Highland Magic (18 page)

* * *

The next morn, a somewhat puffy-eyed Branwenn
settled quietly next to Maggie at table to break her fast. Isobail
was seated next to Grandmother Maclean and in an animated
conversation with that lady.

Maggie placed her hand on top of Branwenn’s.
“Are you not feeling well, dear? Should we call for the
physician?”

Branwenn took in a deep breath to relieve
some of the pain of heartache in her chest before answering. She
smiled as brightly as she was able and shook her head. “Nay, no
need. I’m well—just a bit sleepy still.”

Maggie, misinterpreting the reason for
Branwenn’s lack of energy as being the result of a late-night tryst
with her son, smiled cheerfully and gave Branwenn’s hand a little
squeeze. “Well, that’s fine then. Would you like some of these
raspberries, dear?”

“Branwenn, Isobail was just telling me that
she would enjoy a bit of fresh air after the meal. Why don’t you
show her the garden in the north bailey?”

This, of course, was the very last thing
Branwenn wanted to do: spend private time with the object of her
jealousy and dread. “Aye, I’d be pleased to do so,” she answered,
and, surprisingly, didn’t choke on the words. Surely, she’d just
earned at least one of her wings in the celestial choir.

Callum walked in with Bao just then, the two
still grinning over some jest or other—who knew what warriors spoke
of outside the hearing of the ladies?

Branwenn’s heart leapt to
vibrant life. But Callum only gave her a brief, rather irritable
nod and went to sit beside Isobail. Her heart twisted painfully in
her chest. Was he still angry at her for not allowing him entrance
into her chamber last eve? For swearing that he’d not be allowed
entrance, in fact,
ever
again
? She’d had time to think on that
last a bit, and had already begun to waiver on the decision. But,
with his rude rebuff just now, a new worry came to mind: Was he
content to have done with her and simply pressing the point that
their time together was over? Oh, God. ‘Twas true!

For, tho’ he had, at first,
seemed vexed with her when she’d said they could no longer be
lovers now that his other lady-love was in residence, he’d not
seemed as...well...as
persuasive
as she believed he should have been, when she’d
shut the door in his face and thrown the bar, were his feelings for
her as deep as hers were for him. Why, he hadn’t stayed outside her
door more than a few moments afterward. Surely, if he truly wanted
her he would have...she knew not...pleaded with her a bit longer?
Pounded on the door? Demanded entrance? Rammed the door down, as
he’d done that wooden covering in the tunnel entrance?
Well...mayhap not that, for she wouldn’t want him to hurt his
shoulder again. But, still,
some
show of force would have soothed her hurt and
given her a bit of hope that ‘twas truly herself he
craved.

Suddenly, the filet he’d given her had the
weight of a cornerstone upon her head. She would take it off
directly after the meal and never put it on again, for she would
not wear a gift from someone who clearly held no feeling for her
any longer.

* * *

Callum felt as slithery as a slow worm, but
couldn’t seem to stop himself from playing this childish game with
Branwenn. He wanted her. He wanted her very, very badly. But he
knew not how to get her back in his bed, and eventually—he was
determined—into a loving, wedded union with him.

So now, he’d decided this morn—actually, he’d
only decided in the seconds just after seeing her at table a few
moments past—that he would try to break down her resolve with the
hammer of, hopefully, searing jealousy.

“Your lady is not well-pleased with you this
morn, I think, Callum,” Isobail said softly, an amused smile on her
lips, as her eye scanned down the table and rested on Branwenn’s
red-cheeked countenance. She cleared her throat and then coughed
quietly into her palm. “Pray, pardon me. This sickness is sure to
get the better of me soon.”

Callum’s mouth turned down at the edges in a
sad frown. “Isobail, are you certain you are that unwell? There’s
no hope for recovery?” Guilt assailed him. While he’d been stewing
in his own selfish thoughts and feeling sorry for himself, his
friend had been struggling with the pain of knowing she was not
long for this world and must settle her affairs.

“Aye...and nay, there is no hope,” she
replied. But then she brightened and sat up a bit straighter. “Let
us not dwell on me and my dreary prospects. Let us instead speak of
you—and your obvious devotion to the lady Branwenn.” She chuckled
and shook her head. “I truly never thought I’d see the day when you
at last tumbled from that pedestal the ladies placed you on, my
dear Adonis, and humbled yourself at the feet of your Venus.

“Aye, tho’ in the legend, ‘tis the other way
‘round—a thing, I assure you at this moment, I crave were the case.
For, I’d not reject her advances, I assure you.”

“So you will wed the lass, then?”

He turned and his eyes drilled into the
object of his desire. “Aye,” he said with certainty.

“Good. For I have a request of you. Will you
meet me in the garden of the north bailey in, say, an hour’s
time?”

He turned and studied her face a moment. With
a brief nod, he replied, “Aye. But I will have to tell Bao that
I’ll be late for the training field this morn.”

Isobail nodded. The solution to the problem
of her son’s future just fell, like manna from heaven, softly and
directly into her lap.

* * *

“Oh, Isobail! When I think of the terrible
epithets I threw at your head in my mind last eve—and this morn as
well—I want to wither up and die! Can you ever forgive me?”
Branwenn sat on a stone bench in the garden next to Isobail, her
hand settled on the lady’s lower arm.

Isobail smiled, then chuckled softly. “Aye, I
can forgive you. Am I not a woman as well? Do I not understand the
pain of love seemingly not returned?”

“Seemingly? Nay, ‘tis clear the man’s sole
interest whenever we meet is to bed me. And that desire, I fear, is
a craving that, once satisfied fully, will wain and then ‘twill
stray to the next delectation his eyes settle upon.”

Isobail studied her a moment. “I...think not.
Not this time, Branwenn. There is more in his feelings for you than
lust. And you should list me well, for I have known Callum for
many, many years.”

Branwenn’s heart soared, but she tamped down
on the feeling. She’d not allow her own hopes to cloud her vision
where something as important as her future with Callum was
concerned. She shrugged, “Mayhap.”

Isobail squeezed Branwenn’s hand. “Nay, not
‘mayhap’, but ‘truly’! He loves you, Branwenn. Accept it, rejoice
in it, return it, and, for heaven’s sake, begin your life with him
before ‘tis too late!”

Branwenn broke away and stood up. “I cannot!
Do you not think I crave to ‘rejoice’ in the knowledge of his love
for me?” She turned, her arms crossed over her chest, and stood
staring down at the lavender growing next to the bench. “But, he
has revealed naught more than desire whenever we meet.” She briefly
turned her gaze to Isobail when she said, “That, and some terrible
scheme to wed me—which I attribute as guilt for taking my
maidenhead.” She shrugged and turned back to the lavender. “Until
he says the words, tells me how deeply his feelings run for me, I
can only react to how he behaves when we are together.”

Why, after all the times now that she’d
shared her body with him, had he never felt compelled to tell her
he loved her? If, in fact, he did, as Daniel, and now Isobail, were
so inclined to believe. Lord, she herself had nearly screamed the
words several times now when she was deep in the throes of release.
But, fortunately, thus far, her heart’s instinct for survival had
somehow always put a lock on her tongue just as she would have said
them.

Lord, what a callow lass
she’d been that first night. She’d truly believed the words would
tumble from his lips, like sugared berries, if not during, then
certainly
after
she gave him her virginity. But, nay, all she’d received was
a demand that they wed. And that, she was sure, had more to do with
his jumbled-together feelings of honor, guilt and, no doubt, fear
of reprisal from her older brothers. Not to mention his
grandmother. And Maggie. And mayhap, even Laird MacGregor. And what
about Reys, if he found out? Aye, now that she thought about
it,
fear
no doubt
had more to do with his desire to wed her than did guilt or
honor.

* * *

Callum whistled as he
strode across the north bailey toward the arched entry to the
garden. The day was bright, with just the right amount of chill in
the air to make training outdoors pleasant. Daniel and Bao were
close to the end of what they’d set out to teach him and they would
be returning to their families soon. ‘Twas too bad that they’d no
doubt be away from them at Michaelmas, but at least they’d be home
for
Oidhche Shamhna
, the eve of
Samhainn
. He walked through the
archway and stopped dead in his tracks. Branwenn. And Isobail.
Together. That could not be good. For him, at least.

* * *

Isobail looked up and, seeing Callum,
motioned for him to come to her. He nodded and began striding
toward them, but his visage was rather tightly drawn. He was no
doubt worried she had let slip to his lady-love their
youthful—rather foolish, now that she thought on it—carnal
dalliance, and believed himself to be walking toward his doom. She
smiled gently, but inside, to herself, she chuckled. Poor Callum.
‘Twas comical, really, the depths to which he’d sunk, at least
where the lady Branwenn was concerned. For, who among his many past
amours would have believed it possible that he would have had to
resort to the childish game of jealousy to try to win the hand of
his true love? He, with the silver tongue of the devil and the
beauty of a god?

“Branwenn,” she said then, “look you, we have
a visitor whom you will be pleased to see, I’m sure.”

* * *

Branwenn turned and
froze.
Callum!
Oh, Lord. She felt the heat of the flush that rapidly
traveled o’er her face and neck. What a fool she’d been last eve,
first accusing him of playing her false, then not believing him
when he gave her his promise ‘twas not the case. She’d even closed
the door in his face! And now, by the look upon his countenance,
‘twas clear he held only disgust for her. And with the way he’d
behaved this morn, no doubt he’d decided to accept her refusal of
his troth and move on with his life.

She had to get out of here.
She could not,
could
not
, face him now. She had to have some
time to herself first to think what she could do, say, to gain his
forgiveness before speaking to him again. And, then, should she
gain his forgiveness and he want to resume their affair—was she
willing to do such again without his vow of devotion? She just
truly knew not! Her eyes darted first to the right and then to the
left, but there was no other way out of the garden, except through
the entrance that Callum was now in direct line of.

“G’morn, Branwenn,” Callum said when he at
last stood before them, but there was little modulation in his
voice. And his eyes held no warmth.

Complete desolation washed over her. ‘Twas
too late, then. Branwenn dipped her head in greeting. “G’morn,” she
whispered thickly.

He turned and took hold of Isobail’s hand,
“G’morn Isobail” his voice held much more feeling when he said that
lady’s name, Branwenn noticed. When he bent down and placed a quick
kiss on Isobail’s cheek, Branwenn felt as if a knife had been
driven deep into her heart and viciously twisted. Tears welled in
her eyes, against her will. Damn it to the fiery pit of hell! Would
she never be able to control this mortifying tendency to weep over
him? She quickly turned her watery gaze to the lavender and then
further still, to the bed of flowers just ahead. “Oh, look you!”
she said as brightly as she could. “The last daisy of the summer is
just there. I must cut it for Grandmother Maclean.” She hustled
over and bent down to the task, surreptitiously scrubbing away the
moisture from her cheeks on the upper sleeve of her gown.

“Branwenn,” Isobail started, but a fit of
coughing overtook her.

“Isobail!” Callum yelled, falling to his
knees in front of her and patting her back.

“Godamercy!” Branwenn
cried, and hurried over to sit beside the lady, placing her arm
around her waist for support. “Callum,” she said anxiously, her eye
never leaving Isobail’s constricted countenance, “she must have
something to drink. Go you to the keep and bring her back some
mulled
uisge beatha
.” She lifted her eyes only as far as his chin, saying, “Make
haste.”

“Aye.” Callum scurried to his feet and ran
quickly out the entrance to the garden and toward the keep.

In another moment, Isobail’s coughing abated.
“Branwenn,” she said, her voice ragged, “I asked Callum to meet us
here because I have a boon to request of the two of you.” She took
the proffered kerchief from Branwenn and delicately wiped her mouth
and nose.

Branwenn felt so heartsick for Isobail at
that moment that she would have given her anything she
requested—even Callum—for ‘twas too cruel that such a young mother
should be forced to leave this world before her bairn was grown.
“Aye, whatever you need from me, I shall not say you nay.”

Isobail smiled wanly. “Let us first speak to
Callum before you give such a vow to me, for what I will ask of you
requires both of your consents.”