by Cathy MacRae
Brenna’s Yuletide Song
A novella
By Cathy MacRae
AMAZON KDP EDITION
PUBLISHED BY
Short Dog Press
2nd Edition
www.cathymacraeauthor.com
Brenna’s Yuletide Song © 2020 Short Dog Press
All rights reserved
Amazon KDP Edition License Notes
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This ebook is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
In memory of Dawn Marie Hamilton
A beautiful soul,
Wonderful writer,
And a dear friend.
She would have laughed at this tale.
Brenna’s Yuletide Song
She’s the pampered daughter of a wealthy cloth merchant. He’s a Highlander with no intention of taking a wife. Their marriage would unite the shipping businesses of two great families. What could possibly go wrong?
With Cristemasse only a few days away, Brenna le Naper has her thoughts on her newest gown. Her father, however, wants to see her wed. But marriage to a Highland barbarian is not the life Brenna envisions. Far from it.
Uilleam MacLaren cannot believe his father signed a betrothal document in his name—much less to one of the Four Songbirds of Corbie’s Burn! Known less kindly as the Four Corbies for their chatter-box ways, the lasses may be beautiful beyond measure and with voices to make angels weep, but who wants a chantie-beak for a wife?
Will the beautiful songbird in her gilded cage reject marriage to the handsome Highland barbarian? Will the laird’s son refuse to wed the lovely chatterbox? Or, could a Yuletide miracle allow them to see each other for who they really are and give them a chance at true love?
Brenna’s Yuletide Song is the rollicking romance of two people who appear to have nothing in common. If you like stories about hunky Highlanders, impetuous heroines, and with more laugh-out-loud moments than you can keep track of, Brenna’s Yuletide Song will keep your nose glued to your kindle long past bedtime.
Brenna’s Yuletide Song contains a swoon-worthy Highlander, a flighty, stubborn heroine, a temperamental French chef, a wee puppy who causes a gey wheen of problems, Medieval revelry, an innkeeper’s wife with false teeth, and a host of perils and comedy that will make you snort your coffee.
You’ve been warned.
Table of Contents
DEDICATION
Brenna’s Yuletide Song
About the Book
Words of Interest
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
~Not Quite The End~
About the Brooch
A Few More Notes From the Author
Acknowledgements
More Books by Cathy MacRae
About the Author
About the Book
Brenna’s Yuletide Song was originally written as the fourth tale in the Christmas anthology, Twelve Days of Christmas in the Arms of a Highlander which ran for three months in 2020. This edition adds a few minor edits and a brief lead-in to the next book in the Yuletide series.
You’ll find the tale contains a few tongue-in-cheek references to blackbirds. Why? Well, in the song, The Twelve Days of Christmas, the original fourth verse was about ‘colley birds’ or ‘black birds’, not ‘calling’ or ‘song’ birds. Over time, the more it was sung, the more the words changed, and I chose to use both in this tale.
Here are a few examples:
Eun Mòr Manor (the le Naper home) = Big Bird Manor
Brenna = a name of Gaelic origin meaning raven or black-haired
Corbies’ Burn (the village where Brenna lives) = Raven’s Creek
Lonan (Brenna’s brother) = a name which means blackbird
Corbie’s Neuk (an inn) = Raven’s Corner
Words of Interest
Scottish
Baneshanks – the Grim Reaper; bane = bone, shanks = legs
Blether – chat, gossip
Blether-buss – a chatter-box
Carpickle – a difficult or embarrassing situation
Chantie-beak – a prattling child, a chatter-box
Corbie – Scottish word for raven
Cristemasse – Middle-English word which is now ‘Christmas’
Eun – bird
Frowe – big, buxom woman
Gaudies – a piece of showy finery, a flashy trinket
Hotch Potch – a hearty Scottish stew
Jaud – contemptuously, a mare; horse
Mòr – Big
Puddie - frog
French
Ça suffit – that’s enough!
Et alors? – So what?
oh là là – oh, wow
Zut – ‘darn’ or ‘shucks’
Gaelic
Mo chridhe = my heart
Mo graidh = my love
Brenna’s Yuletide Song
Chapter One
Eun Mòr Manor, home of the le Naper family
Corbies’ Burn by Dumbarton
Firth of Clyde
December 21, 1228
“We will not suit, Maman.” Brenna resisted the urge to stomp her foot—barely, heeding the steely glint in her mother’s eyes—and instead crossed her arms over her chest, defeating her maid’s dogged efforts to dress her. Alish sighed and dropped her hands, leaving the lacings in Brenna’s kirtle dangling.
“I wouldn’t take that attitude with your father if I were ye,” her mother warned, shaking a finger against Brenna’s outburst.
“But, Maman!” she wailed. “Three days! I cannot bear it! I have no suitable clothing, and François cannot be expected to produce the required feast in time . . ..” Brenna’s mouth gaped at the enormity of planning a wedding to . . .. “Maman, I do not know the groom!”
Maman waved away Brenna’s protests. “François has been notified and, as he has the Cristemasse and Yule feasts well in order, he is agreeable.” Brenna’s mother gave a slight shudder at the thought of a confrontation with Eun Mòr’s volatile cook.
“Ye have only to sort through your belongings and set Alish to packing. Your green holiday kirtle will make an admirable wedding gown.” Lady le Naper managed a smile. “The groom is heir to a lairdship—Lord MacLaren’s only son—and related by marriage to Baron MacLean. The alliance with the baron’s shipping line will have far-reaching ef
fects on yer father’s business. Ye will meet your husband-to-be tomorrow.”
Brenna’s sisters quickly took up the challenge of speculation over the bride groom, how to help Brenna pack, what to wear to the festivities—and why their dear Papa wished to wed Brenna so precipitously.
Maman endured the girls’ rising excitement for exactly five seconds more before raising her plump hands rather ineffectively for silence. “I have said enough, ma fille. Ye will do as required and present yourself to your bridegroom at supper on the morrow.” She leveled a be-ringed finger at Brenna’s sisters who silenced their chatter as if air had been sucked from their lungs. “The three of ye are next.”
With that dire pronouncement, Lady le Naper swept from the room, shutting the door firmly behind her. Silence reigned for the length of a stunned heartbeat before the sisters recovered their voices.
The maid reached for the laces again as Brenna defiantly propped her hands on her hips. With a few practiced tugs, Alish tightened the strings then tied them off.
“Ye are to be wed, Brenna!” Karistina’s thirteen year old voice piped clearly above her elder sisters’ chatter.
“To a Highlander?” Sixteen-year-old Elesbeth scrunched her nose, her lips pursed as if she smelled something foul.
“I hope he’s handsome, at least.” Jennet, boasting a scant fourteen summers and unabashedly romantic, sighed dreamily.
“Ye’re next, Elesbeth,” Karistina asserted as she bounced on the mattress to Brenna’s bed. Her black curls tumbled about her shoulders, twined with green ribbon which matched her embroidered wool gown and the legendary le Naper emerald eyes all the sibling shared.
Elesbeth cut her sister a horrified look. “Mayhap, but I will marry a proper nobleman,” she declared. “Mayhap even a Frenchman. Papa is bound to know several. Not a scruffy sheep herder from the Highlands.”
Brenna uncrossed her arms, flinging them to her sides in high drama. “I will not wed this . . . this . . . man!” Tears welled. She picked up a jeweled comb and held it out. Jennet leapt from her seat at the window. She took the comb and began unsnarling her sister’s thick black hair in long, soothing strokes.
“He’ll be so handsome,” she reassured Brenna. “Just like a knight.”
Not wishing to be swayed from her apprehension, Brenna released a long-suffering breath. “A knight fights. He sweats and has scars and bruises. And is dirty. I do not wish to marry a knight.”
Elesbeth shrugged her slim shoulders, dismissing her sister’s concerns with a wave of her hand. “Papa will find a better husband for me.”
Brenna whirled. “Why should we sit and wait for Papa to find us husbands?”
Her sisters stared at her, surprise on their faces.
“He takes care of us,” Karistina said with thirteen year old logic. “’Tis what he does.”
“We’re the daughters of the richest man in Corbie’s Burn,” Jennet reminded her. “What else would we do?” She glanced at her sisters for support. “Ye cannot think to take up a trade?”
A gasp of shocked horror rose then died amongst the excited prattle as Brenna’s sisters considered—and discarded—ideas that would take them beyond the walls of Eun Mòr Manor. Ignoring them, Brenna strode to the metal disc framed in painted enamel set on the small table opposite the window. Sunlight bounced off the polished disc, reflecting more light into the room. Standing at a slight angle to keep from casting herself in shadow, Brenna examined her reflection.
She fingered the fine wool of her kirtle then lifted one arm, causing the draping silk of the over sleeve to flutter softly. A Highlander could never keep me in such fine clothes—the blue dye for this cloth alone cost a fortune. I’m not meant to wear coarse wool and go unshod. I am not a barbarian, nor shall I be the wife of one.
She glanced about the room, noting the wealth of tapestries and gilded surfaces—and the terrier puppy peeking its nose from the brocaded bed curtains. The pup rolled to her side, idly chewing at the cloth trailing along the floor.
“Poppy, stop! Ye’ll ruin the cloth.”
Karistina picked up the puppy and placed her in her lap. “Bad Poppy. Mustn’t chew Brenna’s things.” She scratched the terrier’s belly, giggling when Poppy snapped playfully at a curl dangling over her shoulder.
“I will not do it,” Brenna declared. She automatically lifted her arms as Alish dropped a cream surcoat over her kirtle and brushed the cloth smooth.
Brenna faced her sisters, shoulders square and determined.
“I will not marry The Barbarian!”
* * *
Narnain Castle, Highlands
Overlooking Loch Lomond
Uilleam came to an abrupt halt, his boots skidding on the stone floor of the castle hall.
“Ye what?”
Dugal MacLaren motioned his son into his solar. He took a seat at the desk and stared at Uilleam, hands quivering slightly as they rested atop the planks. “I’ve arranged yer marriage to le Naper’s eldest daughter.”
“One of the Corbies?” Uilleam considered pinching himself. Surely this was the worst nightmare he’d ever experienced. Had his da suffered a brain attack of some sort? He perused the aging laird. His weight was off, but the swelling of his face and hands and deep, wracking cough which had plagued him two summers ago no longer remained. His da may have recovered nicely from whatever physical illness had struck him two years prior, but he’d clearly lost his mind.
Dugal pursed his lips, brow furrowing. “They’re known as the Calling Birds for their sweet voices. Nae the Corbies.”
Uilleam scowled. “Och, their voices are sweet—some say even heavenly. They’re also known for their incessant chatter—which is enough to drive a man to drink.”
“They are quite beautiful, ye’d do well to remember.”
“Beautiful or nae, I cannae afford to take such a wife. I’d be a beggar within the first month. And a drunkard.”
“Yer trip to the Levant on MacLean’s merchant ship lined yer pockets well enough.”
“We are building a business, Da, nae frittering the proceeds away on feminine gaudies.”
“Then the bridewealth should console ye.”
Uilleam narrowed his eyes. “I willnae buy a wife.”
“Dinnae take it as such,” Dugal chided. “We could use an alliance to our south and le Naper is willing.”
“He’s willing to divest himself of his chattering magpie daughters before he’s driven to commit mayhem on their behalf,” Uilleam scoffed. “Da, there’s nae a man within twenty leagues of Corbie’s Burn willing to take one of le Naper’s daughters to wife.”
“Just so. Ye’ll be the first.” Dugal’s voice brooked no refusal. He placed his hands palms down on his desk and rose. “The contract has been signed. We have broadened our alliance with MacLean’s merchant venture to include that of le Naper. Ye’ve been asked to Eun Mòr to meet yer bride, and ye’ll wed on Christmas Eve.” His da shot him a stern glance, hammering nails into the coffin he built for his son. “I’ve nae too much time left on this earth and will see ye wed before I win away with auld Baneshanks. Dinnae come home for the new year without yer bride.”
Morning mists parted reluctantly before the winter sun. Whinnies of horses in greedy anticipation of their morning mash urged the stable lads to greater effort. Uilleam slung saddle bags across Esca’s muscular rump. Running a hand over the glossy red hide, he checked the girth then pulled the reins over the horse’s neck.
“’Twas a fair day yer brother by marriage introduced ye to the MacKern’s horses. ’Tis the finest beast I’ve seen.” Alan stepped to Esca’s head, allowing the horse to nuzzle his hands. “Are ye off for a bit of a ride?”
Uilleam scowled. “I’m off to my funeral, it seems.”
Alan’s brows shot up. “Truth? Will ye be needing help?”
“I dinnae wish to involve ye, Alan.”
“Nor me?”
Uilleam’s head swiveled, catching sight of Caz, completing the trio who’d been cl
ose companions since they’d first drawn wooden swords together. He sighed. “I’d hoped to do this alone.”
Alan and Caz exchanged startled glances. “What could be so secretive or damning ye wouldnae wish us to come along?” Caz asked. “Except for the time ye snuck out to visit yer lassie in the village a fortnight ago, we’ve been nigh everywhere with ye.”
Uilleam’s scowl deepened, ungrateful to be reminded his dalliances had come to an abrupt end. “It seems my youth is over.”
“Aye?” Alan nodded to Caz. “We’d certainly witness this. Saddle up.” He looked back at Uilleam. “Where are we going?”
“Eun Mòr.”
Caz slewed around, halting his stride down the stable aisle. “I’m nae certain I wish to follow him there, Alan.”
Alan gave a low whistle. “What have ye gotten yerself into, laddie? Penance from the Pope himself?”
“Murder and mayhem?” Caz queried.
“Slept with the wrong man’s daughter?”
Uilleam tugged Esca’s reins, tossing his reply over his shoulder. “I’m off to be wed—or to the untimely demise of all the plans I, as a young man with a mere nineteen summers under my belt, aspired to.”
He swung into the saddle and urged his horse into a slow jog through the bailey gate. Two guards, Baen and Gawan, fell into line behind him.
The laird’s son doesnae go to his demise alone. A slight smile quirked one side of his mouth, but quickly lost ground to the incredulous realization he rode to his wedding.