Highland Magic (24 page)

Reys studied Branwenn for a moment. “You are
a wise one for your young age, Sister. And, you are right. I will
no longer allow myself to think of the lady in that way.” He
straightened and took in a deep breath. “No, from now on, she will
be in my thoughts only as my mate—and my dear friend. For, that,
she has truly become in these past sennights.”

* * *

Reys was just stepping through the arched
stone entry of the garden when he saw Callum coming toward him.
“Ho! Were you looking for me? Have you something else to
discuss?”

Callum shook his head and grinned. “Nay, I’m
on a much different quest.” He tipped his head in the direction of
the garden. “Is Branwenn still in there?”

Reys’s eyes narrowed. “Yes,” he said slowly.
“What, pray, is your intent?”

Callum shrugged. “Oh, this and that. You
know.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Reys
nodded, “Yes, I fear I do know. Exactly, as a matter of fact.”

“Nay, ‘tis naught like that,” Callum replied,
still set on keeping the gossip to a minimum—and his jaw in working
order. “I just need to speak with Branwenn about...” He thought
quickly. “…the gown she’s having made for our wedding.”

Reys’s eyes narrowed even further. “The gown?
That Branwenn will be wed in?” He laughed then. “Yes, do, go speak
with my sister about her gown. May I join you?”

Callum’s eyes widened. “Nay, um, Branwenn is
set on keeping the design a secret from all but, um, me and, um, my
mother and grandmother—oh! And Lady Isobail, also. My pardon.”
Callum shot around Reys and continued through the entry.

“I’ll give you a quarter hour!” Reys called
to him. Frowning, he shook his head. He should have given only five
minutes, for, an anxious soon-to-be bridegroom could get the entire
deed done in a quarter-hour. Hell, even five minutes was no doubt
time enough for this particular groom, for Reys had seen an inferno
in the other man’s eyes as he passed him just then.

Callum didn’t acknowledge the comment but
continued on his course toward his betrothed. He’d have to be
quick, but thorough. Could he do it? Aye, definitely. He
grinned.

* * *

Branwenn looked up when she heard her
brother’s voice call out to someone, something about a
quarter-hour.

Godamercy!
Callum!
And he was only
a few paces from her. They’d be mating in minutes—a thing she was
determined not to do again until their wedding night. She must
escape. She leapt from her seat and dashed to her right, hoping to
make a sharp curve up ahead and get around him to the entrance.
“Nay! Go away, Callum! I’ve told you, not until we’re wed!” She
heard the sound of male laughter and the pounding of feet behind
her and, suddenly, she was in his arms.

“You cannot get away from
me this time, my sweet
fey
Mai
. I won’t allow it. And, why must we
wait when we can enjoy each other now?” His mouth swooped down on
hers and, in the next instant, she was falling swiftly into the
deep abyss of her own passion for him.

Callum wrapped his arms around his love,
holding her tight, one hand cradling the back of her head and the
other clamped on her firmly rounded left derrière cheek. He lifted
her up so that his manhood was nestled snugly into the crevassed
triangle that her mons and pressed-together inner thighs made. He
rocked against her, knowing the friction was teasing that hidden
nub of pleasure beneath her skirts and labia lips. “It’s been too
long,” he said raggedly against her mouth. “God! I just want to be
inside you. Now. Forever.”

Branwenn was beyond thought, she nodded
dazedly and pressed her opened lips to his once more, thrusting her
tongue into his mouth and tasting the nectar of the essence that
was Callum. “Mmmm...” Her love. Her life. And soon—oh! please let
it be soon!—her husband.

Somehow Callum managed to scuttle them onto
the bench and lie on top of her, his hand caressing her naked inner
thigh before trailing up to tease the damp curls that covered the
opening of her canal. His finger had just entered her slightly when
the sound of someone clearing his throat—very loudly—seeped into
her consciousness.

They both turned their heads toward the noise
at the same time.

“
Ohmygod!
” she squealed. ‘Twas her
brothers—
all three of
them
—standing, like towering stairsteps,
just inside the entrance to the garden, their arms crossed over
their chests, their stances wide, and (she would think this much
later, after the embarrassment had worn off) the most comical
expressions of amusement guised as anger she’d ever
seen.

Callum flew to his feet in front of Branwenn,
blocking her from view, and flipping the hem of her gown down at
the same time. He’d been caught. He knew he’d been caught. What
could he possibly say that wouldn’t dig his hole deeper still? So,
he stood silent, waiting for one of them to make the first
move.

Bao, thankfully, took pity on him. “See,
Daniel, Reys, I told you. ‘Tis clear we’ve worked the poor man to a
frazzle to the extent that he falls over wherever he goes. This
time, unfortunately, ‘twas Branwenn who suffered.” He turned his
eye to Branwenn. “Is that not so, dear sister?”

Branwenn cleared her throat and combed her
fingers through her hair to straighten it a bit before answering.
She would not again wear the lovely fillet Callum had given her
until her wedding day. “Aye,” she said at last, “Callum fell upon
me only moments before you arrived.” There, that held more truth
than falsehood, did it not?

“Come,” Daniel said to Callum. “‘Tis time for
us to test your skills once more on the lists.”

* * *

Over the next two days, the four men spent
many hours on the field. Once Reys had learned that a tournament
was planned, he’d immediately begun his own training for the event
as well.

But a dark cloud hovered nearby, as the lady
Isobail’s health grew worse. After the last morn, when she could
barely catch her breath and her skin grew as gray as the fog on the
moors, Callum sent word to her brother Robert to make haste to his
sister’s side, as there was little time left.

“Isobail,” Callum said softly, his hand
resting gently atop her forearm, which lay, limp and cool to the
touch, next to her side atop the fur blanket.

Isobail opened her eyes, though with some
difficulty, as they were as heavy as iron portcullises and the need
to allow her mind to drift into sleep—and dreams—was growing more
and more difficult to battle against. She’d been having dreams of
her husband, but this last time, she’d dreamt of another, of that
long forgot time in her youth when she’d loved the wrong lad. Loved
the Norman son of her father’s enemy. Given him her innocence and
in repayment, he’d broken her heart and humiliated her. She
supposed ‘twas as she’d always heard: those close to death relived
their lives in the last days.

“Isobail,” Callum said again. “I’ve sent for
Robert. He should be here within the next two days; if he is at
your family’s holding, as you believe.”

“That is good,” she said weakly and took
several shallow breaths. “Where is my son? I must see him again
soon, before I am too weak to speak.”

“He is just outside the door, waiting for me
to allow him entrance.” He stroked her arm to comfort her, but also
as a means of comforting himself as well. “Are you ready for him
now?”

Isobail shook her head slightly. “Nay. In
just a moment.” She tried to lift her head to look about the
chamber, but she couldn’t manage it and gave up in frustration.
“Where is my maid?” she said. “I want her to comb my hair and wash
my face before he comes in. I wish not for him to see me in this
state.”

Callum nodded and motioned for the maid to
come to her mistress. He began to rise, but Isobail waylaid him
with her hand on his arm. “You and Branwenn will not forsake your
promise? You will take my lad and raise him as you promised?”

Callum sat back down. “Aye, Isobail, I swear
this to you: We will not forsake our promise.”

“I wish only that I could keep my breath at
least until after you are wedded, but the struggle is growing too
great.”

“Fair lady, can you not
hold out for a while more? ‘Twill be
Samhainn
in less than a fortnight,
and we are set to wed the day after that.”

“Aye, I will try.” She began to cough. Callum
quickly placed his arm behind her shoulders and, lifting her up,
brought the cup to her mouth which held the tisane that Daniel had
prescribed. Daniel’s mother had been a healer and had taught him
much of the art before her death, a knowledge that had served his
family well these many years.

Isobail drank the concoction down, though she
almost choked a couple of times when the urge to cough overcame her
as she tried to swallow. In seconds after drinking it, however, it
did calm the tickle in her chest and she relaxed back once more
with her eyes closed. “My thanks,” she said. A moment later, she
forced her lids open once more and looked at Callum. “‘Tis time to
get me ready for my son. I cannot delay any longer.”

“Aye.” Callum rose from his stool beside the
bed and waited a few moments while the maid straightened and combed
Isobail’s hair and washed her face with a damp cloth before opening
the door and, with a quick nod, giving David permission to enter
the chamber.

* * *

Two days later, Robert arrived. When Callum
met him in the great hall, he was stunned. He could hardly
recognize the man whom he’d known since they were youths. Where all
their lives, Robert had been hail and hearty, the black-haired,
grey-eyed, rugged-faced counterpoint to Callum’s lighter, more
evenly drawn looks, he now appeared haggard, a bit thinner—as if
he’d skipped one too many meals over the last moons, and frown
lines delved deep creases between his dark brows.

“Robert,” Callum said in greeting with a
short nod of this head. This was the first time they’d seen each
other since the Roman outpost ruin on the Maclean property where
he’d found his wife, Lara, and Robert together.

“Callum.”

“Need you a bit of refreshment before I take
you to see your sister?”

“Nay, please, just show me to her chamber. I
had no idea she was ill. Why did she not tell me of this
sooner?”

“You knew not of her illness?” Callum asked
in surprise.

Robert shook his head. “Nay, the last missive
I received from her was about five moons ago, just after her
husband’s death, tho’ I’ve written her several letters giving her
tidings of our clan.”

“Come, let us not waste another moment, as
she’s very close to the end. I believe she’s been holding on in
hopes of speaking with you.”

A few minutes later, Callum stood staring at
the outside of Isobail’s chamber door. Robert had just gone inside
and he could hear the muffled low tones of voices on the other
side.

Though he still held resentment for Robert’s
part in Lara’s cuckolding of him, he’d known the man for too many
years—had been good friends with him, at least until Robert had
found out about his own affair with Isobail when Callum and he were
barely thirteen summers—to feel anything other than sadness for his
coming loss, as well as for his troubles holding his clan
together.

He shook his head and, crossing his arms over
his chest, leaned against the wall to the side of the door and
waited. He didn’t care how long it took, he would be here for
Robert when he at last emerged. And then, they would get drunk.
Very, very drunk.

* * *

Two hours later, Robert opened the door.
Callum hadn’t thought it possible for the man’s face to look more
strained, but in these moments, it did. “Is she...?” he asked
softly.

Robert nodded grimly. “Aye. The priest
performed the last rights and now the servants prepare her for
burial.” With dazed eyes, he stared down at the floor. “You were
right, she was only holding on to tell me of her plan for
David.”

The two men stood in silence for a time,
their heads bowed.

Finally, Callum silently
opened the door to the chamber and quietly asked one of the
servants to inform his other family members of Isobail’s death.
Turning, he shut the door once more and said, “Come,” before
beginning to walk in the direction of the stairs. “Let us finish
this discussion with the aid of a hearthfire and a bit of
uisge beatha
.”

“That sounds good,” Robert agreed and
followed him as he descended the stairs.

* * *

The two old friends said
little as Robert settled on one of the benches around the hearth
and Callum retrieved the bottle of
uisge
beatha
from the buttery.

“Remember you that
summer—we were surely not more than ten summers—when your sister
took the blame for our prank with the apple juice and
uisge beatha
?” Callum
asked as he poured the first of what he expected to be many
draughts of the latter into Robert’s cup. “When we mixed the two
and served it to the young ladies who’d traveled with Isobail and
your father?”

Robert smiled and nodded. “Aye, tho’ I’ve oft
thought if ‘twere not for all the puking afterward, then we’d have
been thought heros rather than villains in the scheme.” He chuckled
and shook his head. “But, ‘tis truth, we would have been given duty
with the gong farmer for that one, had my sister not taken pity on
us and said ‘twas her own doing.”

Callum nodded and took in a deep breath
before releasing it slowly. “She was a very kind and gentle
lady.”

“Aye, that she was.”