CASTLE DARE, THE BAILEYMIDSUMMER EVE
Isn’t it magnificent?” Gelis glanced up at the new heraldic crest above the keep door. “It takes my breath,” she vowed, her heart catching as she stared at the recently mounted stone slab.
Ronan made a noncommittal humph, but dutifully tipped back his head to follow her gaze.
A gift from the Black Stag, the stone peered down at them, benevolent and proud.
Carved on a polished sea rock taken from Eilean Creag’s shoreline, the stone’s center bore a great incised swirl representing the Corryvreckan and lauding Valdar’s long-ago bravery against the deadly whirlpool. Equally meaningful, flanking engravings of a raven and a stag stood out in bold relief, bracketing the swirl and honoring the joined future of both clans.
“It is magnificent,” she repeated, the portent of the carvings warming her.
“Aye, full magnificent,” Ronan agreed, no longer looking at the crest stone at all.
Gelis laughed and flicked her braid at him.
“You, my Raven, are that and more,” she teased, the heated look in his eyes making her wish the night’s revelries were behind them.
As if he knew, he put his hands on her shoulders. “I can scarce believe —”
“What?” She pulled back to look at him. “That Maldred finally rests in a new tomb inside the family chapel? I think he’s pleased.”
Sure of it, her gaze went to where his erstwhile crest stone graced its original place in the pagan circle now standing free beneath the shimmering night sky.
“That, too, would make him happy. To know —”
“I was not speaking of him.” Ronan pulled her close, sliding his arms tight around her. “I meant I can scarce believe how much I love you. If we should live a thousand lifetimes, I will search for you in each one. I —”
“Ach, Ronan, I love you more — I vow it!” She flung her arms around his neck, kissing him.
“Hot meats!”
They broke apart as a kitchen lad rushed past, a huge platter of steaming roasted beef and mutton hoisted on his shoulder.
Ronan stared after him. Then he looked at her, his eyes glinting wickedly. “I am ravenous.”
Gelis shivered. The look and his tone left no doubt about the nature of his craving.
“Even so . . .” She flashed her best smile. “There is more to this e’en than the dip of my gown’s bodice or the swing of my bauble chain. Whichever” — she winked — “you were eyeing just now!”
“I was admiring you, no’ your fripperies.” He caught her to him again. “But I won’t toss you o’er my shoulder and race abovestairs with you until the time is seemly!”
Tingling at the prospect, she trailed a finger down his chest. “If two of our guests keep sparring, we might not have to wait long.”
“Hmmm?” He blinked.
“There.” She frowned at a table set beneath a gaily decorated Viking tent pavilion.
“I thought they’d get on so well.” Her gaze lit on two pinch-faced, white-haired guests. One sported a long-beard and was male and the other could be described as a bit grizzled, bright of eye, and female.
“Come!” She grabbed Ronan’s hand and pulled him in their direction. “If we do not do something —”
“He will not accept your offerings.” Devorgilla of Doon’s peeved voice rose as they neared. “Somerled only —”
The crone snapped her mouth shut when the little fox on her lap took a bit of roasted mutton from Torcaill’s outstretched hand.
“Some might say he has more sense than you.” Not quite able to keep the gloat out of his voice, the druid held out a second morsel.
This, too, was accepted.
Torcaill’s eyes lit with triumph.
Devorgilla’s lips thinned to a tight, petty-looking line.
“You’ve turned his mind with tidbits,” she snipped, her knotty fingers clutched possessively in the little fox’s lustrous fur.
“He has the wits to know what’s good for him. You would be wise —”
“I am wise.” Devorgilla slid her arm around Somerled, drawing him close. “Enough to know I have no wish to dance with you!”
“Oh, dear.” Gelis started forward, but a firm hand held her back.
“Wait.” Ronan leaned close. “Torcaill can handle her.”
“Now, see here, woman,” the druid began, proving it, “it is not every day that I extend a hand in peace. This day I offer it in respect as well. Your wee friend knows that and is honored. Can you not —”
“I have been reaping respect since before you lifted your first wand!” Devorgilla’s chin jutted. “I’ve no need —”
“Then respect and admiration.” Torcaill sat back, stroking his beard. “And,” he added, his voice deepening, “I was wielding my wand long before the first bloom of girlhood ever touched your fine cheeks.”
The crone’s mouth formed a little O and she clapped a hand to her face as if to test his words.
“Aye, very fine cheeks,” the druid confirmed, nodding when the crone’s fingers strayed upward to pat her frizzed gray-white hair.
“I’m still not for dancing with you.” She huffed and lowered her hand. “My ears haven’t forgotten you called me foolish and unskilled.”
A particularly wild Highland reel started up then, the burst of screaming pipes and fiddles putting a glint in her eye all the same.
“Tsk, tsk . . .” She wagged a finger. “You were quite ungallant!”
“Then we are quit!” Torcaill sprang to his feet, pulling her up with him. “You cannot deny you called me an old goat and a buzzard.”
He stared down his nose at her until her eyes twinkled with mirth.
“I did call you that, right enough,” she admitted, letting him guide her into the center of the dancers.
“A lass can err . . .”
Her words floated back to Gelis as the two began to jig and twirl. “I did not make an error with you.” She leaned into Ronan, her heart filling. “I knew from the start that we — dear saints, look!”
She pointed at the whirling pair. “Do you see them?”
Ronan blinked. “I do, but I can hardly believe it.”
Even so, the night’s silver-cast light shone clearly on a tall, straight-backed young man so handsome and proud he could only be Torcaill. His beard and hair gleamed as dark as Ronan’s own and his shoulders looked nearly as wide. Gaunt and gray no more, he tripped the reel with more vigor than any other man dancing.
And the blushing maid in his arms laughed brightly, her own hair no longer grizzled and white, but auburn and glossy. Her eyes sparkled as he whirled her around, her flying skirts not black but blue, their hems lifting to reveal well-turned ankles and fast, perfectly stepping feet.
Until a cloud passed over the moon and the illusion faded, leaving them as they were before.
But still they twirled and jigged, smiling and laughing the while.
An uncomfortable heat swelled in Gelis’s throat. She swiped a hand across her cheek and blinked back the nontears no self-respecting MacKenzie would shed.
“ ’Tis said this is a festival of lovers.” She lifted her chin to counter the wobble in her voice. “If they leap over the bonfires later — I shall believe it!”
I believe it now — every e’en we share is a loving festival . . .
Gelis blinked, not sure she’d heard the words.
“You are as happy, my lady?”
That, she did hear.
But the uncertainty in the beloved voice took her by surprise.
“Tell me,” he pressed. “Are you as content as those two . . . as we saw them just now?”
He stepped closer, the intensity of his gaze scorching her.
Her shoulders bumped into something hard and solid, and she started, only now realizing that he’d led her into the quiet of the little stone circle.
“Well?” He braced his hands on either side of her, trapping her against one of the stones. “I need the answer, sweetness.”
The hitch in his voice undid her.
Her heart nearly leaped from her chest.
“Och, Ronan! I will tell you how happy I am!” She flung herself at him, slinging her arms around his neck. “Happier than these stones are old,” she gushed, indicating them with a toss of her head. “My love for you is greater than the breadth of the sky or the depth of the sea! Even the number of waves rolling to shore, the sands and all the —” She broke off, his creased brow worrying her.
“What is it?” She angled her head, a great fear gripping her. “Do you not feel the same?”
She had to know.
He tightened his arms around her and kissed her long, deep, and hard, his passion dispelling her ill ease until he broke the kiss to look at her.
His brow was even more troubled than before.
“You know I feel the same.” He paused. “There’s just one thing —”
“You have regrets?” She rushed the words, the look on his face almost laming her.
“Aye, I do.” He watched her closely. “I regret I ne’er seduced you.”
“Didn’t seduce me?”
He shook his head. “Nae, I didn’t. No’ properly. ’Twas you who —”
“Ahhhh . . . but you did!” She laughed, relief almost splitting her. “I was seduced the very moment I saw you. And” — she grabbed his face, kissing him soundly — “I swear if Valdar hadn’t sent his man to fetch me, I would have come looking for you myself!”
“Ach, lass.” He squeezed her, the thickness of his voice saying so much. “Then shall we say that we were both seduced?”
“Um-hmmm . . .” she agreed, this time not bothering to blink back her nontears. “Seduced and forever bound.”