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

by Mac Flynn

  "And that which belongs to Laird MacNaughton?" Tristan guessed.

  Seumas folded his arms across his chest and chuckled. "Perhaps. He is very curious about you, and his dullard sons can find nothing else to talk about but tales of your youths."

  "I am glad to hear they have so many fond memories," Tristan commented.

  Seumas slipped to the opposite side of the coffin and up to the old laird's head. He leaned forward and scrutinized the dead man's features. "How very well done, though I find that the corners of the mouth show a hint of some strange expression." His eyes flickered up to Tristan and his smile widened. "Fear, perhaps? Or maybe surprise?"

  "Or perhaps it is the effects of death on the body," Tristan put forth.

  Seumas straightened and shrugged. "Perhaps you are right, cousin. I sometimes look for things which may not be there." He bowed to the old laird and then to us. "God grant you all what you have earned, and bring my cousin's soul to his rightful rest."

  Tristan stiffly bowed his head. "I thank you, cousin, for your prayer."

  "Now I will wish you a good day, and will see you after the viewing," Seumas promised.

  He slipped away from us, but not before revealing another of his sly smiles, the sight of which made me shudder. I feared for us, and for the secrets between us.

  CHAPTER 34

  When I could no longer hear his footsteps I turned to Tristan. He looked straight ahead and his brow was furrowed.

  "My laird, does he know?" I whispered.

  Tristan shook his head. "No, but he has suspicions."

  "Can he be trusted?" I asked him.

  Tristan chuckled, but the sound had no mirth. "I would not entrust him with a gold coin for fear he would substitute a silver covered in some shining mud." He turned to me and squeezed my hands. "But have no fear, my goddess. Suspicions are worthless fruit, and no harm can come to us so long as we believe in one another."

  I smiled and bowed my head. "I will believe, my laird."

  He gave a nod. "Good. Now let us sit in our seats and welcome our guests. I believe I hear the footsteps of the first to pay their sincere respects."

  Tristan's hearing was true as one of the guards led in a group of villagers. Many of their curious and nervous faces were familiar to me, and among them was Bean Clatcher and Bean Kerr. The people huddled together and looked about themselves in wonder and fear. I pulled away from my laird, and strode over to them with open arms.

  "My laird and I thank you for coming to pay your respects, my old friends," I greeted them.

  Bean Clatcher and Kerr perked up, and Clatcher even welcomed my arms with a big hug. She pulled me to arm's length and swept her eyes over me with a smile on her lips.

  "We heard you were a grand lady now, Muira, but you look so much more splendid in those clothes than I could have ever imagined!" Bean Clatcher complimented me.

  Bean Kerr glared at her friend. "Hush! She is a lady now and deserves more respect than that!"

  I laughed and shook my head. "I hardly feel like a lady, Bean Kerr, and I wouldn't want my friends to believe I won't talk to them because of something I don't feel."

  Bean Clatcher beamed and nodded. "I always say the mark of a good lady is modesty, and you have a great deal of that."

  Tristan coughed, and I glanced over my shoulder to see his eyes flicker to the coffin. My smile fell and I gave a nod before I looked back to my acquaintances.

  "But I have kept you from your purpose," I reminded them. I stepped to the side of Bean Clatcher and guided her, and the rest of the group, towards the coffin. "You have come to pay your respects to our great laird."

  "Old and new," Bean Clatcher added. She gently pulled her arm from my hold and walked over to Tristan. My old friend curtsied low to him and bowed her head. "My Laird Campbell, I can't thank you enough for your gift of less taxes. The extra food on our plates was a blessing, and you are a good man for having done so."

  Tristan smiled and bowed his head. "I thank you for your compliment, and seeing as you are a great friend of my beloved I welcome you to my home whenever it pleases you."

  Bean Clatcher raised her head and showed off her wide eyes. "Truly?" she asked him.

  He chuckled. "Truly," he agreed.

  Bean Kerr hurried up behind Bean Clatcher, and a small line formed behind her. They all in turn bowed to Tristan and gave thanks for the lessening of their burden for the year.

  "I thank you all for your gracious thanks, but my father is owed some attention," he reminded them.

  He directed them to his father, and my old friends shuffled away from Tristan and over to the gloomy coffin.

  Bean Kerr was the first to reach the coffin, and she gave a brief bow of her head. "My laird, rest easy," she prayed.

  Bean Clatcher peered into the box and frowned. Her voice was a bare whisper of its usual self when she spoke, and I could barely catch the words. Little did she know our laird could hear everything.

  "I suppose may God grant you what you deserve," she commented.

  Bean Kerr whipped her head to her old friend and glared at her. "He is our laird," she hissed.

  "Was, and not a very kind one," Bean Clatcher retorted. "He worked my husband to the bone fixing the castle walls, and with little pay."

  "I hope to have a better policy towards all my subjects," Tristan assured them.

  The color drained from Bean Clatcher's face, and she spun around and bowed her head. "My apologies, my laird. I meant no disrespect-" He held up his hand and shook his head.

  "None taken. I disapprove of a great many ideas held dear by my father, namely the heavy taxes that burdened my people," he admitted. He looked at each of their faces and smiled. "I plan to make my castle as a second home to those in need, though I hope my policies will care for my subjects so they will feel little need."

  "What about the raids on the far end of the valley?" one of the men spoke up.

  "And the poor soil at the edge of the woods?" another asked.

  "And the wheat harvest being so poor?" one man commented.

  Tristan smiled and held up his hands. "I won't pretend to perform miracles of agriculture, but the raids will cease so that the other concerns will be dealt with in due time."

  "Did you really call upon God to aid us in the battle against those dreadful Menzies?" Bean Kerr asked him.

  "I did, and god answered my prayers through my beloved," he revealed. He held out one hand to me. I took it, and he pulled me close beside him so we faced each other and the small crowd. "And you may tell everyone that god will continue to bestow his grace upon us so long as my beloved and I protect you."

  Several of the group nodded their heads, and one of them men raised their fisted hand into the other.

  "Long live the laird!" he cried out.

  "Long live the laird!" another man joined in.

  More took up the cry, and soon the whole group clapped and punched their fists into the air. Others who had come to pay their respects walked in and, learning to whom the honor of the cry was given, joined in the chant. Soon half the large throne room was filled with people who clapped and called out for the longevity of my laird.

  He pulled me against his side and lowered his voice below the chant so only I would overhear. "This is all your doing, beloved," he told me.

  I turned to him and blinked. "My doing?"

  He nodded at Bean Clatcher and Kerr who were joined in the chant. "Your friendship brings us good fortune."

  I relaxed and smiled. "And your kindness brings us good friends," I added.

  He chuckled. "We should feed our good friends a deserved meal after the-"

  "What is this?" a voice shouted above the cry.

  The people turned towards the entrance and their cries died. They parted and allowed Father Clarke to pass through their midst. The good father's face was red with fury, and he stopped in front of Tristan with his hands balled into fists.

  "What blasphemy is this?" he questioned our laird. He gestured to the cof
fin that stood alone closer to the pair of thrones. "You would revel in your own glory rather than pay your father his due respects?"

  "I bow to the will of my people," Tristan countered.

  Father Clarke turned to the crowd and frowned at them. "My flock, please remember yourselves. We are come to pay homage to our dearly departed Laird Kynan Campbell, not his son."

  "But his son helps us like the old laird never did," a man spoke up.

  "And we're grateful for his kindness and modesty," another commented. I recognized my good friend Maher as the speaker. He smiled and winked at me.

  Father Clarke's eyes narrowed and he held up his hands above his head so his fingers were splayed out. "Pay your respects to the dead for tomorrow you may find yourself among them."

  "If only because of natural causes," Tristan spoke up. He moved to stand beside Father Clarke, and he looked out on the people in the room with firm eyes. "For I won't allow any more harm to come to anyone because of the raids by the Menzies clan, nor will I raise the taxes to pay for the defense and offense."

  "Offense?" someone repeated.

  Tristan gave a nod. "Aye. I mean to strike them as they have struck us for far too long, and with god's help they will be vanquished."

  Father Clarke looked aghast at Tristan. "God helps those who help themselves, not those who demand his assistance in war."

  "I demand nothing, but know he is on our side," Tristan argued.

  "Three cheers for God and laird!" Maher shouted. He punched his hand into the air and his clear voice burst over the uneasy silence. "Hip, hip, hooray!"

  "Hip, hip, hooray!" Bean Clatcher joined in.

  "Hip, hip, hooray!" more people shouted until the din nearly shook the walls.

  Father Clarke was shaken. He bunched his hands into fists at his sides and glared at the crowd. "Mark my words that no good shall come of this!" he shouted, but none but the closest villagers could hear his words.

  He pushed through the crowd and hurried from the room. I noticed Laird MacNaughton and Seumas stood beside the entrance, and the elder had tightly pursed lips. Seumas watched the proceedings with his usual strange smile, and I was not pleased when I noticed a look pass between Father Clarke and him.

  Tristan held his hands above his head and the room quieted.

  "I thank you for your vote of confidence, and wish to prove myself as the kind laird you wish for me to be," he called to them. "My father would wish for a small, short funeral, so now I will call off the mourning and ask that the taverns and inns be opened for you all to celebrate his life." A great cheer arose from the crowd, but Tristan quieted them with his hand. "And at the supper hour return here and bring with you your friends and a hearty appetite, for I will provide food for all who wish to partake of it."

  A great cheer rang through the throne room and the crowds flowed from the room and out into the village to spread the word of Tristan's decrees and kindness. Soon only MacNaughton and Seumas remained. Tristan and I met them at the entrance, and MacNaughton stood with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes narrowed.

  "It is an ill omen to be so cheerful with death. You mock him," MacNaughton scolded Tristan.

  Tristan smiled and shook his head. "I do not mock him, I merely honor his task with mead and food," he corrected him.

  "A very interesting break of custom, cousin," Seumas spoke up. "Some would think you cared little for your father's death."

  Tristan turned to him and his smile faltered. "I care not what they would think. The happiness of my people is my primary concern. Now if you will excuse us, we have a very hungry village to prepare to greet."

  They bowed their heads as we passed, but Seumas' eyes flickered up for a moment and showed a cunning that made me shudder. I pressed against Tristan's side and grasped his arm.

  "They are not pleased," I commented.

  Tristan chuckled. "No, I expect not, but one cannot please everyone." He looked into my face and patted one of my hands. "You needn't worry, my goddess. Tonight will seal my promises to my people, and in a few minutes the vault will seal my father."

  We met Chamberlain near the bottom of the stairs. "Bury my father with as much respect and quiet as you can manage," Tristan requested.

  Chamberlain raised an eyebrow. "Right now, my laird?" he wondered.

  "Aye, and inform the kitchen to prepare enough meat to feed most of the village," Tristan added. "We expect a great many hungry guests."

  Chamberlain bowed his head. "As you wish, my laird."

  He hurried away to obey the orders, and I looked to my laird. "And what are we to do in the meantime, my laird?" I asked him.

  He grinned at me. "Partake of the inn and their many meads and brews. If I am to pay for the free tap than I may as well enjoy some of their drink." His eyes swept over my form. "But first you are to change into the small white dress I had specially made for you."

  I blinked at him. "But why?"

  He chuckled and pecked a light kiss on my lips. "You will know in good time, my goddess."

  CHAPTER 35

  The day flew by as a wild dream. The village was alive with music, dancing, and feasting as the harvest celebration was melded to the old laird's funeral celebration to create a utopia of entertainment and glee. A great bonfire was stoked in the center of the village and people danced near its warm flames. Fiddles and bagpipes were played, and the inns threw open their doors and welcomed the money that Tristan guaranteed.

  Tristan and I visited the many inns along the high road, and he drank copious amounts of drink, much to the amusement and astonishment of the villagers. I was not confident in my abilities, and abstained from but a sip. Still, I indulged in many dances that lasted until night fell outside. The parties moved from the village to the castle where a great feast of meat and cheeses awaited all who gathered in the throne room. There was dancing and music there, as well, and the whole company was merry with laughter and chatting.

  The hour was nearing ten when Tristan pulled me aside.

  "Have you prepared yourself for this night, my goddess?" he whispered to me.

  Here was the chance to fulfill the destiny my love had set for me. I would become as a goddess of old and help him to protect my family, the village, and all who dwelt in the valley. My heart quickened, but I gave a nod.

  He smiled and grasped my hand. "Then be brave and follow me."

  Tristan guided me to the stables where we found his black horse awaiting us. The other horses neighed and threw their heads at our passing. Chamberlain himself held the reins of our laird's horse, and his lips were tightly pursed.

  "My laird, are you sure tonight is such a good night to venture forth?" he asked Tristan.

  Tristan took the reins and smiled at his steward. "There will not be as good a night as this for many moons."

  Chamberlain stepped back and bowed. "Then I wish you God speed, my laird."

  Tristan slid into the saddle and helped me in front of him. He turned the horse towards the open doors and smiled at Chamberlain. "Do not fear for us, my dear Chamberlain. None shall harm us and we will return before sunrise."

  Tristan spurred the horse and the magnificent animal leapt forward. In a moment we galloped through the doors, across the courtyard and under the arches of the gate. The horse never slowed its speed nor wavered from its path as we sped down the hill and took the first left onto the high road.

  "What do you think of him?" Tristan asked me.

  "He is wonderful, but where did you find such a wonderful animal?" I asked him.

  Tristan patted the horse's mane and smiled. "He was a colt when I received him, a gift from my mother. I hid him away with a local farmer before my father trapped me, and had him bought back for a very fair price."

  "You must have thought very well of him," I commented.

  "His being a gift from my mother and his speed were not the only reasons to buy him back," he admitted. "There are hardly any steeds that will willingly carry us on their back."

&n
bsp; "The white horse upon which I rode into battle was not bothered by me," I pointed out.

  "She is also a special horse bred to carry us," he told me.

  "But why do horses fear us so?" I asked him

  "Because our power is that of the predator, and the horses are often the prey," he explained.

  We rode the high road for a mile before Tristan turned us down one of the mountain roads that led deep into the valley. The cool night air was still and the stars glistened above us. I heard naught but the beating of the horse's hooves as we sped along our route. The road was empty, but the huts and cottages along the path puffed forth their smoke from cooking fires in their hearths and showed not all the world was covered in a deep sleep.

  We traveled through glen and hollow for two hours before we reached the edge of the deep woods. The road ended at the trees and changed to a wide path of trampled grass. The old trees were thick about each other, and brambles kept unwary travelers from straying from the path. Our horse whinnied and pawed the ground.

  "Easy there, old friend," Tristan whispered to him as he petted his neck.

  "What is the matter?" I asked him.

  "There is a very powerful and ancient magic in these woods. He can sense it," he explained. He slid down and helped me off the horse. "We shall leave him here and walk the remaining distance."

  I looked to the woods and bit my lower lip. "Is it far?"

  Tristan tied the horse's reins to a nearby branch and chuckled. "Not so far that you will be tired, but far enough that one can become lost looking for it."

  My laird took my hand and led me into the dark woods. The branches held scant evidence of their once-plentiful foliage and any small breeze forced their thin limbs to knock against each other like bones in a graveyard. The scent of dampness and decay permeated my nostrils, and I covered my nose with my hand.

  We stayed with the path for a mere ten yards before Tristan turned off. He guided me through thick brush and past old trees along a trail only he knew. A twig snapped somewhere nearby, and I clutched his hand and pressed close to him.