A Stockingful of Joy (10 page)

The boy grinned. "We built most of them after you and Catriona left the other day," he said. "But after the ice storm, I would not let the younger ones outside until this afternoon."

"You take good care of them, lad," Kenneth observed.

Patrick raised his head proudly. "I promised my parents that I would. A Highland man never breaks a pledge."

Kenneth nodded silently, thinking of the pledges he owed to Catriona. If he could have taken Kilernan Castle from Hugh MacDonald alone, without bloodshed, he would have already done it. He wanted Catriona to be content, but he could not perform the impossible. He sighed heavily, wondering if he could ever convince her and the children to come to Glenran with him.

Later, while the children sat by the fire and ate cheese and oatcakes, Kenneth looked up to see Mairead, Malcolm, and David take long white robes from a chest; they pulled them over their heads and pranced around the room while their siblings chuckled.

"We are practicing for our Twelfth Night feast tomorrow," Mairead announced. She tripped, her poor vision further obscured by a large white hood, and Kenneth righted her. "Will you and Catriona come? We shall have singing and dancing, and we shall all be guisers," she said. She spread her arms wide, long sleeves hanging limp. "My mother made these guising robes for my father and my older brothers to use at Yuletide. There are more things in a chest in the loft. They used to go about the hills with the other lads and men. Have you ever been a guiser?"

"I have been out with my cousins," he said, "on New Year's Eve and on Twelfth Night, wearing robes and animal hides and horns. We marched around singing, and beating drums and making merry while we frightened away the bad spirits." He grinned.

"Will you come to our feast?" Mairead asked. "Though we shall have only porridge and not a roasted beef. But Patrick said we could make a large oatcake to hide the bean, so that we could have a King of the Revels. Or a queen," she added. She reached past Kenneth and picked up a slice of cheese full of holes, and held it to her right eye. "I wonder if this will show me who will get the bean this year." She squinted playfully through a hole in the cheese and looked toward the fire.

Kenneth smiled. "I'm sure your brothers will let you be the queen of the feast," he said. "And I will ride back to the shieling and fetch Catriona for your Twelfth Night revels."

Mairead frowned as she peered at the fire. "
Ach
, Kenneth Fraser," she murmured. "Triona will not come. She does not want you to ride back for her. She wants you to ride home."

A chill ran along his neck and arms. He remembered that the child had the Sight, and he respected the natural ability of seers like his cousin Elspeth, whose visions often proved true.

"Mairead," he said quietly. "What do you see?"

"Triona cannot come to our feast, because she is not at home," she answered. Behind them, her brothers turned to listen. "She has gone to Kilernan." She turned, her eyes wide, her cheeks pale. "I saw Parian MacDonald and Catriona in the fire just now, through the hole in the cheese. They were holding hands, as if they were about to be married." Mairead leaned toward Kenneth. "But she would rather wed you," she whispered. "Even though you are a Fraser."

He drew in a long breath, and looked around at the other children, who watched him somberly. "I will ride back to the shieling." He stood. "And I will be back—with Catriona."

"You will have to go to Kilernan to get her, then," Mairead said easily, and fed the cheese to Tomas.

She was gone when he arrived. The hut was empty but for the cow, and the hearth was cold. He frowned over that; Catriona had been careful never to let the fire go out, fearing bad luck.

The cow lowed, a mournful, lonely sound, and stepped across the disheveled room, knocking over a stool as she went, bending her head to nibble some oats left in a sack. The other garron was gone. Even CÙ was gone.

Kenneth patted the cow's shoulder and fetched a bucket of water for her, frowning as he worked. He looked at the neatly made bed, then glanced away. Haunting memories of the love they had made there hurt him keenly.

Catriona had clearly gone back to Kilernan. Had she decided to marry Parian after all, finding a MacDonald more to her liking than a Fraser? He sucked in an angry, wounded breath and stomped out of the house, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Hoofprints marred the snow all around him as he trudged toward his garron. Several horses had been in the yard since he had left earlier. The MacDonalds had come for her, then; Parian and his cousins, or even Hugh MacDonald, who had sent word through Parian that he would fetch his niece for Twelfth Night.

Kenneth scowled as he swung up into the saddle. Had she gone willingly, or had she gone with regrets? Had she decided to wed Parian to gain a MacDonald home for her eight cousins? He squeezed his eyes shut in grief at the thought.

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 Parian—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 important, his own to Catriona. He thrust the cross pin 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."

«
^
»

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. Parian had put it there she was certain, 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 acquiesced 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 Parian and 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 tonight."

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 Parian.

Parian 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," Parian 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 Parian crammed the piece into his own mouth. "You must do as I say when we marry."

"I have not agreed 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 Parian."

"Hah! You have a will like an ox," her uncle said. "My nephew will do well to wed such a strong woman." He grinned. "Parian! Did you find that Fraser who was about last week?"

Parian 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 Parian 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 deerskin 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 deer-skin 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! Ha-ha!"

Catriona did not laugh. Parian 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 now 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 Parian. The white-robed guiser, Patrick, 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.