Highland Magic (11 page)

“I missed you, too, mite!” Bao said jovially,
ignoring her angry outburst, as was his usual way. “Have you no
other gowns? Surely, two of you could fit in this thing!”

“‘Tis Aunt Maggie’s. And I like it!”

He lifted her in his arms and swung her
around. “Well, we shall have to get some made for you, then.”

“
Eeek!
Put me down! Else this morn’s
meal will be this noon’s tunic dye!”

Bao dropped her to her feet so quickly, she
nearly toppled onto her behind. He bent his knees and looked her
straight in the eye. “Are you with child?!”

“
Nay!
” Branwenn’s cheeks flamed. “Why
ever would you think such?”

“You wear overlarge clothes and just said you
were going to lose the contents of your stomach! Pray, what else
should I think?” Bao stood straight once more.

Branwenn rolled her eyes. “Lord, but you can
be so witless sometimes. How ever does Jesslyn stand it?”

Bao crossed his massive
arms over his even more massive chest and gave her his most
charming grin. “That, mite, is something for me to know and for you
to
never
find
out.”

She stuck her tongue out at
him. “Ha! Ha! I already know. Do you not remember? I
saw
the two of you at
the waterfall!” Branwenn bit her lip. Hard. Now why had she
reminded him of that? Mayhap, ‘twas
she
who was the witless
one.

Bao’s eyes narrowed. “I thought we agreed to
never speak of that again. God knows, the horror of the thought of
it still has the ability to make me cringe.” A calculating look
came into his eye. “Unless, you are simply looking for a good
pounding on your behind—which I never gave you, though ‘twas richly
deserved. And as vexed as I am now, ‘twould no doubt be pleasant
for me.”

Branwenn backed away a step, her hands
covering the extremity in question. “Nay,” she said, shaking her
head, “no need.”

Bao laughed. Hard. So hard, he actually
slapped his knee a few times. “You are so easy to tease!” He came
up to her and wrapped his arms around her. “Lord, how I’ve missed
you.”

Branwenn melted, both physically and
emotionally. Her eyes welled with tears and she threw her arms
around her brother and held tight, with all her might, relaxing all
her weight into him. “I...mmm...missed...you toooo! So much!”

They stood thus for several long, silent
moments, until Bao at last spoke. “Tell me what happened in
Cambria,” he said softly. “Why are you here, and not wed to the
Norman, as your princely cousin was so set for you to do?”

Branwenn sniffled. “Gaiallard de Montford
is...”

“Aye?”

“Base, vile.”

“Aye, as all Normans are,” Bao said, still
waiting to hear what had caused her to flee the man.

Branwenn looked into her
brother’s eyes, shaking her head. “Nay, I
truly mean
base and vile. He beat
his sister—regularly, evidently—and...Bao”—The words rushed out of
her—“I think he was bedding her against her will.”

Bao released her suddenly
and stumbled back. He turned and raised his fists in the air and
bellowed, “The man will
die
!”

Branwenn hurried over to him and placed her
hand on his shoulder. “Bao, there’s no need. I am safe, as you
see.”

He was silent for long seconds. His voice was
low, so low that Branwenn strained to hear the words when he spoke.
“Aye, but his sister is not.”

Branwenn stepped around him to face him once
more. “Oh, but she is! Reys has wed her by now and gotten her far
from that fiend of a brother of hers.”

Bao gave her a quizzical look. “How is
that?”

“Why, do you not recall
that the contract, as writ, said that either the nephew or
the
niece
of the
Earl of Pembroke could fulfill the terms.” She frowned and dipped
her head. “Sadly, we learned upon our arrival that Reys’s wife and
bairns had been killed in a fire at the convent they’d been
visiting while he was prisoned in our tower during the
seige.”

“That is gloomful news indeed, little one.”
He brought her chin up with the tips of his calloused fingers.
“Tell me the rest of it, then.”

She shrugged. “Well, as Reys is also cousin
to Prince Llywelyn, and Alyson is the Earl’s niece...Reys agreed to
wed her and aid me in my escape of the Norman’s clutches.”

* * *

“It looks as tho’ she’s managed to soothe his
wrath, at least,” Lady Maclean said to Callum as they looked out
the solar window down into the bailey.

“Aye. I wonder what she said to him to get
him so roused. I’ve never seen Bao lose his temper to that degree.
He is always so methodical, so in control. Or, at least, that is
how it has always seemed to me. Even when we’ve trained together,
he never shows anger, never allows his feelings to hinder his
fighting tactics. I’ve admired him for that.” His eye traveled to
Branwenn. “Although, ‘tis truth, that lass could try the patience
of the saints.”

Lady Maclean smiled, but didn’t look at her
grandson. How long, she wondered, until they could begin planning
the wedding? ‘Twould be nice to have one by Michaelmas, but she was
no doubt rushing things a bit. “Well, they must have finished their
talk, for here Bao comes. I hope he remembers that he is to meet me
here in the solar.”

“What the hell does that vexing creature
think she’s doing now?” Callum ground out.

She did look at him then. Well, mayhap
Michaelmas was not too soon, after all.

Callum turned and strode out the door.

Lady Maclean chuckled. He hadn’t even said
farewell. ‘Twas not like her smoothly charming grandson, in the
least. Aye, Michaelmas was a good time for a wedding.

* * *

Branwenn leaned over the edge of the well. If
only she could reach just a wee bit more, she’d be able to grasp
the edge of the bucket and get her filet untangled from the rope.
‘Twas the task she’d been set to do before her brother had come
upon her a bit ago. She had no idea why she cared to get the thing
out, as, ‘twas a fact that she felt awkward wearing it. For the
ornament only helped stress the horrid state of her hair. But,
retrieve the thing, she would.

She stretched her arm down as far as it would
go, the tip of her toes barely touching the ground beneath them,
and was able to wrap her fingers around the circular metal ring.
“At last!”

“
What, by all that is holy, do you think you are
doing?
” Callum thundered.

Branwenn nearly leapt out
of her skin. “
Aieee!
” The filet dropped from her hand. In seconds, it landed with
a dim splash in the water way down below. Scrambling up straight,
and with her heart still pounding in her ears, she turned to the
man behind her and growled, “Now, see what you’ve done? That was my
only filet, you dim witted, offal-swilling—that, as a reminder of
his recent misadventure—arse!”

Callum just stared at her with his arms
crossed over his chest.

“Well? How am I ever to get my filet back
now?”

His tone level, he asked her, “Do you have no
sense?”

“I?
I
have no sense?” She sputtered.
“‘Tis you who has no sense. Why would you think it a good plan
to
startle
a
person who was so clearly near to being off balance
already?”

“And why would a person
think it a good plan to allow herself to get in that position in
the first place,
over a very deep
WELL!
”

Branwenn crossed her arms
over her chest, unconsciously mirroring his stance. “You,
you,
jackanapes!”

Callum just glared at her.
He felt the heat of anger wash over his cheeks. Provoked now, his
smile mocking, he retorted, “I can think of a much better use
for—”
that sharp tongue of
yours
.

“For what?” she asked angrily.

“For...umm...the well.” He
said the first thing that came to mind, and instantly regretted
it.
The well?
What an idiot.

Branwenn gave him the same look he would have
given himself, had he been able to, and whirled around, turning her
back on him. Her arms crossed, she said haughtily, “This is truly
no concern of yours. Why don’t you go back to whatever it was you
were doing before you came upon me here.”

“Pardon, but you
are
my
concern.”

Branwenn’s heart skipped a beat as the
brightest joy she’d ever felt burst from the center of her soul and
rushed through her veins.

“You are the concern of every one of us here,
at least until we know the danger of a siege has passed.”

And evaporated into the blackest pit of
despair. “Oh,” she replied in a small voice. Her vision grew liquid
as her eyes misted with tears. She quickly blinked them away. She’d
be consigned to the hottest, fieriest, depths of hell before she’d
let him see how his words had affected her.

“Oh? That’s all you have to say? No bitter
censure, no foul epithets to throw at my head?”

Branwenn bowed her head. “Nay. Just go away,
Callum,” she said softly. “Or, have you forgot that I’m to stay as
far away from you as is possible?”

Callum’s short sense of
victory,
plunk
ed
like a lead ball into the pit of his stomach as it suddenly dawned
on him that he’d hurt her feelings. He stared at her for another
moment and then, striding to the well, he said gently, “Let me see
if I can get the thing out of the water using the
bucket.”

“‘Tis surely sunk by now.” Branwenn took in a
deep breath and released it on a sigh. “‘Tis no use, the filet is
gone for good now.”

“How did it get in there in the first
place?”

Branwenn shrugged, her cheeks heating as his
eyes settled on her face. “It slipped from my head when I was
hauling water up.”

“Then, ‘twas not a well-fitted one,
anyway.”

Branwenn shook her head. “Nay, ‘twas the one
Grandmother Maclean gave me upon my arrival at the Maclean holding
last summer. But—‘twas the only one I’ve ever owned.” Except, she
thought, the one she’d made of seashells, which resided now at the
bottom of her clothing chest in her bedchamber.

This took Callum by surprise. Filets were
standard hair ornaments for lasses nearly from the time they were
first out of their swaddling clothes. “Bao didn’t have any made for
you, when you lived in Perth?”

“Nay. He was busy in his obligation to the
King. He cared little for ladies’ fashions, but made certain I was
never without a warm hearth, good food, and all the other
essentials in life.

“I’m sorry I startled you and made you lose
your piece of jewelry.”

Branwenn shrugged self-consciously. “I’m
sorry I called you a dull-witted, offal-swilling arse.‘Twasn’t
true. Well, except for the offal-swilling part—”

“Hey!”

“Well, I know you didn’t do it on purpose,
for heaven’s sake!” she said, getting a bit of her spirit back.

“Come on, let us return to the keep, for I’m
sure your brother will want to spend a bit more time with you
before I head with him to the training field.”

Branwenn settled into step beside him and
they walked in a surprisingly companionable silence to the
keep.

* * *

An hour later, Callum knocked on the door of
his mother’s bedchamber.

“Enter!” Came a muffled female voice from the
other side of the dark wooden portal.

Callum took in one last deep breath and let
it out slowly before turning the handle and walking inside the
chamber. “Good morn, Mother. How fare you? I worried when I learned
that you’d come up to your room to rest that you’ve grown ill
again—have you?”

Maggie gave her son a gentle smile and shook
her head. “Nay, fear not. I’m well—only just a bit weary from not
getting enough rest this night past.” With a quick look to see
where her maid was standing, she sat a bit forward and, giving him
a conspiratorial look, whispered, “Your stepfather snores like a
bear!”

Callum chuckled. “Ah, I see. Well, that gives
my mind ease, then.” He walked up to where she sat by the hearth
and took a seat beside her. After a moment, he cleared his throat.
“Those are fine tapestries,” he said casually, tipping his head in
the direction of the wall on which they hung. “Did you sew
them?”

Maggie’s eyes narrowed, her gaze shrewd as
she studied him. “What did you truly come here to see me about, my
son?”

There was a long pause and then: “Do you
recall, when Grandmother MacGregor passed, that in her
trousseau—the one she bequeathed to me—there was
a...um...ahem...a...um—”

“Aye? Crave you something from the trousseau,
Callum?” Praise be! Maggie thought. He was going to ask her for the
betrothal ring, she just knew it! Her mother was going to be
thrilled that their plan was moving along more quickly than they’d
ever dreamed.

Callum fought the urge to squirm. There was a
distinct twinkle in his mother’s eye. No doubt, she found this
highly amusing. She probably thought he was going to give one of
his amours (of which there were no longer any) a token of his
regard. But his purpose was far different. Callum cleared his
throat again. This had to be the most humiliating thing he’d ever
had to do. But his mind was made up and he would complete the task
at hand—and it mattered not how much a love-struck fool he would
look to his mother. “Aye, I’d like the gold filet. May I have
it?”