Outside, Andrew took hold of his hand. “Soon we will light the Cailleach Nollaich. Nollaich means like your name Noel.”
“What will they burn?”
“The Cailleach Nollaich is a big log with the face of a woman carved into it—the Cailleach, the lady of winter, the hag of night. They will light at middle night and burn it through the night to drive away winter.”
“Sounds like we need to be there to make sure they do it right, eh?”
“Noel, wishes do come true?” Andrew asked. “I mean if you wish for something with all your heart it will come true?”
Noel looked to see Skena in her mantle before the door, waiting for them. “Aye, wishes do come true. Especially Christmas wishes.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Surely you jest?” Noel paused from buckling his belt over his wine-colored surcoat. Butterflies fluttered in the pit of his belly, thus he was not in the proper mindset for Guillaume’s taunt. Fearing this was naught more than a tweaking of his nose, he tried to judge Guillaume’s mood.
Since the Lady Rowanne’s arrival three days past, to say Guillaume had been moody was putting it mildly. Still, Noel hardly blamed him. The woman was beautiful in a way that grabbed a man’s attention and fixed it. This daughter of the earl of Glen Shane matched her sister Tamlyn in loveliness, but then ’twas reputed far and wide the three daughters, heiresses all in their own right, were beautiful beyond compare. Noel might count Guillaume a lucky man indeed, if not for the fact that Rowanne clearly kept a distance between them at all times. His friend had voiced he made a mistake in granting Rowanne until the end of April before they would wed. Possibly, he was right in that opinion. It was apparent that being near his betrothed, and yet kept at arm’s length, was grating on Guillaume’s generally even temper.
“Jest? Not in the least. When you consider it, the rite was not so different from an English bedding ceremony, with the husband and bride being inspected and then the bedding taking place before a priest and half the family.” Guillaume picked up Noel’s knife and tested its balance. “Why would you think I am making it up—just to vex you?”
Noel chuckled. “You are in a rotten mood and looking to vent your foul humors. Sleeping on a pallet on the floor does little to mellow your disposition.”
Guillaume twisted to rub his back. “Not doing much time for my spine either.”
“If allowing the Lady Rowanne too much time to adjust to your coming marriage was such a bloody mistake, then do something about it.”
Balancing the knife on the tip in his hand, Guillaume deftly caught the hilt when it started to fall. “Ah, there is the rub. Rowanne is a lady of secrets. Shadows cloud her heart. And unfortunately, I am a man of my word.”
Guillaume went through balancing the dagger on end again, only this time when it toppled Noel snatched it away and stuck it into the sheath fastened at his belt. “Fill her belly with a babe, then her heart shan’t have room for shadows. And stop avoiding answering me. Were you telling a story about Julian’s wedding?”
Guillaume gave him a wicked grin. “Tis truth. He married Tamlyn in their pagan ways. Methinks you are fortunate to wed with Skena in deep winter. No marriage in the circle of stones for you.”
“Ah, well, Julian was always more bold than I. Still, I little care where I marry Skena—or how—I just want it done.” He hung the gold chain about his neck. “How do I look? ’Tis not every day a man weds.”
Guillaume smiled at Noel dressed in clothes he would wear at court. “A little anxious to be a married man, but Skena will think you handsome.”
“Are you sure they will view this as a true marriage?” Noel fretted, admitting he was eager to know Skena was his. “It shan’t be before the church, no priest to speak the words. I want no disgrace or question to fall upon our union.”
“Scots take marriage as a solemn vow. If you declare before all that you take Skena as your lady wife, and she accepts you, ’tis as binding as any ceremony before a priest. I have heard of handfasting ceremonies, a marriage for a year and a day. I would never be as foolish as to try that with an Ogilvie lass. They carry wicked daggers called a sgian dubh and would likely go to cutting on body parts if crossed.” Guillaume reached out and took Noel’s hand. Turning it palm up, he placed a small object in it. “This ring belonged to my father. He would have wanted you to have it.”
Noel stared at the wide gold band with a large yellow stone in it. “I cannot accept this. ’Tis a piece of your father.”
“Your father, too, in all but blood. We are brothers, so this goes to you. May you govern Craigendan with the strength, the incisive mind, and the kindness with which he ruled over Challon.” He placed another ring beside it. “This one is more from me. My mother gave it to me. I thought one day to present it to the woman I married, but oddly, in my mind the ring little suits my lady. As soon as I met your Skena I thought you might wish to give this to her as your bride’s gift.”
Noel was deeply touched by Guillaume’s gesture. “I experienced a great loss when Father and Mother were taken from me. However, I have never regretted my family, my life at Challon. I could not ask for a better brother.”
“True, we were—and are—lucky. Come, let us go marry you off.” Guillaume picked up the strip of material from the table, which had been cut from the shirt Noel had worn the night Skena found him. “Do not forget this. You will not be able to ‘tie the knot’ without it.”
“My thanks. I would not want to err in the ceremony.”
They started down the steps and toward the Great Hall. “’Tis hard to think of Julian and Damian happy in wedlock. Shortly, you shall be, and come spring, Simon and I will take that step. Methinks we must fix our minds to finding fine Scottish lasses for Redam and Dare, get them to settle close to us. Then the war-weary dragons can truly have peace.”
A shiver of foreboding raced up Noel’s spine. Was peace truly attainable? Would the Scots accept Edward’s rule, or would some Highlander arise to set the torch to the fires of rebellion? Noel dismissed such grave concerns for another time. He was marrying Skena, a start to a life together. He wanted naught to taint the happiness of this day.
As he entered the great hall, Noel searched for Skena. Juniper and cedar branches had been formed into a circle on the stone floor before the fireplace, and Skena—his beautiful Skena—stood awaiting him in the middle of them. She wore a velvet kirtle of deep wine that nearly matched his surcoat. That brought a smile to his lips as he recalled that on the morning they announced him to be the new lord of Craigendan, they both had chosen to wear dark blue. Her dark auburn hair was free flowing and a thin circlet of gold crossed her forehead. His heart nearly stopped at the vision that would soon be his lady wife.
“Yes, wishes do come true,” Noel said under his breath, as he strode through the opening left in the boughs, going to her and taking her hand.
Skena could hardly find moisture enough to swallow as Noel came toward her. He was so handsome in the dark colors of wine and black, his attire setting off those pale silver eyes with an unearthly glow. This man looked beautiful, but more important, he was beautiful inside as well. It would have been so easy to fall in love with him, a man who filled her young girl’s dreams. Only, the way he reached out to Annis and Andrew and offered them so much robbed her of any resistance to him. He would be a fine father, a good lord for Craigendan, and every wish come true for her. As he took her hand, nothing in her life had ever felt so right.
“My lady, never have mine eyes beheld such a beautiful vision, my deepest wish come true,” he spoke lowly as he brushed a fleeting kiss against her cheek.
They stood in the small circle of the evergreens, symbolically enclosing them in the ever-living boughs that purified and protected them, starting their marriage of true hearts. She smiled as Annis and Andrew broke free from Jenna and came running up, giggling and hiding behind Noel and her. She nodded to the maidservant to let them stay; after all they would be a part of this marriage as
well. Andrew quieted and stood fidgeting at her side, trying to behave lest she send him away. Annis had gone to stand on Noel’s right, and shyly took his smallest finger.
Skena swallowed the knot tightening in her throat. Sometimes life can be so perfect.
Rowanne placed a small bough of cedar and one of juniper on the fire, and watched as they caught quickly and burned bright. As they turned to ash, she came to the opening at the top of the circle.
“In this sacred circle, Noel and Skena gather to plight their troth of love before all of Craigendan. I must ask, who gives this woman to Noel in a bonding of our ways?”
“I do,” Andrew said loudly.
Then a “Me, too,” came from the other side of Noel. Annis peeked around his hip and smiled.
That drew a laugh from all in the Great Hall. Rowanne held out her hand waiting for the strips of cloth. Noel let go of Skena’s hand to reach between his surcoat and shirt and pull out his cloth for the binding. Her eyes widened as she saw it had been cut from the shirt he wore when she had found him. Skena tugged the small piece of tartan cut from her favorite shawl and passed it to Rowanne.
Her cousin placed it atop Noel’s cloth and then held them aloft, turning in a circle for all to witness. She tied the two pieces of material together, “With this knot I bind you. May your love endure everlasting so long as this knot remains true.” Turning her brown eyes to Noel, she said, “Speak your words, Lord de Servian.”
Noel surprised all by stepping forward and snatching the tied cloths from Rowanne. He tossed the joined cloths into the fire. “No one shall undo this knot.” Taking up Skena’s hand, he slid a ring on her finger and then lifted their hands high so all could view. “I take Skena MacIain, Baroness Craigendan, as my lady wife, from now until death parts us, and may God grant a blessing upon this union that death takes us in the same breath. I pledge to you, her people, my people, that I will honor her and forsake all others. I will defend her with my life.”
Rowanne nibbled on the corner of her lip, fighting the emotions summoned by Noel’s words. She blinked away unshed tears, and then cleared her throat. “What say you, Skena of Craigendan? Will you have this man, accept him as your lord husband, give over to him the safe keeping of all you treasure and love?”
Skena reached up and placed the heavy torque belonging to the Lord of Craigendan around Noel’s neck. “Aye, I will have him, and a good bargain made, for I will have none other for the rest of my life. I will honor him, support and love him with my whole heart. I wed a man whose name means Christmas on Christmas Eve. No greater gift can come to me.”
Rowanne’s eyes shifted to Guillaume standing to the side of the fireplace, before coming back to Skena. “Then you are blessed, cousin, for I now bear witness that you and Lord de Servian are wed by our ways. Let no man say otherwise. May this union bring you both all the joy you so richly deserve.”
Rowanne bent to sprinkle a handful of grain on the floor to cover the small opening in the circle of evergreens. “Come, jump over the grain as a blessing that this marriage will be fruitful, and then let us feast and celebrate the joyous day.”
Skena squeaked as Noel swept her into his arms and then hopped over the grain, careful not to disturb the line. Everyone laughed and clapped as he carried his bride to the lady’s chair at the trestle table and deposited her with a flourish. She smiled up at him, so blessed that Noel had come into her life.
Her snowy knight had come on the wings of a child’s wish and changed their world. Skena could not recall ever being so happy.
“Skena and I bid you to eat your fill of this wonderful feast, and raise your cup to this coming year to be a good one for Craigendan.” Noel raised his glass in a toast, and everyone followed suit.
Several raised their mugs of ale or mead and spoke words of blessings. Some from the Englishmen tended to be slightly ribald in nature. All wished them well.
Save one. Skena tensed as she spotted Dorcas, standing in the kitchen passageway, just as she had the morn they announced Noel was the new lord of Craigendan. She held her breath, almost expecting the shadowy figure of Angus to come up behind Dorcas and whisper to her as he had that time. No one came.
Noel noticed the direction of Skena’s stare and gently placed his hand over hers.
“She will be gone shortly. Guillaume will take her back to Lochshane and will arrange for a marriage to someone in the lowlands. She’s comely enough. With a few coins someone will take her. Then you shan’t have to worry about her mischief making ever again.”
“But what about—” she started to say, only he cut her off.
“’Tis over. Duncan Comyn is gone and with him the ‘ghost’ that walked Craigendan. Notice how nothing further has occurred since he went away? He might try to return, but to what purpose? You are mine now, and he is smart enough to know I will kill to protect you,” he assured.
As she stared at Dorcas, she shivered, feeling a touch of foreboding. “Mayhap I am scared.”
“Of what?” He lifted her hand and kissed it. “There is naught to fear, Skena. Trust me?”
She nodded. “With my whole heart. Only, I fear what the gods give, they may take away as well. I am so happy. Everything is so perfect that mayhap ’tis too much. It will all be snatched away.”
“My first order as your lord husband is this, which you promised to obey—let nothing shadow your heart this day. ’Tis our day. The start of many days to come.”
He leaned close and brushed his lips against her cheek.
Trying to shake off the fear suddenly gripping her heart, Skena ignored the ripples of the kenning pulsing through her. “I do not recall promising to obey you, my lord husband,” she jested.
He laughed. “But you shall do so or—”
“You will beat me?” She finally gave him a smile. “I love you, Noel de Servian.”
“Only half as much as I love you, Skena de Servian. Another change I am making as your lord and husband. Any objections?” he asked with raised eyebrows.
She shook her head. “I like that very much, my lord,” and leaned to kiss him to express how much.
A small head popped between them. “Us, too?” They pulled apart to see Annis—and her puppet—pushing between them so she could climb onto Noel’s knee.
“You want to be Annis de Servian?” Skena asked, so pleased with how the child was accepting Noel. Her daughter nodded, and then snatched the Christmas bread, made with nutmeg, cloves, and cinnamon from Noel’s fingers as he held it out for her.
Noel nodded. “Us, too, though I am not sure what you named your puppet.”
She held the dolly up and said with a half full mouth, “Lady Muriel de Servian.”
Noel hugged Annis, as a pair of small hands came around to cover his eyes.
“You cannot see again until you answer my riddle,” Andrew taunted in a deep voice and then giggled. “Who am I?”
Skena reached out and placed her hand on Noel’s shoulder, needing to touch this special man who brought magic to their lives.
“I love you, Noel de Servian,” she whispered as she watched him with her children, knowing just how blessed they were with his coming.
Chapter Thirty
At a given signal, Noel scooped up a surprised Skena from her chair, and then ran for the stairs. Guillaume, Stephan, and Emory neatly stepped in a phalanx to block the doorway of the Great Hall, thus preventing the merrymakers from giving chase. He had heard Scots oft played mischief, even abducted the bride in an effort to torment the married couple and forestall their wedded bliss. While understanding the mischief would be intended in the spirit of good fun, he would have naught of those devilries. Nor did he want to go through any damnable bedding ceremony. He just wanted Skena all to himself.
Once through the door of the lord’s chamber, Noel kicked it closed, then stalked to the bed and playfully tossed Skena upon it. Going back, he slid the bolt on the lock to prevent any ‘well-meaning’ interruptions. His chest filled with the heady male
sense of ownership as he slowly returned to the high-platform bed, his eyes drinking in this beauty who was now his. Life felt good. Damn good indeed.
“Smartly done, de Servian. You outfoxed the foxes.” Skena laughed, getting up to walk across the bed on her knees to him. Eyes flashing, she unbuckled his belt.
He grinned. “I have my…moments.”
“Moments?” She ran her hand down the front of his surcoat, setting his erection to throb insistently. “Just…fleeting…shards…of…time? I would have thought you capable of more…so…much…more.”
As the belt dropped to the floor, his hands seized Skena’s waist and pulled her against him. His woman. His lady wife. His life. Finally, after all these empty years, he was no longer alone.
“Of late, I find that I am very possessive. I want no men stealing kisses from you after your maidservants tuck you up in bed, or worse some of them carrying you off to vex me.” He lowered his head to take her mouth in a branding kiss of ownership. Suddenly, kissing was not enough. Not nearly enough. He pulled away from her and ordered, “Take off your kirtle, wife.”
“You are constantly demanding I remove my attire.” She pushed her first finger at his belly. “I want to take things off you, de Servian. You, with your fox ways, foiled the bedding rituals, thus I am forced to perform the inspection on my own. I need to ken if you come to me without flaw before I accept you as worthy to be my lord husband.”
He chuckled at her mischievousness. “You already know my every blemish. I have a wound healing on my back, and there is a line on my left arm—reminder never to underestimate the quickness of Julian Challon. As I recall, you little minded either. Then, there is something about my being beautiful?”
“Cease the blether, or I will go call for help with the disrobing,” Skena threatened, climbing off the high bed.
“You call for help from those meddling mischief makers, and I will beat you for certain.” He turned to catch her, only she evaded him, spinning around behind his back.
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