“Marrying in the old ways,” he huffed again, shaking the walking stick at them. “I still cannae believe it.”
Grim reached for Breena’s hand, squeezing her fingers. “We had to speak our vows. It was necessary.”
“Is that so?” Archie’s eyes rounded, his gaze snapping to Breena’s middle. “I wouldnae have believed you’d—”
“It was necessary to wed because we love each other.” Grim frowned back at him, not liking the old man’s suspicion. “Everything was right proper, ne’er you worry.”
“Aye, well…” Archie looked from Grim to Breena and back, flicking at his sleeve. “I’d have gone after you if I’d known. As is”—he waved his crummock at the hall’s arched entry where so much light and laughter spilled out into the passage—“thon folk started arriving with gifts and Yuletide gew-gaws to drape about the hall. I couldnae have hied myself anywhere.”
“You have had your hands full, we understand.” Breena spoke with warmth, her heart in her eyes. “Indeed”—she reached to touch the garland of holly Greer MacGregor had jauntily draped around his shoulders—“it would seem your friends are enjoying your hospitality.
“Who would’ve thought we’d return to such a jolly celebration?” She paused, blinking against the brightness in her eyes. “Some might say it’s a Christmas miracle.”
“Humph!” Archie glanced aside, the gruffness in his voice and the way he busily scratched his ear—a ploy to dash telltale dampness from his cheek—saying so much more than his scowls and bluster.
“Belike folk couldn’t do without the grand Yule feasts we used to have here.” Archie propped his walking stick against the wall again and set his hands on his hips. “Bet neither of you kent how well-liked I am, eh? There be folk in the hall from near and far this night, all come to feast and carouse at Duncreag.
“No other laird could do a better a Yule.” He crossed his arms, satisfaction sparking in his eye. “There be some chieftains”—he slid a look at Greer—“who cannae host a good feast.
“Word gets out whose hall celebrates the grandest Christmas.” Archie’s chin lifted, his beard jutting.
Beside him, Greer stifled a chuckle.
“Is that so?” Grim, too, could hardly keep a straight face.
He didn’t dare glance at Breena.
Apparently no one had shared their secret. The true reason for their holiday journey.
Archie thought their neighbors had come because they missed Archie and his once-famous Yuletide revels. That was fine with Grim. Indeed, it was better than he’d hoped.
Archie was welcome to the glory.
That’d been the idea.
Now that he and Breena had accomplished their goal, Archie seemingly pleased and—Grim hoped—well on his way to regaining the pleasure he’d once taken in life, all that mattered to Grim was making Breena happy. He’d do anything for her, carry her on his shoulders through life, spare her every difficulty, and treat her—
“Mercy me!” Breena clutched his arm. “My Uncle Dermot! I’m sure I just saw him in the hall!” She wheeled on Archie, her eyes wide. “The big man near the dais, with a shock of rust-colored hair, who is he? He looks like my—”
“He is your Uncle Dermot!” Archie’s chest swelled. He beamed, his earlier disgruntlement forgotten. He was clearly delighted to be the bearer of such great news. “Came riding in here the other day, asking for you. Said he’d been searching for you all this time.”
“But he’s dead!” Breena spun again to peer into the hall, but the big man had disappeared into the throng. “How can he be here? Everyone in my village was killed, I’m sure of it.” She turned back to Archie, gripped his hands. “Now my uncle is here. Why didn’t you tell me when we arrived?”
“Indeed.” Grim stepped up to them, disappointed in his friend. “You shouldn’t have held your tongue. Breena loves her uncle dearly.”
“So the man said.” Archie freed himself from Breena’s grasp and brushed at his plaid. “He claimed to feel the same about her. He also made me swear to say nothing until he’d approached her himself. He’s her kin, laddie.” His eyes glittered, his tone underscoring the weight of family. “Who was I to deny him?
“Archie speaks true.” Greer sided with Archie, nodding vigorously. “I heard him press Archie to keep his peace and no’ interfere in family matters.”
“I am Breena’s family now.” Grim’s chest tightened on the words, emotions more powerful than any he’d ever known rising inside him. “She is my wife.”
“Aye, and her uncle is one more reason you should’ve waited to speak your vows.” Archie’s voice turned reproachful. “Breena’s only surviving uncle ought to have seen her wed. You’ve taken that honor from him.”
“We didn’t know.” Grim felt a stab of guilt. He turned to Breena, feeling worse to find she no longer stood beside him.
He caught a glimpse of her flame-bright hair as she dashed into the great hall, and then she disappeared into the throng. Grim drew a deep breath, a sinking sensation in his gut. Never would he have wittingly kept Breena’s uncle from her side when they’d wed.
Not knowing how much the man meant to her.
He wouldn’t cause her distress for anything under the heavens. Not even if his gods asked it of him. He’d sooner offer up his own life than hurt her.
Glancing at Archie, he pulled a hand down over his beard.
“By Thor, I’ll sort this for the lass. Come now, and we’ll speak with her uncle. He’ll understand.”
“Say you!” Archie kept pace with Grim as he and Greer followed Breena into the crowded hall. “He’s a gloomy one, he is. Hasn’t said much to a soul since he’s been here, just stalks about, brooding.”
“I know from Breena that he was like a father to her, more so than the one she had.” Grim glanced at Archie, noting how he walked straighter, chin up and shoulders back, as they wound their way past the hall’s jostling celebrants. With the agility of a much younger man, he maneuvered through the maze of evergreen bowers and dangling mistletoe balls. “Her uncle was surely disappointed to find her at last and then learn she was away.”
She was gone now, too.
Leaving Archie and Greer, Grim looked everywhere, but Breena was nowhere to be seen.
She’d surely slipped away to be alone with her uncle.
Yet…
For a moment, his heart lurched. It scarce mattered that he knew the man had every right to speak with her. Something wasn’t right. The hall even dimmed, as if someone had doused the torches, stealing the light from his world, his life. Surely her uncle wouldn’t expect to take her back to Ireland with him?
If so, it was too late.
Grim wouldn’t let her go, not under any circumstances. And he knew she’d never leave him. So he pushed the thought from his mind.
Unfortunately, another replaced it. A notion equally troubling. Breena might stay with him, but it could sadden her to know that while her uncle lived, he was in distant Ireland, far from her reach.
Homesickness might break her heart.
And seeing her unhappy would pierce his, her sorrow perhaps even dampening her love for him.
It was a terrible prospect. Especially now, at the beginning of their marriage.
Chapter 8
“Breena, lass, I am so relieved to see you, and looking so well.” Dermot O’Doherty, a huge, bearlike man with rust-gray hair and light blue eyes, pushed away from the rampart wall and opened his arms wide. “There were times I feared ne’er to gaze on you again.”
“I thought you were gone to me forever.” Breena leaned into him, a lump rising in her throat, her heart beating fast. Her eyes stung, tears welling so swiftly she knew they were about to spill over. “You, Aunt Mell, my parents, everyone I ever loved. For weeks, I cried rivers. Then I just tried to forget, putting the images from my mind because thinking of them was too painful.
“I can’t believe you’re here.” She clung to him, dug her fingers into his great shoulders. �
��I have missed you so, every day since—”
“No more than I missed you, lassie.” He held her close, then set her from him and just looked at her. “Praise the saints, no worse ill has befallen you than what I’ve heard.”
“That is over and done. I am well.” Breena didn’t tell him she was also married.
Not yet.
But she would, and soon.
For now, she reached to touch her beloved uncle’s face, brushed the falling snow from his gray-streaked hair, off the broad shoulders that had carried her so often as a child. “I wish the hall wasn’t so crowded. We’d have been warm and comfortable there. But it is Yule and so many people have come to celebrate.”
“I’d not thought to find guests here.” Uncle Dermot looked out into the night, not seeing much, for the clouds had lowered to hide the mountains and whirling mist blurred what glimpses of them might remain.
It was dark and bitter cold on the battlements, the wind carrying fine, spitting snow. But the ramparts were the only place they could talk, with all the feasting and dancing in the hall. Along with their pipers, the Gregorach had even brought a troupe of tumblers, and a clansman with a pack of small trick-performing terriers. Strains of the music and revelry could be heard even here, the din carrying on the wind.
Duncreag’s great hall wasn’t the place for a reunion with a long-lost uncle.
“I’ve been searching for you ever since the raid, looking everywhere.” Her uncle turned back to her, his face solemn. “I even journeyed to Dublin and London. When I learned you were here, I heard the tales of Archibald’s travails, the tragedies that have befallen this house. I am sorry.”
“And you were dead, uncle. Everyone was.” Breena blinked and dashed at her cheek, for she couldn’t seem to stop the tears. “No one was left. I was there, I remember.”
“Aye, well…” Her uncle ran a hand through his hair, looking shamed for the first time she could remember. “That wasn’t quite the way of it.”
“Then tell me how it was.” Breena slipped her arms around him again and rested her head against his shoulder. Whatever had happened, she knew he’d done nothing wrong. “You said Aunt Mell also survived. That she’s well and back in Ireland? Did you build a new house at Inishowen?
“I know yours was burnt.” She tried not to remember too vividly. “I saw the flames.”
Uncle Dermot broke away from her, looking even more uncomfortable. “Your Aunt Mell isn’t at Inishowen. Few folk are, for so little remained. I left your aunt at the O’Doherty Keep in Buncrana. That’s where I’ve been staying as well, lass. Leastways before I set off for these wild parts to find you.”
“But why there?” Breena frowned, puzzled. “The Keep at Buncrana is the home of the Lords of Inishowen.”
“So it is, aye.” Her uncle went back to the rampart wall, braced his hands on a merlon as he stared out into the swirling clouds and mist. “I am the Lord’s captain of guards, Breena.”
He turned around, his face both sad and proud. “That, I have e’er been. Buncrana has aye been my true home.”
“What?” Breena blinked, sure she’d misheard him. “You can’t be the Lord of Inishowen’s captain.” She shook her head, a strange rushing in her ears. “You’re my uncle, the village smith.”
“Ach, lass, I wish it’d ne’er have come to this, though I knew it would someday.” His words rang true, his regret real enough to send chills all through her, breaking her heart. “I’m no’ even your uncle, my wife not your aunt. Though I swear to you on my immortal soul and that of my mother’s that we love you as much as if you were our niece in truth.
“More than that.” He tipped his head back to stare up at the heavens, releasing a long exhalation. “My wife and I love you like a daughter. Surely you know that?”
Breena did, but just now she felt only pain.
She staggered backward, placed cold hands to her cheeks. “I don’t understand. Please help me do so.”
It was then she saw Grim and Archie step from the shadows of the stair tower, both men coming to stand beside her. Grim looked fierce, a warrior ready to ride into battle. And Archie, bless him, just looked confused.
“Who are you to my wife?” Grim slid his arm around her shoulders, pulled her close against him. He used the edge of his wolfskin cloak to shield her from the sleet and snow. “Breena and I are wed. I’ll no’ have you distressing her, no’ matter who you are and what you are to her.”
“Your wife?” The Irishman looked at Breena, then Grim and Archie. Shock visibly swept through him, his eyes rounding. But then he frowned, looking indeed like a mighty lord’s captain of the guards. “That cannot be.”
“I say you it is.” Grim tightened his arm around her, his voice hard. “We wed in the old way, just days ago. As an Irishman, you’ll ken such a ceremony is binding, our vows set in stone.”
“Aye, he has the rights of it.” Archie clutched his cloak about him, his thin hair flying in the wind. “They’re wed, they are. And”—he spluttered, his agitation clear—“Duncreag is her home now. If you’ve come to fetch her, you can hie yourself back to Donegal. It’s here she stays and nowhere else.
“With her husband, mind.” He folded his arms, nodded once to Breena and Grim.
Uncle Dermot, for Breena would always think of him that way, looked more unhappy than ever. “I regret I did come to retrieve her,” he admitted. “On my liege lord’s orders. But”—his gaze went from one of them to the other—“I would’ve made the journey anyway, to find her. I’ve aye wanted the best for her. I still do, even if she doubts me.”
“Just who are you then?” Grim’s tone was firm, his face still hard.
“He is the Lord of Inishowen’s captain of the guards.” Breena glanced at Grim. “Until this moment, I believed he was my uncle, the village blacksmith.”
Grim nodded. “Aye, we spoke of him. He’s the man who treated you better than your own father.”
“That man wasn’t her father.” Dermot O’Doherty’s gaze locked on Breena’s. “The Lord of Inishowen is Breena’s sire.”
“My father?” Breena’s jaw slipped, disbelief slamming into her. She stared at her ‘uncle,’ the misery on his face telling her he spoke true. “The O’Doherty of Buncrana?”
“Him and no other, lass. Your blood is royal.” Dermot O’Doherty nodded, glancing at Grim and Archie. “We’re a land of warring and rival kings and kinglets, lords and many lesser chieftains who’d crawl and fight their way through the devil’s own belly to gain more land and wealth and titles. The O’Doherty of Buncrana”—he looked again at Breena—“lost many wives and children through intrigues and treachery. When Breena, his youngest, was born, he vowed to spare her such a fate. She was given to a trusted village family in Inishowen. They were paid well to raise her as their own, far from Buncrana and its threats to her safety.
“My wife and I were sent along to keep an eye on her, protecting her from afar.” He pulled a hand down over his face, his voice gruff. “We came to love her as if she were indeed our niece. In truth, we love her more than that. She is as a child to us, the one we never had.”
“So my lady wife is a lord’s daughter.” Grim didn’t sound surprised.
Breena glanced at him, sure she’d seen his lips twitch.
But when she looked again, his face was as solemn as Dermot O’Doherty’s.
“She is more than a lord’s daughter, sir.” Her Uncle Dermot drew himself up, respectfully. “Lady Breena is a princess.”
“Mercy!” Breena’s eyes flew wide. She swayed, her knees almost buckling. In truth, she should have realized this was coming.
She knew of the Buncrana lords, their wealth and lofty status. The strings of titles and privilege that stretched back into the darkest mists of time. The O’Dohertys of that line were a proud and noble race.
“So I have always suspected.” Grim was smiling, his lips definitely twitching now.
“She is a special lass. Anyone can see it.” Archie’s chest
swelled and he held his head so high Breena feared he’d drown on the falling snow.
“I feel faint.” Breena did, gladly leaning into Grim’s side, needing his strength and warmth. She could only stare at Dermot O’Doherty, wondering how all this could be. “I don’t understand how you survived the raid. It was terrible.”
“So it was, aye.” He held her gaze, the memory clearly grieving him. “You know I’d ne’er let aught happen to you, no’ if I could help it. I even grabbed a coracle and rowed after you. But I couldn’t overtake the galley bearing you away. Back ashore, I stayed as long as I could and I cut down as many of the jackals as my sword would kill. When nothing remained for me to do, I rode with your aunt to Buncrana. She was injured and needed tending. I also had to inform my liege, your true father, of the attack.
“I saw the men who took you and knew I could track them, bringing you home.” He paused, drew a long breath. “It took longer than I’d have hoped to find you. And”—he glanced at Grim—“I regret I have disturbing tidings.”
“My aunt is ill?” Breena felt her heart clutch. She would always think of Aunt Mell as family.
If the older woman was dying, she’d ask Grim to accompany her to Ireland.
“It has naught to do with Mell.” Again, Uncle Dermot appeared uncomfortable. “Your father has arranged a marriage for you. He’s promised you to an O’Carroll chief’s son. They’re a powerful family with vast lands and strong holdings in Offaly, far to the south of Inishowen, where your father believes you’ll be safe and prosper.”
He took another deep breath and finished, “I am to deliver you to O’Carroll at once.”
Breena bristled.
A chill colder than the swirling snow seeped into her bones, closing her heart to the sire she’d never known. “My father has no wish to see me? He doesn’t care to set eyes on me before he marries me for land and allies?” She slipped her hand into Grim’s, lacing their fingers, not needing his strength, but giving him hers.
Once Upon a Highland Christmas (Highland Warriors Book 3) Page 11
