A Night of Angels

by Andersen, Maggi

  Bride and groom had been blessed at the chapel’s altar beforehand, but, due to the number of guests, the actual wedding ceremony had taken place in the dining hall. They had married at noon, making their vows by the light of a hundred candles, since it had been too cold to open the shutters.

  “Will thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, as long as ye both shall live?”

  The priest’s words echoed in Calum’s head, as did Calum’s subsequent response that had been given without hesitation.

  “I will.”

  Ailsa had spoken her vows quietly, the adoration in her eyes shining as brightly as it always had. Now, she sat to Calum’s right, the plain gold band on her left hand proclaiming her new status as his wife, the food on her plate untouched.

  Calum leaned in and placed his hand atop hers. “Are you all right, wee lass?”

  Her smile lit up. “Aye, of course.”

  “You’ve no’ touched your food.”

  “’Tis all the excitement.” She wrinkled her nose. “I dinnae feel much like eating.”

  “We’ll stay a wee while longer.” He leaned in even closer, placing his lips to her ear. “Then we’ll leave them to it. I cannae wait to get you alone.”

  “I cannae wait either, Calum,” she said, with genuine ardor. “I’ve barely had you to myself since I got here.”

  Calum, foolishly, had expected her to blush, or perhaps respond with something maidenly and coy. But, of course, he should have realized. Ailsa had known him for most of her life and adored him always. She’d been his second shadow for the five years he’d fostered with her family. She’d never made any bones about how she felt. Not ever.

  So, why, after all this time, would she be coy?

  Smiling, Calum sat back. Admittedly, he’d had a few concerns about claiming Ailsa’s virtue, wondering if she had any fears or misapprehension. But not anymore.

  They had all disappeared like smoke on the wind.

  The hum of celebration had grown louder as the ale and wine continued to flow. Calum closed the bedchamber door and bolted it. He wanted no interruptions.

  Ailsa had already kicked off her slippers and placed her bouquet on the table.

  Calum smiled as he came toward her. “Did you enjoy your day, Ailsa?”

  “Our day,” she replied. “It has been the best day of my life, Calum.”

  “Mine too.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “And ’tis nae quite over yet.”

  “I know, but I cannae undo my laces.” She turned her back and pulled her long hair over her shoulder, giving him better access to the fastenings. “Will you help me, please?”

  Calum gazed down at the soft nape of her neck for a moment and then bent to kiss it. Ailsa gave a soft gasp and arched her spine.

  “Ticklish?” he said, nuzzling the spot behind her ear as his fingers undid the ties of her gown.

  “Mmm, nay. Well, aye, a bit.” She heaved a sigh. “But it feels nice, Calum.”

  He smiled, wondering if she had any idea how much she aroused him. With the laces now hanging loose, he slid his hands beneath the fabric of her bodice and pushed it over her shoulders. It fell and puddled around her feet in silken folds.

  Calum bent. “Feet,” he said, tapping one of her ankles. She parted with a girlish giggle, wobbling as she shifted one foot and then the other. Calum picked up her robe and lay it across a nearby trunk. Then he turned, his breath catching at the sight of his wife, who had already removed her shift and stood, naked and beautiful, before him.

  “Sweet heaven,” he murmured, unfastening his belt. “You are truly exquisite, Ailsa.”

  “Thank you.” She hugged herself. “But may I get into bed now, Calum? I’m freezing.”

  He laughed. “Aye, I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  It pleased him that she watched, unabashed, as he undressed, her eyes widening a little at the sight of his arousal. He slid beneath the covers and took her in his arms.

  “You are so fine,” she murmured as her fingers trailed a path across his chest, which raised the hairs on his flesh. “I have thought so since the first time I saw you.”

  “Mmm.” Calum stroked her arm. “Do you still remember that? You were but a wee bairn.”

  “Aye, I remember it. You grinned at me, and it was like… it was like the tingle you get when a thunderstorm is approaching, but stronger. Sharper. I swear it went straight to my wee heart.” She pressed a kiss to the base of his throat. “I love you, Calum. I have always loved you.”

  “I love you too, Ailsa Rose,” he replied, and heard her breath catch.

  “You do?” Her voice quivered with a measure of doubt.

  “Aye, I do.” He raised himself up on an elbow to better look at her. “I cannae say it happened the way you describe. It wasnae quick or sudden. To be truthful, I wasnae really aware of it till I saw you two days ago in the courtyard. When I lifted you down from that horse, I realized how much you meant to me. I’d just been too blind to see it.”

  Calum kissed her then. A real kiss. A first kiss—one that made him ache with need. Ailsa responded to him as she always had, eagerly and openly. There was no awkwardness between them. No inept fumbling. It was a passionate exploration. A natural progression. An unselfish sharing of pleasure, and a gift of innocence, gladly given. And a sweet climax that celebrated all the years past and gave promise of the years to come.

  Chapter Five

  Castle Cathan,

  Sunday, April 3rd,

  Year of the Lord 1244

  It had snowed during the night.

  Ailsa, unable to sleep, had wandered onto the steps of the keep to take air. Her eyes had widened at sight of the large white flakes, tumbling from the dark sky like angel feathers. Enthralled, she had reached out and captured one. It had melted in an instant, turning to a crystal teardrop in the palm of her hand.

  Befitting, somehow.

  The frosty ground, however, had allowed the flakes to rest intact, one atop the other, till they shrouded the earth in virginal splendor. It seemed winter had decided to wield one final thrust before capitulating to spring. All the fresh growth tempted forth now lay in wait beneath a white blanket. For a wee while longer, at least.

  It granted Ailsa a reprieve, as well. She had lit a candle during mass that morning and given silent thanks for the unexpected storm. She even prayed that the snow might be allowed to linger for a few days. Sadly, her prayer had gone unheard, for already the clouds had parted and an April sun had risen into a clear blue sky. It would not be long, then, till the snows began to melt.

  For now, though, Ailsa stood by the open window in her chamber and gazed out at the glittering world, its brilliance blinding.

  “’Tis beautiful.” She filled her lungs with crisp air. “A sight to behold.”

  Calum’s warm breath brushed the nape of her neck. “A wee gift from Heaven, for it grants me yet one more day with my wife.”

  “’Tis maybe a sign,” she murmured. “Maybe God is trying to tell my husband to no’ leave at all.”

  His sigh brushed over her scalp as he turned her to face him. “Ailsa, this journey, this mission—”

  “Is important to you. Aye, I ken it is.” She silently cursed her indiscretion. “Forgive me. I was being frivolous.”

  Still, he looked conscience-stricken. “’Tis a calling I’ve had always, mo chridhe. One I cannae ignore. You knew it when we wed.”

  “I did, and I understand. Truly, I do. I regret what I said, Calum. It was careless of me.” She suppressed a sigh. “’Tis just that the Holy Land is so far away, and I fear it being holy doesnae also make it safe.”

  She gazed up at the man she had loved since childhood, absorbing every beloved detail. Calum Tormod MacKellar, her husband of three years this past Christmastide. A respected warrior and clan chief, who could be as wise as Solomon and as mulish as a two-year-old child.

  His hair, which had al
ways refused to obey any comb, fell to his shoulders in a tousled brown mass. When drenched in sunlight, it would glint with threads of bronze and copper. His eyes were of a similar hue—a rich brown, flecked with deep amber, and edged with thick, black lashes that softened his gaze. Conversely, he possessed the stubborn MacKellar jaw, its determined lines beset with a wide, full mouth.

  Would that Ailsa could capture his likeness somehow. Trap the image of his beloved face within the confines of a looking glass, so she might gaze upon him each day and press a soft kiss to his lips.

  “Dinnae fear for me, wee lass,” he murmured. “I’ll carry both sword and shield at all times. Once I reach Acre, I’m assured of a place in the Temple. I’ll no’ be alone.”

  Reassurances Ailsa had heard many times before. They did little to ease the pain in her heart or the fear in her soul, but such discomforts lay hidden behind her mask of acceptance.

  She knew if she pleaded with him, he would stay. He’d surrender his lifelong dream to go on crusade and would remain, instead, at her side. But surely not without some regret. And regret, like an untreated wound, had a propensity to fester. Should it do so, Ailsa might one day see resentment in Calum’s eyes when he looked at her. And that, she could not bear to contemplate.

  Bad enough she’d been unable to give him a child. In the beginning, they had been merely disappointed when, month after month, it became clear Ailsa had not conceived. Eventually, the disappointment waned into despondency and the subject had ceased to be discussed. But it remained as a shadow upon their precious union.

  Not once had Calum implied the fault lay with her, and he continued to love her as he always had. When Ailsa had tried to talk about it, he’d waved her concern aside. “If God wills it, it will happen,” he’d said, bending to kiss her cheek. “Dinnae fret.”

  But Ailsa suspected Calum’s visit to the Holy Land, though a lifelong ambition, now had an additional motivation. In seeking God’s favor, he might then be granted the son and heir he longed for.

  Aye, she had to let him go without complaint, for her sake as much as his. So, she smiled and said with pride, “You are doing this with my blessing, Calum. Never doubt it.”

  His brow cleared as his mouth met hers in a brief caress. “’Tis only for a year. It might seem like a long time, but it will pass quickly enough.”

  “Aye, I’m sure it will.” A year! Heaven help me. She turned from him to close the shutters and hide the tears threatening her eyes. Outside, the thaw had begun, evident from the beaded curtain of droplets tumbling past the window. By nightfall, the snow would be gone. By this time on the morrow, Calum would be gone also. The previous day had been spent in final preparation for the journey—last minute tasks that left them with precious little time for shared pleasantries. This extra day, then, could surely be squandered as they pleased. “As you say, Husband, this day is a gift from Heaven.” Collected, somewhat, she turned back to face him. “So, how shall we spend it? I’m happy to do nothing at all, as long as it’s with you.”

  He looked thoughtful as he traced a fingertip over Ailsa’s cheekbone and down the line of her throat to her collarbone. His touch raised the small hairs on her flesh, and she suppressed a shiver. A low, soft growl emanated from deep in his throat as desire darkened the depths of his eyes, and Ailsa felt a familiar pooling deep in her belly. Her husband never failed to arouse her and could do so with a mere glance. She hadn’t even tried to imagine what her nights would be like without him.

  He took her in his arms, and his body, pressed against hers, spoke plainly of what he wanted. “I ken ’tis the Lord’s day,” he muttered, “but I think He’ll make an allowance, given the circumstances.”

  Indeed, they squandered their gift of time without shame, treating it not as a last day, but as a first, filling the hours with love and laughter. And all the while, the snow continued to melt. By day’s end, the land, once again, belonged to spring.

  That night, while Calum slept, an idea slid into Ailsa’s busy mind. Faith and sword would undoubtedly serve her husband, but she felt it wouldn’t hurt to have a little Highland luck as well. Careful not to disturb, she left their bed, lit a candle, and went to her bridal chest.

  The lid opened with a soft creak. Ailsa reached in and lifted her bridal bouquet from its special place in the corner. Even after three years, the sprigs of dried heather, bound with a white silk ribbon, still possessed their pale beauty.

  All except one.

  At the heart of the bouquet lay the single sprig Calum had given to Ailsa the first time they’d visited the little glen called Lorg Coise Dhè. After eight years, the sprig appeared darker and more fragile than the rest. Ailsa eased it from its silk binding, careful not to disturb the delicate little bells. Then, she wrapped the sprig in a small square of soft cloth and tucked it into Calum’s saddle-bag.

  It was a fanciful act—one that flirted a little with heresy, since the belief in tokens and good luck charms went against the church’s doctrine. Yet, Ailsa found some much needed comfort in knowing Calum would take with him an item that signified their love. A favor, she told herself, as a lady might bestow upon a knight as he went off to battle. It would be an unexpected surprise when he discovered it. Something to cheer him and remind him of her.

  Satisfied with her secret exercise, Ailsa sneaked back into bed and snuggled against her husband, who mumbled some sleepy, incoherent words and pulled her into his arms.

  “Guard her with your life, Marcas,” Calum told his chief, guts twisting even as he spoke. There would be no more delay. The day had come for him to pursue his life-long dream and venture forth into foreign lands. Vast desert landscapes, blessed with the most sacred sites in Christendom… and cursed with endless conflict. Excitement and anticipation tugged on his nerves, tightening them like bowstrings. Guilt and apprehension, meanwhile, weighed on him like a millstone collar.

  Everyone had come out to bid their laird farewell. But the positive sentiments failed to mask a subdued, underlying mood. While most supported Calum’s venture into the holy land, he knew one or two felt he should not be leaving his young wife alone. Perhaps, if they had been blessed with children, he might have set his lifelong ambition aside. But maybe that was the reason why Ailsa had not conceived. Maybe he was destined to fulfill his commitment to the Templar order. Prove himself as a Templar Knight. A crusader.

  She stood a short distance away, shoulders back, hands clasped loosely before her. She was waiting, Calum knew. Waiting for him to dispatch his final orders to those who would be responsible for the security and safety of those within Castle Cathan’s weather-beaten walls. Waiting for a final few moments alone with her husband before bidding him farewell.

  So far, the lass had not wept, or shown any sign of weakness. Her smiles had been bright, any imparted words spoken clearly and without a single tremor.

  All for his benefit, he knew. He wasn’t sure if her selflessness made him feel better or not.

  “With my life, I swear it,” Marcas replied. “Dinnae fear, your lady will come to nae harm. We are well defended. And may God protect and keep you also, laird.”

  Calum gave a single nod, drew a breath, and turned to face his wife. Ailsa gave him a fresh smile and raised her chin a notch as he approached.

  “Are you ready, mo chridhe?” she asked as she cocked her head and fiddled with the clasp on his cloak—an obviously nervous exercise. “Dinnae worry, Marcas will take good care of us. You couldnae ask for a better chief.”

  He hardened his jaw. “Never leave the castle without a bodyguard, Ailsa. Do you hear me? Never.”

  Unflinching, her gaze met his. “I willnae, Calum, I promise. Dinnae worry.”

  She might as well have asked him not to breathe. “You’ll no’ be alone for too long, either,” he said. “Your mother will be here—”

  “In a few weeks.” Her hand rested atop his heart. “Aye, I know. I’ll be fine. Truly.”

  Seeking to settle his emotions, Calum raised his gaze skyw
ard, where gulls called to each other as they soared on the early morning breeze. His legs, it seemed, had turned to stone, for as much as he tried, they would not move. “I ken you will, Ailsa. Everything will be fine.”

  “Of course it will.” She cradled his jaw, her small hand cold against his flesh. “I love you, Husband. I always have, and I always will. Never forget that. Now, kiss me and be on your way. You’ve a long ride ahead and we’re all freezing our arses off out here.”

  He smiled at her levity. She was trying to ease his mind, of course. Appease his guilt by giving him permission to leave.

  “I love you too, wee lass.” More than you know. He bent to kiss her, praying this would not be the last time he tasted the sweetness of her lips. Then he released her and clambered onto Melchior’s broad back.

  “May God bring you home safe, Calum,” she said, her plea echoed by those who stood watching.

  Calum held Ailsa’s gaze for a moment longer and then glanced at Marcas.

  “With your life, Marcas,” he said, receiving a nod as an answer. Then, without looking back, he pressed his heels to Melchior’s belly, and cantered out of the gates.

  After Calum left, Ailsa stood and stared at the closed gates for a while. In the perfect world of daydreams, she imagined they opened and Calum charged back into the courtyard, tugging Melchior to a sliding halt. “I have changed my mind,” he shouted, leaping from the saddle and taking her in his arms. “I cannae be without you, Ailsa Rose.”

  But the gates stayed closed.

  A touch came to her shoulder, startling her.

  Ailsa looked up to see Calum’s chief, Marcas Reid. A giant of a man, Marcas had arrived at Castle Cathan’s gates on a stormy night not long after Calum and Ailsa had wed. He’d begged shelter and food, which had been granted. An immediate friendship had been forged with Calum, a bond strengthened by shared opinions, morals, and skills in weaponry. Marcas had declared fealty, and there had been no objections when Calum had eventually placed the massive warrior at his right hand.