Rona kept her expression well-schooled when Mórag appeared out of a dark room ahead. She had always been a slight woman, but her proud disposition once made her seem taller. Now it was clear that illness and the loss of so many had taken its toll. While still beautiful, her blonde locks were prematurely white and her fragile bones near skeletal on her sunken frame.
“Mistress Mórag, ‘tis so nice to see ye again.” Rona curtsied. “Thank ye for yer hospitality and for yer concoction. It verra much helped.”
Upon the death of Laird Keenan MacLauchlin’s mother, his aunt Mórag rose in station and became the castle’s matriarch. Until such time, of course, that Colmac married or Keenan returned and took a wife.
“Welcome, Rona.” Mórag’s steady, offsetting gaze remained on her. “My son is glad to see ye again.”
Not her, then? Just Colmac? Mórag had always been different. Haughty because she was the former chieftain’s sister but also a touch withdrawn. Now she just seemed haunted. Not entirely present. As if she still stood at death’s door, her last breath but a moment away.
“I am glad to see Colmac as well.” Rona lowered her head in respect. “And so verra sorry for the loss of yer good husband and my dear friend and betrothed, Bróccín.”
“Aye,” Mórag whispered, her eyes suddenly vacant where moments ago they were lit with wisdom. “He misses ye, lass.” Her gaze drifted. “They missed ye something fierce.” She blinked several times then gestured down the hall. “Go, be amongst my people. For the Hogmanay comes soon and with it, a final farewell.”
Then, just like that, she vanished back into her chamber.
Rona, Brighid, and Aaron glanced at each other and frowned before Aaron ushered them along.
“What did she mean by that?” she whispered to Brighid. They started down a wide stone spiral staircase rimmed on one side with arrow slit windows. “Did it not sound as if she means to harm herself?”
“It didnae sound promising.” Her aunt cast a look over her shoulder at Aaron. “What think ye? Should we tell the laird?”
Rona sighed and shook her head rather than correct her aunt about Colmac’s status yet again.
“I think we should mind our own business for now,” Aaron replied. “Fear naught. Colmac keeps a close eye on his ma.”
“Does he then?” Rona asked.
“Aye.” Aaron nodded, clearly impressed. “He’s a good lad seeing not just to his ma’s needs but the clan’s. Trying to return things to normal when ‘tis clear he’s suffered as much as the lot of ‘em.”
He truly had. She’d seen it on his face when they spoke earlier. She got the feeling he rarely confided in anyone, so she was glad he felt comfortable enough to share what he had been through. The awful road he’d been down since the illness. She had wanted to comfort him. Wrap her arms around him. But she saw the hesitation in his eyes. His need to keep his distance even as he sought the friendship that was once theirs.
Surely, only ever friendship, right? He had never expressed any deeper feelings.
Except, that is, for what she had glimpsed that one time years ago.
Yet based on his behavior afterward, she assumed it must have been her youthful and very hopeful heart at work. The same heart that sped up now at the thought it might not have been her imagination that night.
Had he truly gazed at her as she swore he had? Dare she hope?
Naturally, guilt swiftly followed. How could she entertain such thoughts while home to say goodbye to her beloved? To the man, she had intended to marry? He’d been gone a year now but still.
“Aye, Colmac's good to his ma and is a true hero,” Brighid gushed, her eyes wide with excitement. She issued a mock sword thrust. “Ye should have seen the way he cut down the man who pulled ye off yer horse, Rona. ‘Twas a mighty sight!” She glanced at Aaron. “Tell her then. Tell her how the Devil himself possessed Colmac when our fair lass was in trouble!”
“Aye, the berserker spirit possessed him good and true.” Aaron nodded. “’Tis rare to see a lad grow so passionate in battle.”
“’Twas ragin’ hatred mixed with stark fear,” Brighid added her eyes wider still as she linked arms with Rona.
“Why would he fear?” She frowned. “He’s a warrior, is he not?”
“Fear for ye, I’d imagine,” Brighid said.
“Aye,” Aaron agreed. “Fear that he was going to lose ye, lass.”
She nodded, understanding that. “’Tis understandable as he’s lost many.”
“Aye, but not ye, lass.” Aaron's tone grew somber. “Something tells me ye would have been an especially hard loss for him indeed.”
“Aye.” Brighid winked at her, clearly reverting back to their earlier conversation. “As I said, ‘twas a different kind of love.”
But how could that be? It was not. Simple as that. They were mistaken. The two of them were obviously caught up in their own romantic inclinations toward one another, therefore, seeing things that were not there.
She offered no response as they made their way into the great hall. Much like the hallway upstairs, it spoke to the current state of the clan. Most clans, actually. Except for her MacLomains. They always sustained even during the toughest of times. Some said magic must surely be afoot, but she’d never seen such evidence. They were just a strong unit well-fortified and soldiered.
The poor MacLauchlin’s, however, were never so favored by Fate, seen clearly in the faded nautical tapestries and scarce furnishings. Yet still, the people were kind and the hall decorated for the holiday with spruce and worn ribbons. A fire crackled invitingly on a hearth she had sat in front of many times while laughing and chatting with Colmac and Bróccín.
She greeted the Sinclairs and the men who had traveled with her, making sure all was well then joined the MacLauchlins. Her breath caught at the sight of Colmac in his plaid. He truly was a handsome man, towering over her in a way that made her feel safe and protected. His gaze lingered on her, and her heart pounded. While Bróccín had always looked at her with adoration, Colmac’s gaze had eventually grown cold and turned from her.
Not right now, though.
Not nearly.
Rather she spied masculine interest that caught her off guard.
Or at least she thought she did before it was gone.
She must be seeing things. Blasted all, she had let her kin get inside her head. Or so she surmised until Colmac stepped close and murmured in her ear.
Chapter Four
“We will see where things lead, lass.”
Two things occurred to Colmac while murmuring in Rona’s ear. His words sounded misleading, and his proximity was far too close. His breath fanned her delicate neck, and he could smell her sweet scent. Feel the heat of her body. Her green, woolen dress might be simple, but she looked stunning. Tempting. Like in her youth, the firelight ignited both her silky hair and thickly lashed eyes.
When he’d imagined Rona walking into the MacLauchlin great hall once again, she had stepped into his brother’s arms. Now no embrace awaited her. It saddened him to know his brother was lost to her. That the two of them shared this reunion under such circumstances.
Yet he was conflicted.
Though sad for Rona and his brother, he felt more alive than he had in a very long time. How many times had he glanced at the door, hoping she would walk through it? How often had he envisioned her sitting beside him in front of this very hearth catching up on old times? Laughing like they once did?
Mayhap even rediscovering the love lost to them?
Rona stilled, and her startled eyes met his as she responded to what he had murmured in her ear. “Where things lead?”
Did he imagine a flicker of hope in her gaze? A longing to match his?
“After we eat if ye like.” Though loathe to step away from her, he pulled out her chair at the head table then gestured at a door that led to a small hallway. “I will take ye to visit Bróccín’s grave so ye can pay yer respects and then we shall see if he left something in the h
ideaway.”
“Of course that is what ye meant,” she murmured while she sat. “Aye, I would like that verra much.”
He was about to pull out a chair for Brighid as well, but Aaron beat him to it. So Colmac sat at the head of the table with Rona to his right and set to eating. They enjoyed oatcakes for now, but the evening’s fare would be more substantial. Roasted boar, vegetable stew, biscuit bread, and haggis. Not only in honor of the holiday but because of Rona's arrival. As it were, she should have married his kin, strengthening the alliance between their clans.
While the MacLomains would stand by their side regardless, Rona and Bróccín’s nuptials would have benefitted the MacLauchlins. She came with a substantial dowry, and the good Lord knew they could use it.
“Rona, lass, ‘tis bloody good to see ye!”
“Stuart!” Rona stood and embraced his first-in-command and closest friend when he joined them. “I thought ye must be off fighting still!”
“Nay, more and more return every day.” Stuart assisted Rona in sitting again then sat across from her, admiring her as readily as every other lad in the hall. “Ye are as bonnie as ever, lass. Truly.” He nodded, solemn. “I am sorry for the loss of yer betrothed. He was a good man.”
“Aye,” she agreed. “Thank ye.”
Done with formalities and the sort who preferred to leave the past in the past, Stuart tied back his blonde locks and started on his oatcakes. “’Twas quite the group that set upon ye out in the woodland, Rona. Are ye well?”
“I am.” She nibbled on her food. “Ye were there then?”
“Aye.” He glanced from Colmac to Rona. “But I never got a chance at yer attacker thanks to my good friend here.”
“I heard ye were quite valiant on my behalf, Colmac.” She nodded once. “So I must thank ye once again.”
Valiant was not quite the word he would use. More like savage and ruthless. But he nodded graciously in return and again spoke words that could be misinterpreted. “I would lay down my life for ye, lass.”
Not surprisingly, chatter at the table quieted. Ears perked in their direction. Meanwhile, Rona took a sip or two of whisky and blushed prettily.
“As would we all,” Stuart added, coming to his rescue. It just so happened, he was the only one who knew Colmac’s true feelings. His friend looked at Rona and moved the conversation along. “Ye’ve been with the Sinclairs a long time, aye? Nigh on four winters now?”
“Aye, as ye know I’m of Sinclair blood too so ‘twas only supposed to be a summer or two whilst Bróccín battled,” she said. “Then he visited betwixt the battling, so I stayed on. The countryside was far too perilous for traveling at the time anyway. When he...” She swallowed hard. “When he passed on I wanted to come back but ‘twas still so dangerous...”
Her words might have trailed off, but he knew what she would have said. She had not been ready to face burying Bróccín alongside so many others. Saying goodbye to those she had known well. He did not blame her, either. It had been a truly difficult time.
“Aye, lass, the country’s not been well,” Stuart agreed, clearly trying to alleviate any guilt she might feel. “The Sinclairs are as mighty as the MacLomains so ‘tis good ye remained there.” His brows shot up. “Now that ye’re here, though, will ye be staying on with us for Hogmanay? ‘Twould be so nice to hear yer laughter in this hall again.”
“I...uh...” She glanced at Colmac, both hope and resolve in her eyes. “Though ‘twas my fondest wish to be amongst my clan again for the holiday, I see now ‘twould be unwise to push on.” She glanced at the table where the Sinclairs and her men sat. “My men dinnae deserve to face another battle so soon but deserve a good rest.”
Colmac glanced at the Sinclairs who eyed a few MacLauchlin lasses and agreed that at least some should stay. Mayhap more alliances were on the horizon. Unfortunately, he had little to offer in the way of their dowries, but one never knew what could be worked out.
Yet he did not need to be here to see such relationships take root.
“There is only a short distance where trouble might be afoot betwixt here and the loch,” Colmac said. “Once across the water and on MacLomain land ‘tis much safer.”
“Aye,” Stuart agreed, knowing full well where Colmac's mind was. What he intended to do. “But based on the sky ye’ve only a small window of opportunity betwixt storms. Ye’d need to leave on the morrow at the latest which would put ye at MacLomain Castle just in time for Hogmanay.”
“Aye.” He nodded. “I will get Rona there safely.”
“Och, I couldnae ask such of ye,” she said to Colmac. “Do ye not wish to remain with yer clan for the festivities? And surely, ye dinnae want to leave yer good ma behind?” She shook her head. “Because I cannae see her traveling well.”
Nor would she yet he found himself eager to give Rona her heart’s desire for the holiday. To enable her to be with her kin once again and say goodbye to Bróccín as she’d intended. Help her find closure.
“I have warriors enough to watch over things in my absence,” he said. “And a clan that would prefer to see ye amongst yer kin again if that is yer desire. I will speak with ma, though I cannae see her objecting. She doesnae leave her chambers to join the festivities as is.” His eyes lingered on hers. “We will get ye home for the holiday, aye?”
Only intending to show friendly support, he rested his hand over hers, but the feel of her soft skin caught him unaware and sharp lust coursed through him. He pulled his hand away abruptly, not missing the pink staining her cheeks. Had she felt it too? He knew naught her level of experience with men but assumed her virginal. His brother would have waited until they were married.
The conversation resumed, and everyone spoke of idle things. Happenings at Sinclair Castle, things going on here and what they knew of recent events at MacLomain Castle.
“I heard rumor Tiernan is chieftain now,” Rona said. “That Laird Adlin wished his son to take the reins so he could enjoy his later years with Mistress Mildred.”
“Aye, ‘tis true,” Stuart confirmed. “As far as we know, it has been a good transition, and Tiernan is leading well. He and his brethren stop in on occasion.”
“’Tis good to hear.” Rona nodded. “What of the Hamiltons and MacLeods?”
“We see them occasionally too,” he replied. “All have come at least once to pay their respects for our loss even though they suffered their own.” He shook his head. “’Twas a bad illness indeed.”
“’Twas,” she agreed before they talked of other things.
After they finished eating and everyone enjoyed one another’s company a while longer, Colmac looked to Rona. “Are ye ready then, lass?”
He could tell by the sadness that flashed in her eyes she remained unsure but resolve notched her chin and she nodded. “Aye, ‘tis well past time.”
“Do ye want me to come with ye, lassie?” Brighid looked at Rona with concern. “I surely will.” She glanced at Aaron. “Both yer uncle and I will.”
“Aye,” Aaron said, equally concerned.
“’Tis sweet of ye both but nay.” She glanced from Colmac to them. “’Tis best I say goodbye to him alongside his brother.”
“All right, then, dearest.” Brighid regarded Colmac while he helped Rona into a fur cloak. “Keep a close eye on her, aye? She’s been through a lot as ye well know and—”
“Everyone’s been through a lot.” Rona kissed her aunt on the cheek. “Now enjoy yer time in front of a warm fire.” She grinned between Brighid and Aaron. “With good company.”
Rona surprised Colmac and took his hand, her chin once again notched, her determination evident. “I am ready.”
He understood she took his hand to ground herself. This was one of the hardest things she’d ever done, and he was glad he was here for her. He grabbed a fur cloak, a torch from a wall bracket and led her down the narrow hallway that wound its way to the backside of the castle.
“It seems like yesterday the three of us were running down th
is verra hall,” she said softly. “Playing and laughing without a care in the world.”
He managed a small smile, remembering well. “We had many good times.”
“The best,” she whispered.
She remained silent until they reached the door leading outside. Before opening it, he put the torch in a bracket, shouldered into his fur cloak then made sure hers was securely tucked around her. All the while, her eyes remained misty, and she pressed her lips together tightly. Something she did as a young lass when rallying herself to face difficulty.
“The wind is biting today,” he murmured, trying his best to ignore her proximity. He wanted to pull her into his arms and tell her everything would be all right. That it was hard at first, but in time, it would become easier.
“’Tis always biting is it not?” she whispered, her gaze on his face. But was she really seeing him? He got the sense she might be speaking of something else.
“Are ye well, lass?” Unable to do anything else, he cupped her cheek. “Ye dinnae seem yerself.”
“Because I am not,” she whispered, leaning into his touch, lost for a fleeting moment before she pulled back abruptly and faced the door with her head held high. “Let us do this then.”
He nodded and opened the door to the sunlit woodland beyond. The cold air smelled of spruce and snow covered evergreens blew in the wind, their needles brushing one another high above. Yet all he could see and hear were memories. How many times had they raced after each other out this door into white drifts? How often had they fallen into the snow laughing before patting it into icy balls they lobbed at each other?
“Watch yer step, Rona.” He escorted her out, his words foggy puffs in the chilly air. “’Tis slick.”
“Dinnae worry about me.” She looked up at the mighty pine she had depicted in her weaving then narrowed in on the stone cross beneath it. “Och, that’s his, aye?”
“Aye, lass.” He took her hand and led her to it.
“I am so sorry.” She shook her head. “I had no idea when I wove the tapestry he would be buried beneath the tree...”
Highland Yule: A MacLomain and MacLauchlin Hogmanay Tale Page 3
