing to the marriage stone, certain its sanctuary would save them.
“And it would have, for the stone’s magic was powerful and true. Anyone gaining the sacred ground on which it stood and then joining hands through the stone’s hole, would be blessed, their union sanctioned by the Old Ones.” Hughie set down his fiddle, his voice music enough to finish the tale. “Sadly, the father was warned and he chased after them, coming upon them the very moment the young lovers thrust their hands through the stone.”
He paused again, looking satisfied by the thick quiet that had descended over the hall.
“The king’s rage overcame him and he rushed forward, his fury giving him the strength to tear the stone from its cliff-side base and hurl it into the sea—his daughter’s lover with it.” Hughie pushed to his feet, using his long hazel stick to lean on. “The deed stopped the old king’s heart as he’d ne’er meant to kill the young man, howe’er livid he’d been. Truly repenting, he fell to his knees, pleading his daughter’s forgiveness. But the girl’s pain went too deep. Not even looking at her father, she followed her sweetheart into death, calmly stepping off the cliff edge to claim in the netherworld the love she’d been denied in life.”
“So furious were the old gods by the king’s disregard for the stone’s sanctuary,” Gelis finished for him, “that they took away all he held dear, destroying his stronghold so thoroughly that not even a stone remained to mark where he’d once ruled.”
“But all was not lost,” Arabella supplied, “for many centuries later the stone washed up onto our little island and has been in our safekeeping ever since.” She lifted her chin, looking round. “We believe the stone’s magic is even more potent today and we guard it well, considering it our most prized possession. Every newlywed MacKenzie pair clasps hands through the stone and makes the ritual oath, thus pleasing the Ancient Ones and guaranteeing themselves a bond that no mortal man can destroy for the old gods watch o’er them, granting them their forever favor.”
“I told you the tale was romantic.” Gelis beamed at Aveline. “’Tis the stone’s honest history. I feel it here,” she declared, pressing a hand against her heart. “There really was an ancient king who threw our stone into the sea after killing his daughter’s one true love and seeing her leap
to her death. I am sure that was the way of it.”
“The stone could have come from anywhere,” Arabella countered. “We are blessed to have it at Eilean Creag and that is enough.”
But Aveline doubted anyone outside the window embrasure had heard her, for ear-splitting applause suddenly erupted to chants of “Hughie Mac! Another tale!”
But Hughie simply smiled and shuffled back to his stool, his energy for the evening clearly spent.
“Another day,” he promised, gratefully accepting the hot meat pastie and fresh cup of heather ale one of the MacKenzie guardsmen brought him. “I am glad I had the chance to be present at a MacKenzie wedding many years past. Were that not so, I could not have done justice to the tale, well-known as it is in these Kintail hills.”
“We’ve heard there is a stone of uncertain origin here, too,” Gelis chimed, reaching to touch Aveline’s knee. “At the Macpherson’s family chapel.”
Aveline shivered, thinking of the wet plaid.
And how she’d seen Neill’s and Kendrick’s bogles dancing in the churchyard—along with Hughie Mac.
He, however, was sitting quite contentedly on his stool beside the little charcoal brazier, munching his meat pastie and saying nothing.
Even though, for a moment, she would have sworn he’d looked about say a great deal. Something he’d apparently decided to keep to himself, for his lined face now wore a decidedly shuttered, wary expression.
Aveline frowned and drew her arisaid closer around her shoulders, suddenly feeling chilled. Icy cold and almost certain that someone, or something, was watching her from the shadows.
She could feel the stare boring holes into her. An unfriendly stare, almost malignant.
“Is there such a stone?” Gelis pressed, her eager voice breaking the spell.
Aveline blinked, resisting the urge to shudder. “You mean the Na Clachan Breugach monolith,” she said at last, speaking to Gelis, but watching Hughie from beneath her lashes.
Whoe’er or whate’er had been glaring at her, she was certain he’d also sensed the malice.
“The Na Clachan Breugach?” Gelis nudged her again.
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