Highland Magic (25 page)

They said naught else for
many long minutes, the only sound, other than the crackling of the
hearthfire, being the sharp ‘
clink’
of the glass bottle against the rim of each man’s
silver cup as Callum continued to refill the vessels with the amber
liquor.

“And, what think you of Isobail’s plan?” he
asked Robert, at last breaking the silence.

Robert sighed and scrubbed his hand over his
eyes and cheeks. “‘Twas hard for me to accept at first, but she did
finally convince me that, at least for now, ‘tis the best thing for
him.” He directed his gaze on Callum. “Are you sure you want
this?”

“Aye, Branwenn and I are sure. Worry
not.”

Robert’s smile was a bit strained when he
said, “Ah, the lovely Branwenn. Aye, you managed to win it all, did
you not?”

Callum gave him a questioning look. “Win it
all? What mean you?”

“Why, the promise of another lairdship and
the most beautiful woman in the Highlands, of course.”

Callum’s brows slammed together. “Do you have
a problem with that? Branwenn, I mean?” he asked darkly.

“Nay, I suppose not. But
there was a time last
Hogmanay
, as I danced around the
fire with her, that I would have battled you for her.”

Callum sat up straight and
eyed Robert very closely. “You danced with
my
betrothed last
Hogmanay
? I remember it
not.”

Robert chuckled, though even in that, a
sadness and despair ran through the sound. “Aye, and I was very
tempted, more so than I’ve ever been, to give the lass my troth,
but then your grandmother took her from me and, well, by the next
day, I’d sobered and thought better of it.”

Callum bristled. “Aye, but you didn’t manage
to think better of bedding my wife that day.”

“Are we going to go over that again? The
woman was not worthy of you, Callum. You know it, and I know it.
She was determined to cuckold you, and I was in the mood to give
her what she wanted, since I had an age-old score to settle with
you.” He sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “If I’d
believed I’d be doing any real damage to you, other than bruising
your pride, which was my intent, then I’d not have done the
deed.”

Callum nodded. “Aye, I know.” He settled back
and took a long pull from his cup. Afterward he sat the silver
vessel down on the table and said, “Tell me what goes on with your
land, my friend.”

* * *

Several hours later the two men were deep in
their cups in the great hall when Branwenn walked in, Lady Maclean
not far behind. “Ah, here he is Grandmother Maclean, just as I
feared.” She shook her head in disgust. “Getting drunk—and helping
his friend to do the same.” She turned and looked at Lady Maclean.
“Why is this the answer to every matter, good or bad, that happens
in a man’s life?”

Callum, bleary-eyed and with a foolishly
lopsided grin on his countenance, rose from his stool and said,
“Bra’wn, my lo’, c’meet Rober’.” He swayed and lost his balance,
but Robert swung his hand out and managed to grab Callum’s arm,
just barely keeping him upright.

Robert turned to Branwenn. There were three
of her, first standing side-by-side, then floating together, then
apart again. “G’eve. Wud’yu lik’ t’dance?” He stood up and took a
step toward her, but tripped over his own foot and landed, rather
ignominiously, flat on his face.

“Oh, my!” Branwenn
exclaimed.
That must have hurt.
“Grandmother, where is the butler? Why is he not
in here with these witless creatures?”

Lady Maclean smiled indulgently at the two
young men. She was much more amused by them than angered, as she
had many more years experience with such antics. “I have no idea,
my dear.”

“How are we going to get the man up on his
feet again? And listen to that!” She pointed in the direction of
the still-prostrate form lying on the rush-covered stone floor.
“He’s snoring! If he slumbers, he will weigh a ton, and we’ll need
half the guard force to carry him to his chamber.”

“Bao and I will do the deed, worry not, sis,”
Daniel said, walking through the doorway just then.

Branwenn turned. “My thanks,” she said,
relief in her voice.

“I’ll car’ hi’ up th’
shtair, m’luffff,” Callum said, but then his eyes rolled up, his
head lolled back, and he hit the ground with a loud
‘
thunk!
’

“Well, tomorrow’s training should be rather
interesting,” Bao said as he looked down at the lump that was now
Callum. “How many points does one get for spewing one’s meal on
one’s opponent?” An evil light came into his eyes and he turned
back to Daniel. “Mayhap, we should ask Robert to oppose Callum on
the morrow. Then ‘twill be an even match—both hurling the contents
of their stomachs as they pass each other on the lists.”

Branwenn giggled. “That is a humorous
thought. But....” She cocked her head to the side and gave Bao a
questioning look. “I thought they wore helmets. Won’t it just end
up all inside their armor?”

Bao turned back to Daniel. “What say you?
Helmets on or off? Spew on themselves or on their opponent? You
decide.”

Daniel shook his head at both of them. “Be
kind to your betrothed, Branwenn. ‘Tis clear he only meant to
commiserate with his friend. And Robert has just lost a sister,
have you forgot?”

Branwenn’s eyes misted and she dipped her
head. “Aye, I did forget for a moment,” she confessed. “When I came
in here, ‘twas to commiserate with Robert as well, for my heart
breaks for him—and David, too. But then, when I saw the two of them
drunk as two priests at a brothel, I got so angry at Callum, I lost
sight of my intention.”

Lady Maclean patted her on the back. “There,
there, dear. ‘Tis understandable, I’m sure.”

Bao took hold of Branwenn’s hand and gave it
a little squeeze of support. “Aye, I should not have made a jest
under these circumstances.” He walked over to Robert and, with
seemingly little effort, hoisted the man up and over his shoulder.
“I only hope he doesn’t spew on the way up to his chamber,” he
mumbled under his breath, “as I’ll surely not get the stench out of
my tunic for many moons afterward.”

Lady Maclean caught what he said and smiled,
shaking her head. The events of the day were tragic but, in her
long life, she’d learned that in times of loss, grief manifested
itself in different ways in different people. Some drank hard
spirits, some ate, some cried, some laughed, some prayed, some
baked, some sewed, some fought, some sat quietly and pondered, and
some did them all. But each way aided in relieving the pressure of
the sadness that underlay each one of those actions.

* * *

The next morn, with his sister’s admonition
to think of Alyson as a wife, and not a sibling, niggling at his
conscience, and with the need to give the family a bit of privacy
while they grieved and prepared for the lady Isobail’s burial, Reys
asked his young bride to go bow hunting with him in the MacGregor
wood.

They’d only just begun the hunt when they
spotted a nice-sized buck at the edge of a clearing in the trees.
He was just stepping behind Alyson’s right elbow to study her aim
when he glanced down and saw a dark brownish-red stain on the back
of the short brown tunic Branwenn had loaned her for this early
morning hunting expedition. His eyes trailed down a bit further and
he saw a streak of what he now knew to be blood on her lighter
colored hose. He cleared his throat. “Alyson, my sweet?” he said
softly.

“Sshhh! You’ll frighten the buck!” she
whispered.

He reached around her. She startled, but
allowed the contact when it was only her hands he touched as he
quickly disengaged the arrow from the bow and brought them down to
his side. “Turn around,” he said gently, next to her right ear. “I
have something of grave import to speak with you about.”

Alyson’s brows lifted, but she did as he
requested. “Yes?”

“Alyson...how many summers are you now?” He
set the bow and arrow on the ground next to him.

Her brows drew together in confusion. “Know
you not? But I thought ‘twas on our contract.” She shrugged. “As of
this past May I am twelve summers.”

Reys studied her face, so
lovely, yet still so youthful. If one gazed long enough, there
could still be seen the traces of a child’s countenance in her
features. “Have you...”
How to say
this?
“Do you know...”
No, not quite right.

“What? What have you to ask of me, Reys?
Whatever it is, I shall do my best to give it, I swear. For you
have been so kind to me these past moons.”

Reys scrubbed his hand over his stubbled jaw
and, at a loss for words, finally ended up pointing to her
hose.

Alyson, thoroughly confused
and a bit worried now, quickly followed the direction his hand was
pointing in and let out a bloodcurdling scream.
“
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my
God
, I’m dying.” Tears welled in her eyes
and she began to tremble. Had her brother’s beatings done this to
her?

“No, Alyson, ‘tis naught like that.”

She looked up, into the gentle eyes of her
savior, saying, “Are you sure? My brother—”

“
No!
Worry not on that score. ‘Tis no
injury from his wicked hand.”

Alyson relaxed a bit, her heart beat slowing
to a more natural meter. “What is wrong with me then?” she asked,
unable to completely let go of the worry.

So, Reys thought, ‘twas as he’d suspected.
The poor girl had no idea of such things. Yet another reason to
despise the brother who’d dared violate such an innocent, gentle
maiden as she. Reys tried to take her in his arms, but she
stiffened and pulled away. He dropped his hands to his sides and
said, “‘Tis your first flowering, sweet Alyson. Proof that you are
now a woman grown.”

Alyson bowed her head and was silent for a
long moment. At last she lifted her gaze to his once more, saying,
“So this is what my aunt said I’d learn of when I was older? She
would never tell me what the strange, blood stained rags were that
she had folded in her clothing chest.”

“Aye, but now, I think we should find
something for you to use until I can get you back to the keep. The
ladies will be able to speak with you with more authority than I,
in any case.” He untied his tunic and lifted it over his head.
“Here, I’ve an idea. Take my shirt and tie it around yourself.
‘Twill help to stem the flow.”

Alyson nodded and looked
around to find a bush or something to go behind for a bit of
privacy. “What about my hose? I cannot enter the keep looking like
this! Everyone will
know!
”

“Here,” he said, quickly unlacing his own.
“Take these. No one will think anything of seeing a warrior a bit
stripped down.”

“But...they are so big....”

“Alyson,” Reys said, now with just a bit of
exasperation in his tone, “‘tis the best I can do—and you’ll only
be seen in them for a few minutes while you enter the keep and
ascend the stairs to your chamber. Take them.” He was relieved when
she did as he’d bade, but the dubious look on her face as she did
so almost made him laugh out loud. Fortunately, he managed to hold
back the untimely mirth.

She turned and headed toward a juniper
bush.

Reys once again noticed the
stain on the back of her tunic. Blood of Christ. He dared not
mention it now, else ‘twould surely only embarrass her further.
But, how to get her inside without others seeing it? A shudder of
cold shook his frame. Lord, but it was frosty in these parts. He
took a moment to put his tunic back on.
Ahhh!
He just remembered. Her cloak
would do nicely. Except.... He dashed over to where they had their
horses tethered and quickly looked at the outside of the garment.
He relaxed then. Thankfully, since it was so thickly lined with
fur, the blood had not soaked through to the outer woolen material
of the covering.

She was behind the shrub
for several minutes when he heard her growl, “
I hate you, you witless thing! Why will you not just stay
put?!
”

Reys smiled, for ‘twas the first time he’d
ever known her to lose her temper, and he admitted, ‘twas rather a
pleasing surprise. For, with enough anger, and enough skill, one
could thwart almost any enemy. And he fully intended on giving her
the skill. But the lack of spirit had worried him, for he knew not
how to train her in that. In his experience, fear enfeebled,
whereas anger stirred one to action. And that was exactly what he
wanted her to do in the face of any thing or person that might do
her harm in future. “Is something amiss, my sweet?” he called out
to her.

“
I
cannot get this...this...shirt to stay about me. Aargh! I fear ‘tis
no use! I will have to
—hic”—she began to
cry—“
go into
—hic—
the keep with my flower blood
all over me-ee-eee!
”

“Might I give you aid?” His face and
shoulders scrunched in anticipation of her loud refusal.

She sniffled, but said naught. Then, more
sniffles. “Yes, please,” she finally said, rather thickly.

Reys straightened, his eyes widened in
disbelief, but, with a shake of his head, he started toward his
young wife.

She peeked her head around the shrub and
said, “But you must keep your eyes closed and your head turned
away!”

“All right.”
All right?
Was he mad?
How was he supposed to help her get the thing tied on properly
without the use of his eyes, for Christ’s sake?