Christmas Roses: Love Blooms in Winter

by Putney, Mary Jo

  She stood proudly, but he had noticed the worn hem of her green woolen gown, and the peeled edges of her leather boots. He had seen the haunted look in her brilliant blue eyes, and the quick touch of her tongue to her lips when she had looked at the food heaped upon the tables. The girl had many needs, yet asked for only one favor, nearly impossible to meet.

  "Lachlann pledged protection to her," Kenneth said. "We owe her something for that."

  Duncan nodded. "But we all signed that bond, Kenneth. We cannot do what she wants of us."

  "True." Kenneth frowned. "Perhaps I should ride out to her shieling hut in a few days, just to be certain she is well. I do not like to think of her alone during the Yuletide season. She reminds me—" he stopped.

  Duncan watched him evenly. "The girl does have a little of the look of Anna."

  Kenneth nodded curtly. Anna, his betrothed, had died of an illness three years ago on New Year's Day. Since then, the Yuletide season had proved hard for him to endure.

  Like Anna, Catriona MacDonald was slim and black-haired, graceful and strong. But Anna had always glimmered with humor and joy, her rosy cheeks dimpling often. Catriona MacDonald was somber and sad, her skin as pale and delicate as the rose quartz stone in her brooch.

  She was not Anna; no one could be like Anna, ever. But he did not like the thought of Catriona suffering and alone on Christmas, or on New Year's, the day that Anna had died.

  "You could ride out in a few days," Duncan agreed. "Make certain that the girl is well, and bring her provisions. We can at least see that she is safe through the winter. By spring, she will likely marry this Parlan MacDonald."

  Kenneth smoothed his thumb over the cold surface of the brooch. "And I will return this to her," he said. "She should know that it does have some meaning, after all."

  Chapter One

  Juniper smoke billowed up from the central firepit in a gray, stinging cloud. The tears that wet her lashes were the first she had allowed herself to shed in a long while. Catriona blinked hard, wiped her eyes, and grasped an iron poker to prod the high pile of evergreen branches that smoldered over glowing peat bricks.

  Coughing, she waved her hands to spread the smoke to every corner of the little shieling hut to cleanse and purify and protect, just as her mother had done on every Oidhche Challuinn, New Year's Eve, when she had been a child. Such memories, bringing back her mother's kindness and loving companionship, had sustained her during these months of living alone here, without hope for her future.

  The hut was hardly a fine fortress, but it was her home. Castle Kilernan was lost to her now. The memory of Christmas Day, and the Frasers' refusal to help her stung as harshly as the smoke in her eyes. New Year's Eve was a time to gather blessings and attract luck to the household, and she would honor her little home with the proper traditions, and hopefully turn her luck for the better.

  She waved at the billowing juniper smoke. When she could scarcely breathe—her mother had taught her that the smoke must be thick enough to drive everyone from the room—she went to the door and pulled it open. Cold air and swirling snowflakes rushed inside.

  She coughed and pulled her plaid snugly over her frayed gown as she watched the storm. Bitter chill snapped at her cheeks, and she ducked deeper into the plaid, keeping the door open while the smoke dispersed.

  A small, solid body stropped against her leg. She glanced down at the black cat who blinked up at her with pale green eyes.

  "Pardon the smoke, Cù," Catriona said. "But you and I will have some wonderful luck after the juniper is burned," she said with forced brightness. She reached down and scooped up the cat, and watched the snow pile wild and thick over the hills. The darkness had a soft blue tint, and the air felt gentle somehow, filled with promise and hope.

  But she knew the dangerous reality of such a storm. Behind her, the dim hut offered shelter and warmth. Tonight, she would not set foot beyond the wedge of light that spilled into the flurrying snow.

  No one else would venture outside tonight, either, although it was New Year's Eve, and likely near midnight by now. No one would come up to her hut for a traditional visit after midnight, bringing small gifts of food or drink or coin as tokens of good luck. The storm and the distance would keep visitors away. She was disappointed, but relieved to know that Parlan MacDonald would not ride out to see her.

  "Little Mairead MacGhille told me a wonderful surprise would come to me this New Year's, Cù," she whispered to the cat. "She spoke of it when I visited the children earlier today. Perhaps she felt the approaching storm, though. All that snow is wondrous and peaceful. Ah, Cù—I hope the children are not alarmed by the storm. The snow had not begun when I left them."

  Cù mewled and poured out of her arms. Thumping down to the rushed-coated earthen floor, he stretched beside the warm stones that encircled the fire. Catriona began to close the door, but a faint, steady sound caught her attention. She peered out, seeing little beyond the fluttering, lacy whiteness.

  But she could hear the drums of the gillean Callaig, the lads of New Year's Eve, as they marched around the clachan, a cluster of a few farms and kale-yards. Even a blizzard would not stop them, although she doubted they would walk far with their torches and drums and songs. The young lads, with a few young men among them, would pound intense, driving rhythms on hide-stretched drums, and chant loudly; from this distance, only the strong beat penetrated the drifting curtains of snow.

  She smiled, imagining their antics. They would be disguised in robes and animal hides, some wearing horns and acting like oxen, while others chased them, carrying blazing torches. Chanting and beating drums, they would circle each house to frighten away evil spirits, sending out the old year to make room for the new. They were given wine, uisge beatha, and sweet bannock cakes in return for bringing luck for the new year.

  "Just as well no one will come up here in this weather," Catriona told the cat. "I have little food or drink to offer. Another poor omen for the new year." She sighed. "Who will set first foot in my home after midnight, to bless it for the year?"

  When she had been young, the adults at Kilernan had laughed and celebrated with midnight visitors, singing and drinking fine drams until the small hours. Whoever set foot first in the hall after midnight would determine good or ill fortune for that year. Tall, dark-haired men with pleasant natures, bearing small gifts, were the luckiest New Year's visitors of all. Blond men were quite unfavorable, and women, according to hair color and disposition, might be lucky or not.

  But Catriona would have no midnight visitors at all, surely an unfavorable omen. She sighed, and watched the cat stretch on the floor. "You may not be tall, Cù, but you are a dark-haired male. You will have to set first-foot in the door. We have to make our own luck this year." The cat only looked at her with disinterest.

  Closing the door, she went to the table and picked up a flaming beeswax candle, part of the Frasers' Christmas bundle, and placed it on the narrow windowsill. The glow would attract lucky spirits toward her home and help to bless the coming year.

  She had given the other candles and most of the food to the MacGhille children, keeping a little cheese and oatmeal for herself along with the flask of uisge beatha, which the children should not have.

  Remembering the Frasers' gifts, she went to the cupboard and sliced off a bit of cheese, which was pierced with round holes. As she passed the circle of hearth stones, the fire blazed brightly for an instant. Catriona frowned, aware that a sudden burst of flame could foretell the coming of a stranger. A chill slid through her.

  She opened the door, then held the cheese slice up to one eye. Elspeth Fraser had told her that looking through a hole in the cheese would show her what would come in the new year. She peered through the hole, partly dreading whatever omen she might see, convinced that good fortune had forgotten her existence.

  Seeing only fluttering snow and darkness, she wondered dismally if the view portended a cold, lonely year for her.

  Then she gasped. Through the smal
l hole, something moved out in the falling snow. She narrowed her eyes, and saw a man and a horse coming slowly along the ridge of the hill. Lowering the cheese, staring in disbelief, she watched the horse advance with high, labored steps through the deep drifts. The man was enveloped in a thick plaid, unrecognizable through the darkness, though he was a tall, large man.

  Parlan. Surely Parlan rode toward her house for a New Year's visit. Catriona stepped backward to slam the door shut, and leaned against it.

  Regardless of his thick blond hair, Parlan MacDonald was a poor omen indeed. She would not let him into her house.

  He was thoroughly lost, and his head ached fiercely. Not an auspicious end to the old year, nor a lucky start to the next, Kenneth thought in irritation. Icy, slanting snow stung his face and hands, and he shivered in the bitter cold. He drew his plaid higher over his head and peered through swirling veils of white.

  Snow smothered the hillsides and filled the air. He had little sense of his location now. A few hours ago, when the snowfall had been a mild, pretty flutter, he had approached Loch Garry and turned toward the hills that edged its northern side, certain that the MacDonald girl's shieling hut would be there.

  Riding upward, he had met three MacDonalds, who had ridden toward him with suspicious glances, no doubt recognizing the Fraser badge, a sprig of fresh yew stuck in his woolen bonnet, and the Glenran pattern of his plaid. And he knew the distinctive red and green design that they wore: Kilernan MacDonalds. Kenneth nodded politely as he passed.

  "Fraser! A Fraser!" The MacDonalds turned to chase him. Leaning forward, he urged his garron to a canter, but his mount slipped on the icy slope. The MacDonalds caught up to him, shouting threats. One swiped an unstrung bow at him, another swung a sword, and the third kicked at him. Struggling to dodge their blows, wary of fighting them, Kenneth noticed that they wavered and laughed drunkenly; they had already begun to celebrate the New Year, and saw him as some sport.

  His garron stumbled and went down, pitching Kenneth from the saddle. He rolled to avoid the MacDonalds, who landed on him in a brawling, hooting cluster. The force of their attack drove his head against a rock. As he faded from awareness, he heard them swearing and running back to their horses.

  When he awoke, the snow gathered silently around him in the darkness. Groggy and shivering, grateful that two thick plaids had saved him from freezing, he struggled to his feet, found his garron, and managed to ride onward.

  Now he touched his fingers to the painful lump on the back of his head and felt the swelling there, then felt his bruised and cut lip. The horse walked ahead slowly, impeded by heavy snow and dim light. Kenneth did his utmost to stay warm, and to stay upright in the saddle as dizziness swamped him.

  "What a pair we are," Kenneth muttered. "Ambushed and wounded, and now caught in a blizzard. Luck is not following us into the new year." He glanced around, certain that the hour must be close to midnight. The MacDonald girl's shieling hut was somewhere in these hills, but he would not find it this night.

  He would take shelter wherever he could, in a stranger's home, an empty shieling, even a cave. Tomorrow would be time enough to find the girl and deliver the pack of food and household items that was tied to the saddle behind him.

  He shivered with cold, despite the protection of two plaids, a leather doublet, woolen trews and deer hide boots. He patted the horse's neck with a note of encouragement he did not feel; riding through MacDonald territory was dangerous enough for a Fraser, but exposure and death were a far more real threat now.

  He remembered the tale Lachlann Fraser had told of traveling one Christmas Eve through a fierce snowstorm. No wonder Lachlann had promised protection to the newborn child of the woman who gave him hospitality. Just now, Kenneth would give anything he had for the barest sort of welcome.

  He peered through the snowy veil that obscured his surroundings. A moment later, he saw a faint sparkle of golden light ahead. He narrowed his eyes, wondering if the light was a trick of the blow to his head, but the glow flickered and held.

  Riding forward, he saw a small house, a single candle glowing in the window. Grateful for his good fortune, Kenneth dismounted stiffly. When his dizziness abated, he untied the bundle from the saddle, wanting to offer something in return for hospitality. He waded through the deep snow to knock at the door. Silence followed. He knocked again.

  "Be gone from here!" a woman's voice called out.

  "I am in need of shelter for the night," he called.

  "Go away, Parlan MacDonald!" she returned.

  Hearing that name, and the woman's soft voice, he realized that he had found the MacDonald girl's shieling after all, through sheer luck. "Catriona MacDonald," he called, knocking again. "I am a Glenran Fraser. Let me in." A long silence followed his statement. He pounded on the door. "I am in need of shelter for myself and my horse."

  She opened the door a crack and peered at him. "A Glenran Fraser! What are you doing here on such a night?"

  "Let me in, if you will, and I will tell you," he said. The firelight that haloed her form darkened oddly as he looked at her. He leaned against the doorframe. "Let me in, girl," he said wearily. "I have come far."

  "Which Fraser are you? Are you the blond man? If so, then I must let black Cù go out and come in again before you enter."

  Confused, he realized that it must be after midnight. If only for the color of his hair, he would be welcome. He lowered the plaid that covered his head.

  "I am the dark-haired one," he answered. "Kenneth Fraser. May I come in?" His legs felt strangely weak. He willed the sensation to pass. It did not.

  The girl opened the door, and Kenneth stepped across the threshold. He heard her speak faintly, as if from a distance. Then darkness gathered around him like a thundercloud.

  Chapter Two

  He went down at her feet like a felled oak. Catriona dropped to her knees and slipped her hand under his head. His tall, muscular body took up much of the space in her tiny home: his feet were on the threshold, his head lay near the hearth. The cat, who had leaped upward when the man fell, now sniffed gingerly at him.

  "Kenneth Fraser!" Catriona said anxiously. "Kenneth!" After a few moments, he groaned and moved slowly, then raised himself to his knees. Catriona helped him to stand, but he leaned so heavily against her that his weight and height threatened to topple her to the floor.

  She half-dragged him the few feet toward the bed, a narrow mattress boxed in the wall by wooden panels and a heavy curtain. Shoving the curtain aside, she let the man drop to the bed. He sank, face downward.

  "You may have dark hair," she said, as she lifted one of his legs, then the other, to the mattress, "but a drunken, staggering first-foot must be a poor omen, and I do not thank you for it."

  "I am not drunk," he said. His voice was slurred. "I came to bring you blessings of the new year. Am I your first foot?" He put a hand to his head and rolled to his back, groaning.

  "You are," she said, "and an unlucky one, I am sure." She scowled down at him. She had thought him a handsome man when she had seen him at Glenran, but now he was bedraggled, bruised, and near frozen; his lip was cut and swollen, and his expression was stupefied. She had seen men in this condition at Kilernan, men who drank and brawled on New Year's Eve, and indeed celebrated heavily from Christmas through Twelfth Night. Her uncle was the worst of the lot.

  "Tcha," she muttered. "This sort of blessing I do not need. You are drunk, wet, and frozen."

  "I am not drunk," he said, sitting up. "Ach, my horse is outside. I must—" he stood, swayed, and grabbed the frame of the box-bed for support.

  Catriona slipped beneath his arm to keep him from falling over. He laid an arm over her shoulders, and walked, unsteady and stumbling, toward the door.

  "Lie down," Catriona said, turning with him. "I will see to your horse." She led him back to the bed, and pulled the fur covers over him.

  She threw her spare plaid over her shoulders, and went to the door, nearly tripping over the cat, who p
awed tentatively at the snow piled on the doorstep, then slid back into the house.

  "Cù!" Catriona pushed the cat aside. "Stay in here. Both of you," she ordered, glancing at the man on the bed, who mumbled indistinctly.

  Catriona trudged through icy winds and hazy snowfall, took the garron by the bridle, and led him to the small byre, where her own horse and a cow, lent her by a neighbor, were stabled. She murmured reassuringly to the animals, filled their manger with oats, and hurried back to the hut.

  Kenneth had removed his damp plaid and sat on the bed in trews and a shirt, the fur covers pulled around his shoulders. His face seemed grayish, and he sagged against the bedframe. Catriona stamped her feet and shook the snow from her skirt, then undid her plaid. "However did you find my house, as drunk as you are?" she asked.

  "I am not drunk, girl," he growled. "And it was pure luck that I found you."

  "Luck? I have little of that, and your arrival like this, on New Year's, is certain proof." She hammocked their plaids between the table and the bed, then edged her way past Kenneth as she approached the central hearth. "Are you hungry? I can offer you oats and hot uisge beatha to warm you—but perhaps you have had enough of that."

  He glowered at her. "Porridge would be kind," he said curtly. "I nearly forgot—that sack by the door is for you, with blessings of the New Year from the Frasers."

  Catriona looked at him in surprise, and retrieved the bundle that he had dropped inside the door when he fell at her feet. She took it to the table and opened it. Inside, she found an abundance of goods: wrapped cheeses and roasted meat, more candles, milled oats and barley in cloth sacks, a flask of claret, a sack of currants, parchment papers holding spices, and even a sack of white sugar. Catriona dipped a finger in the sugar to taste its sweetness, then glanced at Kenneth.

  His dark eyes gleamed warm in the amber light. "Luck in the New Year to you, Catriona MacDonald," he said softly.