Highland Magic (19 page)

Callum jogged back through the entry to the
garden, his hand resting over the top of the silver cup to keep its
contents from sloshing over the rim.

Skidding to a halt in front of Isobail, he
dropped down to his knees and gently placed the cup between both of
her hands. “Here, drink this down,” he said before helping her to
lift it to her lips.

Isobail drank deeply of the honeyed spirit.
Afterward, with a sigh and a soft smile, she said to the two of
them “My thanks. ‘Tis clear this sickness grows worse with each
passing day.” With decided movements, she placed the cup next to
her on the bench and, taking Callum’s hand, placed it on top of the
one Branwenn had resting on her knee.

Branwenn and Callum looked, for the first
time that day, deeply into each other’s eyes.

“I want you two to parent my son, David,
after I am gone,” she said baldly. No time to slowly lead the two
down the path of understanding, as she’d originally planned. That
had just become ever more plain to her.

Their eyes swiftly settled on Isobail’s
countenance, a look of surprise clear on their visages.

“But...we are not wed,” Branwenn said
finally. Feeling the weight of Callum’s gaze settle on her face,
she continued, “Is there no godparent to take the lad?”

Isobail sighed and nodded her head. “Aye, my
brother Robert, was assigned that duty. But he is in no position
now—nor, might he ever be—to take on that task. He is, at this very
moment, speaking with his liege, William, King of Scots, to try and
negotiate a way of paying my father’s levy so that he—and our
clan—will not lose our holding.”

Callum’s brows furrowed. “Robert is in danger
of losing his holding? How can this be?”

Isobail turned her face away and gazed at the
flowers growing in the bed to her right. “My father...”—she shook
her head and sighed once again—“he spent his coin, and borrowed
against future earnings, fighting the Norman earl that was
bequeathed land to the south of our holding. And now, ‘tis all
Robert can do to keep our clan, and our holding together.” She
turned and gazed pleadingly at first Branwenn and then Callum.
“Will you?”

“Aye, we will raise your bairn. Worry not,”
Callum said quickly, decisively.

Branwenn’s brows lifted in surprise. And when
she felt his eyes settle upon her face once more, she turned her
gaze to him as well. There was warmth—and determination—shining
brightly there now, again, praise be! “Aye, we shall.”

* * *

A bit later, after Callum and Branwenn had
settled Isobail with Grandmother Maclean and Maggie in the solar,
Callum took hold of Branwenn’s hand and silently led her back to
the garden from which they’d just come.

When they were at last settled upon the stone
bench, their knees lightly touching as they faced each other,
Callum said softly, “Why do you not wear the filet I gave you?”

Branwenn nervously lifted her hand to her
head and touched the place where the ornament had been, only a few
hours past, then slowly let it drift down to settle once more in
her lap. She sighed. “Because...I believed you no longer wanted me;
were disgusted by my behavior last eve and pleased to have done
with me.”

Callum reached over and
took hold of Branwenn’s hand and lifted it to his lips. He opened
it and placed a kiss in her palm before bringing it up to his face
and softly rubbing the back of her fingers against his
bristle-roughened cheek. “Nay, I assure you, that is not the case.
I desire you as ever, crave your touch as ever, beg your acceptance
of my troth—as ever.” He brought his own hand up to her cheek and
tipped her chin up with his thumb so that she now looked directly
into his eyes as he spoke. “And ‘tis plain by your agreement to
Isobail’s request that you are now ready to do just that. Let me
first speak to my step—Why do you shake your head?” His spine
stiffened and his eyes shot emerald fire. “Braaan-wennn,” he said
warningly, “do not—
do
not
—say ‘nay’ to me again. ‘Tis much too
late for that. We’ve a foster son to raise—have you forgotten so
quickly?”

She twisted from his hold and turned her face
away. “Nay, I’ve not forgotten. But, Callum, I will not wed you
now. Let us first see whether the lady truly passes from this
earthly realm, then”—she took in a deep breath and slowly released
it—“I will wed you.” ‘Twas the least she could do for Isobail, wed
Callum even if he’d not given his heart to her. After all, he’d not
loved the lady Lara, and just look how kind and gentle—and generous
as well—he’d been with her while they were wed. ‘Twas clear he’d
make a wonderful husband; certainly better than the Norman would
have been, even had he not been a deviant.

Callum bit back a groan of frustration. So,
they’d be meeting in secret again, hiding their affair from all
curious eyes. He truly wanted to pull out his hair and yell like a
banshee. Mayhap, even hop around like some wee brownie. “But we
cannot continue meeting as we have much longer, else one of your
brothers is bound to find out and skin me alive.”

Branwenn turned to him.
“Nay, you are right. ‘Tis why I’ve decided we should not do so
again until we wed.
If
we wed, that is.”

Callum stopped
breathing.
Not do so again?
Until they were wed?
He’d not even think about the possibility of
not
wedding her, but to
go for who knew how long without lying with her again, making love
to her again? ‘Twas too cruel a hell to bear.

“Are you well?” Branwenn said, alarm in her
voice. She placed her hand over his. “You’ve gone as red as a
raspberry—do you need something to drink? Callum! Say
something!”

He forced air into his lungs. “I’m fine,” he
said in a strained voice. “Will you at least walk with me after
supper each eve?” Surely, he could find some way of testing her
resolve, if they could spend some time alone together.

Branwenn bit her lip. Then, at last, she
nodded her head. “Aye, that should be fine.” She paused only a
second before continuing, “but I shall ask Maggie to accompany us
as well, as chaperone. She will allow us a bit of privacy, I’m
sure, but not enough to raise eyebrows.” She smiled brightly. “Will
that do?”

Callum ground his teeth together. “Aye, that
will do,” he said at last.

* * *

Callum fumed silently as he stood inside the
entryway to the great hall a sennight later. That blasted new
guard,
Kerk
, he was called, had sidled up to Branwenn as she
stood with Callum’s mother next to the hearth awaiting the players’
next scene. Callum had only been gone from her side no more than a
quarter hour, as he had been called upon by his stepfather to aid
in settling a dispute between two soldiers stationed on the curtain
wall, and the man had clearly taken advantage of the opportunity
his absence afforded.

Why had his mother insisted on inviting this
thorn-in-his-side to supper yet again? ‘Twas the third night in a
row, and each night, the guard found some way or other to maneuver
himself into Branwenn’s company. Not only that, but ‘twas clear,
she enjoyed the attention he bestowed upon her, for she blushed and
gave him that shy smile that should
only
be given to Callum,
her lover, and soon to be husband.

A niggling worry, which he’d been forcefully
pushing down these past days, reared up in his mind again, and this
time, he allowed it audience.
Was Branwenn more like Lara than
he at first believed?

On the cusp of that thought, Kenrick, a
childhood friend and fellow clansman, came up beside him and
followed the line of Callum’s vision. He elbowed Callum in the ribs
and leaned close, murmuring, “She’s more lovely than your last, but
will she be more loyal?”

The trill of Branwenn’s laughter floated over
to where they stood.

Pressure built in Callum’s chest. He
shrugged. But then she looked toward the entry and saw him and gave
him a gleeful grin, motioning for him to come to her, and the
pressure evaporated. With a nod to her, he said, “Aye, she’ll be
loyal. She’s naught like Lara.”

When, in the next instant, the guard,
Kerk
, brushed his fingertips over Branwenn’s and took the
silver cup
much too slowly
from her hand before taking a
drink from it, Callum growled and strode toward the two, leaving
his guffawing friend in his wake. He tapped the new guard on the
shoulder. When Kerk turned with a cocked brow and looked at him in
question, Callum said, “I have something of import to speak with
you about. Come with me into the antechamber.” He turned and walked
toward the entry, feeling the man’s presence close behind.

Once there, he said to him, “You are
attempting to woo a lady who is already spoken
for. She is my betrothed, in case you have not heard, so keep your
distance.”

The guard’s mouth twitched, then, as if he
couldn’t hold in the mirth, he bellowed with laughter, shaking his
head and slapping Callum on the back, before turning away and
heading back into the great hall. Callum fought the flush of heat
that effused his neck and face.

For a long moment, he stood staring at the
empty doorway. The guard’s laugh had been one of those deep belly
laughs that one has when one knows something the other doesn’t and
is thoroughly amused by the prospect. It set Callum’s teeth on
edge. He stormed back into the great hall, fully expecting to find
the guard once again at Branwenn’s side, but surprisingly, the man
was now settled with some of the other guests at one of the trestle
tables, drinking some ale.

* * *

A sennight later—it had now been fourteen
long days, and nights, without Callum, for she was determined not
to allow him to bed her again until she was certain of his feelings
for her—Branwenn made a decision while breaking her fast. She’d go
to the old woman that dwelled in the MacGregor wood—the woman she’d
heard Maggie speak of in reference to Lara, though she knew not
what Callum’s wife had asked for—and obtain from her a remedy of
sorts. For, ‘twas clear from what she’d heard, that the lady had
herbal concoctions and mayhap, just mayhap, there might be some
that could give her heart some ease.

* * *

Callum watched Branwenn
leave through the gate of the fortress and bells of alarm went off
in his head. She wasn’t fleeing from him, was she? Or, worse,
meeting
Kerk
,
that pretty-faced new guard? He tossed his shirt and tunic on over
his braies and, after giving a quick, but, he was sure, muddled
explanation to Daniel as to why he was leaving so suddenly, he
charged after her. Or, rather, ran to the stables, retrieved his
mount, and
then
charged after her.

Where on earth was she
headed? She’d been noticeably loathe these past sennights, to stray
past the walls of the fortress without him, or one of her brothers,
as escort. Which, he assumed was due to some remaining dread that
the Norman swine, Gaiallard de Montfort, would somehow find her and
sweep her off to Cambria again. So,
was
she meeting that
guard?

Was Branwenn losing interest in him? God! If
only he could convince her to let him into her chamber again—then,
‘twas certain he could remind her of her desire for him.

Or—and this made his gut wrench at the same
time it sliced through his heart—
Is
she more like Lara than
he thought possible?
Nay, no matter what his
misgivings regarding her feelings for him, Callum could not believe
she’d give her body to another so easily, so quickly, after their
own carnal relations had been—and he was set on
this—
temporarily
ended by her. Especially knowing how shy she still was to
even allow him to look upon her naked form—a thing he had
never
yet
been
allowed to do. Nay, she’d not flit from one man’s bed to the next
so quickly.

Callum’s spine straightened. Nay, but she
might allow the man a kiss. And that was truly enough to send his
temper rising like volcanic spew straight to the sun.

It took him a bit of time
to find her tracks, but once found, an even more violent sense of
alarm overtook him and his stomach twisted in his belly so tightly,
it felt as if he’d taken a direct, unprotected, blow to it with a
lance.
She was headed for the old woman’s
cot
, he just knew it. His heart began to
ache. Branwenn,
Branwenn
, he thought, I beg you, do
not be doing what I think you are doing. Do not. Do not follow in
the same wretched steps as Lara.

* * *

The forest lined the craggy shore of the
ocean and it took a bit of time for Branwenn to traverse the glen
that lay between the MacGregor fortress and the ocean. But, by
mid-morn she was rapping on the splintered pine door of the old
woman’s cot.

And, in less than a quarter-hour’s time more,
she was cheerfully making her way back across the glen, pouch in
hand.

In the next moment, the sound of thundering
horse’s hooves broke into her thoughts.

She came to an abrupt
standstill, her heart leaping into her throat. Was she about to be
trampled then? She turned her head this way and that, but couldn’t
see from which direction the horse was traveling. Just as she’d
decided she’d best scurry atop yon boulder, she saw him.
Callum.
And he did not
look pleased.

By instinct alone, she took
a step backward. Unfortunately, the side of her heel landed on the
edge of a rabbit hole and her ankle twisted. “
Aieee!
” she cried out, falling
backward, right on her rump.