by Aubrey Wynne
“Yer future is no surprise, MacNaughton. Fate is smiling on ye.”
He said his farewells and ducked beneath the threshold. The wooden planks creaked under his weight as he made his way up the dark, narrow stairway. The woman called after him, “Ye’ll have sweet dreams about yer bairns this night.”
He fell into a restless sleep, images sharp then fading then sharp again.
A parlor, a child of two or three on his lap, pulling at Calum’s nose. She had bright chestnut curls and green eyes.
Peigi sat beside him, pulling his hand over her swollen belly. She smiled at him, her green eyes full of love. “I dinna ken why, but I’m certain this is a girl, too.”
A baby cried in another room, and he heard Peigi’s husky voice. “Our daughter has a temper like her grandfather.”
He woke tired but cheerful and hungry. After a hearty breakfast, he paid the innkeeper and went to collect the horses. In the courtyard, his dog growled softly. The fortune teller, Claire, waited by the stable.
“Did ye have sweet dreams?” she asked, keeping a suspicious eye on the dog.
“Aye, woman. But it doesna take magic to predict a man will dream.” He ordered Black Angus to wait by a hitching post and walked past the old woman.
“True, true. So ye dinna dream of children, two daughters?”
He stopped. “What do ye ken of my children?”
“Nothing except they’ll be girls.”
“Who told ye this blather?” His jaw twitched, uncomfortable with the mystic talk.
“It’s in the stars, fate has decided. But fate will also give ye fine grandsons to carry on yer name and continue governing the clan.”
Calum ignored her, collecting his horses and paying the stableman. When he returned, the woman was petting Black Angus, whose tail thumped with pleasure. No stranger had ever befriended his hound. He gave the dog a sharp command and brought him to heel.
As he mounted, the woman spoke again. “No matter what happens in the years to come, there will be more good fortune than no’ for ye and yer family. The good years will far outweigh the bad.”
He stared at her for a long moment, the turmoil in his gut subsiding. Aye, all would be well. He felt it in his bones. Reaching into his saddlebag, he pulled out a silver coin and tossed it to her. “I thank ye.”
She caught it in one gnarled hand. “Dinna forget the mistletoe in yer sporran when ye’re First-foot across her threshold, Calum MacNaughton.”
He stiffened, astounded the old woman had known his plan and that he carried the plant in his pocket. And my name. But when he looked over his shoulder, she had vanished.
Chapter Nine
A Knight in the Night
Peigi blew the tendrils of hair from her forehead and leaned on the broom. The entire house was clean and the grates cleared of old ashes. She’d organized all available help and split them between her and Mairi. It was one of the traditions to begin the year with a clean house. She went to her room and enjoyed the Hogmanay gift from Mairi and her family. A hot bath in her room. The cook’s boys had dragged the buckets of water up the stairs, her father procured a magical bit of lavender soap, and Mairi herself waited to help her dress and comb her hair.
“I dinna ken why ye’re going to all this trouble for me, but it is heavenly.” Peigi dipped down under the soapy water and sighed. Hot water, a fire, and privacy. A gift good for the soul.
“Weel, dinna get used to it.” She tipped Peigi’s head back and rinsed her hair with warm water. “Such a pretty lass needs to feel pretty on occasion. What better than yer mother’s favorite holiday?”
A comfortable silence ensued, each in their own thoughts, remembering happier times. “So, ye’re certain ye dinna want to marry the MacNaughton’s son?”
She shook her head. “I only pray that the peace will remain. It would improve our situations without me having to—”
“Live with that sallow-skinned Sassenach?”
“The earl would be in England most of the time. It would be better than waking up one morning and seeing a look of regret on Calum’s face. I couldna bear it.” Nor could she discuss this tonight. It was Hogmanay. Guests would soon arrive, and though there would not be gifts this year, the company was all that mattered.
Mairi held up a large, thin, cotton bathing towel and wrapped her charge in it. She vigorously scrubbed Peigi dry, making already pink skin glow. “How do ye ken he doesna love ye?”
“We’d only met. He canna have those kinds of feelings after only a few days.”
The cook snorted. “Ye fell in love with him in that short of a time.”
Peigi opened her mouth to deny the accusation and then closed it. The truth smacked her in the face. She did love the man. With all her heart. Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked furiously.
“Och, lass. I’m verra sorry. Dinna cry, my sweet.” Mairi made soothing noises and helped her out of the wooden tub. “Good things are coming. I feel it in my bones.”
Peigi raised her arms and sighed as the clean linen of her shift slipped over her head and down her body. The past week had been interminable. She’d had restless nights, dreaming of Calum and his touch, his smile, and long days trying to keep herself busy so she would be too tired to dream. It hadn’t helped. Nothing seemed to get her mind off that heart-melting smile, those blue eyes that turned indigo when he kissed her, the waves of raven hair, the hardened body her hands longed to explore.
The hall and parlor had been decorated with pine and holly, and the heather ale brewed. Her father mysteriously found some baking supplies, so fresh bread, biscuits, and several pies lay ready on the table next to crocks of creamy butter and thick heather honey. She was sure they had come from the MacNaughton cook and kitchen. Thank ye, Enid, for that parting gift.
“Sit down by the fire and let me brush yer hair dry. We only have a couple hours before Jamie arrives for First-footing.” Mairi worked in long strokes until the tresses shone. “This clan need a celebration after this past year. The whisky will be flowing tonight.”
Another unexplained gift. The whisky. But she’d let that sleeping dog lie, too. The Craiggs would have a grand party, and with any luck, work for the next year.
Malachi had insisted she choose something from her mother’s wardrobe. After putting on her shift and stays, Peigi donned the petticoat next. On top of that was a silk dress of pale rose with at least a dozen tiny bows scattered about the hem and low neckline.
“I feel so silly,” she said, blushing and twirling in the elegant gown. What would Calum think of her in this? If she’d only been just a wee more selfish, she might have been married today. She spun in another circle. It would have made a lovely wedding gown.
She joined her small family in the parlor. The smell of pine mixed with the lavender soap lingering on her skin and hair. Pine branches, woven together with the pointed bright green leaves of the holly, adorned the mantel and window casings. The red berries glistened in the deep green casings. Cups lined the side table waiting to be filled with ale or honeyed mead.
Her father had not been happy with her decision, though he’d understood once she’d found the words to explain it. Uncle Archie was still furious. He’d ranted and cursed and threatened to send her off to the earl immediately. It had taken much cajoling and a bottle of scotch to calm him down. Malachi had finally convinced him that Peigi had not actually broken the betrothal but offered the lad his freedom. How were they to know if he’d take it? But Peigi did. She’d seen the look in his eyes when Angus and Ailish had danced together.
The men sipped whisky and gave her a nod as she entered. She curtsied, feeling so feminine and…pretty. Her long locks fell against her bare neck and shoulders, soft and satiny against her skin.
“Ye look bonnie, Niece,” said the chieftain. “Pour yerself a cup of mead and sit with us, lass.”
Peigi’s brows drew together at his inviting tone. He must have imbibed a quantity of whisky already. “Thank ye, Uncle. I feel bonnie tonight.”
&
nbsp; “Almost time for First-footing,” remarked Malachi. He held up his glass. “A prosperous new year to us.”
“Aye, to us!” echoed Archibald loudly.
As she sipped, Mairi and her boys joined them. Her other two uncles would arrive soon with their families. And then the visiting would begin. Some of the crofters would not brave the weather with the young ones. They would come tomorrow or she would go to them with a small package of whatever baked goods were left over.
Songs were sung, smiles were abundant. She caught her father and uncle staring at her several times. Mairi smiled at her often, most likely her attempt to keep Peigi in good cheer.
There was a pounding at the door. “That would be Jamie,” she said to the room at large.
Uncle Archie himself rose to answer the knock. He winked at his niece as he strode by, looking handsome and arrogant in his dress plaid, pinned over his shoulder with a large pewter pin his wife had given him long ago. Wearing checkered stockings with white feathered flashes and an intricately carved dirk tucked in one side, he looked ready for a day at court. His best sporran was set under his slightly round belly and a cap perched jauntily on his head.
Her father was dressed in a similar style, and she realized why he’d wanted her to wear one of her mother’s dresses. They were making a statement as clan leaders and letting the Craiggs know all would be well.
There was mumbling in the hall, and then a massive snowball entered the room. It curled its lip and growled at Uncle Archie then padded over to Peigi and laid his head on her lap.
“Black Angus?” She looked at her father who shrugged, and her uncle who only smirked. She brushed the frost from the dog’s head and kissed his cold nose. “What in heaven is going on?”
She set down her cup and rose to greet the visitor who should be Jamie, but her knees gave out from under her. Clutching at the table, forcing her legs to hold her, she gaped at Calum MacNaughton. A snow-covered Calum MacNaughton. An unbelievably alluring, grinning Calum MacNaughton. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t move.
It took him three strides to reach her. He dropped the bundles, peeled off his plaid, and reached into his sporran. Pulling out a piece of mistletoe, he dangled it over her head. “May I have a kiss?”
She blinked.
“And keep in mind it’s bad luck to say no.”
She swallowed.
“I’ll consider that consent.” He pulled her against his wet plaid, and kissed her soundly.
Not a gentle kiss as he’d given her before. A hard, demanding kiss that told her he wouldn’t listen to objections. This was an assured, confident man who would not be deterred. His hands held her back, pushing her breasts against him and sending her pulse into a frenzy. She pushed against his chest, shaking her head, her eyes filling with tears.
He pulled her back; his hot breath tickled her ear. “I’ll no’ have a woman telling me what I feel or dinna feel, what I want or dinna want. Ye’ll be wise to remember that in the future.”
He kissed her again. “Now, we have some Scotch buns, peat, salt, and whisky to hand out to yer clan. First, I’ll be asking ye a question. I want ye to ken peace will remain between our clans regardless of yer answer. I only demand ye listen to yer heart, lass, and tell me true.”
Calum wrapped an arm around her, tucking her into his side, and turned to Malachi and Archibald. “Weel, it seems I wasna clear enough when expressing my wishes to yer daughter. So, I’m here for a second attempt. I’ve spoken with Lord Fulton, and though he’s disappointed, he has no issue with our arrangement. As long as the cash continues to land in his pocket.”
Her stomach bounced to her throat, down to her toes, and back up again.
“Ye’re a long time dead, lass,” said her uncle. “Grab at the luck before ye.”
Peigi’s hands shook as she clutched them in front of her and stared at the handsome man towering over her. She could not make her still-tingling lips move or a sound come from her throat. Sweet Mary, what is he doing? Her resolve could not withstand another kiss or even touch.
“Here I am, Peigi lass, bringing good luck into yer home.” He opened one of the sacks and pulled out several items, setting them on the table next to her mead. “Peat for warmth, salt for friendship, a bun so ye shall no’ go hungry, and whisky. I wish ye and yer clan the most abundant year.”
She cleared her throat and fought back the tears. The smell of the Scotch bun, its sweet black currant filling, reminded her of the best of times. “I-I thank ye,” she said in cracked voice, her brain scrambling to make sense of this sudden turn of events.
“In addition to that, I offer ye a future of security, love, and happiness.”
Peigi’s throat swelled and her eyes burned as the tears won the battle and her vision blurred.
“Will ye do me the honor of becoming my wife? When ye left me that letter, lass, ye took a part of my heart with ye. In just a few days, ye’ve given me what I’ve been searching for all my life.”
Peigi shook her head and dashed an agitated hand at her wet cheeks, trying to clear her brain and the image of the man standing before her. She opened her mouth but could form no words. He’d come after her. A man did not do that out of duty. A man did that out of want.
“May I remind ye, it’s no’ wise to dishonor my gifts. It would jeopardize the offered friendship.” He winked. “Come, mo chridhe, and give me yer sincerest answer.”
The spoken endearment crumbled the last of the wall around her heart. Love, he called her “my love”. She nodded, fresh tears slipping down her cheek.
“Is that ‘aye’ ye understand, or ‘aye’ to marrying me?” His sapphire eyes sparkled, a thick, black lock hanging over his forehead.
“I accept.” And the tears spilled over, as he picked her up off her feet and kissed her wet cheeks, her eyes, and then finally her lips. She closed her eyes against the assault of emotions. Disbelief, joy, relief, passion…love. How she loved this man.
Calum had insisted on being First-foot at each cottage to meet the clan and hand out gifts to begin the new year, though it took several hours. She’d changed from her dress into more suitable attire and happily accompanied this astounding man. Hogmanay was once again a day for celebration and hope. His kind words and caring gestures endeared him to the families. Calum was neither condescending nor pitying when he offered the traditional symbols but sincere and gracious. Hope replaced the dimness of despair in their eyes. He’d also told her the rest of his plan and the ceremony in Dunderave where the MacNaughtons would be waiting.
Her father greeted them upon their return. “Calum sent word from the village early today. I went to meet him and he told me of his plan. I’m sorry we kept it a secret, but I ken how stubborn ye can be.”
“We needed the element of surprise,” added Uncle Archie with a chuckle. “I think we managed that.”
Mairi hugged her. “Yer bag is packed, and I’ll send the rest on. Now we need to get ye into bed for a few hours’ sleep before ye take off again. I have warmer traveling clothes laid out for the long journey.”
“I wish ye could be there,” she said wistfully, clinging to the woman who was like a mother to her.
“Och, I wouldna miss this for all the whisky in Scotland. My bum will be sore from the unaccustomed ride, but I’ll be with ye, my sweet. I’ve made arrangements for the Craigg to be fed and tended.” Mairi kissed her on the cheek. “Now, up the stairs with ye.”
Though exhausted from a day of cleaning and emotion of the night, Peigi barely slept. Her mind was too full of the day’s events and the fact Calum had come for her. She wondered if he lay awake, too. I’m too happy and nervous to sleep.
The next morning was hectic between last-minute instructions and hasty goodbyes. The journey would take most of the day. By afternoon, her lids drooped and she almost fell off her horse as they moved through the snow. Calum reined in his horse. “It’s a losing battle, love. Ye need some sleep. I want my bride alert and willing.” He g
rinned, dismounted, and pulled her down into his arms, giving her another long kiss.
She leaned into him, letting his strength seep into her bones. It was dream to be sure. She would wake in her own bed, with the same melancholy heavy upon her shoulders.
“We willna make midnight if ye keep up this lovemaking all the way there.” Malachi chuckled indulgently. “Hoist her up and let’s be off.”
Settled in front of Calum, she leaned back with a contented sigh. His plaid wrapped around both of them, she snuggled her face inside the warmth and closed her eyes. She would enjoy every precious second of this dream.
Chapter Ten
The Merry Shall Marry
Calum wiped the sweat from his brow and silently commanded his rolling stomach to cease. The Craigg’s words echoed in his brain. Ye’re a long time dead. Had he done right by the lass? He tended to be a mite forceful once his mind had been made up. And then she entered the room with his mother and Mairi. All doubt dissipated as he took in his exquisite bride. He hadn’t noticed what she’d been wearing earlier. But as she walked toward him, his heart pounded.
The pale rose satin dress showed off her tiny waist and the creamy white of her full bosom, the swishing of her petticoats the only sound in the room. Until Mairi sniffled and a smile lit Peigi’s face and sent a rush of desire running through his blood. Soft, satin slippers peeked out from beneath the hem, bouncing the tiny bows that sat above. Her hair fell in thick waves down her back, a delicate, cream veil covering the top of head. The glowing peat highlighted the reds and browns of her shining tresses and his fingers itched to feel their silkiness.
Reverend Robertson stood solemnly in front of them. The mantel had been decorated for the holiday with the traditional pine boughs and holly. Mrs. Robertson, in anticipation of the ceremony, had found some winter heather. Its pink blooms dotted the green along with the deep fiery leaves of acer twigs. The colors danced with the flames of candles placed within the boughs and made Peigi’s dress shimmer as she moved slowly across the room. There had not been time for many of the wedding rituals, but his mother and Mairi had maintained as much tradition as possible. They had washed Peigi’s feet, and made certain Hamish and Finley blackened Calum’s with soot and feathers. Soot represented hearth and home and was thought to be lucky. The feather poking and tickling his feet had not felt so lucky, but he’d endured it to please his mother. A wedding cake of shortbread sat on a side table with scones, cheeses, mead, ale, and whisky.
