The Highlander Who Loved Me

by Adrienne Basso

  Lileas wrinkled her nose. Though most likely not understanding her uncle’s explanation, she did grasp that there would be no babe to view.

  “I want to see the baby,” Lileas declared. “And I want to hold him, too.”

  “Yer too young to be holding a babe,” Malcolm said cheerfully.

  “Papa, please,” Lileas entreated, her lower lip trembling.

  “Is that a snowflake I see?” James asked loudly, holding out his hand as though he were trying to catch it.

  “Snow?” Lileas looked skyward. “I like snow.”

  James pulled Lileas closer and lifted her in his arms. “Then we must watch to see if any more of it falls.”

  James’s ploy worked—Lileas was quickly distracted by the promise of snow. Davina never would have guessed that he could have so much patience. ’Twas good to see him with the lass; she softened his harder edges and had the ability to make him smile.

  Lit candles held high, they made their way slowly toward the chapel. It was much too small to hold all those who wished to hear the service, so Father Dominic said the Mass on the front steps at a makeshift altar. There was a cold wind blowing, but everyone was pressed together so tightly, they were warmed by the combined body heat.

  Davina stood with the rest of the family at the front, her mouth moving silently in prayer, the familiar words of the Mass a comfort. Lileas fell asleep before the final blessing, though she muttered again about wanting to hold the babe before her father carried her off to bed. Prince followed loyally behind the pair and Davina knew having the hound in her bed would keep the lass contented.

  Though the castle went to sleep late that night, all awoke with the dawn. There was an air of excitement as everyone gathered to break their fast and Davina soon realized why—they would spend the entire day in celebration!

  The storytelling began before the last of the mince pies were eaten. Men, women, and even a lad or two took turns sitting in the large chair beside a roaring fire, spinning a tale. There were interruptions, along with good-natured corrections and embellishments, which produced a great deal of laughter.

  The ale and wine flowed freely and the singing began after the last of the stories were told. Dark clouds were brewing outside and the ominous rumbling of thunder predicted the coming of rain, not snow, though if the temperature dipped lower, it would snow. Yet inside, the fire and fellowship kept everyone warm.

  Lileas cuddled in Davina’s lap. Davina bounced the little girl in time to the music, feeling breathless after but a few songs, but was having too much fun to care. The rest of the family had disappeared; Davina assumed they were gathering the small gifts to be handed out once the singing ended.

  “Come along, sweetheart. Yer grandfather has brought in the piggies.” Malcolm scooped his daughter off Davina’s lap, then turned and smiled pleasantly at her. “Will ye help us distribute them?”

  “Pigs? Ye give swine as gifts?” Davina asked in astonishment.

  Malcolm burst out laughing. Embarrassed, Davina followed him to the table where the gifts were assembled. There were bolts of wool, wheels of cheese, casks of ale, and rows of small clay pots with slits on the tops.

  “These are the piggies,” Malcolm explained, pointing to the clay pots.

  Curious, Davina watched as the families lined up to receive their gifts. Wives were given the wool and cheese, husbands the ale, and the youngest child a clay pot. There were giggles of excitement as the families moved to find a private place in the great hall to gather around their pots.

  Davina’s brow rose in astonishment as she saw pot after pot being smashed to reveal the coins inside.

  “I can tell by yer expression that the Armstrongs dinnae partake of this particular Christmas tradition,” Aileen remarked.

  “Nay. Christmas is a quarter day, so my uncle collects the rents,” Davina replied, hardly believing how vastly different the celebrations were from those of her own family.

  For the Armstrongs, Christmas was a solemn occasion. They did not indulge in any feasting, singing, or dancing until Hogmanay, the last day of the year. That celebration lasted through the night until the next morning, ending with the traditional saining, which offered a protective blessing for the clan and livestock.

  Davina had noticed that a substantial pile of juniper branches had been put aside, so she knew the McKennas also held with this custom. Her mind spun at the amount of planning involved and the amount of food and drink that must be prepared to ensure there was enough for all to partake for these many days of feasts.

  As if she had conjured it by merely thinking about it, platters piled high with roasted venison, goose, several kinds of fish, onions, peas, beans, and more mince pies were brought from the kitchen, along with jugs of spiced and sweetened wine, ale, and whiskey.

  Though it had not been long since breaking the morning fast, the assembled group ate with gusto. Following the feasting, the musicians started to play and the dancing began.

  “They are a lively group, milady,” Colleen commented as she sat beside her mistress. “They work hard, yet I’ve never known a clan that takes to a celebration so fondly.”

  “’Tis impossible not to feel their joy of life,” Davina agreed, glad that she had been able to experience it for herself.

  A tall, broad-shouldered man with streaks of gray at his temples approached and executed a clumsy bow. “Would ye do me the great honor of dancing with me?”

  For an instant Davina was startled by the request until she realized the man was speaking to her companion. She turned just in time to see the widow blush. Colleen hesitated, but only for a moment. Then she stood and took hold of the man’s hand, her blush deepening as he led her away.

  Still trying to digest what had just happened, Davina jumped when Malcolm approached her from the side. “Shall we join in?” he asked with a gallant bow.

  But before she could take his offered hand, James appeared. “I was the victor in our match on the practice field. Davina is promised to me.”

  Malcolm’s mouth tightened into an even line of disagreement. “The match was a draw.”

  “I won,” James insisted.

  “A draw,” Malcolm repeated.

  Och, not this again!

  James’s eyes were stark. Hopeful? Or was this merely another opportunity for him to best his brother? Davina was uncertain.

  Thankfully, she was rescued from the awkward circumstance by Lady Aileen. “Come and dance with me, James. Yer father claims he’s too tired,” Aileen said. “It must be all the rich food he’s eaten.”

  James had no choice but to agree, though his scowl let them all know that he was not pleased. Davina and Malcolm joined a circle of dancers, moving gracefully to the lively, bouncing reel. Out of the corner of her eye, Davina could see James and his mother in another group of dancers, but the need to concentrate on her steps made her turn away.

  Malcolm led her to the outer circle for the final part of the dance. Just before the music stopped, he caught her hand and pulled her toward one of the long tapestry panels that hung from the rafters.

  Too breathless to speak, Davina followed, though she squeaked with protest when he thrust the tapestry hanging aside and pulled her behind it. The small alcove was barely wide enough for them to stand, which forced them very close to each other.

  Moonlight poured in through the long, narrow window at the top, casting a romantic glow around them. It was the perfect spot for a lovers’ tryst. Or a marriage proposal.

  Davina’s heart sank with dread. She opened her mouth to object, but Lileas suddenly appeared. She waved at Davina, giggled loudly, handed her father a bouquet, then ran out.

  “I wanted a bit of privacy to give ye a small holiday token,” Malcolm said, extending his arm. “These are fer ye.”

  Davina’s wariness vanished as she beheld the gift. A dozen perfectly formed white flowers with silvery green foliage were tied with a wide satin ribbon. The flowers resembled a teardrop with the leaves wrapping around each
other at the base of the stems.

  “Fresh flowers in winter. I’m nearly speechless.”

  “Do ye like them?”

  “Aye, very much. They’re so delicate, so beautiful.”

  “They are called snowdrops. Rare, but not impossible to find, if ye know the right places to search. Thankfully, there has been just enough sunshine these past few days to bring them to life.”

  Davina bowed her head to sniff the blooms. They had a faint, sweet smell that bespoke of the promise of spring. More pleased than she could say, Davina lifted her chin. Her words of thanks died on her lips as she saw the smoldering gaze in Malcolm’s eyes.

  She could feel her heartbeat echoing in her ears. Saints preserve me, what have I done now?

  “Goodness, I must get my lovely flowers in a vase of water,” Davina said hastily. “And I should like to give ye my gift. ’Tis but a small token of embroidery that I hope ye—”

  “Davina! Ye know what I want to say.” He lifted her hand to his lips, his expression turning serious. “Will ye do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

  “Oh, my, there’s no need fer ye to feel obligated to ask! I dinnae believe that yer father was truly serious when he suggested that I marry into the clan,” she said, trying to pull her hand away.

  “The McKenna never says anything unless he means it.” Still holding her hand, Malcolm took a half step closer, all that he could manage in such a tight space. “’Tis the best option fer ye and good for clan McKenna. But there’s more. Surely, ye realize that I’ve a genuine affection fer ye, that can easily lead to something more.”

  Davina raked her gaze over him, startled to realize that if her heart was free, she might have considered the match. Her fear of men—well, certain men—had diminished that much.

  Whether he meant to or not, Malcolm had helped her release some of her fears, had helped her venture forth from her self-induced exile. For that, she would always be grateful.

  “I wouldn’t be a very good wife,” she answered honestly.

  “Lileas’s mother was a proper wife, a simple, uncomplicated lass. After we married, she decided her only purpose in life was to please me. She consulted me on nearly everything she did and never took any action without first receiving my permission. If I was not here, she reluctantly made her own choices based on what she thought I would do.”

  “She sounds like a paragon of wifely virtue.”

  “Some might say that.” His eyes flashed with regret. “I treated her with honor and respect and as much patience as I could manage. But the sad truth was that she was more child than wife. Too needy, far too eager to please, lacking an original thought or opinion of her own.”

  Davina finally succeeded in freeing her hand. She hastily crossed herself. “What a dreadful thing to say about the dead.”

  He shoved a hand through his hair, looking sheepish. “I mean no disrespect. I merely wanted to be truthful with ye.”

  “Then I shall return the favor. I would make ye a terrible wife, Malcolm. Truly.”

  “I want a wife who will challenge me with her own ideas, her own opinions. Ye could be that woman,” he coaxed.

  “Nay.”

  “Lileas adores ye. She told me how she fell when ye were gathering Christmas greenery. She said that ye saved her.”

  “Hardly.” Davina blushed. “James was the one who made sure we were both safe. But I am glad that Lileas told ye what happened. She knew that she was wrong to run off and feared the repercussions if ye were told of her bad behavior.”

  “Well, I admit that I did yell. Rather loudly, according to Lileas.” Malcolm shook his head. “’Tis clear that ye are exactly what my motherless daughter needs.”

  Davina felt a tug at her heart at the mention of the child. Though the little lass was spoiled and willful, Davina had developed a genuine affection for her. Gaining a husband and a child to mother and love—the combination held strong appeal. But it was the wrong man.

  “Shame on ye, Malcolm McKenna, dangling yer daughter as bait to entice me,” Davina said.

  “Most women would hardly find Lileas a benefit to marrying me.” He smiled, his teeth white and even in the scant bit of moonlight. “’Tis but another reason why I know you are the right woman.”

  “I’m honored. Truly. But I must decline.”

  “Why?”

  “James.”

  She had whispered his name under her breath, but Malcolm heard. His jaw tightened. “Ye’ve already accepted his proposal? He’s said several times he has no interest in marrying ye.”

  “There’s been no proposal,” Davina clarified, reminding herself that Malcolm was unaware of the true nature of her past relationship with James.

  “My brother has said that he willnae court ye, yet every time I’m near ye, he interferes. Tell me true, do ye favor him over me?”

  “James and I share a past.” She swallowed. “A romantic past.”

  Malcolm’s shoulders stiffened. “Has it been rekindled?”

  “Not exactly. But it stands firmly in the way of a future fer the two of us.”

  A shadow touched Malcolm’s face. “My brother is more times a fool if he doesn’t realize what a treasure he has within his grasp.”

  “We are a pair of fools, yer brother and I,” she said quietly, thankful that Malcolm did not press the matter further.

  Malcolm stared at the wall for a long moment. “I would speak with James on yer behalf, but I fear he willnae listen to me. So, instead I will tell ye, Davina. Dinnae be so quick to abandon something so hard to capture and hold.”

  “It has already been lost,” she said, emotion catching in her throat.

  “If that were true, then ye would have accepted my proposal.” Malcolm turned and peered around the side of the tapestry. “The music is about to start again. Shall we join in on the next dance?”

  “I’d like a moment to compose myself,” she replied.

  He nodded. Relief surged through Davina when he left, followed by a stab of guilt. She held her lovely flowers close to her heart, wondering how her life had gotten so complicated. Wondered, too, how she could set it to rights.

  Lost in thought, she was startled by the sound of approaching feet. Fearing that Malcolm had returned, Davina turned, and instead found herself looking into Colleen’s disapproving face.

  “I assume from the scowl on Sir Malcolm’s brow that he proposed and ye rejected him,” the widow said.

  “I did.” Davina sighed. “Ye of all people should know the reason why.”

  “I know that ye came here to reclaim the life ye lost and ye’ve done well so far.” The widow pointed a finger at her. “But ye have yet to settle the past with Sir James.”

  Davina lowered her head. “I know.”

  She had come to McKenna Castle in desperate need of finding an inner strength and somehow, miraculously she had found it. But there was something else she needed and James truly was the only one who could give it to her.

  She needed to know, with certainty, that she could be intimate with a man.

  Davina scurried down the stairs, one hand skimming the wall for balance, the other trembling so violently that the candle she held cast an eerie, jumping shadow along the corridor.

  Saints preserve us, what I am doing?

  She had deliberately waited until it was very late and the castle was asleep. Yet as she crept down the hall, the sensible side of her wanted to run back to her own chamber, bar the door, and hide in the bed, with the covers drawn over her head.

  Davina’s footsteps slowed, but she did not stop, nor turn around. Her decision to be intimate with James seemed such an inspired idea, but the execution of such a plan was proving to be a test of her nerve and determination.

  She tugged at the high neckline of her nightgown, feeling suffocated. This might very well be the most witless thing she had ever tried to do, but her desperation had grown to the point where action must be taken.

  When she reached his chamber door, her body
froze. The candle shook crazily as Davina stood there, searching for her courage.

  Her chest felt so tight she was finding it difficult to breathe. Twice she nearly turned away, but then reached deep inside herself, gathered her courage, and flung open the door.

  “James, I must speak with ye.”

  Silence.

  “James?”

  Eyes pinned to the velvet hangings surrounding the bed, Davina moved forward. Was it possible that he hadn’t heard her enter? It seemed unlikely that he could sleep so soundly, but she did notice he had drunk more than his share of ale and whiskey during the long day of holiday celebration.

  Walking softly on the balls of her feet, she made her way to the bed, listening for signs of life, yet there were no heavy breaths, no snores or grunts. Her trembling fingers slid down the length of soft bed curtains. Bowing her head, she snapped back the rich fabric.

  Empty.

  A nervous giggle escaped, followed by a longer laugh. All that irrational fear was for naught—James wasn’t even in the room. She slumped against the wall, then thumped her head back against it several times in frustration.

  Was it a sign? A reprieve from her mad plan? Where could he be at this hour of the night? Sharing a bed with some willing lass? The possibility felt like a dirk straight through her heart. Her resolve wavered. Perhaps ’twas time to rethink her plan. If she slipped out of the chamber now, unseen, she could return to her room unscathed.

  Yet nothing would be resolved.

  She straightened her shoulders. She had come too far to retreat now. Heart pounding, Davina moved closer to the bed to wait for him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tired and out of sorts, James entered his bedchamber, surprised to find it bathed in the soft glow of dim candlelight. ’Twas odd that a servant would waste precious candles when no one occupied the chamber; then again, it seemed as though nearly everything since he returned home was odd.

  Or mayhap young Colin was responsible? That seemed a more likely explanation, given the lad’s lack of training, but James was in no mood to rouse the lad from sleep and scold him. That lecture could wait until morning.