Highland Magic (29 page)

“I’ve a present for you, love,” Callum said
seductively, much too close to her ear for her to keep her resolve
for very long.

She turned and looked at him. “Y...You have?”
she asked breathlessly.

“Aaaye,” he drawled into it and then lightly
ran his tongue over the outer edge. “‘Tis in the pouch attached to
my belt.” He took her earlobe between his teeth and nibbled it a
bit before softly sucking it into his mouth.

Branwenn’s knees turned to jelly as a rush of
hot and cold shivers ran up the side of her neck to her ear. She
felt her nipples harden and abrade the material over her breast,
and tingles of pure ecstasy traveled from the center of her womb
out over her skin to the tips of her fingers and toes. “Mmm?”

Callum grinned against her lobe. “Why do you
not check inside? I’m sure you’ll like what you find.” He took her
hand and placed it on the pouch.

Branwenn’s fingers trembled
as she opened the drawstring and slid them inside the opening. As
her fingers traveled downward she felt the hard ridge of his
manhood hidden behind the material of his tunic and shirt. Oh, God!
How she wanted that. Deep inside her. Now. Not two nights hence,
but
now
. Here. On
the table behind them. Her heart pounded in her breast and her
breathing grew harsh.

Callum placed his hands on her shoulders and
pressed his cheek against hers. “Branwenn,” he rasped, his voice
had a bit of a tremble to it now. “Godamercy, how long ‘til we are
wed? I swear, I cannot wait much longer to be inside you again.”
With a jerk, dropped his hands to his sides and took a step back.
“Pray, pardon me, my love. I played a bit too close to the fire, it
seems. I thought I had more discipline than that.” He quickly
brought out the thing he’d meant to give her from his pouch and
thrust it toward her.

‘Twas a ring. A lovely amethyst and emerald
ring. Two pea-sized oval stones mounted next to each other in a
gold filigree setting. “Here. Take it.”

Branwenn’s eyes grew wide with pleasure as
she gazed upon the gift. “Callum! ‘Tis lovely.” She glanced up at
him and then quickly down at the ring once more as she reached out
and took it. She brought it close to her face and looked at it from
every angle. “My thanks.”

Callum stepped forward. “Here, let me put it
on you,” he said. Taking the piece of jewelry, he slid it over the
middle finger of her left hand. Afterward, because he could resist
it no longer, he settled his lips against her forehead and wrapped
his arms around her shoulders. “‘Twas my grandmother’s—my father’s
mother’s. I’m glad you like it.”

* * *

Branwenn found Reys on the lists and waived
at him. He dipped his head at her before cantering over to her on
his steed. After lifting the helm off, he smiled and gave her
another brief nod of greeting, saying, “Good day to you. Do you
search for Callum?” Pointing with his thumb, he twisted slightly on
his saddle in the direction of the southern end of the lists. “I
think he’s further down, practicing with Daniel.”

“Nay, I came to speak with you, actually.
Have you a few moments to spend with me in the garden, mayhap?”

His brows lifted. “Yes. Just give me a moment
to wash up a bit. Shall I meet you there, in say, a half hour’s
time?”

Branwenn smiled and nodded.
“All right.” She turned and walked toward her destination. She was
a bit nervous at the prospect of speaking with Reys about his
youth, as she had no idea whether it had been pleasing or horrid.
And if it had been horrid, he’d no doubt not want to tell her about
it in any case. But, ever since this sennight past when she’d
realized how little she knew about the brother that shared her
blood, she’d been anxious to speak with him, to let him know that
she cared about him a great deal and hoped he’d not suffered too
greatly when his mother—
their
mother—had been taken from him. Unfortunately,
she’d been thwarted in her previous attempts to gain a privy word
with him, either by one or both of her brothers demanding his
presence on the lists or by Grandmother Maclean and Aunt Maggie
insisting on her presence in the solar to go over last minute
details for her coming nuptials. It finally became clear to her
this morn that she must
force
the meeting, so had determinedly set out to
insist upon, if need be, a meeting forthwith.

She’d barely gotten settled on the bench,
when Reys came through the arched entry to the garden. “You look
awfully clean for one who only took—what?—five minutes to bathe?”
she jested.

Reys gave her a sheepish grin. “I decided it
best to only pour a bit of well water over my head and wash my
face, as you seemed troubled and avid to speak to me. And, as you
see, I’m still in all my mail.”

“Come,” she said, patting the space next to
her on the stone bench, “sit with me awhile.”

When Reys was settled next to her, she placed
her hand atop the one he had lightly gripped around the edge of the
bench between them and turned slightly toward him. “I want to give
you my confession of sorrow that I have never once asked you about
your life in Cambria after our mother was taken away from you and
your father.”

“
Our
father,” he corrected gently.
“And you were taken from us as well.”

Branwenn looked away. “Aye, but I was not yet
born, so ‘twas not as great a loss, I trow.”

Reys turned his hand up and twined his
fingers through hers. “Yes, Branwenn, it was. For both my father
and for me. And my search was not the first one—‘twas only the
first one that was successful.”

She tucked that admission away, to be studied
later, when she was by herself once more. “But, how hard it must
have been for you to retrace Jamison Maclean’s steps, to find the
kirk where our mother was buried!”

Reys stared down at their intertwined hands.
With a sigh, he nodded slowly. “Yes, ‘twas a very painful mission
our cousin sent me on; one which took me away from my wife, who was
still carrying my twin girls in her belly.” He looked at her then,
his eyes full of purpose, “But, I tell you truly, ‘twas a mission I
wanted. Wanted more than I wanted my next breath.”

Branwenn’s eyes widened a bit and she sat
forward, “Why, Reys? Why would you have wanted such so badly?”

“Because I owed it to my mother—our
mother—and you.”

He got up abruptly and took a few paces away
and then stopped cold, running his hand through his hair, before
rubbing the back of his neck with his palm. She’d asked, so he
would now tell her. As he’d sworn to himself he would do in any
case...someday soon. ‘Twould be the final act of contrition for the
horrible sin he’d committed. “You see, I held a shame in my very
soul all those years after her abduction. There was a debt to her
and you I had to pay.”

Branwenn watched him, fascinated. He was like
some black wolf, in the sights of a band of hunters’ bows, tensely
awaiting the killing volleys.

His hand fisted at his
side, then opened, the long, masculinely tapered fingers flaring
out like a cockscomb. “You see, I told her I
hated
her the day I last saw
her,”—Branwenn sucked in her breath—“told her that I wished she was
dead,” his voice, as hollow as a fallen oak, cracked on the last
word.

“Reys!” she whispered harshly.

He turned back to face her,
a look of tortured despair on his darkly handsome face. “Yes, I
know, ‘tis the most horrid, awful,
vile
thing to say to anyone. And I
said it to my own mother.”

“But you were so young—only five summers, is
that not right?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

Branwenn stood up and walked over to him. She
placed her hand on his arm, a show of comfort and understanding.
“She knew you meant it not, I’m sure.”

He shrugged, taking in a
deep breath and releasing it with a huff. He cleared his throat and
said, “I was so angry with her, I remember.” He chuckled but there
was torment in the sound. “I wanted to stay at the keep; my friend,
Owain, and I had a wager on the number of times we could toss a
stone in the air and catch it without it dropping to the ground. If
I won the wager, I’d win his new pair of stilts, a thing I avidly
desired after having used them earlier. I was on my twenty-seventh
toss, with ten more to go to beat his number when my mother came up
to us and said ‘twas time for us to depart on our journey to her
sister’s holding.” He looked away. “I pleaded with her, as I
continued my tosses, to allow me to stay to finish the game, but
she refused—and then she caught the stone and gave it to Owain. I
was so furious with her.” His voice turned bitter. “I thought: Why
could she not allow me to stay a few more moments to complete my
game?” A wayward tear fell from the outer corner of his eye and he
quickly scrubbed it away with the base of his palm. “Of course, I
learned later that she’d given Owain’s mother an oath that she
would not allow me to make wagers with my friend anymore.” He
crossed his arms over his chest and bowed his head. “And when she
took hold of my hand to lead me away I...God’s Bones!” Pressing the
base of his palm into his eye, he said brokenly, “I
hit
her—in the
stomach!”

“Reys!” Branwenn’s mind reeled. ‘Twas truly
an awful thing he’d done, yet he had been so young at the time.
“Was she...did she...”

He cleared his throat. “She was not harmed,
God be praised.” He looked over at her then. “And, neither were
you.”

A chill ran down her spine and she shivered
in reaction. A faint memory niggled at the corner of Branwenn’s
mind, and, all at once, she knew. “Godamercy! You were with her
when Jamison Maclean abducted her!” She tugged on his sleeve
without realizing it. “How ever did you manage to not be
captured—how did you survive—and how did I not know of this
before?”

Reys returned her gaze, placing his hand over
the one she had fisted in the sleeve of his tunic. “While my
mother’s guards were fighting the brigands, she told me that no
matter what happened, I was to remain still and silent. I agreed,
but not without several long seconds of fearful debate, for I was
crying and shaking by this time. And, oh, God! Branwenn”—he threw
his head back, his eyes squeezed shut. Finally, he opened them and
settled his gaze on her once more—“even then, I didn’t give her my
confession of sorrow for what I’d said to her earlier.” The hand
that covered hers clenched slightly. “A thing that haunts me to
this day. Why did I not say the words? I thought them, I assure
you, but I didn’t say them to her. All I said, over and over again,
was ‘I’m afraid, Mama.’

“Reys,” Branwenn whispered sadly, not knowing
what else to say to him.

He continued, as if he’d not heard her,
“Then, she rolled me in her cloak and tossed the contents of her
spew bucket over it—gambling that the fiends would leave it be once
they saw that the garment was ruined.”

“Spew bucket?” She looked up from her dazed
and blind stare at the gold and red badge on the left breast of his
dark blue tunic.

His lips pressed together a moment before he
nodded, saying, “Yes. You recall, she was carrying you at the
time?”

“Oh. Aye. Spew bucket.”

“Anyway, the ploy worked, for when the men
threw the door open to the caravan and yanked my mother out, taking
whatever small items she had with her in the thing, they left alone
the cloak she’d arranged, as if wadded up, on the opposite
seat.”

“But, Reys, how on earth did you survive
until your father and his men arrived? Were you still there or had
you left the place?”

“I’d left. I was so frightened, so terrified,
actually, that the men would come back. But, I, being such a young
boy, had no idea what to do—so I just moved, walked forward, in the
opposite direction of where we had been headed. I just wanted to
get home. And find someone who would chase the men down who’d
stolen my mother from me.” He moved away from her and sat down on
the bench with his hands braced on its edge and his arms straight,
his whole body rigid. “One of my father’s men found me on the side
of the road a couple of days later. I was ill from lack of food and
drink. He lifted me up and took me back to our keep.” Turning his
head, he gazed, unseeing, at the brown and grays of the winter
garden. “I was not well for quite a time afterward, from exposure
to the elements and hunger and thirst, but also from the trauma of
losing my mother and knowing that I’d told her I wanted her dead.
God had punished me for those words, I knew.”

“Reys! Surely ‘tis not true!”

He shrugged. “For many years afterward—many
years—until I found you, in fact,”—he turned to look at her once
more—“I wore a hairshirt as penance for my sin.”

* * *

Two hours later, as Branwenn was dressing for
the feast, her mind turned once more to the tale she’d gotten from
her brother that afternoon. Her heart ached for him. Lord, the wide
swath of damage and destruction that had been caused by Jamison
Maclean. It amazed her still that such a vile, horrid devil could
produce two such generous, honorable men as Bao and Daniel. God be
praised that the evilness had not been handed down in the blood.
She sighed as she washed her face over the basin. But, she
supposed, ‘twas clearly not aberrant blood, but evilness of mind
and spirit, as Jamison Maclean’s mother, Lady Maclean—and by all of
that lady’s accounts, his father also—was a generous, honorable
person as well.

What anguish Reys had
suffered! And—this still amazed her, even now—to such an extent
that he’d actually worn a
hairshirt
for
years
! She shuddered.