FLAME ACROSS THE HIGHLANDS (18 page)

Chapter Nineteen

It was stifling in the hall.  A muggy heat permeated the stone walls making it a truly miserable day.  Smoke from the cooking fires stung Brianna's  eyes as she worked diligently at the loom trying to forget Ian Campbell. It  was very difficult if not impossible.  Oh, how she missed him!  He filled her thoughts by day and her dreams by night, haunting her like a ghostie.  She'd never realized she would be so miserable not seeing him. Over and over again she conjured him up, reliving  that last moment when he had kissed her and said goodbye. 

"All I will do is wish you
every happiness," he had said. "I want that,  Brianna. With all my heart." Then he had walked away and out of her life.

"Brianna!  Be careful.  You're tangling the threads."  Jeanne's  high pitched voice sounded a warning.

Brianna drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly in a sigh. "I'm sorry.  I wasna paying much attention to what I was  doing." Plucking at the wool, she hastily rectified the situation, untwisting the thread, then passing it more cautiously back and forth, interlacing the
weft
through the warp threads with her shuttle.

"O
ch, so we've noticed."  Orianna's smile expressed her sympathy though she did not pry into what was wrong with her sister. If Brianna wanted to tell her, she would.

Brianna focused her attention on the loom, a simple rectangular frame made of wood, watching as the other women rolled up an end of the finished cloth to make way for a new length of weaving. They unwound the spindle and measured off the vertical threads in roughly equal lengths
. The threads would be the warp of the extended length of cloth. Setting the loom upright again, tilted against the wall, they let the warp threads go taut, hanging down vertically across the wooden frame.  Blessed Saint Michael, Brianna thought, rubbing at her eyes.  It somehow reminded her of the small mattress at the cottage.  She could imagine herself lying upon its softness, could feel Ian's strong body pressed against hers. 

"Careful tipping the loom or we'll be done for it!"  Jeanne's irritated shriek startled Brianna out of her daydreaming and she jumped.
Her nerves were unreasonably on edge.

"What is it that has ye so jittery, Brie?"  Orianna shook her tawny-haired head.  "Ye nearly jumped out o' yer skin
just now." In sisterly concern she touched Brianna’s arm. “If ye need an ear, mine are always available.”

Brianna shrugged.
"Wedding nerves, that's all."             

"Aye, but yer wedding is not for many, many days  yet.  Ye'll be wi' us a time longer."  Orianna eyed her sister quizzically.  Certainly both Glenna and Brian
na were acting strange lately, both seemingly in a secret place where the others could not trespass.

"
Aye, but there's much to do,"  Brianna answered.  That was true enough. There was her wedding gown to finish, her father's breacon to weave, and a hundred other things to  do before the ceremony. The days were passing with unsettling quickness.             

“No doubt
she's just anxious to leave."  Jeanne's smile was all-knowing.  "Sleeping alone in a bed can be tedious. Perhaps her mind is on that bride groom o' hers that's awaitin'."  Throwing back her head she giggled. "If he's anything at all like the
other
Campbell then I'd say our Brianna will hae little woe in leaving us.  Maybe she hope this Robbie is likewise endowed."

Brianna's cheeks colored
. "'Tis none of yer concern I'd be thinking, Jeanne," she answered tartly. She’d been thinking of a Campbell all right, albeit a different one than Robbie.             

"O
ch, you've embarrassed her. She’s as red as the cloth we’ve been weaving." Mary, the oldest of the  women shook her finger at Jeanne. "Ye should hold yer tongue ye overbold lassie."

Jeanne quirked a well-arched brow.  "
Fie! If she’s blushing, it must be that I hae spoken the truth.  Hae I, Brianna?"

Brianna ignored the question keeping to her silence
, pretending unwavering interest in the
maide dalbh
, the pattern sticks that served as a guide for the weaving.

"Ha!  Hold the pose of an angel, ye'll no' be fooling me.  No lassie is so pure that she does no' crave
a man's arms and other things."  In answer to her bold comment, two of the women  twittered and looked Brianna's way.  Brianna pretended not to notice, calling Jeanne a silly goose beneath her breath as she riveted her concentration on the loom before her.

Brianna and the other women were working on a plaid for Lachlan MacQuarie to wear to the wedding ceremony.  He'd go to the
Campbell hall in pride, Brianna had vowed with determination.  With that thought in mind, she had suggested that the cloth be made with his favorite colors--red wool, colored by a dye made of dark lichen, a plant that grew on the face of a rock, and black wool, colored with alder tree bark for the darkest hue.  It was a tedious undertaking, for the breacon was to be made from twelve ells of plaid, a long piece of cloth to be certain. They had to work carefully. Anything with more than one color increased the complexity of the weaving, necessitating more than one shuttle and a careful counting of threads to match the established pattern.                             

"
And while we’re talking, I never thought I'd see the day when you would seek out our company for longer than a few wee minutes, Brianna."  Seeing she'd  already flustered Brianna, Jeanne continued her prattling, watching as Brianna shifted in her seat and  grasped her shuttle more tightly.  In and out, in and out, she worked with her spindle.  "She usually shuns us in favor of more adventurous pursuits."

It was true, Brianna couldn't deny it.  The fact was she avoided the women and their weaving every time she could. Usually one to seek the outdoor air, Brianna had been strangely reflective these last three days, however.  Doing women's chores were her only escape from the thoughts and memories which taunted her. Still she fired back a scathing answer. "'Tis none of yer concern
where I spend my time, I'd be thinking, Jeanne”, she answered again.             

"Perhaps.  And yet it does make a lass wonder......."

“She’s to be a new bride, ye foolish lass.” Again Mary came to Brianna’s defense. “Of course she’d be turning to women’s work.”

“Mmmmm…maybe.”

Brianna ignored Jeanne's teasing smile.  The best way to avoid the whole matter was to concentrate on her work.  Ah yes, the plaid would be perfect for her father.  It was his favorite pattern, one her mother had woven for him so long ago.  As soon as the cloth was finished it would be tread on in water to fill the weave and then fluffed with dried, prickly flowers called
teazels
to raise the fiber.  The last step to the process would be to dry the fabric and stretch it on poles to block it.  Indeed, her father would look grand in the new tartan and yet every time she tried to imagine Lachlan wearing it, she was haunted by the memory of the way Ian Campbell threw his breacan so jauntily over his shoulder.

“I must be daft!” Briana gasped aloud, causing the others to stare.
  Quickly she covered her lips with her fingers, regretting the outburst.  Why oh why couldn't she get the laddie out of her mind?  Why?  The answer screamed at her. She was trying  to run away from love by working so diligently, but she couldn't escape her heart's desire.  She could  not flee from her feelings.

Somewhere to the south was Ian's c
lan's castle.  Was he, even at this moment gazing into the fire somewhere, talking man talk, planning a hunt or engaging himself in battle strategy?  Did he ever  think of her or remember the kisses they had shared?   He'd caused turmoil in her life. Had she done like to him?  She could only wonder.

"But don't ye ever wonder just what yer Robbie is like.  Dark of hair or light.  If he is a short or a tall mon.  If he's muscled or thin?"  Annie was asking.

"What?"  Once again Brianna tangled the thread.

Jeanne clucked he tongue.  "Our Brianna takes often to flights into her own musing."  Clearing her throat she loudly announced,  "Annie was asking if ye aren't a wee mite curious about yer bridegroom
-to-be, considering that ye've ne'r seen him."  Jeanne giggled again. "Ye must hae curiosity about the mon ye’ll be making babies wi’. Just wha' kind o' mon is yer Robbie?"              

"I dunna ken."  Didn't that foolish girl realize she'd asked herself the same question.  All she had heard of him was that he was just about her age, seventeen or eighteen years.   She was to marry some beardless boy who had not even insisted on seeing his bride before he claimed her.  He knew no more of her than she did of him.  Would he be pleased?  Was he looking
forward to claiming his bride or did he even care?

Annie sighed.  "I suppose it doesna matter.  Were he as homely as a toad and as foul tempered as an ogre
, Brianna would still hae to marry him.  That's the way it is."

Aye, Annie was right.  Wom
en had no say.  It was a galling fact.  She wanted to blame Robbie, but knew he was just as much of a pawn as she.  Marriages were not for love but for binding together property.  An angering fact but true.  And yet, the more Brianna thought about it the more  it aggravated her.  Why hadn't this Robbie shown enough interest in their marriage to  come to meet his bride?  Why would he agree to send someone else, no matter  what the reason? It would serve him right if she changed her mind, she thought. But to do such a thing would cause the quarreling all over again.  She'd agreed to marry the Campbell heir and that was a thing she must live up to no matter her trepidation.  There was no going around it.

Brianna carefully counted the threads she was weaving, determined to put the matter out of her mind.  Ten black threads.  Time to change to the red-threaded spindle.  And when her father's plaid was done she'd begin on  the cloth for her own gown.  Perhaps she'd use the wool that had just been dyed blue with elderberry.  Or then again the yellow.  Fie!  it really didn't matter, her heart was just not in it.  In truth she didn't want to marry.

“As for me, I’m glad I’m not of close kin so I can be handfasted.” Jeanne winked. “I be thinkin’ that way to try out a mon before I say any solid vows.” Indeed, handfasting was a custom within the clan that was used on occasion whereby a man and woman contracted to live together for a year and a day, and if there was no issue within that period they were at liberty to dissolve the contract. In Briann’s case, however, where property was involved, there could be no such option, much to her woe. At least Jeanne could cast her husband off if he did not suit her and vica versa.

"Who do ye suppose will take Duncan Campbell's place when he lays down his sword, Brianna?  My Gregor is no' so certain
it will be yer husband-to-be. He thinks Ian Campbell is the strongest of the two heirs," Annie prattled all that she had heard  whispered about Ian Campbell's prowess.

"Aye, there are those who wonder if
Lachlan should no' hae held out for the older o' the two nephews. They say having Ian Campbell on our side would be a great advantage."  Jeanne closed her eyes. "Aye, to see Ian Campbell arrayed in chieftain's finery would be a sight." The way Jeanne spoke the name with such a familiar tone irritated Brianna yet it set her to thinking too.             

Ian Campbell was Duncan Campbell's nephew, the older of the two.  Why then was it Robbie who was marrying first?  It set an odd precedence that made her wonder.  Why had she not been betrothed to Ian?  For that matter
, what difference did it make if it was Robbie or Ian that she married?  Both were nephews of Duncan, the laird of the clan. Why could she not have her pick?   That thought made her grumble silently.

"If it were me who was the
MacQuarie's daughter, I would hae insisted on choosing between the handsomest  and lustiest o' the two."  Jeanne grinned suggestively.  "No doubt our fine comely Ian will go to the MacLeod lassie, but oh, how I'd love to hae that braw, handsome laddie in my bed."

“Well, ye willna!” The thought irked Brianna. 
As for the MacLeod miss, she'd seen her at a fair once, a pie-faced girl who giggled all the time with hair as pale as the snow.  The very idea of Ian Campbell being married to such a twit rankled her.  "As for the MacLeod lassie, it’s little ye know, Jeanne, to be suggesting that. She’d no’ right for him!”

Jeanne grinned, at last having made her mark. “And of course ye
would know. I saw ye making eyes at him.”

“I didna! I barely noticed him in fact.” Oh, what a lie! Reaching up she touched her nose.
When she was just a little girl she'd heard it told that the fairies punished those who whispered falsehoods by making their noses grow long.  Thankfully, they had not heard her words.

“Ha! I say ha again. But it is yer life, Brianna. I would go to the
Campbell and ask for a chance to choose.”

“Well, I willna.” Or would she? Why not? Why not have some say in who she married? Was she to let herself be mated like her father’s prime cattle or sheep? Was she to tie herself up with a man she’d never even met? Robbie Campbell indeed. An elusive man at best. One more interested in decorating his castle than meeting his bride. Was
she to go meekly to her wedding bed like a docile little lamb without even having a choice in the matter?  Was she to be as spineless as he appeared to be? No! Suddenly she was determined  that this was not going to be the case with her.