“Life can be harsh and short,” Kara explained. “We’ve learned to wring as much pleasure as possible from each moment that comes our way. The good times should be savored like sweet mead as a buffer against the troubles sure to come.”
Duncan’s throat tightened. Heathens, he’d called them, yet their ideals were far more Christian than those of many a seemingly pious knight he’d met on Crusade.
“What troubles you?” She laid a hand on his arm.
The casual gesture jangled every nerve in his body, made him suddenly conscious of her leg pressed against his beneath the table, the subtle scent of her hair, the sheen of her skin in the torchlight. He knew exactly what caused his heightened awareness of Kara. A passion he should be ignoring. Unfortunately, he didn’t want to. He wanted to sweep her from the hall, to take her away someplace dark and private. Someplace where he could act on the impulses that had plagued him from the first time he’d laid eyes on her.
“Duncan?” she asked softly.
“Hmm.” He struggled to bring his mind back to the business at hand. Food. Eating. “The meat is good.”
She chuckled. “Then why are you scowling at it?”
“I...” He stared into her upturned face, his mind veering down paths it had no right to explore.
“I know,” she whispered. “It is the same for me.”
“It cannot be.”
“Why?”
Because I am promised to another. The statement was not strictly true. In all honor, he was pledged to Janet, but he felt things for Kara of Edin that went beyond honor.
God help them both.
“There is no shame in what we feel,” Kara said softly. “’Tis a special gift that comes to very few.”
“Lust,” he said curtly.
“Mmm.” She cocked her head. “Aye, there’s a fire between us that I’ve not known before, but there’s more.”
Duncan wrenched his gaze away from the passion smoldering in her eyes, darkening them. “There can be nothing between us. We are too different...our hopes, our beliefs.”
“Our methods are different, I grant, yet we both value the same things—honor, duty and peace.” She reached under the table, lacing her slender fingers with his large, callused ones.
Duncan sucked in a sharp breath, the ordinary gesture rife with possibilities he dared not explore. Or did he?
If he could not go back to Threave, what was to prevent him from staying here? The notion was as tempting as Kara herself.
Chapter Six
When the last bite of beef and last swig of mead had been consumed, Fergie rose and gestured for silence.
“We’ve partaken of the bounty, now let us honor those who went before us. Those whose sweat and blood kept Edin Valley free for us generation after generation.”
Kara’s stomach knotted. Would this be the last generation to inhabit the valley? She saw her fear mirrored in the gloomy faces around her. Beside her, Duncan stirred restlessly, but he didn’t meet her gaze. Why would he not help them? What was it that kept him from making a commitment to her and her people? He’d said he was promised elsewhere, yet claimed to be unwed.
“Let us go forth and pay homage to our ancestors,” Fergie said, his voice clear yet solemn as the occasion.
The folk of Edin rose, quietly trooped out of the hall and across the bailey. Singly and in pairs, they marched over the drawbridge to attend a ritual nearly as old as the hills.
“Where are we going?” Duncan asked, walking beside her.
“To light the Samhuinn fires.”
He flinched, and she could feel him drawing away, shattering the link that had bound them since the meal began.
“You do not have to come,” she said.
“How can you practice such heathen rites and still claim to worship God?” he asked incredulously.
“Father Luthais attended last year,” she said defensively. “He said it was good to remember those who’ve gone before us.”
“Father Padric had me whipped for crying at my mother’s grave. He said it was not seemly to shed tears for a harlot.”
Kara was so shocked she stumbled. “How horrible.”
Duncan took her arm to steady her. “One reason I went on Crusade was to atone for her mistakes.”
Kara stared at his profile, stark in the torchlight, appalled to see he really believed that. “Tell me of her.”
“She was the daughter of a neighboring laird. My father was promised to another, but ran off with her instead. Grandfather claimed she was a witch who’d ensorcelled Da.”
“And this Cousin Niall vilified her after she was dead.”
Duncan nodded, his throat working. “Da was killed in a Border skirmish when I was eight. A few months later, a man came to live in our tower. When he left, another took his place. And so it went on for two years till she died.”
“Your mama was doubtless lonely.” And so were you. “’Tis hard for a woman to keep a place up without a man about. Just ask Una or any of the other widows.”
Duncan nodded, but she knew he wasn’t convinced. She held tight to his hand as the procession wound its way across the valley and up through the trees to the hilltop. Slowly they approached the circle of ancient stones where the ceremonial fires had been lit from earliest times. Piled in the center were branches of rowan, for luck, and oak for strength.
When all were assembled, Morag, the bent crone who was the keeper of the flame, stepped forward. Holding a torch in one hand, she began to chant in the lost tongue of the Celts.
“What is she saying?” Duncan asked stiffly.
“She’s calling on those who have left us, telling them we come to honor them, to praise them...”
“And to protect the living from harm,” Duncan added.
Kara smiled. “You’ve been to a Samhuinn before.”
“Aye. Long ago with my parents. I thought it exciting. We danced around the fire, calling the names of the dead.” He grimaced. “Pagan nonsense.”
“You need not stay.”
Duncan hesitated, fifteen years of Niall’s dictates warring against the lure of an old, pleasant memory. As the fire crackled through the dry wood, he stared deep into the flames. The scent of wood smoke and the low musical litany of old words swept him back. He remembered sitting on his father’s lap, watching the fire, listening to the seanachaidh, the clan storyteller, weave tales of times gone by. In turn, the other folk told their own stories, adding the thread of a loved one’s life to the tapestry.
His father had spoken of his mother, a woman of rare courage, keen wit and dazzling humor. “I’ve been lucky to snare such a lass for my own,” he’d added, gazing deep into his wife’s eyes. “She’s the only woman I’ll ever love.”
“Nor could I love another,” his mother had whispered. “If aught should happen to ye, I’d curl up and die myself.”
“Duncan?” Someone shook him. He started, surprised to find the fire blazing high and Kara watching him.
“You had a vision, didn’t you?” she murmured, the firelight playing over her exotic features.
“I did not.”
“You saw something in the fire,” she insisted.
“I was thinking about my parents. Naught more.”
She smiled slowly, softly. “And what do you think a vision is, Duncan MacLellan? A blast of unholy light and a whiff of black smoke?”
“I did not have a vision.”
“Call it what you like, you saw—or remembered—something that eased your soul.”
Duncan looked away, but he could not escape the fact that she was right. He remembered what he’d forgotten in the grief of losing his mother and being sent to Threave. He remembered how much his parents had loved one another. Small wonder his mother had never wed again. Small wonder she’d died a scant two years after losing her beloved husband.
Duncan remembered something else, too. He remembered the last words she’d spoken to him.
“I wish I could live to see the man ye’ll bec
ome, my love,” she’d whispered. “I know ye’ll be as great and good a man as yer father was. But I cannot bear to be without him, and so I must leave ye. I stayed till ye were old enough to find yer way.”
He hadn’t understood then. Now he did. She’d hung on, a hollow husk, till her son was old enough to care for himself.
“It makes all the difference, doesn’t it?” Kara asked.
Duncan looked at her, touched by the compassion glowing in her eyes. “Aye, it does,” he admitted. “But it was not a vision.”
“Whatever you say.” She grinned cheekily. “Are you not going to ask what I saw in the Samhuinn fires?”
“I’m afraid to.”
“The two of us...dancing to the pipes.”
Right on cue, the pipers stepped into the firelight and began to blow. The shrill wail of the pipes filled the dark night, and Duncan’s heart soared along with the notes. The music eased a void in his soul, one he wasn’t even aware existed.
“It has been a long time since I danced.” He bowed and held out his hand. “But you’re a braw lassie.”
“That I am.” She took his hand and together they joined the couples spinning about the forest glade.
Her head came only to his breastbone; her waist was so slender his hands met around it, yet she led and he followed. At first. The music stirred memories of earlier times, and he somehow knew just where to step, when to turn.
“Fie, sir,” Kara said, laughing up at him. “Your feet are as nimble as your tongue.”
Duncan laughed. It felt so good, he did it again, drawing Kara closer. Her breasts brushed against his chest, intensifying the desire he’d tried to suppress. His blood heated to match the wild cadence of the pipes. He wanted to carry her off into the night, yet perversely, he wanted this moment never to end. Lifting her off her feet, he spun in a circle. Their eyes linked in silent communication. ’Twas like gazing into a golden mirror and seeing the other half of himself reflected there. Inside him, the knot of pain he’d borne since his mother’s death splintered. As it broke free, it loosed something sweet and wonderful. “Kara,” he whispered.
“Aye.” Her smile was welcome as the sun after a long, dark night, her laughter pure magic. She tossed her head, curtaining them in silky auburn hair, cutting off the rest of the world. “We belong together,” she murmured, arms twining about his neck.
Duncan hesitated, honor warring with something more vital, more overwhelming. Love. He loved her as he’d never expected to love any woman. Now he knew how his parents had felt. Hungry. Desperate. Yet, oddly at peace. The realization that he would do anything to be with Kara was frightening yet wonderful. Aye, holding her in his arms, gazing deep into her fire-bright eyes and knowing she wanted him without reservation, without censure, made him feel ten feet tall. But...he was not free.
Duty gnawed at the fabric of his happiness.
“Kara,” he began.
She silenced him with a quick kiss. “Do not worry about tomorrow. Let us savor the time we have together.”
He wanted to. “There are things I must tell you....”
“You will, and I will listen. But not tonight.” Her mouth closed over his again, but this time ’twas no fleeting thing. She kissed him with all the pent-up fury of a summer storm, unleashing the torrent that had raged inside him all evening.
Groaning, Duncan molded their bodies together, hard to soft. His hands raced down her supple spine as he took the kiss deeper. With an answering moan, she arched into his embrace, straining to get even closer. Good. She felt so good, so right. The primitive need to make her his shuddered through him and left him shaking. “Kara,” he murmured, wrenching his mouth from the heaven of hers. “I want you so badly it’s tearing me apart.”
“And I you.” She framed his face with her hands, her touch gentling the savagery of his desire. “But not here.” Tossing back her hair, she unveiled the firelit glade. Many other couples embraced under the guise of dancing, but a few knowing eyes and sly smiles were cast their way.
Duncan lowered Kara to the ground and loosened his grip on her, though it nearly killed him. “I am sorry to shame you.”
“I am not ashamed of loving you.”
“But...”
“Ah, there you are.” Fergus elbowed his way through the crowd, his expression bland.
Duncan hoped the darkness hid his flushed face.
“Black Rolly and I are going back to the tower,” Fergus said. “We’ll leave you bairns to the dancing.”
“What is wrong, Fergie?” Kara asked. Letting go of Duncan, she went to her uncle and tucked her arm through his.
“Naught,” the old man said.
She tisked and asked if his chest pained him again. Fergus shrugged and tried to sidestep. The interchange went on for several moments, Kara bullying for answers, the old man dodging her questions with light banter. Their love for each other was evident in each word.
Duncan’s chest tightened as he watched the interplay between the two. ’Twas jealousy, pure and simple. More than anything, he wanted to be loved like that, deeply and unequivocally.
“I trust ye’ll keep my lass safe,” Fergus said.
“I’d lay down my life for her,” Duncan replied honestly.
A wry grin lifted Fergus’s lips and set his eyes atwinkling. “I’m sure ye’ll throw yerself into it soul and body. Judging by the way ye were keeping her warm when I came up.”
“Fergie,” Kara chided. “You’re making Duncan squirm.”
“And here I thought ’twas you making him do that.” Fergus roared over his own joke, then walked off with Black Rolly.
Duncan exhaled and dragged a hand through his hair. “Mayhap we should go back with him.”
“Whatever for?” Kara asked, frowning.
“Well...” Duncan looked at the toes of his boots. “Feeling as I do about you, I don’t think I can be trusted—”
“I trust you.”
“You should not, for I do not trust myself,” he snapped.
Kara grinned. “Let us just enjoy the music and dancing and see where the night leads.”
Into trouble. Duncan knew that, but he wanted so much to be with her. To talk with her, look at her, listen to her laugh. Surely if they stayed in the light, with the crowd...
“Oh!” Kara turned toward the woods, eyes wide with alarm.
Duncan drew his sword and shoved her behind him, poised to repel an attack. “Is it MacGorys?”
“Nay. I...” Her hesitation spoke volumes.
“A vision of some sort?” he asked curtly.
“More like a feeling.” She shivered and chafed at her arms. “I’ve been worried about Brighde all evening. And just now I had a feeling she needed me.”
“Who is this Brighde?”
“My best friend in the whole world. We were inseparable till she wed Donald. Poor Donald.” A shadow passed over her face.
“He is dead?”
“Killed by the MacGorys in the same battle that took Una’s Thom. ’Twas in the spring. Brighde had just realized she was carrying their babe.” She shook her head, eyes filling with tears. “Another bairn who’ll never know his da.”
Duncan instinctively reached out and put his arm around her. She turned into his embrace as naturally as though he’d spent a lifetime offering her comfort. She nuzzled his chest, and his heart fluttered. “Would you feel better if you saw her?”
She nodded. “But she lives at the far end of the valley.”
“’Tis a fine night for a ride.”
The road was a silvery ribbon stretching along the valley floor, the fields and hills glowing under a coat of frost.
Kara shivered and pulled her cloak closer about her body, chilled more by apprehension than the nippy night. Brighde was fine. Her babe was not due for another fortnight, and she was surrounded by servants in the tidy tower Donald had inherited from his family.
“I fancy I taste snow in the air,” Duncan said. He cantered along beside her, his cloak thrown b
ack over his shoulder.
“Why aren’t you freezing?”
“Many a night sweltering in the desert I dreamed of this. The cold, clear air of home.” He breathed deep, then exhaled, his breath congealing into a white cloud.
“You look like a dragon, my love.”
His eyes blazed at the endearment. “Best be wary, then, dearling, for dragons are known to devour young maidens.”
She shivered deliciously, the memory of the heat generated by their kisses driving out the late autumn chill. “I can think of no better way to perish.”
“Nor can I,” he said slowly. “Unfortunately.”
Kara snorted in exasperation. There it was again, that mysterious something coming between them. If he’d been wed to another, she’d have fought her love for him, but he wasn’t. He was hers, promised to her in the bright flames at Beltane. “Things will happen as they were meant to.”
“I wish I could be as certain as you.”
“Call it fate or God’s will, you would not have been sent to us if we were not destined for each other.”
“The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away,” he grumbled.
She heard the thunder of the waterfall and brightened. “Look, there is Stratheas, Brighde’s tower.”
Duncan reined in and studied the small tower set high in the glen at the apex of the valley. “How do we get up there?” he asked over the rush of the water spilling one hundred fifty feet from the mountaintop to the loch at the base of the tower.
“There’s a wee trail over there.” As they rode up it, Kara told him how Donald’s great-grandfather had come to build here. “He was the cousin of my great-grandfather—everyone in the valley is related somehow—and a loner who wanted a place to himself.”
“Well, he certainly found it here.”
They were scarcely halfway up the trail when they met a single rider coming down.
“Thank God ye’ve come,” cried old Ned.
“’Tis Brigdhe, isn’t it?” Kara asked.
The Knights of Christmas Page 6
