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 become, 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 back 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.
“Aye. Her time’s come and the babe’s caught. Diedre just bade me saddle up and ride for help.”
Without waiting to hear more, Kara crowded past him on the narrow trail and galloped toward the tower. Duncan was right behind her, sliding from his saddle before she’d halted and lifting her down.
“Do you need anything?” he asked.
“Pray for Brighde.” She squeezed his hand before dashing into the keep. Taking the steps at a reckless clip, she burst into the master chamber. A wave of hot air nearly drove her back. It stank of fear and helplessness. “Brighde?”
“Kara!” Brighde called.
“Aye. I’m here.” She crossed the dark chamber, shoving past a ring of stricken women. One look at the woman in the bed, and her own heart quailed.
Brighde’s face was ashen, her lips bitten bloody. Her dull, sunken eyes were filled with pain and a hopelessness that was more damaging than poison for it sapped the will.
“Well, your lad seems eager to join us,” Kara said.
“I...I don’t know,” Brighde’s said listlessly. “It’s taking so long...I fear...”
“None of that,” Kara said briskly. She sent the maids hopping for hot water, fresh toweling and a few things she didn’t even need. Anything to inject life into this death chamber.
Dame Wilma, the midwife, pulled her aside and whispered, “The babe’s caught wrong wise. Coming out feet first.” She made a sign to ward off evil. “Best to let them slip away.”
“What?” Kara exclaimed so forcefully everyone in the room stopped and cringed. Furious, she pushed the bulky woman from the room. “Get you gone.”
“Gladly.” Wilma puffed up till it seemed her massive bosom might explode. “I’ll be no part to—”
Kara shoved her face into Wilma’s sweaty one. This was one case where the old ways and superstitions were wrong. “You will leave and quietly. If I hear one word against Brighde or her bairn, I’ll...I’ll get Morag to cast a spell on you.”
Wilma squeaked in fright and fled down the dark corridor, chins jiggling, skirts flying up behind her.
A dark figure roused from the shadows at the end of the hallway. “Kara, is aught wrong?” Duncan asked.
Kara sagged against the open door. Everything. Her friend was suffering, mayhap dying, and she felt so inadequate. “I—”
“Shh. Tell me.” His arm slipped around her waist.
“The babe is stuck backward.” She rested her forehead on his chest, drawing strength from his solid presence.
“Can you not turn it?”
Kara’s head snapped up. “Of course,” she said softly. “I once saw Black Roily save a mare and her foal by doing that, but I do not know if I can—”
A guttural groan from inside the room decided the issue. For Brighde’s sake, she had to try.
The maids shrieked and one of them ran from the room when Kara told them what she wanted to do.
In the end, she had to rely on Duncan. Loath as he was to enter the birthing room, he came when she called him. He held Brighde steady while Kara worked to turn the slippery babe. The task was messy and arduous, but after several attempts, Kara managed to slip the babe back around.
They roused Brighde with a dram of whiskey and let nature take its course. A few moments later, the wee squalling lad landed in Kara’s outstretched hands. She dried him quickly and set him on Brighde’s stomach.
“Is it...is it all right?” Brighde asked.
“He’s perfect.” Kara looked over at Duncan, who lurked uncertainly in the doorway. “They both are. Brighde, I would introduce you to Duncan MacLellan, the man whose timely suggestion saved you and your wee Donald.”
“You were heaven-sent to help us,” Brighde said softly. For once, Duncan didn’t dispute the point. Mayhap he was coming to believe, Kara thought.