Highland Magic (36 page)

But this would be the last
time she cut it, she vowed. The
very
last time.

And, she’d need to obtain a few more items of
clothing as well. She still had a cap, one tunic, one pair of
braies, and hose. But she’d need another cloak and a pair of boots;
preferably fur-lined, for she feared that this place she intended
to live would be colder even than the Highlands. At least she still
had a pouch full of the coins Reys had given her. ‘Twould, if used
wisely, last her until well past the babe’s birth. She had only to
find a very modest cottage. ‘Twould also be of benefit to find work
as well, she supposed.

The door swept open behind her and she
turned. “Good morn, Grandmother Maclean.”

“Good morn to you, lass. How fare you?”

Branwenn shrugged. And then, before she
realized she was going to do it, she burst into tears.

Grandmother Maclean hustled over to her
foster granddaughter as quickly as her aged legs would allow and
swept her into her embrace, cradling her face against her bosom.
“There, there. ‘Tis not as dire as that, I trow. Callum is a strong
warrior; a skilled combatant.” She brushed the hair that clung to
Branwenn’s damp cheek away. “Did you know that I’ve seen the lad on
the lists several times now?”

Branwenn shook her head.

“Aye, I have. Why, when he was just fifteen
moons, he was already competing in tournaments. Oh, ‘tis true, he
lost quite a few in the beginning, but with each new joust he
entered, he brought with him all he’d learned from the previous. He
honed his skills quite effectively that way. And with the
additional training he’s received from his cousins, why, ‘tis
truth, I doubt there’s a single thing that Gaiallard de Montfort,
that miscreant Norman, could try on the morrow that would surprise
my grandson.” Lady Maclean had been repeating similar words to
herself these past hours since the challenge had been given, and
sometimes it helped to settle her fears, but sometimes—like now—it
did not. But she’d never allow Branwenn to see her uncertainty.

In fact, Callum had spoken at length with her
this very morn to tell her just that. He, himself, had been
battling his own demon of doubt, but was determined that Branwenn
would not know of it, for ‘twould only serve to heighten her
already deep dread for him and, he’d told her, he simply could not
bear to see his bride in such a state before this match.

And neither could she. Nor could any of the
others of the family. ‘Twas why they’d all decided ‘twas best to
say only words of confidence when Branwenn was within hearing. She
was such a sensitive lass.

* * *

Callum walked into his daughter’s nursery
just minutes after her feeding, it seemed. For the nurse was
fussing softly in dulcet, cooing tones as she fought valiantly to
wipe the remains of Laire’s meal from her rosy cherub-cheeks. He
chuckled. “It looks as if my daughter would prefer to keep the mess
on her face.”

Laire’s big blue eyes
turned toward him. “
Da! Da! Da!
Da!
” she squealed, her chubby fists
flailing as she bounced. She rose up a bit from her sitting
position in the crib and the nurse quickly settled her back down
before turning and giving him a weary smile. “Aye, that it does. I
trow, the babe’s wee fists are as powerful as a warrior’s when
she’s set on not having a bath. And ‘tis time to trim those sharp
nails of hers as well.” She turned back to Laire. “Is it not, my
beauty?”

“
Ga!
”

The nurse handed her a hard, day-old bannock
and Laire immediately began chewing on it.

“She’s another tooth coming through and she
was a bit warm earlier, but she seems fine now.”

Callum strode over to the cradle and settled
on a stool. He felt his daughter’s forehead with the back of his
fingers and then scrubbed at a dried spot of gruel on her chin.

Laire grinned at him and offered him the
slobbery bannock.

Callum grinned back at her and took hold of
it on the bottom end, where she’d not yet begun to gum on it, and
brought it up to his mouth. He pretended to taste it. “Mmm.
Delicious.” And then he handed it back to his daughter. When Laire
gleefully took the gooey treat, he leaned down and placed a kiss on
her soft pate.

She
gurgled
and handed the bannock back
to him.

Callum played this game of ‘pass the bannock’
with her for several more minutes, his heart a twisted knot of pain
in his chest.

He cleared his throat. “Know you that Laire
and David will be taken to raise by my cousin Bao and his wife,
should I not survive this trial on the morrow?” he asked the
nurse.

“Aye, your mother told me as much this day
past, sir.”

“I worry that Laire will be distraught if she
has no one familiar caring for her. Will you consider moving to the
Maclean holding with her—at least until she is older and has had
time to know her new guardians?”

“Aye, sir. As I’ve no other ken to keep me
here, I would not think of leaving the wee one’s side at such a
time.”

Callum sighed. “That eases my mind. My thanks
to you.”

Laire settled down onto her side and began to
doze.

Callum watched her sleep. Needing to keep
some physical contact with his daughter, he lightly ran his finger
over her closed fist. In seconds, it opened and grasped hold of the
calloused digit and held tight. Unable to bear leaving her just
yet, he remained in that position for two hours more. Every once in
awhile, he leaned down and gave her a kiss on her warm, baby-soft
cheek.

He’d never have thought it possible, but
saying what might be his last farewell to his daughter was even
more difficult than had been his last farewell to Branwenn earlier
that morn. ‘Twas only the knowledge that Laire would be given over
to a man he respected so highly, a man he knew would do anything to
keep his daughter safe—as Bao had proved by the incredible
sacrifices he’d made when raising Branwenn—that made knowing he
might be leaving his daughter for good somewhat bearable. And, he
prayed, somewhat forgivable to her.

* * *

“That’s the game then,” Callum said to David
two hours later. He had gone directly from his daughter’s nursery
to find the lad, with the intent of spending some time with him and
answering any questions David might have regarding the trial on the
morrow. He and the lad had now played four games of knucklebones,
and David had beaten him every time, but there had yet to be one
word from the young one about what might happen after the
trial.

‘Twas clear, Callum decided, he would need to
be the one to broach the subject. He hoped he would be able to ease
David’s worry; he knew that Bao was intending to have a talk with
him later that day as well, and that would aid the lad also.

“Grandmother Maclean told
me that you found the basket of tarts empty the morn of
Samhainn
which you’d
left out for your mother the night before. Did Isobail visit us
then, do you think?”

David’s face, which was
still flushed with the glory of victory, sagged a bit at the
question. His chin dropped to his chest and he looked at his hands.
Shrugging, he shook his head. “Nay, ‘twas only old
Anail Iasg
; he lapped up
all of them and my mama didn’t get even one.”

“How know you that the old hound got into the
fare?”

“‘Cuz I found him layin’ on his back near the
hearth and there was purple berry juice all over his tongue and
chops.”

Callum nodded. “Ah, I see.” He cleared his
throat. “Are you still set to lead my horse out onto the lists on
the morrow?”

“Aye,” David answered in a small voice.

“‘Tis very brave of you, lad, to insist upon
doing this thing when you know not what the outcome will be for
you—nor me, for that matter—on the morrow. Your mother would be
very proud of you, I trow.”

David shrugged. He couldn’t seem to force his
eyes back to his guardian’s face, so he just kept looking at the
rough, new callous on his palm formed after many blisters from the
warhorse’s reins as he’d practiced leading the animal around the
horseyard.

Callum tried another tack. “I’ve sent for
Jasper, your hunting hound, to be brought here. Does that please
you?”

David’s head popped up and his eyes glowed
with pleasure as a huge grin spread across his countenance. “Aye,
sir, it surely does.”

“If all does not go as we plan on the morrow,
the hound will go with you to your new home on the Maclean holding.
‘Twill be a balm to your worries, I’m sure, to have an old friend
by your side as you get settled there.”

David nodded, scrubbing his chin on his
shoulder. “Aye.”

Callum cleared his throat again. After a
slight pause, he said, “‘Twould be a great boon to me if you would
give me your vow to care for Laire—your new wee foster sister—to
protect her with your life, if need be.”

His page’s spine straightened and his chin
lifted. ‘Twas clear no one had ever given the lad such a
responsibility before, due to his young age, and now he relished
the duty. “Aye, you have my vow,” he said, his voice holding a
shadow of the future authority it would bear as an adult.

“Let us clasp hands on it then to seal the
vow.” Callum thrust his arm out toward the lad and David did the
same, each taking hold of the other’s hand in a tight grip.

* * *

Hours later, near midnight, Callum looked
into the flame of one of the twelve 6-inch lit tapers he’d placed
around the statue of Saint Quiricus in the chapel, measuring to
that hallowed saint. As was the custom in battles such as these,
he’d be here the remainder of the night, praying and readying his
mind for the coming battle. ‘Twas the custom as well to fast the
night before, and he’d done that as well, not joining his family at
the evening meal, but instead spending his time in his chamber
going over his mail to make sure there were no chinks in the armor
he’d missed that needed fixing before the battle, and cleaning and
sharpening his sword and dirk as well.

David, tho’ still a page, had wanted to shine
his armor for him, but he’d not allowed it, wanting—needing—instead
to be the one to tend his old, faithful friend this night.

He’d spent a bit of time with his destrier as
well, brushing it down and looking him over one last time to make
sure he was in readiness. The stallion had been given a treat of
apples before he was led back to his stall.

By this time tomorrow, with God’s will, he’d
be once again in the arms of his love. And that Norman usurper,
blonde meddler of bairns, would be wrapped tight in his death
shroud and away from this place.

* * *

“I saw your lady, sir, with the Norman this
day past,” David told Callum just a bit past dawn the next morn as
he walked beside him toward the stables. Callum had bathed, eaten,
and been aided by Daniel and Bao in putting his armor on these two
hours past, and now ‘twas time for David to lead the warhorse onto
the lists.

Callum’s head swivelled around so quickly, he
got a sharp twinge in his neck. “Where? Where did you see the
Norman?”

“In the forest. I was with two of the
MacGregor hunters.” He cocked his head to the side as he looked up
at him “Why did she meet him? Is he not our enemy?”

“‘Twas not my lady you saw, I trow. ‘Twas
some other lass of similar height and build, no doubt.”

“Aye, ‘twas the lady Branwenn we saw. The
wind blew the hood from her cloak and we saw clearly ‘twas her that
met the Norman.”

Callum’s brows slammed together and his eyes
narrowed. “For how long did they meet?”

David shrugged. “I know not for how long
they’d been there by the time we espied them, but they left soon
after.”

Callum’s jaw relaxed.
“Hmmm. ‘Tis most likely that Branwenn was caught unawares by the
bast—
ahem
—fiend.”
He lifted a brow at David. “So, she was not, umm, bothered by the
man in any way? She made it safely back to the keep?”

“Well...he...”—he shrugged
again—“he grabbed hold of her hand and
kissed
it.”

Callum gritted his teeth. “And that was
all?”

“Aye. Then she turned and fled. But the other
hunters said she’d no doubt cuckolded you, just as Lara had done.”
He tipped his head to the side. “Who is Lara? What does ‘cuckold’
mean?”

Callum ground his teeth and
halted, facing the lad. Ignoring the first part of his question, he
answered the second. “She did
not
cuckold me—and you’ll find out when you are
older.” He resumed his pace. After a moment he asked, “So she was
unharmed? You saw her after, at the keep?”

David nodded. “Aye, she was at supper last
eve.”

The vise around his lungs fell free. “Well,
then.” He ruffled the lad’s hair lightly with his gloved hand. “No
real harm was done, I trow.” Tho’, when this trial was over, and if
he’d won the day, he’d ask her about the matter.

* * *

The day was crisp and clear that bright
November morn, the air thick with the hush of the crowd in the
stands, the scent of stirred-up sand and horse flesh filling
Callum’s nostrils.

He was already sweating. So much so, that he
could feel his undergarments clinging to his frame under the
padding and heavy mail.

He stood next to his
restless steed at the far end of the lists looking directly ahead
into the closed visor of the helmeted Norman devil, who, two days
past, had become his worst enemy. Today, there would be no quarter
given; no rules of conduct on which to adhere. Nay, ‘twas no sport
they were about this day, but a trial with a deadly purpose, from
which one—or both—of them would not walk away. His destrier
redistributed its weight, causing its own body armor to make
a
chinking
sound
in the deadly silence.