Highland Song

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  Behind her, the woods seem to stir, and the forest began to twinkle. Naught but bugs, he reminded himself. There was nothing magical about this moment—nor this woman.

  She was just an ordinary lass.

  With stunning emerald eyes that seemed to peer into his soul. And who came to him with no bluidy clothes and didn’t seem to care.

  Somewhere in the great distance, a hunting horn blew and the woman stiffened, her head turning like a wary doe so that she could listen more carefully. Was it his imagination... or did those ears appear elfin... small and delicate. Och, but elves and pixies didn’t exist, and even if they did, who knew what the true shape of their ears. Everything he’d heard about faeries or brownies or banshees, he’d heard from his Grandminny Fia and there was no accountin’ for any of those stories, he knew.

  Another horn blast, closer this time, and her expression turned fearful. “I must be going!” she declared, and before he could stop her, she suddenly sprinted away toward the sanctuary of the woods, her limbs moving with the speed and grace of a deer. Though she turned at the edge of the forest and waved. “Thank you kindly for the lovely dress.” she said, and added, blessing the house he was building, “Long may your lum reek!” And then she vanished without ever having shared her name.

  And he noticed that she seemed to take all the cats along with her besides. Curious, but suddenly, not a one could be seen, despite that they had been skulking about all the day long.

  Gavin stood scratching his head a long moment, staring at the place from where she’d both come and gone.

  Daft girl; didn’t she know an English tunic when she saw one? He didn’t make it a habit of running around wearing woman’s gowns.

  In all his days, he’d never met a stranger wench.

  But she was gone now, and he was no longer in the mood to work. Time to forget all about women and faeries and cats, he told himself. Mayhap, if he hurried now, he could make it home in time to sup with the family.

  He was halfway home before he realized that he was shirtless and that he’d left behind his flagon, his axe as well as the dagger his Da had given him.

  He frowned, thinking that the girl had made him good and daft.

  Best he keep the meeting to himself, lest they think he’d gone and gotten into Seana’s whiskie.

  At home Gavin could hear everyone gathering in the hall to sup so he took the opportunity to run back to his chamber to snag himself another tunic before anyone could spy him running around half bared.

  Luckily, his sister Meggie was no longer doing his laundry, and wasn’t likely to notice that the green tunic she’d sewn for him last year had suddenly gone missing. Alison, his eldest brother’s new wife, was too sweet to ever say a word, even were she to notice. But she wouldn’t. She was too busy trying to build Leith a proper home—not that Meggie hadn’t done so. In fact, Gavin couldn’t help but wonder how Montgomerie was faring with his warden of a sister. Like their grandminny, Meghan was a force to be reckoned with and like their Da, she had a temper as unpredictable as the Highland winds.

  Och, but in the end, they had all been burdened with their father’s demons—even sweet Meggie.

  Morosely, his thoughts centered on their father. The old man had only smiled ever when his cock was between a pair of thighs or his tongue was deep in a jug of whiskie. Not much else had pleased him. Gavin and Meghan, being the youngest, had mostly been spared his heavy hand, while Leith had borne the brunt of their Da’s temper.

  As for poor Colin… his Da had dragged him out by the collar wherever he went carousing. As a result, his middle brother had learned the ways of women long before most of their peers had come out from beneath their minny’s skirts. It should have made for a poor husband, but Colin was surprising them all with Seana.

  For his part, Leith drove himself and everyone else to death’s bloody doorstep in pursuit of perfection. Alison MacLean with her crossed eyes, was the last woman any of them would have suspected he would lose his heart to. And yet he had.

  In fact, both his brothers had wed women who, while lovely, would be deemed by their father’s standards as less than perfect.

  Gavin wasn’t necessarily drawn to beauty and in fact he believed beauty reared demons of another sort—had Meggie not suffered enough over hers? Like their mother and grandmother before her, his sister had borne the biting tongue of women for leagues. “Mad Meghan Brodie” they had named her, and only Lyon Montgomerie—a Sassenach—had ever had the balls to match wits with his canny sister. Gavin had to chuckle over that, for it seemed to him that, despite the claims that her husband was a beast on the battlefield, in his sister’s presence, Montgomerie was naught more than a hapless pussycat. And come to think of it, he wondered where all the cats had gone to today. They had simply disappeared.

  Unbidden, his thoughts returned to the painted lady...

  She was certainly beautiful, though not in a conventional way, however she wasn’t his, he reminded himself, nor was he looking to fill his bed. Nay, he had too many other things to concern himself with right now. He had not spent his entire life fighting his Da’s influences to succumb to them now. If, indeed, he ever did wed, he wanted a sweet Highland lass—not too beautiful, but pleasing to the eye—someone who was loyal and passionate and full of love. Someone who was soft-hearted and meek but strong in body with a song in her heart.

  Anyway, he would likely never see the girl again. She’d fled without even telling him her name, and he doubted, despite her claim to rights, that she was from anywhere near these parts.

  From the hall, the sound of voices and laughter drifted to his ears, but the female voices were new to this house. It filled him with a strange void. He sighed, giving his bower a long look. This house where he had lived his entire life was growing quite crowded. Everything was changing. He missed the fresh blooms Meggie had kept in his chamber... the way she had fluffed his pillow and kept the brazier burning in anticipation of his return. Now both his brothers had wives to warm their beds and breasts to lay their heads upon and his own room was dark and cold.

  A sudden image of his painted lady came to mind… she was standing in the house he was building... the two of them preparing to sup together... her face aglow by the fire in the hearth and her wavy hair tied at her nape, like a fire bound by magik twine. Her lips turned gently at the corners and she laughed, the sound musical and free.

  He blinked and the image disappeared.

  He didn’t want a wife, he told himself and turned from his bower and from the vision, heading toward the hall.

  Wafting from the same direction as the voices, the peppery scent of haggis teased the air. Gavin followed the scent, ready for a wholesome meal after a long day’s work.

  This, in truth, was the one thing he sorely missed since Meggie’s marriage, and the one thing he would long for once he was gone from the manor: the dinner hour. For all his years, the family table had been filled with love—at least as long as his Da was not about—ornery bastard that he was. Gavin was determined never to become like the man who had sired him.

  Belly grumbling, he walked in to the hall and found his brothers both already at table, staring mutely at their plates while Alison and Seana chatted endlessly across the table. The two wives seemed to have become fast friends, and their affection for each other seemed genuine. At least they would not be pulling at each others’ hair over the running of the house, Gavin mused.

  “Oh!” Seana said when she spied him.

  “Gavin!” Alison exclaimed. She leapt up from her seat next to Leith. “Let me get you a plate,” she offered.

  Both of his brothers heads popped up and they shook their heads in unison, both looking horrified by the prospect of Gavin joining them.

  Not quite understanding their warning expressions, Gavin took a seat beside Colin, confused, until he chanced to peer into Colin’s plate.

  At the same time, Alison slid a full plate of mashed sheep’s pluck beneath his nose and a truer scent accosted hi
m—a sour, peppery smell that curled the hairs in his nostrils. God’s bloody teeth, it looked nothing at all like Meggie’s haggis.

  Meeting Leith’s gaze across the table, he spied the terror there, though his wife, now reseated at his left elbow seemed not to notice.

  “We’re so pleased you joined us at last!” Alison declared.

  Seana nodded enthusiastically, shoving a spoon at him.

  As for Colin... for the first time in recent memory, his brother seemed not the least inclined to meet his wife’s gaze. Gavin tried not to snicker, but then again, a glance down at his plate was enough to sober his expression.

  Seana peered over Colin’s shoulder at him. “Alison taught me how to make haggis!” she revealed excitedly.

  Leith cleared his throat. Something like dread settled in the pit of Gavin’s gut, and the continued looks of trepidation upon both his brother’s faces only deepened it.

  Everyone was staring at him expectantly.

  “How was your day?” he inquired of them all, stalling.

  “Oh, wonderful!” Seana said.

  “Verra good,” Alison offered. “And yours?”

  Both Colin and Leith had yet to speak and it seemed to Gavin as though the gook in their mouths had sealed their lips shut. He grimaced at the thought.

  “My goodness!” Alison declared suddenly, interrupting whatever Gavin was about to say—if anything at all—and leapt up from the table, exclaiming, “I forgot the bread!”

  “I’ll help!” Seana announced and bounded up after her.

  The very instant both women quit the hall, both Colin and Leith spat out mouthfuls of gray muck onto their plates and jumped up from their seats. Plates in hand, in unison they dove for the fireplace, dumping the contents of their platters into the flames and racing back to their seats before their wives returned to the hall, bearing in a heaping plate of freshly baked bread.

  Suddenly noticing the telltale tracks of food dumpage on his plate, Leith picked up his plate and began to lick the sides clean. Colin dove for a piece of bread as his wife sat down and began scooping up the evidence on the sides of his plate as well.

  Gavin had yet to speak another word; he was too befuddled. Their grandminny had been a wonderful cook, and Meggie even better. Och, but how bad could the haggis be?

  “Leith!” Alison scolded, frowning at her husband. “Though it truly pleases me you love my minny’s recipe, you have the most boorish manners, husband.”

  Leith’s cheeks flamed. Having been reprimanded, he stopped licking his plate and set it down, looking sheepish. It was clean as a whistle. Brownie couldn’t have done a better job. Leith lifted both his brows as he peered at Gavin, and Gavin nearly choked on his laughter.

  Next to him, Colin busily brushed at his own plate with a piece of bread, removing all traces of haggis and then shoving the evidence into his mouth as though he couldn’t get enough of it. He tried to smile around the hard lump in his mouth, but couldn’t quite manage.

  Seana blinked at her husband and smiled prettily. Apparently pleased that he had devoured his supper so quickly, she lifted up a spoon and dipped it into the haggis, bringing up another heap. “Would you like some more?” she asked Colin.

  Mouth still full, Colin quickly lifted a hand, refusing, but couldn’t speak to say so and too late, a lump of gray mash plopped down upon his once spotless plate. “Thank you,” he said, once he was able. But the look in his eyes was glum.

  Clearly, Gavin had chosen the wrong night to come home to sup. He reached out for a piece of bread, reminding himself what a blessing it was to have plenty of victuals, no matter what any of it tasted like.

  His thoughts reluctantly returned to the girl he’d met at the edge of the woods. Where was she now? Did she have plenty to eat? Now that the summer was waning, the night would bring a chill. Was she warm enough in his green tunic? He frowned suddenly, thinking that likely not. She didn’t even have a tartan.

  “You’ll be wantin’ plenty of ale wi’ that,” Colin suggested low, once he had finished chewing his mouthful of bread.

  Uncomfortable with all eyes fixed upon him, Gavin glanced about the hall.

  The manor had never looked so gay, despite that the festivities were over. The fire in the hearth burned brilliantly, even if it did smell like burnt haggis. But the candles smelled like the MacKinnon’s beeswax instead of pitch or tallow and burned bright and yellow, without the smoke that usually billowed into dark stains upon the walls. The rushes were fresh at his feet, and the dogs were perfectly behaved, waiting in one corner of the room with better manners than Gavin had ever known them to have—sitting on a carpet—a carpet Gavin had never seen before. Though Brownie, his own mutt, looked sad, staring at him longingly over outstretched paws. She whined pitifully.

  For some odd reason, Gavin felt like whining, too. And it had nothing to do with the prospect of eating his mound of haggis. Or the fact that he had no idea how to find that girl again. Nay, it was a lonely feeling deep down that had been growing in intensity over the past months—a feeling that only seemed to lift when he thought of the girl.

  He wondered where she had gone, and remembered suddenly that there had been no signs of Brownie’s dirty paws upon his bed and he determined that Seana or Alison one must have kept the dog out of his room. He frowned over that, thinking of the approaching winter.

  Good thing he was moving soon.

  His brother’s wives were still staring at him expectantly, smiling beauteously.

  Feeling the pressure intensely, Gavin ventured a small bite of the bread, certain it was the lesser of the two evils. His teeth scraped the surface. “I met a girl,” he said casually, despite his earlier resolve not to mention her.

  Both women perked, their attention suddenly diverted from his plate.

  Colin stopped shoving the haggis along the sides of his dish and Leith set down his tankard of ale.

  “Really?” Leith asked.

  Gavin glanced at Seana, hoping that she would know who the woman was. “Aye. She was tiny and lovely, with flaming hair and shining green eyes.”

  Seana laughed. “Maybe she’s one of the fair folk,” she quipped and winked at him.

  Gavin tried again. “No… but she was... er... well, painted…”

  Seana frowned. “Painted?”

  “Aye, tattoos,” Gavin clarified, waving a hand around his chest. “She had them everywhere.”

  Seana’s gaze followed the circular movement of his fingers across his chest, her brow furrowing a little deeper. “Everywhere?”

  Realizing suddenly where he was pointing, he indicated his arms instead. “Aye, well ye know... her arms, legs, face...” Her breasts, too, of course, and the memory made him flush. “She was blue,” he finished uncomfortably, and cleared his throat.

  Alison screwed her face and repeated dumbly. “She was blue?”

  Gavin frowned. “Well, her tattoos.”

  “Sounds to me like a bluidy Pecht,” Leith suggested, “Though their ilk have not been seen in an age.”

  “Fie on you two—Pechts and faeries!” Alison scolded. She turned to Gavin, giving him her full attention. “So, tell me, where did you meet this… blue… painted lady?” she asked, making polite conversation.

  Gavin winked at Seana. “Out near where Seana used to live… with her Da.”

  Only Seana knew what he was doing out there and she was sworn to secrecy—at least until he was ready to reveal his secret.

  “Oh,” Alison said, and attempted to split off a piece of bread. Her nails found no purchase and she glowered, inspecting the rock hard object in her hand. “What were you doing all the way out there?” she asked, though a little distracted now. She knocked the piece of bread discreetly upon the table, peering circumspectly at Seana.

  Gavin had the distinct impression that Seana was responsible for the bread as well—poor lass. She was accustomed to cooking over an open flame, for she and her Da had never had many conveniences.

  He glanced from
Seana to Alison and then from Alison to Seana. As far as his own house was concerned, he wasn’t quite ready to tell anyone. Not yet. So he lied. “I was checking the potstill.”

  Alison sounded even more perplexed. She stopped inspecting her piece of bread rock. “Och, but I thought you didna approve of Seana’s whiskie?”

  Gavin cast Seana a beleaguered glance, hoping she did not take offense. “I dinna disapprove, I simply dinna want to drink it for myself. Anyway, I was oot there... near... so I decided to check on it... for Seana—that’s all.”

  Seana peered down uncomfortably at her plate. She remained silent, avoiding everyone’s gaze, and Gavin thought she might be uncomfortable abetting a lie.

  Now it seemed it was Colin’s turn to be confused. His haggis suddenly forgotten, he studied Gavin’s face. “What were you doing out in No Mon’s Land, brother?”

  “Och, Colin! That is not no man’s land!” Seana argued at once. “It is my land! I do so wish you’d stop calling it that! If you must know, I asked Gavin to check on the potstill for me,” she lied.

  “In any case,” Gavin continued, feeling guilty for Seana’s sake. He peered at Leith, who was studying him now as well. “That’s where I saw her.”

  “Who?” Alison asked absently as she tapped her biscuit again upon the table.

  The dammed thing sounded like a bluidy hammer—Christ, but a mon could split his teeth on that.

  Gavin set his own biscuit down on his plate, abandoning it. “That’s what I was hoping Seana might know…”

  “Do you at least know her name?” Seana pressed. “Mayhap she is of the MacKinnon’s? And Broc Ceannfhionn sometimes has cousins who wander by on their way up the bluff.”

  “Well, nay.”

  Colin’s brows furrowed. “Nay, she was not a MacKinnon? Or nay ye dinna know her name?” he persisted.

  Gavin cast his brother a glare. “Now, why would I be askin’ aboot the lass if I knew from whence she hailed? Nay, I dinna know her name!” he said, losing patience.

  “Why not?” Leith persisted.