FLAME ACROSS THE HIGHLANDS (11 page)

Chapter Ten

The large hall was bathed in firelight and candle glow, from the planked floor to the high lofty ceiling.  Flames in the vast hearth danced about spewing tongues of red and yellow, illuminating the clan banner hanging  proudly for all to see.  Rushes and herbs--basil, balm, chamomile, costmary,  and cowslip had been freshly strewn on the floor for the occasion.   The walls of the castle were ornamented with hanging objects and artifacts--shields, swords, dirks and clay'mors--which told of the MacQuarie bravery.

Tables  covered with platters and bowls were nearly sagging under the
weight of the food piled high--wild duck with wine sauce, smoked haddock, roast grouse with sprigs of heather, roast venison, pickled herring, boiled goose eggs, beet root salad, curds, wild carrots, honey cakes and wild raspberries.  Barley broth bubbled noisily in a cauldron over the fire, its steam giving off an aroma which heightened appetites.  Lachlan MacQuarie would show the Campbell's how the MacQuaries gave a feast, the clansmen thought. It seemed that nearly every edible creature God had created was on the table. The aroma of roasting meat permeated the air. Platters were  artfully  arrayed with fruits and vegetables in great variety. Red heather and ropes of laurel hung from  wall and ceiling alike and combined their fragrance with the tantalizing aroma of the betrothal feast. A celebration Lachlan had promised and indeed that's what it was.

A raised dias of stone ran the full length  of the hall, across from the fireplace upon which many of the guests sat.  Lachlan MacQuarie sat in one of the massive chairs at a table placed across from  the others. Raised at a lofty
height  by means of a platform, he looked awesome as he peered down at the assemblage.  Extra trestle tables  and several benches had been assembled to accommodate the overflow of clansmen.   Ian sat to the left of the MacQuarie and the vacant  chair to his right was unquestionably for the bride to be. Was it the tawny haired maiden he'd seen in the MacQuarie's chamber who would share Robbie's bed or one of his other daughters.  The MacQuarie had mentioned he had four. Which would be Robbie's lassie? When the blond-haired lass took a seat at another table, he knew he ha made a wrong assumption.

H
e sat pensively sipping his ale, bemused by the doings.   He had to admit that it promised to be a fine feast. No man or woman here  would go away hungry.  Obviously, the MacQuarie was anxious for word to get to Duncan that all the raiding had done naught to diminish the MacQuarie wealth . Perhaps then Duncan had been right in this matter of peace.

Ian watched as Lachlan MacQuarie was served the heroes portion, the first cut of meat, a gesture to show him to be the bravest of the clansmen and to
assure that  his status  was noted by all present.  As Ian drank and supped he looked at the door from time to time,  hoping for sight of the red-haired maiden.  He caught sight of her sister, sitting near the bard, but where was
she
?   A lassie as pretty as the fair Brianna should be seen.

Brianna was at the moment taking plenty of time in readying her
self for the night's celebration, daydreaming of charming Robbie Campbell into being her adoring slave. Oh how she would relish that. And why not?  She had even luxuriated in washing her bright red hair with a special  foaming root Glenna had given her.  Now it glowed like fire. 

She stood gazing into a small decorative chest, taking  an inordinate amount of interest in choosing just the right jewelry. Indeed
, she took care with every detail of her appearance. Robbie Campbell would not regret taking her for a bride, she vowed, carefully donning her under tunic.  She was expert in draping the saffron and blue striped arisaid around her slim body, tucking it around her hips, fitting it snugly around her waist with a brown leather belt.  Yards and yards of cloth fell in graceful folds just below her ankles, then lopped up to cover her shoulders like a shawl.  She secured it with a broach, a handworked gold circle with intricate scrollwork.

Observing herself in a long steel mirror
, she smiled as she stared back at her reflection with a certain amount of gratification.  Humming to herself, she slipped through the doorway and down the circular staircase that led to the second floor, feeling proud to have taken great care to preserve her father's honor.

Boisterous laughter and mumbled voices stilled as the crowd caught sight of her. When Brianna entered everyone turned their
head, just as she had hoped.  The whispered gasps of awe sounded like the rustling wind.  Artfully she made the most of her entrance, slowly walking the length of the vast room, her head held high. All eyes were on her, but it was only one pair of eyes she wanted to look upon her with favor.  He did.  Raising his head from his full trencher, he sat upright in his chair, blinking as if he perceived the vision of loveliness to be a creation of the whiskey and wine of which he had partaken.  There was a sense of anxiety that consumed him, a certainty that she was no common maid.  Dressed as she was she looked as glorious as a Scottish princess. 

Cups were filled to the brim with fiery whiskey.  Tankards were passed among the revelers again and again.  As Brianna stood next to Lachlan
Macquarie, Ian nearly spilled the entire contents of his cup.  No!  He didn't want to even consider the possibility.  And yet what was it about Lachlan's face that troubled him?  There was something familiar about the eyes, the hair.  She had to be his daughter.  Why hadn't he noticed the similarity before?  Because he was too besotted.  He  had heard that Lachlan MacQuarie had twins.  Why hadn't he remembered when he'd seen the two young women?                 

Dogs snapped at the table scraps tossed to them, fighting now and again over a tasty morsel.
Ian barely noticed the noise. In truth, all he could seem to hear was her voice talking in cheerful tones to  Lachlan MacQuarie as she took a seat beside  him.  She was his daughter and the
bride
.  Laughing and smiling, she was enchanting.  Ian felt a stab of physical pain  as all the pieces of the puzzle fist together.  How could she be so happy when suddenly he was so miserable?

The aroma of fruit decorated bannocks, baked specially for the occasion
, wafted in the air as they were passed around, but Ian had lost his appetite.  He wished the evening would end, that he could take her by the hand and lead her away from this melee.  There were many questions he wanted to ask, many truths to be unveiled.

"Aren't you hungry?"  Brianna's tone was
teasing as she smiled at him.

"I've already eaten too much."  The truth that he was starved for much more than food.  She was
so lovely in the candlelight. He wanted to touch her again as he had in the bathhouse and was afforded that opportunity when she picked up a scone and handed it him.  He took her small gift, their fingers brushing in a gentle caress, one that sparked a flame deep within him.

Brianna's  sparkling eyes met his over the rim of her
cup as she sipped her wine. She stared into the deep blue eyes that regarded her so intently, wishing she could read his mind.  The wounded look upon his face nearly made her feel sorry for him.  Nervously she tugged at her broach wondering if he had changed his mind about marrying her.  She had given him quite a time.  And yet now she looked ahead to their life together with anticipation.  Smiling again, she tried to purvey her feelings to him.  He'd said there was a special magic between them, and he was right.  So very, very right.  Even now she felt it.  A potent current that hovered in the very air when he was near.

Amidst the
candle glow and firelight, Alastair stood  and began strumming the strings of his harp.  He sang a droning, seemingly endless account of the MacQuarie ancestry and a lavish praise of the clan, which usually held  Brianna  in rapt attention, but now caused her to be anxious for its end. She had other things on her mind.  Like getting to know her bridegroom for one thing.

Guarai was a second son 
of  Kenneth MacAlpin, he recounted,  one of the ancient chiefs of Ulva which was why the MacQuaries held a place of honor as an ancient tribe in the councils of the Lords of the Isles.  Alastair told a tale of ancient days, of the clans  voyages across the sea  and migration to the Isles. He talked of  the heroes of Caledonia, the favorite of these being Cormac, surnamed mor or the great who lived in the time of Alexander II.  He joined with his followers and three
biorlins
or galleys of sixteen oars each in the great expedition against the inhabitants of the Isles under Norwegian rule.  It seemed in those days the Scots and Vikings were always fighting.  The king's death in the island of Kerera rendered the attack abortive. Cormac, by appearing in the armament, brought on himself a severe retaliation. He was attacked, his forces overthrown and he was slain.  His sons Allan and Gregor, were compelled to take refuge in Ireland. Brianna had heard the story so many times that she fought against a yawn.  The wine she sipped relaxed her, but when she looked in her groom's direction she felt a mild anxiety.   What did she really know about this man who was to become her husband?  As if sensing her searching eyes, he looked again in her direction and she could tell that he was troubled and wondered what he was thinking.

What will it be like to share my life with this man?
she wondered.  Would she enjoy his lovemaking and moan with pleasure at his touch?  What would she experience in the years that lay ahead?  With a sigh, she turned her attention back to Alastair, closing her eyes, her mind gently drifting with thoughts of what was to come.  At last the bard's song ended  and the men clapped and roared their approval.

The room became silent as Lachlan MacQuarie stood up.  "As ye know, we're gathered tonight to make celebration and begin upon a period of tranquility." He took Brianna's hand, gently pulling her to her feet.  "My daughter will gi' her hand in marriage to Robbie Campbell. Brianna will help to bring about peace by joining her hand to Duncan Campbell's nephew. The contract is signed and the banns will be posted."  A cheer broke out but Ian did not respond.  Instead he sat in a trance.  No.  He didn't want to hear it.  Robbie's bride?  Brianna?  His lovely flame-haired kelpie?  There must be something he could do.  Fate could nev
er be that cruel.  But it was. The eldest daughter, and Robbie's bride, and the lassie who had won his heart  were one in the same. Oh, that she were to be his own.

Brianna looked at the dark-haired
Campbell expecting him to smile, but was met by a cold stare and could only wonder why.  Her question was answered as her father nodded in the young man's direction.  "Duncan has sent an emissary to prepare the way for the nuptials.  His other nephew, Ian, has acted most faithfully in the negotiations."

Ian
, Brianna thought.  What was this?  Her eyes darted to her father's face, expecting him to correct his mistake. "Father.........
Robbie
Campbell......"

"Is arranging a welcoming for you.
He
isn't Robbie Campbell!"  Lachlan looked at his daughter's  pale face and suddenly understood her confusion.  "Ye thought that he.....   Och, girl.  It's my foolishness.  I should hae made it clear, should hae introduced ye before now.  But I didna...."   In that moment Lachlan MacQuarie read into his daughter's heart and felt her heartbreak.  "Ah, lassie.  Poor, poor lassie."

The empty goblets, tankards and platters were cleared away. Benches were pushed back, the trestle tables folded and placed against the wall in preparation  for dancing. The pipes began their keening, a familiar tune Brianna recognized at once. First
, the men danced alone, a rousing dance of  high kicking feet. Then the women joined in, choosing partners for a spirited reel which set every foot tapping. The Great Hall was a din of laughing, talking, accompanied by the drone of skirling pipes and  the thumping feet of dancers.  But Brianna had no heart for the revelry.  The man who drew her heart was not her intended husband after all.  Not Robbie Campbell.  For the first time in her life she sincerely wished she could make herself invisible--flee the hall before her expressions gave her true feelings away.   Though she loved to dance, she longed for an end to the feasting so that she might sneak away to her bed.  

Ian Campbell was his name.  What a liar he was!  Making her think he was the man she was to marry!  Anger coiled within her an
d she turned her rage outward, scowling furiously. But no.  She wanted to feel anger at him, but knew him innocent of any blame.  He had never told her he was her groom-to-be.  She and Glenna had merely assumed it.  Nor had he any way of knowing who she was.  She had never told him she was Lachlan’s daughter.  Tears erupted in her eyes, threatening a storm.   She had already bartered her maidenhead away. But how was she to know she'd meet a man who would so ensnare her heart?  Now she would have to pay the price in heartache.

Chapter Eleven

The flames engulfing the huge logs in the hearth sputtered and burned low.  One by one the smoking candles and torches that had once brightened the hall flickered, hissed, a
nd then died out. Darkness was gathering  under the high lofty ceiling, shadows hovered in the corners  and behind the massive pillars of the room like eerie spirits waiting to pounce. The women had retired with the small children leaving the men alone at their drinking.

The hour was  growing even late.  Very few guests lingered at the trestle tables.  Why then did he?  Ian wondered.  Perhaps because he dreaded  the solitude of being alone with his thoughts
,  he  chose to remain in the huge room  moodily drinking cups of whiskey and tankard after tankard of ale. This lethal combination  promised to give him a raging headache come morn.  Somehow he didn't care.  The soothing beverage numbed his senses and that's what he wanted right now.

Robbie Campbell's bride.
The thought kept whirling about in his mind. Lachlan MacQuarie's daughter would be Robbie's wife, not his.  Never his.  He remembered guffawing light heartedly,  espousing the hope that the MacQuarie daughter would not be overly homely. The fact was she was lovely. Exceedingly bonnie.  The joke was on him, for he'd made the promise to woo and win MacQuarie's daughter for another laddie. 

"One without even the first stubs of a beard," he scoffed, though in truth he was overly fond of the lad.  He knew how much Robbie always admired him and tried to emulate him in all things
, but that didn't sooth his irritation at the situation.

Ian's vision blurred, his head buzzed, as he continued raising the cup to his lips.   He'd never let his drinking get so out of hand
,  but then he'd never lost a woman before, he thought sourly.   "Lost her 'fore I ever set foot on this soil," he grumbled aloud.

"Lost who?"
Aulay  came to sit beside him eyeing him worriedly, obviously disturbed by his  mumbling.

"Her....!"
Ian nodded in the direction of the dias. The chair now stood vacant.

"There's no one there now."  The little man's eyes bulged with shock as he looked from Ian to the empty chair and then back again.  Teasingly he put his index finger to his temp
le and moved it in a circle. "She was there. Brenna....."  He rolled her name over his tongue as if relishing a rare wine. "Brenna.....  Sooooooo pretty."  Ian's eyes gazed  in rapt attention, envisioning her in his mind as if she still sat there, her nose at that lofty angle, her flaming hair tumbling down her back in thick waves. "Should have been mine."

"Ye are daft!"  Grabbing the half-full cup from Ian's hand, Aulay poured it on the floor causing little
rivulets to flow through  the rushes.  What's ailing ye? Never mind.  I dunna need to ask.  The lassie.  That's as plain as the nose on yer face.  She made more of an impression on ye than ye would admit to me." Aulay repressed a smile forcing his features to remain expressionless.  Only his eyes gave any hint as to his mirth.

"Aye." Even now he could see her, sitting by her father's side as regally as a queen.

"Put her out of yer mind.  Ye've said yerself that women are as plentiful as waves in the sea."  Aulay shrugged his shoulders. "Find yerself another."

Ian shook his head stubbornly.  " Nae.  I want her." 

"Because she canna be yours.  The forbidden fruit is always sweeter."  The air was disturbed by Alay's hiccup, a noise soon replaced by his gurgling laughter. He laughed so hard that tears shimmered in his eyes. "After all the lassie's hearts ye've broken at last ye meet yer match."

Ian pounded the table.  "What're you laughing at you buffoon?" WIth one well-aimed
kick from his foot he sent Aulay's chair flying across the room.

Aula
y just barely regained his balance.  "Just thinking Cupid  must hae a sense of humor."

"Sense of humor is it?"  Snorting in derision, Ian turned away.  "Well, I wish he'd take his laugh
, shove his bow up his arse and have done with it."

"
I dinna know about the bow, but I can hear him laughing still…” Pounding him on the back, he tried to lighten his spirits.  "Ye've been repaid in kind. Think on it.  If ye notched each conquest ye hae made on yer sword ye would hae whittled it away by now! Think on it."

Ian did, but it didn't improve his mood.  Instead it made him even more surly, determined that one slim, haughty red-haired lass was not going to get the best of him.  Oh, how she must be laughing right now, knowing of the mistake he had made in trying to seduce the very woman he'd come to marry to his kin.  Well, he'd prove to her just how little he cared. He'd avoid that often-frowning miss, pretend she was as invisible as a ghost whenever he was forced to be in her company.  Aye, that he would.  He'd bite his tongue before he gave her one kind word.  He would be damned before he'd look her way.  He'd hurry and be done with this business of the wedding and scurry back to the Campbell Hall without another thought about her.

"Och, Ian.  Such a face.  Ye didna even look so tragic when we faced the English at Bannockburn!" 

Closing his eyes,
Aulay thought back to  that  time of turmoil and the perils it had brought. Scottish Civil war was well in progress then, a time without a king, but only those fighting to become king.  After the third Alexanders death the Campbells had supported Robert Bruce's grandfather, that other Robert de Brus, of Annondale.  Other Highlanders had suported John Balliol of Galloway. At first Robert de Brus and the Campbells had sought the English King's aid only to find that he sought to take advantage of the situation. When the Scots balked and tried to throw off the English yoke, Edward I had taken Berwick and slaughtered the townspeople to show he was master of the lowlands.  Prisoners had been taken, the Stone of Destiny stolen as a symbol of conquest.

Aulay
and Ian had been but lads, playing with toy swords, and yet they had been immersed in the catastrophe.  Aulay would have become a victim if not for Ian's quick thinking.  Even then he had shown prowess, wielding that wooden sword as if it were real.  Miraculously he had knocked the broadsword out of Aulay's attacker's hand and tugged him to safety.  They had been boon companions ever since. Then at the Battle of Bannockburn Ian had saved his life once again, pushing him out of the aim of an English arrow. 

"
Bannockburn!"  Ian sighed.  "Better to face an army than one haughty woman. Ha! Brianna MacQuarie is a spoiled, willful lassie, who is in great need of a strong hand, aimed at her well-shaped backside."

Resting his head on his arms, Ian closed his eyes too. Suddenly he was very tired.  Sleep was what he needed.   He had best catch at least a few winks for he'd heard Lachlan MacQuarie had two full days of festivities awaiting them as part of the betrothal ceremony.  Games.  Hunting.  Usually
, Ian would have been elated at the prospect of preening his skills before the large assemblage, but now all he wished was to be far away from here.  By Saint Michael, even now she haunted his thoughts. 

"Robbie is not man enough for her.  He's naught but a boy!  A wee laddie not much older than she.  Not a skilled warrior," he murmured miserably. "He knows nothing of women or how to please them."

"He's a comely young lad and ye know it.  There is no dishonor in being young!  Wi' a lovely young bride like MacQuarie's daughter in his bed he'll soon learn what to do."  Again Aulay laughed, trying to steer Ian's thoughts away from the situation. "Ye learned quickly enough the first time a fair Highland flower passed yer way.  Tomorrow ye'll see another lassie that catches yer eye.  There are several I hae seen.  Leave the bedding of the MacQuarie lass to Robbie as ye should."

Ian flinched, imagining for a moment Brianna MacQuarie lying naked in her bridal bed.  To await another.  Suddenly he wished it were he marrying the lassie.  Strange how he'd never even contemplated marrying before, had always thought marriage a curse.  He must be bewitched.  Opening his eyes
, he sat up with a start. Rising to his feet he strode up and down the hall like a restless, prowling wolf until he was so exhausted he could hardly see. "She's witch." He sat back down, slumping in his chair. "A  flame-haired witch."

"Or an  avenging angel."

"Aye.  Och, I'm so tired, Aulay. I don't even want to think about her anymore."  The whiskey and ale had combined in a most potent manner.

"Then come to bed.  Ye've had enough ale to pickle a herring." Aulay helped Ian to his feet, tending him as carefully as Ian always did him when he was in his cups.  Struggling under Ian's
height and strength, he nonetheless managed to push and pull him up the  stairs and to the door of the  third floor guest chamber they'd been given. "Time to sleep."  Aulay slammed the door to the chamber, causing the thick stone walls to vibrate.  "Ye'll see things differently ere morning comes.  Ye'll see."  He clucked his tongue.  "Besides, I've heard it said, and rightly so, that a mon should stay clear of a red-haired lassie.  They're cursed wi' a bad temper.  Go up like kindling if a mon says a wrong thing."

"Aye.  And she's much too skinny.  Not nearly plump enough."  The chamber had two beds with heavy wooden frames interlaced with rope.  Ian stumbled towards the one nearest the door and fell backwards upon its thick feather mattress.  "Too skinny......" he repeated, though he knew that to be a lie.  She was just right.  Entwining his arms around a thick quilt
, he burrowed his head in its softness and warmth, as if embracing her.  Murmuring her name again and again he fell into a peaceful slumber as Aulay watched over him.

"Aye, perhaps ye are bewitched." Throwing the e
dge of his breacan over his shoulder Aulay sprawled his small frame in a wooden chair near the bed.  Suddenly he was not as amused at the situation.  Ian Campbell was a man with a fiery nature, be it for fighting or loving.  Perhaps this matter of the lass was not so unimportant  after all. Ian had never displayed such longing for a woman before, and yet truly he could not seem to get his mind off of this one.  He knew Ian was a man of passionate emotions who always took what he wanted.  Would he be easily swayed in this mattter?  Aulay was troubled, for he knew well what problems could be created when a man was obsessed with a woman.  Closing the door, he tugged a fur coverlet over Ian's sleeping form, then sat back, determined to watch over his friend lest his desire for the MacQuarie lass lead them all into trouble.