by Jeanne Rose
A moment’s unease skittering down her spine, she stared at him. “You know, I’m really enthusiastic about the research I’ve been doing for my jewelry designs.” That certainly was true enough. “I get so caught up, that it’s enough to invoke sights and sounds from the past.”
Not to mention from a world that didn’t exist.
“You’re altogether too focused on work. You need a break. This evening, for example.”
“Actually, I enjoy my work tremendously,” she said, torn between defiance and guilt.
Silent for a moment, he appeared anything but pleased as he swallowed another mouthful of food. Caitlin looked away, studying the dark paneled walls and old-fashioned carved wooden bar of the pub that was spilling over with happy customers. It really was a nice place and she wished she could be more appreciative.
Finally, Julian asked, “So what’s on your busy schedule today?”
Uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking, she hedged, “Learning more about the old ways.” She still couldn’t bring herself to tell anyone about Bain.
“A trip to the library?”
“Something a bit more lively.” Before he could ask what, Caitlin turned the tables on him. “What about you? Why are you vacationing in Scotland? Looking for antiques to sell in your shop?”
“I always keep an eye out for new pieces, of course, but I’m actually doing some research of my own. Family tree sort of thing.”
She was surprised. “You don’t look Scottish.”
“The connection is far, far in the past.” He indicated her food, which she’d barely touched. “You don’t seem to be enjoying your meal. Would you like something else?”
“No. This is delicious.”
Spearing a piece of lamb herself, Caitlin concentrated on eating, a difficult task when she was so pumped about the coming evening. She was anticipating the excitement of spending some real time with Bain when she realized she’d tuned out Julian again.
She tuned back in as he said, “Caitlin, I realize we haven’t known each other but for a few days, but I’ve grown very fond of you.” His expression softened as he took her hand and stared down at the falcon and moonstone ring. “Soon you’ll be off to the Americas and I’ll be back to London. I shall miss you. Until then, I would like to propose we spend as much time together as possible. I would be willing to help you with your research,” he coaxed.
Uh-oh, she hadn’t been ready for this one. “I don’t think that would be wise.” She determinedly slipped her hand free from his possessive grip.
“Then you don’t return the affection?”
Never one to hurt another’s feelings if she could help it, Caitlin avoided answering directly. “I’m . . . sort of . . . involved with someone.” Or so she hoped. “It wouldn’t be fair to you.”
“So, you do have a young man waiting for you back home.”
He stared at her steadily, his mouth pulled straight in an unattractive line, but she neither confirmed nor denied his speculation.
Instead, she said, “I hope you don’t feel that I’ve led you on.”
“No, of course not.”
But the pique was there again, making Caitlin wonder if Julian was used to a woman turning down the offer of his company. He really was attractive, but even if she weren’t falling for Bain Morghue, she wasn’t certain she would consider forming a closer bond with Julian.
Something about him put her off.
She gave him an uneasy smile and suffered through the next half hour. When they left the pub and went to their separate cars, she felt a weight lift from her shoulders. She only hoped Julian had gotten the message and would reconcile himself to her disinterest, or things would become uncomfortable at the MacDonalds.
The drive into the westering sun soothed her. This time she really saw the land she crossed, rolling moorland laced with rippling streams and scarred with peat bogs. The road snaked along gaps in hills that wound up and down, mile after mile, eventually taking her through several coal mining villages. By the time she arrived at Braemarton, she’d put everything out of her mind but Bain and their date.
The town itself was similar to Droon, most of the buildings white-washed and thatch-roofed. As she drove through the town’s center with its few tourist establishments, she looked for signs indicating a fair nearby. Finding none, she only hoped that Bain hadn’t been mistaken, and she fought a mounting disappointment as she traversed the road out of town.
Shortly after passing the fork, however, her tension dissipated, for she spotted a costumed couple walking at the side of the road. The woman was wearing a sleeveless red tunic and cape, while the man wore a thigh-length blue tunic, yellow cloak and leather footgear tied around the legs.
A few seconds later, Caitlin found herself alongside a strath. The large valley between blazing green hillocks was dotted with several colorful tents. Pulling her car alongside dozens of others, she worried that her heavy gold sweater and brown skirt would be conspicuous, since the area was bustling with costumed people.
Spotting a few who wore street clothes made her feel better, and she ignored the suspicion that some of the more finely-costumed fairgoers seemed somewhat familiar – a reminder of the Fairy Rade dream.
Where to find Bain?
Wandering around the edge of the crowd, Caitlin realized she hadn’t considered how large the event might be and regretted his not being more specific about a trysting spot. She needn’t have worried, however. She was standing near the orange and yellow-striped refreshment tent when Bain came up behind her and murmured, “Have you a thirst for ale, lady?”
Caitlin couldn’t help herself – she grinned from ear to ear at him. This was the first time she’d seen him before dusk fell, and she couldn’t stop staring. He was so handsome, she could hardly believe he was real. Today he wore an acorn brown velvet tunic shirt that resembled a costume and yet was uniquely Bain. Around his neck he’d added a torque, a bronze neck ring of two rods twisted together and thickened at the ends. Even in trousers and riding boots, he looked right at home with the mix of people dressed in everything from the simplest of ancient-looking garments to more elaborate medieval gear.
“The ale can wait. First I want to see everything.”
His enigmatic, “Perhaps you shall,” puzzled her, but he didn’t give her time to question him.
A pie seller balancing a tray on his head passed by as Bain cupped her elbow and led her further into the open glen, its perimeter sporadically dotted with hawthorn and hazel wood, oak and elder trees. Other merchants hawked their wares, everything from jewelry to good luck charms to birds in cages. Bain bought a wreath of dried flowers and ribbons from a barefoot girl enveloped in a cloak. The huge rectangular plaid pinned at the right shoulder was especially popular with many of the fairgoers.
Placing the crown on Caitlin’s head, Bain brushed his fingers along her cheek, sending a flutter straight to her heart.
“Thank you,” she said, mesmerized by his eyes that today held a violet hue. “It’s beautiful.”
“As are you.”
He lowered his head and kissed her, his very gentleness making her ache for so much more. She wanted his arms around her, his body pressing into hers. The attraction she felt for him was like a fever that she couldn’t quench.
Oddly shy when he retreated, she glanced around. “What a shame this fair isn’t advertised.”
“No need. Those who participate every year know it. ’Tis celebrating Beltane,” he explained, “marking the cycle of light, the beginning of the summer season.”
“Beltane . . . May Day?”
“The same.”
“But that’s tomorrow.”
“The Celts began their celebrations at midnight.” Bain took her arm and led her on. “The Eve of Beltane is a dangerous, bewitched time,” he warned her.
Wondering if he were serious or actually teasing her, she said, “If you believe in that sort of thing.”
“Aye.” His eyebrows
raised as he stared down at her. “And even if you don’t.”
Still considering him dangerous to her emotionally if no longer physically, Bain’s words roused in Caitlin a small thrill of alarm. She remembered his saying the fair celebrated the old ways and wondered how connected he was to the past. Considering the way he dressed and his preferred mode of transportation, she guessed the connection might be pretty strong.
“The Celts considered May a month of sexual freedom in honor of the Great Mother and the Horned God of the woodlands,” Bain was telling her. “Couples contracted trial marriages of a year and a day, at which time they could separate if they were not happy.”
His intent expression flooded her with an uncomfortable warmth, and Caitlin’s warning signals went up. The conversation was beginning to feel all too personal. Happy that she was merely spending time with Bain, she didn’t want to ruin it with speculation about the future. She looked around for a distraction and found it in a pair of artists working nearby under an elder tree.
“Look, they’re painting tattoos on people,” she said, grabbing Bain’s hand and dragging him closer. A woman was having her bare arm decorated, a man his entire chest. She gave Bain a sly glance. “You would look pretty good with one of those.”
He raised a challenging eyebrow. “I think not, lady.”
“And I thought you wanted to learn to have fun. So, loosen up, already.”
Grumbling, he gave over, and Caitlin watched with fascination as fine if intricate lines of blue paint covered half a cheek and the side of his neck.
“The elaborate twining of the design is a guard against the evil eye or curses,” the artist told them as he put the finishing touches to his work.
“Sometimes there is no protection against a curse,” Bain returned. “If the one who casts it is powerful enough.”
Caitlin fought the sudden chill that invaded her at his unexpected response. Bain was far from a whimsical man. He made the statement as if he really believed it . . . as if he had first-hand experience with the predicament.
But when he gave her a wry smile and asked, “Satisfied, lady?” she relaxed.
The atmosphere of the fair was making her imagination work overtime.
“Very pretty,” she teased.
They spent the next hour or so wandering about, inspecting merchants’ booths and observing people of all ages enjoy themselves in participatory events. Caitlin bought a small book, after which she and Bain watched several raucous men and a woman engaged in an archery contest. To the noisy delight of the crowd, the woman won. And in a nearby mud hole, two men dressed in peasant garb tried to catch a squealing hog. Both opponents ended up covered with mud from head to toe and the hog trotted off triumphantly.
Next they stopped for a few minutes near an elaborately built if miniature stage where an old Celtic myth was being reenacted by marionettes.
“They look so lifelike,” she whispered to Bain. “Like real little people.” Creepy little people, she thought, staring at the one with the pointed chin and the red cast to his eyes.
“Perhaps they are. Anything can happen on Beltane Eve,” he reminded her. “Occupants of the invisible world can’t help but be drawn to the festivities.”
She didn’t know whether she liked that or not. Shivering, she thought of the proud ladies and bloodthirsty warriors, the tiny faces she’d glimpsed in the shadows with their sharp teeth and bad attitudes. She moved closer, relieved when she saw the fine strings attached to human hands manipulating the detailed puppets. She smiled at her own silliness. Perhaps she should place boundaries on that imagination of hers.
Continuing along, a jester made both Caitlin and Bain laugh
aloud, then strolling musicians had her humming happily.
“I would remember you so always,” Bain murmured as they approached a pastel portrait artist just finishing with a pleased customer.
Flustered, Caitlin tried to protest, “Me pose for another artist? I don’t know.”
“Loosen up, lady.” Bain echoed her own words and laughed at her indignant expression.
She gracefully gave way. “If you insist.”
“The name’s Tam, bonnie lass,” the artist told her. His huge grin accentuated the slight slant of his eyes. “’Twill be pure pleasure to capture your likeness.”
When he moved to reset his easel, Tam’s long dark blond hair parted, giving Caitlin a glimpse of the tip of his pointy ear. She also noticed that, rather than a sketch pad or a piece of vellum, the artist used handmade rag paper. Composed of animal hair and wood fiber, it was one of the oldest forms of art paper still being used in the present.
“Will ye be posing in what ye’ve got on or in traditional dress?” Tam asked.
“Traditional,” Bain answered for her.
He also chose the costume she was to wear for the sitting from a middle-aged woman who ran a rental concession in a booth across the way. Caitlin loved the russet colored tunic with tiny bells on its fringed sleeves. To that, he added a forest green overdress to keep her warm and a beautiful brooch that looked like real gold filigree. The brooch’s heart-shaped stone seemed to be a ruby, though she couldn’t imagine anyone investing so much money in costume pieces that could easily disappear.
“This gown be perfect with yer hair and eyes, lass,” the stocky proprietress said when Caitlin emerged from the curtained alcove transformed. She reached up and straightened the dried flowers in Caitlin’s hair. “Made fer ye, it could be.”
“Green is my favorite color.”
The woman laughed, exhibiting a mouthful of rotting teeth, as if she’d never heard of modern dentistry. “‘Tis good since green honors the Earth Mother.” She whispered, “Children conceived this night are blessed wi’ the luck o’ the Scots and the Celts before ’em.”
And Caitlin was getting the distinct feeling that sexual activity was one of the favorite ways the lusty old ones had of celebrating Beltane Eve. Heat flushed through her when she met Bain’s expectant gaze. She imagined he could read her mind. That he knew she was wondering what it would be like to make love with him.
And she knew that he wanted her.
Blood coursed through her unevenly as she brushed by him and took her seat. She posed self-consciously, both from the easel being turned on her as model rather than artist, and because Bain never seemed to take his eyes off her. A myriad of emotions played havoc with her thoughts as sunlight deserted the strath, and Tam paused in his work to put flame to the half-dozen torches he’d already set out in a semi-circle around the stool. No electricity here.
How had she fallen under Bain’s spell so quickly, so thoroughly? She’d never before considered sleeping with a man she’d known for less than a week, but that’s what she’d almost done two nights before. He’d been the one to stop them, not she. Despite all indications that Bain was a man to fear, she’d convinced herself he was no Neil. What if she were wrong? Not that she believed he would hurt her physically as Neil had threatened. But wounds to the heart and soul were far slower to heal than were those to the body.
And Bain wasn’t an easy man, no matter how accommodating he might seem at the moment.
Yet, each time their eyes met, each time they touched, each time she heard the thrilling timbre of his voice, Caitlin knew she desired Bain Morghue more than any man she’d ever met. This sweet desire went beyond the physical longing that made her breasts and belly ache for his touch. It went far deeper, and Caitlin was beginning to realize she was willing to chance her heart and soul to be with him in every way.
An irrational act of bravery?
Or was she a woman falling truly, deeply, madly in love for the very first time in her life?
“Finished,” Tam said, just as she became impatient with all the sitting. He waved Bain closer. “What think ye, Laird?”
Laird? So he knew Bain in addition to Old Sandy. Caitlin was inordinately pleased.
“As fine a likeness as I’ve seen you create, Tam.”
Rounding
the easel, Caitlin stared, open-mouthed. The woman staring back was, indeed, a perfect facsimile of herself . . . and yet not. The woman Tam had captured was vibrant and earthy and . . . magical somehow. To Caitlin’s chagrin, she also appeared to be absurdly lovesick.
“The model makes all the difference,” Tam was saying. “She’s the bonniest lass of them all.”
Had Bain commissioned Tam to do portraits of other women, Caitlin wondered, or was he speaking in general terms?
“Aye, the bonniest and the bravest,” Bain was saying. “Hold it for me, if you will, Tam. I wouldna want such a masterpiece harmed by this night’s work.” He took her elbow and moved off.
She immediately protested. “Wait, my clothes–”
”Shall be returned.” He smoothed the loose sleeve of the tunic, his fingers biting her flesh through the material in an intimate caress. “This is yours now, as well.”
“Bain, no,” Caitlin protested, knowing the outfit couldn’t have been inexpensive. “I mean, I love it, but it’s too much.”
He smothered her protest with a warm and sensual kiss. As his tongue seduced hers, Caitlin flushed with desire and knew that she was in Bain’s spell, well and good. She could deny him nothing.
“Sometimes, lass,” he growled softly, “you speak too freely.”
“That’s because you don’t talk enough,” she said in mock-irritation.
“My stomach speaks loudly. For food.”
He steered her in the direction of the refreshment tent. Rather than thinning due to the late hour, the crowd had multiplied, as if the festivities were only now gathering momentum. Lamps and torches dotted the glen, and Caitlin had the oddest sensation of being in some time warp, as if she’d somehow stepped back into the past.
Or in that invisible world Bain was always talking about.
He startled her out of those thoughts by asking, “What would you have me speak of?”
“You!” she said without hesitation. “You’re a cryptogram of a man, Bain Morghue, and while I enjoy the challenge of a worthwhile puzzle, I expect the reward of being able to solve it in the end.”
His hand grew stiff on her elbow, and his voice had a definite edge when he stated, “You know what you need to know.”
