He spun the garron and began to ride out of the yard, but something in the snow caught his gaze. Reining in, he looked down at an image of a flower in the snow, made by the repeated impressions of a slender, graceful foot.
A snow rose, he realized with a sense of shock. Nearby, glinting on the crusted snow, he noticed the discarded silver brooch, its rose quartz stone pale and perfect. Dismounting, he picked up the jewelry piece and stared at the design in the snow.
The brooch, he was sure, had been flung down in haste. The flower design had been made earlier, for its edges were blurred. He wondered if his anger and sense of rejection were misplaced. Perhaps Catriona had not left here voluntarily.
Perhaps she had dropped the brooch as a message, as a plea for help. He could not ignore the possibility.
He would ride to Kilernan and face Hugh and Parlan—and Catriona as well. Only then would he know for certain how she felt about him. Only then could he prove to her that the MacDonalds were no threat to him.
An idea occurred to him then, wild in its newness, bringing with it fresh hope. Perhaps, if he acted on it, he could honor all the pledges: Lachlann's, the legal bond, and, most importantly, his own to Catriona. He thrust the crosspin of the brooch into his plaid, and rode out.
"And so, Catriona needs our assistance," Kenneth finished. He looked at the steady, caring gazes that watched him somberly. "It is a risk, I know, but we must ride to Kilernan and free her if she needs it. I cannot do it alone. I need your help."
Patrick nodded first, and looked at his brothers and sister. Each one in turn nodded, including Tomas and Edan. "We would do anything to help Triona," Patrick said. "But what can we do against Hugh MacDonald?" He inclined his head toward the younger ones. "They are children, and you are a Fraser. The MacDonalds will not even let you into Kilernan Castle."
"They will not let a Fraser inside, true," Kenneth said. "But they will let you in, I think. Listen, now. We have much work to do before the feast tomorrow evening."
Chapter Nine
A raucous mixture of laughter, rough voices, and the strong thrum of a wire harp filled the vaulted hall of Kilernan Castle. High stone walls soared into shadow deepened by the rising smoke of wall torches. Benches creaked under the weight of fifty MacDonalds seated at tables, eating a variety of roasted meats, savory vegetable dishes, and sweet cakes, and drinking wines and uisge beatha from flasks and cups handed back and forth.
Catriona sat beside her uncle at a table near the blazing hearth, and flicked at a small, dry pea, spinning it idly on the table; she had found it in her cake earlier, and had been named the Twelfth Night Queen. Parlan had put it there, forcing this night of revelry upon her, just as he and her uncle had taken her away from the shieling the day before. But she had quiesced and gone with them. She knew that she must leave before Kenneth returned for her, or she would have to surrender to the strength of her love for him.
Sighing, she glanced at him, and at her uncle, who sat to either side of her. They ate with lusty appetites and swallowed drink strong enough to take most men to their knees. She had eaten little, and had sipped less.
"The Queen is not merry tonight," Hugh MacDonald remarked. "Eat up, girl, and drink. And smile. Soon you will be wed, and Kilernan will be yours. I will announce your marriage soon."
She looked at him, noting the florid stain in his cheeks and his constant grin, which meant that he was quite drunk. She was familiar with that flushed, hearty look, having seen it on her uncle's face frequently throughout her life.
"I wish to go to bed," she said, beginning to stand.
Hugh MacDonald grabbed her arm. "Stay," he barked. "You are the Queen of the Revels tonight. You cannot go until the celebration is over. We are waiting for you to choose your king." He grinned and waved his hand toward Parlan.
Parlan leaned toward her, grinning, his breath soured by wine and meat, and held a bit of cake near her mouth. The spicy, sweet fragrance nearly made her ill. Catriona shook her head in refusal. "Eat it," Parlan said. "The cook made it for this feast, from English flour, and sugar and raisins and ginger. You will not taste a finer Twelfth Night cake in all the Highlands."
She shook her head again, and Parlan crammed the piece into his own mouth. "You will do as I say when we marry."
"I did not agree to wed you," she said, between her teeth.
Hugh leaned over. "You came back to Kilernan, girl, and that means you agree to many things," he said, and belched.
"You both must promise to bring the MacGhille children to live here," she said. "Then I will consider wedding Parlan."
"Hah! You have a will like an ox," her uncle said. "My nephew will do well to wed such a strong woman." He grinned.
"Parlan! Did you find that Fraser who was about last week?"
Parlan shook his head. "He went back home, I'm sure."
"The rascal," Hugh said. He lifted a brow at Catriona. "Where is that silver brooch you always wear?"
"I-I lost it," she said.
He scowled. "You did not send it to a Fraser and ask them to honor that foolish promise, did you? They would take the silver, and leave you, girl. You know that. I've told you their pledges are worthless. MacDonalds keep pledges, not Frasers."
"I believe that the Frasers are men of their word, Uncle," she said quietly.
He growled in disagreement and swallowed more drink. "Ah!" he called suddenly. "Good! Now the revelry begins at last! The guisers are here from the clachan!" He gestured toward the door.
Catriona barely looked up as the troupe of guisers entered the hall. The men cheered and laughed as the lads danced and sang, wending their way through the large chamber. One of them beat a skin-covered drum and another played notes on a wooden pipe; all but one wore loose, hooded robes of pale wool, their faces painted in frightening or comical masks. The oldest lad, taller and larger than the rest, wore an animal hide.
The old bard played a tune on his wire-strung harp to keep time with the spirited rhythms of the drum and pipe. Clapping and singing began among the MacDonalds who watched, howling with glee as the guisers pranced and chanted, tumbled and cavorted.
Catriona watched, her attention captured by the music and antics. The group of guisers included children, but that was not unusual. The smallest child, robed like the rest, was lifted and passed among the older lads; guisers traditionally celebrated the youngest among them as a symbol of luck.
Any household on New Year's Eve and on Twelfth Night would welcome a group of guisers, both as light-hearted entertainment and as a means of clearing away lingering evil spirits. Catriona sighed, watching the performers, and thought of Kenneth, who had come to her house on New Year's Eve, and had vowed to bring her good luck. But she would not let him attempt it, fearing what her uncle and Parlan might do to a Fraser in their midst.
Now the guisers began a mock battle, initiated by one of the smaller lads, who kept tripping on the hem of his voluminous robe, raising hearty laughs from the men watching. He fought a "bull" in the form of the tallest lad, who wore an animal hide that covered his head and torso, with deer antlers fixed to his head. Beneath the hide, Catriona saw a red-and-green MacDonald plaid, and long, muscled legs cased in deerhide boots.
The comical battle continued between the roaring "bull" and the robed little hunter, who bravely climbed on his quarry's back and rode him around the hall. Then Catriona sat up abruptly.
She had seen those deerhide boots before; just yesterday she had watched a pair of strong, agile hands lace them, hands that later had loved her into ecstasy. Chills cascaded down her spine. She narrowed her eyes and watched more carefully.
Her uncle chuckled beside her, enjoying the simple, amusing battle. "Look at that brave little one! Punching the bull with his tiny fist—and the bull goes down! And again! Hah hah!"
Catriona did not laugh. Parlan guffawed beside her, and choked on his drink, coughing until he was red-faced. Catriona stared at the bull, and at each guiser in turn. She recognized every one of them,
from Kenneth down to little Tomas, carried by his older brothers. And the hunter, quite clearly, was Mairead.
She frowned, wondering why Kenneth had come to Kilernan Castle, and why he had brought the MacGhille children. She twisted her hands in her lap anxiously and watched the antics.
The little hunter won the battle, but the fallen bull sprang to life again. He chased the guisers from the hall—and perhaps to safety if trouble began, Catriona thought—but for one older lad; Patrick, she guessed. The bull ran, roaring, around the hall, with this guiser in pursuit, banging on the drum.
They came to the table where Catriona sat with her uncle and Parlan. The white-robed guiser, his face painted green and black, bowed low. "Queen of Twelfth Night," he said, "your wish is ours to fulfill. Whatever you want shall be yours. Who shall be your king? Who shall rule your hall?"
Catriona glanced at him and at her kinsmen, and at the bull, whose face and torso were covered in the shapeless animal hide. She straightened.
"What better king for a Twelfth Night queen than a bull who cannot be defeated, even in death?" she said. "Surely he is an enchanted king from some magical land." She held out her hand to the bull. Beside her, Parlan sputtered a protest, and Hugh chortled with laughter, guzzling his drink.
Kenneth bowed low in acceptance, snorting and pawing the ground. He came closer and shifted until he stood between her and Hugh MacDonald. She could smell the animal hide, and saw his hand, long-fingered and strong, at his belt. He wore a red plaid, borrowed, she guessed, from the children; his own blue-and-green tartan would be recognized here as a Fraser weave.
"And who shall rule your hall?" the guiser, Patrick, asked.
She paused, and saw Kenneth's hand tighten in the shadows beneath the hide. She saw Parlan scowl, and saw her uncle slit his eyes toward her, waiting.
"I rule this hall," she announced. "And I shall send the bull out to graze." She gestured imperiously, earnestly. "Go, now. Please. Go!"
Laughter rose around the hall. Parlan chuckled heartily, and her uncle slapped his knee and pointed, imitating her.
The bull moved like lightning then, tearing off his disguise. Shoving Hugh face down on the table, Kenneth twisted the man's arm and pressed a knee hard into his back. Then he touched the point of his dirk to Hugh's neck. Patrick dove at the same time, wrenching Parlan's arm behind him, and holding a dirk to his neck as well.
Catriona gasped and jumped to her feet, backing away. Throughout the hall, men rose to their feet, shouting as they came toward the main table.
"Hold!" Kenneth roared. "Hold! If any man comes near, your laird will die at the point of a Fraser blade! And his nephew will follow, cut by one of your own pups! Hold, now!"
Breathing hard beneath Kenneth's restraining hand and knee, glancing wild-eyed at the dirk near his head, Hugh managed to nod. "Listen to him!" he bellowed. He swiveled his eyes. "I know you! You are a Glenran Fraser! By God! Catriona, you sent that damned brooch to them! And look what treachery!"
"Catriona did not invite me here," Kenneth said. "I am Kenneth Fraser of Glenran, come of my own will, with something to say to you, Hugh MacDonald, and to all the MacDonalds of Kilernan. First, though, I ask your pardon for the blade at your throat; we do not trust one another well just now. And I thank you for your hospitality." He smiled easily.
"Hospitality?" Hugh choked out. "What do you want here?"
"Peace," Kenneth said clearly. "And promises. I wish to remind you of a paper pledge you signed long ago, when you agreed to end the feud between our clans. Let it be newly agreed in words between you and I, and witnessed by all men here."
"Ach," Hugh grunted. "You know I must agree to that, on pain of death from the crown. I have no choice, whether or not you hold a blade to my throat."
"I will not draw your blood," Kenneth said, sliding a meaningful glance toward Catriona, "if you will listen well, and give your solemn promise before all men here."
"Promise what?" Hugh growled.
Watching, Catriona fisted her hands at her sides, wondering what Kenneth meant to do. She glanced from Kenneth to Hugh, then from Patrick to Parlan, who looked ill. Kenneth looked at her once, his dark eyes full of storm and determination. His presence, his intensity, swept through her like the pull of a lodestone.
"Tell me, Hugh," he said. "Who owns Kilernan? Who holds it by right of the Regent of Scotland?"
Hugh was silent, his face florid, his breath coming in gasps. "Catriona," he growled at last. "It is hers by right."
"And you have kept the property well for her, for which she surely thanks you. But now, I think, she is ready to rule it with her own hand and her own judgement. Tell her."
"A bargain," Hugh managed. "If Catriona promises to wed the man I choose for her, I will make this pledge. Kilernan must remain a stronghold for Clan MacDonald."
Catriona sucked in a breath and stared at Kenneth. His mouth tightened. "Catriona?" he asked, without looking at her.
She had no choice. For the sake of Kenneth's life after this moment, for the children, for Kilernan, she had no choice. "I-I promise," she murmured.
"Then I bestow Kilernan back into your keeping, now that you are old enough," Hugh said. "Before all men here, I pledge this," he added, when Kenneth pressed the dirk point to his neck. Kenneth looked at the silent, frowning Highlanders gathered nearby. "Catriona MacDonald is the owner of this castle. Your loyalty is owed to her now. She is her father's daughter, brave and strong and fair-minded."
Catriona watched him, tears glinting in her eyes. Kenneth Fraser had fulfilled the promise of the snow rose, but the price was high: she must lose the man she loved.
He barely glanced at her as he looked down at Hugh. "Now, MacDonald," Kenneth continued. "The Twelfth Night after Christmas is the Epiphany, when three wise kings offered gifts and homage to a child in a manger. Will you honor that by offering gifts and protection to a few children in need?"
"The MacGhille children," Hugh muttered. "Catriona holds Kilernan, and she has the right to bring the waifs inside its walls." He groaned. "Let me up, Fraser. I will not come after you, nor send my men."
"Then I will trust you." Kenneth let go and stepped back, though he held the blade steady. Beside him, Patrick slowly released Parlan. Hugh muttered to him, and laid a hand on his arm. Catriona sensed no threat there, though; Parlan looked as if he might faint or be sick, either from strong drink, or the shock of being bested so easily.
Kenneth glanced at Catriona. "You wanted Kilernan taken without bloodshed," he said softly. "It is done. You wanted a home for your young cousins. That, too, is done. Hugh MacDonald will not go back on his word to you. Every man here will hold him to his promise."
"Uncle?" Catriona asked. "Will you forget this pledge later, when it suits you?"
Hugh wiped sweat from his brow. "I gave you my word before a host of men, on a holy day," he muttered. "I will not break that. I have pride and a heart, girl, though you do not think so. Kilernan is yours, as it always was. I only kept it until you found a strong husband. Parlan will do well by you."
Catriona hesitated, dreading what she must do next. "Thank you, Kenneth Fraser. Thank you." Her voice trembled uncertainly. "Go, now," she urged him. "Please."
Hugh watched them. "You know this Fraser!"
"I know him well," she said softly. "Let him return to his home in peace, Uncle." Hugh scratched his head, muttering.
"If I must go," Kenneth said, looking at her evenly, "let me first ask a favor of the Twelfth Night Queen. She may grant requests on the last night of the Yule season."
Catriona inclined her head, determined to answer whatever he asked her with calm and pride, though her breathing grew quick. She knew that Kenneth must leave here; yet she longed for him to stay, however foolish the thought.
"What is your request?" she asked.
"All I want," he said, "is to know the queen's dearest wish." He stepped toward her. "Then I will leave."
Her heart surged. She watched him, and sensed the hush
all around her. She drew a quivering breath. "All I truly want," she murmured in a soft voice, "is for you to be my luck, and my own. Forever." She looked up at him through a glaze of tears, then glanced away. "But that is just a wish."
"Wishes are often blessings." He stepped closer. "Catriona MacDonald, listen to me well." He tipped her chin up with a finger. "I am your luck, and I am yours."
"Holy saints," Hugh mumbled.
"And if I leave here," Kenneth continued, in a whisper so low only she could hear it, "I will never give up. I will be back for you."
A hot tear slid down her cheek. She took his hand and turned to her uncle, who watched her with a stunned expression.
"I choose my king for this night," she said.
"You would choose him for your husband," Hugh murmured.
"I would," she said softly. "But I made you a promise."
Hugh sighed. "I may be drunk, but I am no fool. I know a brave, good man, a man to respect, when I meet one—though he be a Fraser." He rubbed his whiskery jaw. Then he looked at Kenneth. "Will you hold Kilernan for MacDonalds, or Frasers?"
"Kilernan will be a fortress of truce between our clans," Kenneth answered. "The pledge will always hold here."
Hugh nodded brusquely. "Catriona, wed this man." He grinned. "And do it soon."
She smiled. "I will, Uncle."
Parlan sputtered. "Hugh—"
"Hush up," Hugh snapped. "I have other nieces."
Catriona looked at Kenneth through joyful tears. He drew her into his arms and kissed her, his lips gentle, his breath full of life. "I told you I would bring you luck," he said.
"Ah, and you did," she answered, smiling.
"The star!" A murmur rose among the men gathered in the hall. "The Epiphany star!" The crowd parted to admit one of the guisers, who walked toward the main table, carrying a candle.
Kenneth put his arm around Catriona as they watched the final ceremony of Twelfth Night. Catriona rested her head on his shoulder and let the tears glide freely down her cheeks.
Christmas Roses: Love Blooms in Winter Page 8