Highland Moon Box Set (BBW Scottish Werewolf / Shifter Romance)

by Mac Flynn

  Tristan swept his eyes over our company and the servants who stood at the entrance to the kitchen. He sighed and bowed his head. "You speak some wisdom, my laird. I feel I must apologize for ruining supper with such a show, but I was eager to win your trust and your alliances."

  "We are your vassals, my laird," MacNaughton reminded him.

  Tristan bowed his head to the laird. "You are, but an oath of loyalty several generations old may be worn away by years. Enough, though, we shall have no more words spoken in so serious a manner. Let us return to our seats and feast well on the banquet provided by my servants." He glanced at Aili. "Bring in your wonderful pies, Aili! I long to taste their nectar!"

  She smiled and curtsied to him. "As you wish, my laird."

  Aili hurried the servants into the kitchen and we resumed our places at the table. The conversations resumed, but the words were emptier. I felt the strain as everyone was forced to avoid the topic that remained on their minds, that of my laird's promise of war. More than once I caught MacNaughton staring at me with knitted brows, and Seumas did the same but with a smile on his face.

  I also noticed a change in the servants. They skirted away from me, and hurried threw filling my goblet after I had drained the contents. I smiled at them, but they averted their eyes and stepped back.

  Tristan leaned over to me and laid his hand on mine which lay atop the table. "Heed it no mind, my love," he whispered.

  I closed my eyes and nodded, but I felt as an outcast. I belonged in no world, or between them. The life of a servant lay behind me, but the life of a lady still lay far in front of me.

  My laird pursed his lips and stood. The stifling conversations ended and everyone looked to him.

  "The hour is late, and there is a heavy burden to perform on the morrow," he told his guests. "I suggest we turn in for the night."

  "A good suggestion, as always, my laird," Graham patronized him.

  Duncan walked up and set his hand on Tristan's shoulder. "Getting older, eh?" he teased my laird.

  Tristan chuckled. "Something like that."

  Duncan's eyes flickered from me to Tristan, and he winked. "Something indeed, but try to get some sleep."

  The other guests passed us by and bowed their heads to Tristan.

  "My laird," MacLaren spoke up. The elder laird had remained seated with his wife beside him. "I would like a word with you, if I may," he requested.

  Tristan smiled and bowed his head before he and he resumed his seat. "I am always eager to hear your wisdom, Laird MacLaren. Tell me what you have to say, though I hope you will not mind my bride at this counsel."

  MacLaren shook his head. "On the contrary, this concerns her, as well."

  The tone of MacLaren's voice and his tense made my heart quicken, and I reluctantly took my seat for the counsel.

  CHAPTER 32

  "Now what worries you, my loyal vassal?" Tristan asked him.

  MacLaren nodded at me. "I am curious to know how she came to have such abilities."

  Tristan smiled. "My laird, it comes from-" MacLaren raised one of his wizened hands and silenced my laird.

  "I know it does not come from God, my laird, for I have seen such things in my long years," MacLaren informed him.

  Tristan's smile slipped off his face and he raised an eyebrow. "Where?"

  "Some years ago in the woods beyond the valley," he answered.

  "Who else held the gift of god?" Tristan questioned him.

  "It was a woman as lovely and innocent as your bride," MacLaren told him. The elderly laird set his eyes on me, and he nodded at the necklace I wore. "And she wore the same necklace."

  Tristan slowly leaned across the table and looked into his vassal's eyes. MacLaren met his gaze with an unwavering one of his own.

  "And what would you do with this information, my laird?" Tristan asked him.

  Laird MacLaren closed his eyes and shook his head. "Not the evil to which you infer, my laird. I only wish to know the truth, and know that I am in the fullest confidence of my laird."

  Tristan furrowed his brow and set himself against the back of his chair. He rubbed a finger across his lips in thought for a moment before he set both hands in his lap. "I have but one question to ask of you."

  "If I am able," MacLaren replied.

  "If you do not believe me when I say the gift is from god, then to what power do you attribute these miracles?" Tristan wondered.

  The answer came not from the laird, but from his lady.

  "To a power as old as the earth itself," Lady MacLaren told us. She raised her beautiful eyes and smiled at both my laird and myself. "It is a blessing, not a curse, to know the power that comes with this intimate knowledge, but it is also a great responsibility."

  MacLaren leaned towards Tristan and studied my laird's face. "Do you set your power against the world for the sake of fighting and conquest, or for a higher purpose?"

  Tristan straightened and spoke in a clear, firm voice as though he repeated an oath. "I set my power against the world to protect my people from these invaders, and if I need call upon the Devil than I would sacrifice my soul to him to protect those I hold dear."

  MacLaren smiled and shook his head. "No good deed comes from such dealings, but I am satisfied with your answer." He stood and leaned on the arm of his wife, though his eyes never left Tristan. "You have my word that I will remain loyal to you, my laird, and assist you in your noble goal."

  Lady MacLaren's attention was on me, and I felt a warmth from her smile that soothed me. "And you have my word that should you need me I will come."

  I smiled and bowed my head. "Thank you."

  "The hour is late and there is a somber chore to attend to," MacLaren commented. "If you will excuse me, my laird."

  Tristan stood and I followed suit. My laird bowed to him. "A good night to you, Laird MacLaren."

  "And a good night to you, Laird Campbell," MacLaren replied.

  The husband and wife shuffled from the room. When they had gone Tristan lowered himself back into his seat and rubbed his temple with his fingers. A smile played across his lips.

  "What an interesting conversation. . ." I heard him murmur.

  "My laird?" I asked him.

  He shook himself and jumped to his feet. "I apologize, my goddess, for forcing you to wait for me while I entertained myself with shadows of the past." He offered me his arm and bowed to me. "If you would do me the honor of returning to our chambers."

  My eyes flickered between his arm and his face, and I hesitated. "Was it not your mother who possessed the necklace before I?" I asked him.

  He lowered his arm and smiled. "I see you have pieced together the puzzle. It was indeed my mother of whom Laird MacLaren spoke."

  I grasped the necklace in my palm and pursed my lips as I recalled her fate orchestrated by her husband. "And she, also, was able to do as I can?"

  My laird turned to me and took my hands in his. His eyes caught mine in their powerful gaze and his smile and voice softened as he squeezed my hands. "My father held a hatred towards the unknown, the earthly power Lady MacLaren mentioned. Know that I am a part of that power, and would never fear you so much that I would ever do you harm."

  His words calmed me, and I smiled. "I believe you, my laird," I told him.

  He chuckled and bowed his head. "That is good, but I do have a favor to ask."

  I blinked at him. "What is it, my laird?"

  "That you call me by my given name, at least when we are in the company of each other," he pleaded.

  A warm glow flowed over me and I bowed my head. "As you wish, Tristan."

  Tristan chuckled and pulled me towards the entrance hall. "Now let us to sleep before Leod worries about us."

  I blushed. "To sleep, Tristan?"

  "Unfortunately, yes, my goddess," he replied as he guided me into the hall. "The morrow will be a trying and joyous time, and such contrary emotions will require a great deal of sleep through which to persevere. However-" we paused at the bottom
of the steps and his heated eyes swept over my form, "-I will make up to you. I promise."

  I smiled and bowed my head. "And I will keep you to that promise."

  CHAPTER 33

  The following morn found the mood in the castle much changed. Davina and Eva stepped into the chambers robed in thick black dresses with tall, tight buttoned collars. They assisted me into my mourning clothes with one on either side, but Davina paused several times to pull at her collar.

  "Stop pulling or you will tear it, and no one has time to mend your mistake," Eva scolded her.

  Davina scowled at her friend. "I cannot help if the collar is such a nuisance," she snapped.

  "The laird ordered us to wear these, and we must wear them with dignity," Eva persisted.

  "You may loosen your collar in my presence," I offered Davina.

  "Blessed by the Laird," Davina replied as she popped open the top two buttons.

  "My lady, that isn't done," Eva scolded me. "It shows a disrespect to the old laird that we not mourn him properly."

  "He didn't care what we were doing so long as we didn't get in his way," Davina countered. "Besides, there's to be celebrations later to honor his life. Will you preach against those?"

  "Father Clarke has," Eva pointed out.

  I furrowed my brow at the last remark. "What has Father Clarke said?"

  "He's spoken out against the celebration tonight after the funeral," Davina told me. She glared across me and at her friend. "He and certain other people wish for us all to have our heads bowed in prayer until the morrow."

  Eva gasped and her hand flew to her mouth. "How can you be so disrespectful to the Father?"

  "I am loyal to our laird, and he says to celebrate his own father with as much drink and food as I can eat," Davina replied.

  "Is there a great deal of arguing among the villagers?" I asked them.

  "Only a loud few, Muira. Nothing to worry about," Davina assured me.

  Eva dropped her hands and balled them into fists at her hips as she scowled at her friend. "Father Clarke and the Laird MacNaughton are not a mere loud few."

  "They are if there is but two of them," Davina argued.

  I held up my hands and they silenced. "Please. I beg of you. I need you both to trust me and tell me the full truth of what transpires in the village. I. . .I feel very alone here in the castle, and very shut out from the rest of the world."

  Davina and Eva's faces fell, and they glanced at each other.

  "We didn't mean to upset you, Muira," Davina told me.

  "Nor cause you any distress," Eva added.

  "And we trust you like you were our own sister," Davina insisted. She sat down on the foot of the bed beside me and wrapped an arm around my waist. "You're like our little sister."

  "Then what are the true feelings that run through the village? Do they disagree with the celebration?" I asked them.

  Eva bit her lip. "They do not disagree, and I would say some look forward to the celebration-"

  "A great deal do," Davina spoke up.

  "-but Father Clarke is well-respected, and his voice carries far over everyone. I am sure you recall the honor bestowed upon him," Eva finished.

  I sighed and gave a nod. "Aye, and to have have him openly disagree with my laird is distressing."

  Davina gave me a bit of a shake and a smile. "But actions speak louder than words, and I can't tell you how grateful everyone is for the return of their taxes. Your husband has made a great many people happy."

  I blushed and looked at me lap. "He is not my husband yet."

  Eva sat on my other side and smiled at me. "But he will be, and I am sure you both will rule very wisely. Perhaps as wisely as the old laird."

  "More wisely than the old laird. He didn't care for anyone in this long valley but for himself," Davina argued.

  I clasped their hands in mine and smiled at each of them. "Thank you both for your kind words."

  Davina laughed and dragged me to my feet. "Thank us when we've gotten you to breakfast. Leod commanded us to bring you down long before this."

  They finished my dressing and my friends followed me downstairs to the dining hall. Everyone else was already in attendance with bowls of cold gruel set before them. Father Clarke was also among those who ate at my laird's table and he held the honor of the left-hand seat beside my laird.

  My laird stood at my entrance and smiled at me. He walked over to me and clasped my hands as the others stood.

  "Even in morning you look lovely," he told me.

  I blushed and bowed my head. "Thank you, my laird."

  "And you now complete our happy little group," he added. He led me to the table and seated me on his right.

  "Happy until the food was brought. . ." Angus spoke up.

  His father glared at him. "It is food fit for mourning, now eat it," he snapped.

  Duncan raised a spoonful and let it plop back into the bowl. "I must admit, my laird, that your servants make a fine mourning gruel. Tasteless and bitter," he commented.

  Tristan took a bite of his gruel and shuddered. "I fear you are correct."

  "And another meal of this. . ." Angus muttered.

  Laird MacNaughton glared at his sons. "Show the respect your deceased laird deserves," he snapped at them.

  I recalled what Tristan had told me of his mother's death and wondered if this wasn't more than such an evil man deserved. God might have even disapproved of our eating the mourning gruel.

  "Does something ail you, my lady?" Lady MacLaren asked me.

  I started from my horrible thoughts and managed a smile as I shook my head. "N-no, I was merely praying to God to attend to the former laird's soul."

  Father Clarke closed his eyes and bowed his head. "He was indeed a man worthy of God's attention," he commented. The good father frowned and lifted his head to present us with a furrowed brow. "Is that pork I smell?"

  "In preparation for after the funeral," Tristan assured him.

  Father Clarke frowned. "It is customary for three days of mourning before rich food passes the lips of the grieving."

  Tristan stood and smiled. "How unfortunate, then, that I have planned a celebration of my father's life in the coronation hall, and have invited all my subjects to attend."

  Father Clarke's lips pursed tightly and his eyes narrowed. "I have heard that such was to happen, my laird, but I never imagined it to be true. Your father-"

  "Would wish that his final memory for his subjects be one of a joyous occasion," Tristan insisted. He offered me his arm, and I stood and grasped it. "I will leave the further mourning to those who live in the past rather than the joyous future I have planned. In the meantime, we will mourn my father and see that he is laid to rest comfortably in my family's tomb."

  "Where is your father's body, my laird?" MacNaughton spoke up. "I heard that it had disappeared."

  Tristan chuckled. "No, it was merely prepared for his final peace by one of my servants. If you wish to view him he lies in state in the long chamber. I have invited all my subjects to view him before his burial."

  "A wise decision, my laird," MacNaughton commented.

  Tristan bowed his head. "I thank you. If you will excuse me I have much to finish preparing." He turned to me and offered his hand. "If you would care to accompany me, my lady."

  "Always," I assured him as I gladly abandoned the food. The texture was as cow grass and the taste was of muddy soil. Aili must have regretted making such miserable fair.

  The others at the table stood and Father Clarke stumbled to his feet. They bowed their heads in respect as we turned away and walked into the entrance hall.

  "Why was the decision to view your father wise?" I whispered to my laird. "Is that not dangerous for you?"

  Tristan pursed his lips and nodded. "It is both dangerous and wise. None may say it is not my father, but there is the risk of someone finding the mark on his neck. We will have to hope the latter happens, and not the former."

  "And what shall we do until t
he burial?" I wondered.

  He sighed. "A most unfortunate duty and one that is more than my father deserves. I must be seated in the long chamber and attend to those who visit him."

  "Would the chore be improved if I were to sit with you?" I offered.

  He paused and turned to me with a smile. "Much improved, my goddess."

  Tristan led me into the long chamber. The windows were decked with long black curtains, and all mirrors were covered in the same thick dark cloth. The coffin of Laird Kynan Campbell sat in the center of the room on four tall, thick blocks of wood. The lid leaned against the wall opposite the entrance, and I saw a hint of cloth stick over the top edge of the coffin.

  I clutched onto his arm as Tristan guided me over to the coffin. He stopped us before the open box, and I hesitantly leaned over. The old laird was as before, but there was an extra flourish of cloth around his neck.

  "Leod did his work well," Tristan commented. "I would hardly believe he was dead."

  "But it is very well for you that he is," a voice spoke up.

  I spun around to find Seumas standing in the open doorway. Tristan did not turn, but I noticed his eyes narrowed.

  "Good morn, cousin," Tristan greeted him.

  "Good morn, cousin," Seumas returned as he sauntered over to the foot of the coffin. He placed his hands on the edge of the coffin and leaned over to look at the face of the old laird. "He must have been a very ruthless father to have exiled his son for so many years."

  "We were not fond of one another," Tristan agreed.

  "But to banish his only heir was an unwise move, and your father was not known for unwise actions," Seumas commented.

  Tristan's eyes flickered to Seumas and he pursed his lips. "One cannot always be wise," he returned.

  Seumas met his gaze with a smile. "While we remain on the subject, cousin, where did you go in your exile? I cannot find a tale nor story of anyone seeing you within a hundred miles."

  "My exile was very lonely," Tristan replied. He turned to face his cousin and pulled me to his side. "But I wonder why you bring up such a sensitive subject."

  Seumas slipped his hands off the coffin and shrugged. "I only meant to satisfy my curiosity."