Gordon chortles and releases me. I take a gulp of air. He’s definitely not the kind of guy to pick a fight with. Well over six-foot-tall and just as broad, he has a long ginger beard and mischievous blue eyes.
I turn to offer Rhona the gift we’ve brought along. “It’s just something we bought for Findlay in town today,” I tell her.
Rhona’s eyes grow wide and she grins. “Oh, ye dinnea have to do that.”
“No, really, I…we wanted to buy him a small token.”
Rhona’s grin broadens. “Well, thank ye for being so thoughtful. Shall I open it now?”
I laugh. “Yes, please. After all, that’s the general idea.”
She unties the white ribbon and pulls out the sailor suit. Her eyes shine with pure delight.
“Och, it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, and he’ll win a few more hearts wearing this.” She glances down at Findlay. “You’re going to look a wee bonnie bairn, that’s for sure,” she adds and places the suit, with care, back inside the box. She comes over and kisses us both on the cheek.
“’Tis really kind of ye to bring Findlay a gift. Thank ye both for yir generosity.”
She goes and sits back down.
“So, how’s yir trip to Scotland been so far?” Gordon inquires, jovially.
“Oh, it’s been lovely,” I smile, “if a wee bit cold.”
“Och, ye think it’s cold now. Wait ’til the snow comes.”
“The snow…what snow?”
“Haven’t ye heard? It’s all over the news. It’s blowing in straight from Norway.”
“No. I had no idea. When?”
“Monday. That’s what the met office are saying.”
“I hope my husband’s back by then.”
“Callum’s away?”
“Yes, on business.”
“You’d best warn him. The last thing you’ll want is for him to be stuck in a snowdrift somewhere.” Gordon rushes off to the kitchen and then reappears with a tea tray filled with goodies. He places it onto a small table in the centre of the room.
“I hope ye like Dundee cake,” he says, and I nod enthusiastically.
“I adore cake of any kind,” I say, “especially when it’s filled with mixed fruit and topped with almonds.”
“I made the apricot jam myself,” Rhona says with pride. “And I’ll give ye a couple of jars to take home.”
I glance at Jamie and he nods. “Aye,” he says, “that would be grand.”
Rhona busies herself pouring the tea when Findlay starts to grizzle.
“I’ll pick him up if you like?” I say, trying not to sound too eager.
“Och, would ye? Thanks,” and Rhona sounds relieved. “I cannae have two minutes to myself these days.” I jump to my feet and dash over. The baby’s face is all red and he’s trying to put his fingers into his mouth.
“I think he’s hungry,” I say, holding him to my chest and rocking him. He smells of baby shampoo and talcum powder, and I breathe in the aroma. I love the smell of babies. His skin is soft, like velvet, and I rub my cheek against his forehead and kiss the top of his head.
“You’re probably right, as I’ve only just changed his nappy,” Rhona agrees. “Gordy? Will ye be guid enough to get him a bottle?” but Gordon is already halfway into the kitchen, and within minutes he’s back with the baby milk.
“Would ye like to do the honours?” he asks and offers me the bottle. I take it willingly.
“Sit in the chair; it’ll be easier to feed him that way,” Rhona says. She stops what she’s doing to push a bib over Findlay’s head. “Be warned: he’s a guzzler, so be sure to wind him halfway through the feed,” she advises.
I’m thrilled she trusts me. I place Findlay in the crook of my arm, and the second the bottle’s in his mouth, he stops crying. He looks up at me and I feel a rush of love.
“He’s such a gorgeous wee man,” I say, and glance up to smile at Rhona, but catch Jamie’s stare, instead, suffering a shudder of unease. I’ve never seen him look at me that way before. It’s so…intense.
“Have ye got any plans for this weekend?” Rhona asks.
I nod. “Yes. Jamie’s taking me to a pagan festival.”
“Been to one before?”
“No, not here in Camburgh, but I did visit a festival close to Stonehenge once. It’s a few years ago now, mind.”
Rhona sits a cup and a thick slice of Dundee cake onto a small wooden stool by my feet. “It should be a grand turnout. I’ve already seen a few young ’uns camping down by the brae.”
“I’m excited,” I admit. “There’s something magical about these ancient traditions, and I love having the chance to embrace nature.”
She tips me a wink. “Aye, best makes sure ye get yir wish ready.”
My brow furrows. “Sorry, I don’t understand what you mean.”
She looks at me in surprise. “It’s a new moon. Ye have to write yir deepest desires on a bay leaf and give it to the priestess.”
“A bay leaf?”
“Aye.”
“Whatever for?”
“So she can burn it during the ritual.”
“And to what end?”
“To ensure the pagan Gods make yir wish come true, of course.”
“You believe in such things?”
“Sure, why not? I’ve seen many wishes come to fruition.”
“You have?”
“Aye; I remember once…”
I can’t help it, I catch Jamie’s eye. I want him to share our enthusiasm, but he’s wearing an expression I can’t quite read.
“Och, it’s all just fun and nonsense,” he eventually interrupts, sounding blasé.
Rhona turns to him, a piece of cake halfway to her lips. “Really, Jamie? Since when did ye become so cynical?”
He stiffens. “Since I lost Claire.”
Rhona has the decency to look away.
Findlay lets out a cough and a splutter, and I sit him up, put down the bottle and pat him gently on his back until he stops. He lets out a huge burp. Gordon and Rhona both applaud, as though I’ve done something amazing.
“Well done, Lassie,” Gordon grins; “ye can come here again.”
“Do ye want me to hold him so ye can enjoy yir tea?” Rhona asks, stuffing the last of her cake in her mouth. I shake my head vigorously. I’d forfeit all the tea in China to have this beautiful child in my arms for just a little bit longer.
“If you’re sure,” she says.
“Oh yes, I’m positive,” I assure her. “If only you knew how much.”
Chapter 10
“Are ye ready yet?” Jamie calls from the front door of the Garden House.
“Yes, just coming,” I shout back, and slip the cloak Jamie gave me over my dress—Claire’s cloak. It’s purple on the outside and black on the inside, and has a hood, the whole garment made from crushed velvet. It’s beautiful and I’m honoured Jamie’s willing to allow me to wear it.
I move over to the mirror, dab my cheekbones with a light rose-coloured blush and then check my hair. I push a stray curl into place and press down my braids, then go over to a vase filled with fresh flowers and pluck several heads of white baby’s breath from the various stems. It’s a variety called Million Stars, my fingers quick to interweave the tiny clusters into my hair. I add a few colourful beads and finish off with a string of pale blue feathers, admiring my handiwork before closing the bedroom door and rushing downstairs.
Jamie’s standing in the doorway, waiting for me. I brush past, and as I do so, catch his stare.
“Wow, look at ye,” he says. “Ye remind me of a true pagan princess.”
I laugh and give him a twirl. “That’s the general idea. Plus, Claire’s cloak is perfect.”
His eyes appear warm and soft. “Ye look grand in it. The colour really suits ye.”
“Thanks,” I grin. “You don’t look half bad yourself.”
He’s wearing black jeans and a thick jersey hoodie. It’s green, the colour of moss, and there’
s a picture in the centre of his chest: a stag, around whose head are numerous Celtic symbols, which, I believe, depict woodland and the earth. A small branch covered with green leaves sits above the animal’s antlers, and below its neck hangs a pentangle.
I point to the design. “I’ve never seen anything like it before. And it’s way too cool for you.”
Jamie smirks and his fingers trace the outline of the colourful image. “’Twas a gift from Claire,” he says. “I dinnae believe in all the mumbo-jumbo stuff. I just enjoyed being with my wife and associating with those who appreciate the more natural things in life.”
I link my arm with his.
“And who can blame you? It’s good to see you’ve dressed for the occasion. After all, it’s all part of the fun. Come on, let’s go and show Claire that you still know how to enjoy yourself.”
Jamie pats my hand. “Aye, Claire knew how to have a guid time, all right.”
“And you should, too. Let today be all about being truly alive. We should appreciate this wonderful world we live in and give thanks for all it has to offer. Just for once, why not let your hair down, eh?”
Jamie pushes his fingers through his curly locks. “Aye, I suppose I’d better do as ye ask while I still have some left.”
I laugh loudly as I open the gate. I hear an engine roar into life, and there’s granda, sitting on a tractor in the yard.
“Have a guid time, young ‘uns,” he shouts over the din. I wave at him and he waves back.
“We promise to do our best,” I shout, and Jamie closes the gate behind us.
We set off down a muddy track and I take a deep breath to find the air sweet and refreshing. Even though it’s still winter the countryside is ablaze with colour. Dark green leaves from the evergreens are mixed together with luscious reds, yellowish-ambers and the deepest of bronzes. There’s a ghostly mist hanging over the mountains and a flock of wild geese fly towards the horizon.
We head through a colourful patchwork of fields and down winding lanes, over fallen logs and around bare, thorny wild rose bushes.
It isn’t the least bit cold today. Granda reckoned it’s warm because snow is on its way. I have no idea if it’s true or not, but just in case it does turn cold later, underneath my dress, I’m wearing thermals, and on my feet, fur lined boots. I’ve also brought along a small hessian bag, tucked beneath the cloak. There isn’t much inside, just my mobile, purse and lip gloss. I’ve brought a bottle of water, too. Just in case.
We’re making our way down a hill when we pass a sign that points the way to the memorial stone, and not long after, we enter a small area of woodland. Soft green moss lies like a rich velvet carpet along the ground, dissolving the dead branches and rotting foliage that have long since fallen, all becoming lost forever beneath its dense soft mass.
I stop and listen, hearing the most magnificent bird songs.
“What are they?” I ask Jamie. “I’ve truly never heard anything quite so beautiful.”
“Ye can hear a mixture of blue, grey and coal tits,” he explains. “They all stay together throughout the winter months. It’s safer that way.”
“They sound so sweet, cheerful even.”
“Aye, that’ll be because they’ve plenty to eat for now.”
I stare up at the sky through the thin canopy, hoping to catch a glimpse of the birds, but I’m blinded by the dappled light, by the shafts of winter sun that slant down into the exposed gaps between the trunks of the trees. I’m half-expecting a grey wolf to emerge out of the shadows.
“Nae time to dawdle or we’ll ne’er get there,” Jamie says and sets off at a quick pace, surefooted as ever. I hurry after him. We’ve decided to walk down to the brae so we can both enjoy a wee dram or two. We’ve also agreed to meet Rhona and Gordon there. Before long, we climb over a small wooden stile and out into open fields, my excitement rising a notch when I hear loud music and the boom of drums. I start to dance around Jamie in a circle, much to his amusement.
He smiles then laughs. “Och, look at ye; I’ve ne’er seen ye act daft before.”
I let out a peel of laughter, hitch up the hem of my skirt, and twirl around him like an overgrown ballerina. His smile broadens, and he grabs my hand so I can do a complete pirouette.
“I’m letting my inner child out,” I say and jump in a puddle to prove it. Mud splashes across the front of my dress, and for a second, I’m fearful it’s landed on Claire’s cloak.
“Oh, Jamie, I’m so sorry—” but he waves a dismissive hand.
“Och, don’t mather. ’Tis only dirt, lass. It’ll disappear soon enough when it’s dry.”
I lift my skirt a little higher to check the mud hasn’t splashed across my legs.
“Wow, steady on. I have to say: ye really know how to drive a man insane with desire,” Jamie chuckles, pointing to my thermal leggings.
I laugh loudly and quickly lower my skirt.
We keep to the edge of the field and follow a drystone wall. I spot other people in the distance, ambling in the same direction, surprised by the number of tents that have sprung up overnight. There’s hundreds dotted across the horizon, stretching as far as the eye can see. There’s an array of young people and children milling around them, and I can hear distant laughter.
When we finally enter the festival, it’s almost two o’clock in the afternoon and the festivities are in full swing.
“Fancy a beer?” Jamie asks, and I nod. We head inside a small tent that’s heaving with revellers, and I stand and wait as Jamie goes off to the bar. The atmosphere is warm and friendly, he soon comes back with two plastic glasses.
“Where do ye wannae go first?” he asks.
I shrug. “I have no idea. Shall we walk around? See what’s on offer?”
“Sounds guid to me,” Jamie says, and we head out of the tent and into the heart of the festival. There are people everywhere. Some are dressed in outfits that must have cost a small fortune, dripping in sequins and heavy with countless folds of material, whilst other, more vivacious women, wear flowery skirts, tie-dye blouses, and bright coloured scarves around their necks. What I also notice are the Disney fans, those dressed in bright yellow ballgowns and who look to have stepped off the set of Beauty and the Beast.
A man walks by wearing a horned mask with a sharp pointed beak. He reminds me of a cockerel. Plumes of red and black feathers sprout from his head and I sense a dark side to his presence. I look down at my own clothes, at an outfit that could be classed as medieval, as I’ve certainly gone more for the Maid Marion style. I consider the beauty of paganism is to dress simply as oneself, to show who one truly is.
The festival is chilled and oozes with tranquillity. There’s a small band of people sitting in a circle with a guitar, singing joyful pagan songs. I don’t know the words, but I stop to listen and clap along with the beat, trying not to spill my beer.
Jamie taps me on the shoulder and then points into the crowd. It takes me a second or two to make out the figures heading towards us. I soon realise it’s Gordon and Rhona. She spots me and waves, I laugh out loud. She’s dressed like a fairy, has lavender and heather in her hair and is adorned with a set of pink nylon wings. The flowers look pretty, and as she comes closer, I smell fresh Rosemary. I grin when I see what Gordon’s wearing. He’s dressed in a long brown robe, which isn’t the least bit flattering. It fits like a sack, as though he’s just cut out the arm holes and pushed his head through a gap in the seam. As he, too, draws nearer, I notice he has a henna tattoo of a pentangle on his left cheek. He reminds me more of a clansman, what with his rugged good looks and thick ginger beard, one better suited to a battlefield re-enactment against the English than trying to look the part of a pagan.
“Ye look amazing,” Rhona cries as she gives me a hug, and Jamie shakes Gordon’s hand.
“I adore the wings,” I say. “What a fabulous idea.”
She links her arm in mine as we wander towards a stand selling homemade leather belts. There’s every colour imaginable,
even multicoloured, like a rainbow. Jamie and Gordon trail behind as we browse each table in turn. There’s woven coloured bags and tee shirts, wooden coasters and pieces of bespoke jewellery.
“How much for the silver thistle brooch?” Rhona asks a vendor with the longest dreadlocks I’ve ever seen.
He lifts his thumb and forefinger to his chin and gives it a light tap as he appraises her.
“For you, sweet lady, fifty pounds.”
“I’ll give ye forty and not a penny more,” Rhona tells him, but then a young bohemian-looking girl, large yellow beads strapped across her forehead, steps out from behind the makeshift counter.
“You have a deal,” she says. “Forty’s fine,” and Rhona lets out a shriek of pure delight.
“I have the cash right here,” she says, pulling a wad of money from out of her bra. I try not to gasp and quickly close my mouth. Rhona tips me a wink. “I saw them last year but dinnae have enough money on me at the time.”
A man dressed like a druid comes up to me, a drinking horn in his hand.
“Here, have a drink,” he says. I shake my head and take a step back, but Jamie shoves money into his hand and takes the horn. He lifts it to his lips and throws back his head, takes a large swig and then offers it to me.
“It’s sweet wine. Try it; it’s guid,” he says, and hesitantly, I take the horn which is still brimming with a pale golden liquid. I sip it, to find it’s tasty, but it goes straight to my head. I giggle and pass it to Rhona. The druid then wipes my wrist with a fluorescent pen.
“It means ye can drink from any watering horn,” Jamie explains, reading my confused expression.
“Is that safe?” I ask with a frown. “I mean, you’ve heard of people spiking drinks.”
“They won’t, not if they want to enjoy midsummer here,” and Jamie gives me a knowing smile.
“Oh, yes. I hadn’t thought of that.”
I can hear more drumming, and the noise of the wind in the trees is now pumping through my bloodstream, along with the wine. Older children shriek as they jump between the tents and tables, playing hide and seek. Younger children sit at camping tables, learning how to make wands, or cute animal ornaments out of salt dough.
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