“’Tis lovely ye are,” Glenna offered.
Lìli recognized the sincerity in her tone, softened tenfold since the moment of their meeting. It gave her a pang of regret for what was yet to come.
Her dress, far less lavish than the purple velvet gown David had gifted her with, was soft and worn with age. According to Cailin, the robin’s egg-blue dress had been worn by the brides of seven chieftains, and then each time put away to be worn by the next lady of Dubhtolargg. That they had allowed Lìli to wear it, made her throat thick with emotion. Not even her own mother had shown such joy for her first wedding to Stuart, and in fact, her parents had very nearly ushered her out the door. With a sack for her dowry, they’d bid her good riddance. Unlike her father, her mother had not been unkind, but she had never dared gainsay her father, and Padruig Caimbeul had blamed Lìli for the demise of his good fortune from the instant he’d heard about the curse from a wandering minstrel. As far as Lìli was concerned, the simple fact that her father believed it had created a self-fulfilling prophecy, for though she had made it her life’s mission to study the old ways, she had found no proof that curses existed. From her studies she had gleaned merely a knowledge of herbs, and by it she had become a skilled healer. Although, admittedly, she did every so oft include some earthy ritual, just in case. What could it possibly hurt? Some things could not quite be explained away. Like the feeling she’d had upon riding into this glen. Or the way she now felt after having bathed in the loch—in a sense reborn. Or even the connection she felt to things unseen whenever she allowed faith into her healing. Or for that matter even the intense knowing she felt when she peered into the veil that fell over the eyes of the ill—aye, for she often knew when they were destined to pass from this world to the next. But these were all things she kept to herself. Nay, she was not a witch, but neither did she deny the possibility that magic existed, for what else was faith but a form of magic? And yet to accept that fact, also filled her with a sense of gloom, for how could one accept the possibility of magic, and not accept the fact that she might, in truth, be cursed? It could be true that Stuart had died because of her... and it might also be true that Aidan would die as well. If so, it would make her task here go all the simpler, but she hoped it wasn’t so. And yet… that made no sense at all, for one way or another, she would be responsible for Aidan’s death. But somehow, it seemed far worse to consider that her betrayal would come only after he gave her his love.
Dinna worry about that, she reassured herself. Aidan dún Scoti would never give her his heart. She was simply a pawn in a game of politics, no more—a way to control her father and David, though the jest was on Aidan dún Scoti, for no one valued her, and in truth, they had already guaranteed her death should Aidan discover her ruse—that, or her son’s should she fail.
But she would not fail.
Up on the hill, they could hear the men playing at their games, though surprisingly, not a one showed their faces by the loch... save for young Keane, who spied on them now from some place up high on the bluff.
Glenna’s cousin Meara had spied him first—mayhap because she had been searching for him—and the two were making sheep’s eyes across the way. So long as it was just him, the women did not seem to mind and simply ignored the lad, continuing to prepare Lìli for the ceremony. Each of them pinned ribbons to her dress, a symbolic gesture to show they embraced her as the chieftain’s bride. But with every ribbon, her sense of guilt increased tenfold. And whenever she considered taking joy in their traditions, the sight of Aveline, with her pinched face, only served to remind her that none of this was real.
Aveline’s brows were set in thin lines of disapproval while she watched Meara preen naked in the pool. “Do ye not worry they will be tempted?” she ventured to ask.
Meara was the last to leave the water, while practically everyone else was already dressed. Aveline, on the other hand, was the only one who had refused to bathe, and her greasy hair lay heavily around her face, defying even the gentle breeze.
“Ach, but nay!” Glenna said. “Where there is a will there is a way for young folk. Worrying over it never made a wee bit o’ difference. Anyhoo, ’tis Meara’s right to choose. If Keane gets a babe of the lass, he will do what is right.”
“Those two have been flirting since the day they were born,” Cailin added, and rolled her eyes.
“But he is just a child himself,” Aveline argued. “’Tis not meet to allow the young to do as they please.”
“Keane?” Glenna shook her head. “Ach, nay. Keane is no’ so much a boy,” she disagreed. “Aidan himself led this clan when he was but a year younger than he.”
Lìli considered that. So Aidan must have been Sorcha’s age when his father died, which meant that he could be no more than six and twenty now, for Lìli had been nine when Padruig took his campaign into the Highlands, and then eleven when she’d learned about her curse. At the age of twenty-two, she felt as though she’d lived two lifetimes already.
Her gaze sought Sorcha. The girl was three and ten, she believed, so her father was dead the year before her birth... was she conceived before his death? Or was she another man's babe? The girl looked very little like her siblings.
A terrible idea needled its way into her brain, but she shoved it away, her thoughts returning to Aidan. For all his youth, he seemed so much older than his years, and she reasoned that it must be that cold, dark look in his eyes.
She was grateful to the womenfolk for taking her mind off the evening to come. The thought of it made something like doves take flight in her breast.
“Just the same,” Aveline persisted, toying with a greasy curl. “Temptation must be avoided as the flesh is weak!”
Cailin lifted a brow, giving Aveline a shrewd look. “Mayhap in the Lowlands or in England men and boys will dip their wicks where they should no', but no’ here. Anyhoo, I dinna see a hand fast ribbon about your wrist, and ye dinna complain much last night.”
Her meaning was not lost to Aveline—or to anyone—and Aveline’s cheeks flamed.
Lìli tried not to laugh at Cailin’s frank appraisal, but a tiny smile insisted at the corners of her lips, for it seemed quite likely that no one else had missed Aveline and Rogan’s mingling of limbs. Ach, she wished Aveline would find a way to enjoy herself as well, for she, too, was far younger than she appeared. It was only her righteous attitude that made her seem as though she were fifty or more. Not even Lìli’s mother, so long harried by her father, seemed quite so old.
Thankfully, Aveline hushed her mouth from that moment forward, watching with a reproving frown as the womenfolk worked. When Lìli’s dress was complete, Glenna left her to gather up a blanket she had brought from beneath her pile of clothing. She returned, unfolding it, flicking it out to remove the grass, and it was only then that Lìli realized what it was. She gasped with surprise, her heart tripping.
It was a new arisaid to replace her old one—the one Aidan claimed he had burned. But this one bore the colors of her new clan.
She felt instantly bewildered by the gift. Ambivalence wove its way through her heart, for it was both the best and the worst gift she had ever received.
She was playing a role, she reminded herself.
She did not deserve the cloak, but she loved it just the same.
Dinna allow yourself to love these folk, for you will only regret it in the end.
Still the gift touched her to the core of her soul. After she had taken Stuart’s name, she had commissioned her own plaid, embracing her new life with a new people. Unlike that one, this one was a gift of the heart from these people, and they were embracing her as their own—as unlikely as that possibility had once seemed.
Glenna smiled at her expression. “’Tis my thanks,” she said, “for saving my son.”
Choked with emotion, Lìli shook her head, disbelieving the generosity of the gift even as Glenna laid it out before her eyes. The intricate weave must have taken months to achieve. She reached out to touch it reverently.<
br />
Lìli’s voice caught. “I did nothing,” she protested. And it was true. She was certain the boy would have recovered on his own.
“Aye,” Glenna contended, “but ye did.” And then she disclosed with a wink, “I was making it for myself, but now ’tis yours.” And before Lìli could protest, she swung it about Lìli’s shoulders, and Lìli’s eyes filled with tears.
“Now ye will truly be our lady of Dubhtolargg!”
Aidan felt the tension mounting in his chest.
As the day wore on, the celebration moved closer to the tabled stone that would be their altar, and before the night was done, Lìli would lie in his arms.
His enemy in his bed.
He had no idea whether it was because his clanswomen seemed to embrace her so easily, but he dared to think of her without the stain of her father’s sins.
Even Lael seemed far less angry, and despite the fact that his eldest sister would not be so quick to embrace Lìli, she handled the arrangements for the feast without complaint, overseeing the number of sheep they would slaughter for the pits, and making certain they had more than enough uisge and mead.
Even more important than his sister’s cooperation, Aidan heard a note of hope amidst the anxious whispers of his clansmen. Mayhap they had gleaned it from their chieftain, for Aidan could not deny that a tiny thread of hope was weaving its way through his heart.
What if he was wrong?
What if once again, as his father had before him, he was leading his folk to a slaughter?
Keane was his age when he’d accepted the leadership if his clan, but with the sickness that haunted them now, and his brother’s immaturity, Aidan wasn’t quite as optimistic for their survival should he die.
Nay, but this time they would remain on guard.
And this time, there would be no feasting indoors at their tables. His men would not sit idly by draining their cups so the bastards could rise up and slit their throats to the accompaniment of the reed and lute. Aye, and this time their guests were far outnumbered, unless...
He climbed upon the tabled rock—the place along the hillside that afforded the clearest view of the entire vale—and peered out over the horizon, searching for the telltale gleam of silver along the bluff tops. His Scots brethren were far too much like the English now. While no true Highlander would don helms and hauberks, the Lowlanders and Reiver lords could scarce be distinguished from dirty Sassenachs. David himself was encased in silver when he rode. But if he ever hoped to quell these rebellions, he needed to shed himself of his English ways.
No matter, for even if the enemy appeared in the dark of night, and all that was visible was the whites of their eyes, Aidan had men stationed along the only path that led down into the vale. They would sound horns the instant they spied anyone’s approach. For the sake of his people, He had taken every precaution to reduce their risks.
Aye, though if this union be true, if everything was as David claimed, his marriage to Lìli could begin to set them truly at ease, for by it, they would form an alliance and truce. Although Lìleas’ lineage was far from the Ailpín line, their marriage should make it clear that Aidan had little design upon Scotia’s throne. His people only wished to be left in peace, to safeguard the stone for a time when a true king arose to unite these troubled nations.
As for the curse, he did not believe a word of it. If he died because of Lìleas MacLaren, it would be because she plunged a dagger between his shoulders whilst he slept—that and nothing more. But his trust would not be easily won.
Yet he was not made of stone.
As the sun began to set, anticipation settled like a swarm of bees in his belly.
Mo chreach! He was no beardless youth to be stricken with nerves before bedding a bonny lass, but he could not deny that he suffered an attack of nerves all the same. He steeled himself, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of his bride as she appeared over the rise of the hill…
For an instant, the gleam of silver tensed his shoulders... until he realized the twinkle arose from within the vale.
With nearly every clanswoman marching at her heels, Lìli followed Una’s bent form hobbling along the path. Aidan’s colors flowed from her shoulders, fluttering in the breeze. Her hair, unbound and left to fly at her back, glistened under the last rays of golden sun. A circlet of silver—his mother's, he realized, even at this distance—sat atop her shiny dark head.
The sight stole his breath away.
Like the warrior queens of their distant past, she marched with shoulders straight and proud, advancing through the twilight.
Alas, but the battleground was his heart.
By the sins of sluag! The swiftness with which she had won his people over was a testament to how eager his clan was for peace.
God save them all if he was wrong.
There was no mistaking Aidan’s silhouette standing upon a bluff.
His features were obscured by the sun in Lìli’s eyes, but she knew he had spied her by the way he shifted his stance, and his hands flew to his hips.
The man would give no quarter if he discovered her deception, and tonight her path would be writ in stone.
If she weren’t such a charlatan and her husband didn’t seem to loathe her, she might have felt joyful beyond anything she had ever experienced in her life, for as she rounded the hilltop, surrounded by the chieftain’s womenfolk, she felt like a true Pecht queen, beloved by her kin. The sun lowered as they marched, for Una had told her that they would be wed in the hour between times, blessed by this world and the next. By now, the women who had not joined them at the loch, and the children all gathered up on the hillside, waiting with breaths paused as the procession passed.
As they neared the table stone where Aidan stood, the men all parted for them to pass, and those who did not comply quickly enough received a whack on the shins with Una’s staff. That bejeweled stick seemed to reach the length between her and whomever she aimed it at and land a bone-jarring smack that sent more than a few men hopping back in pain.
Una had come to retrieve them from the loch, her face painted fully in blue and her one good eye smeared with black to match the dark patch she wore over her left eye. She looked like a demon with that face and her curly white hair, but Lìli sensed an ally in her, much the same as she did with Sorcha and Glenna.
Aidan’s youngest sister walked beside her though Cailin had disappeared into the throng... probably not quite prepared to stand at Lìli’s side and face her sister Lael, for Lael’s absence had been duly noted.
As Lìli neared the place where Aidan stood, her knees faltered. He loomed before her, larger than life, dressed in a fine blue tunic to match her blue gown. Wearing a breacan to match her arisaid, and leather boots that were laced up his bare legs, he stood fully armed, as though he met his foe and not his bride. Thankfully, he had eschewed the blue paint today, though the look upon his face, now that she could see it, was not tender at all, nor did his eyes hold any pride. He looked like a pagan god, and Lìli resisted the urge to cross herself, despite that she was not the most pious soul.
Chapter Sixteen
“Great gods who create and bring forth life, we ask your blessings on this day of gathering!”
The clanswomen all dispersed into the crowd at the beginning of Una’s prayer, and before Lìli could follow anyone, Una took her by the wrist—her bony fingers strong and insistent—and pulled her along behind her.
Climbing adeptly and more agilely than her old limbs should allow, the old woman led the way up the stone steps to where Aidan stood waiting for them. As they passed, Una bade the priest to follow with a crooked finger, and the man recoiled. Rogan pushed him into the procession.
Taken aback by the piercing look Rogan gave her, Lìli hesitated only an instant until Una turned to fix her with a one-eyed glare.
“Dinna tarry!” she scolded them both. But thankfully she did not wield her staff this time, and it was a good thing, for Lìli was beginning to live in fear of
it. So far, she and Aidan seemed to be the only ones the old woman didn’t seem inclined to rebuke whenever it pleased her.
The sun was setting now, and a soft golden light fell across the vale, turning the grass a golden hue. A cool breeze lifted the cloak about Lìli’s shoulders, but her shivers were far more likely those of trepidation.
Once they had reached the stone dais, and before Lìli had a chance to wonder what she should do next—for this was unlike any wedding celebration she had ever attended, and far different from her first—Una positioned her next to Aidan and poked the priest in the back with the end of her staff until he was herded directly to the spot she wished him to stand. The man gave a startled little whimper with every stab.
A sea of faces stared up at Lìli, expressions ranging from pleasant to curious to disapproving... and then there was Rogan. His blue eyes offered an unmistakable warning…
Lìli turned away, grateful at least for the simple fact that soon he would leave Dubhtolargg, and then if she must sell her soul to the devil, at least she would do it without Rogan’s rancor and evil black eyes. And if God had any mercy at all, once he returned to Keppenach, he would simply forget her son was in his care, and in the meantime Lìli would find a way to do her worst—for the sake of her son.
Finally, once the four of them stood together, after the entire crowd fell silent and Aidan stood beside her, the priest cleared his throat to speak the words.
Like an asp, without warning, Una’s staff snaked out at once, thumping the man hard upon the pate of his head, hitting her mark despite the fact that she was a good two feet shorter than the prelate. “I will apprise you when ’tis your turn,” she reprimanded.
Rubbing the pate of his head, the priest frowned and stepped away, and Lìli tried not to make a face—not even to smile—for fear that Una’s staff might next call her name.
Highland Fire (Guardians of the Stone) Page 15
