Highlander's Winter Tale (2 page)

“Snow began to fall the night before the hanging. All night the woman waited in her small cell, wondering if the man she had once believed loved her would come to see her. But he never came. Snow was falling heavily the next morning, but it did not stop the execution. The woman was taken to a tree, placed on a horse, and a noose slipped around her neck. The only one in attendance was the warrior chosen to carry out the execution, though it was not the falling snow that kept others away. It was the fear of being cursed by the witch that kept them locked away in their cottages.

“The woman sat on the horse waiting for death when out of the falling snow walked the man who had once claimed to love her. He was even more handsome than she remembered and her heart soared, thinking that perhaps he had a change of heart and had come to spare her life. His words were not what she had expected and they cut much deeper than any dagger could.”

“You bewitched me the moment your eyes met mine. Now I will finally be free of you.”

“The woman thought her heart could not break any more than it already had, but at that moment her heart felt as though it shattered into millions of pieces. She had been a fool to believe he had ever loved her. Devastated, she lashed out at him, condemning him with her last words. “When death claims you, I curse you to walk the earth only when the snow falls heavily upon the ground and your name is called forth. You will know no peace, no rest until the power of love seals your fate.” The woman then shouted out his name and it drifted along on the snowy wind as the execution was carried out with a nod from the mighty warrior.” Old Mary paused for a moment before resuming, her tone full of sadness. “The warrior’s wife met an early death that winter from a fever as did many of the villagers and the mighty warrior himself. But when they went to bury his body—it was gone. The following winter when the first heavy snow covered the ground and his name was evoked in remembrance, the mighty warrior appeared. He had not known where he had been and many thought that perhaps he had not died and the fever had him wander off and now he had finally returned and the clan celebrated. After a few days, fear replaced joy, many believing the devil had returned with him. Women he touched turned ill as did animals he laid his hand upon. Men were too frightened to go near him and food stored for the winter began to rot. When the snow was gone, so was the mighty warrior. The warrior who had carried out the execution told everyone about the curse the woman had placed upon the mighty warrior, and all began to wonder. Next winter, fearful that the curse could be true and he would once again bring the devil with him, it was agreed that the warrior’s name would not be evoked. However, when a second snow fell a drunken warrior uttered his name with a laugh. The door to the keep flew open and in walked the mighty warrior, snow swirling around him. This time the people did their best to avoid him, but he was laird and his word ruled. Several women in the clan died as did animals, but not the mighty warrior. When the snow was gone, so was he. The next year his name never passed anyone’s lips and the warrior was not seen. His clan never spoke his name again. All portraits of him were removed, tapestries of his battles were burned and his name struck from documents and stones—where it had been carved—destroyed, until no remembrance of him existed. The tale, however, spread across the land and through time. Some foolishly evoked names, tempting fate, and the warrior would appear having been woken from his never-ending slumber, bringing the devil and death with him.”

The women shivered and some of the men shook their heads while other men laughed and began calling out names.

“James come forth!”

“William you are welcome here!”

“Stop it,” one woman shouted. “You will bring the devil down upon us.”

The men paid no heed to the warning and continued calling out names.

“Ranald!”

“John!”

A woman slapped the one man, who shouted out a name, in the shoulder to get him to stop.

“Charles!”

“Stop!” another woman warned anxiously.

“Alexander!”

“Boyce!”

The wind suddenly screeched like a horde of banshees around the keep and Dawn turned to Cree with fear in her eyes, pointing to the men and shaking her head.

Cree nodded, agreeing that the nonsense must stop, but before he could stand and order the men to cease their nonsense, the Great Hall doors burst open and in with a rush of swirling wind and snow entered a hooded, black-cloaked figure.

Not a sound was uttered, not a soul stirred. Everyone sat frozen, staring at the cloaked figure as he drew closer to the tables.

Cree stood and felt his wife’s grip on his hand tighten and with the sea of anxious faces staring at the stranger, he needed to end this foolishness before they all believed that a ghost walked among them.

“Make yourself known, stranger!” Cree commanded with a shout.

The cloaked figure halted and as he raised his head, he threw back the hood of his cloak.

Women gasped, men shook their heads, and Dawn gripped her husband’s hand harder. Cree was a handsome man and never would she think another more handsome, but this man’s sculpted features could not be denied. They stole the breath and captivated attention. His eyes were as blue as a warm summer day and dark brows arched over them in perfect symmetry. High cheekbones defined slender cheeks, a narrow nose, and a square chin. And his lips were...luscious. Some women would think him irresistible, not so Dawn. Cree was and always would be the only irresistible man to her.

Cree understood why the men shook their heads and watched as every woman scrutinized the man with more than simple curiosity. Cree snapped his head to the side to glance at his wife and he did not like the way she stared at the stranger.

“I seek shelter from the storm,” the man said his voice so strong and intoxicating, that it brought smiles to all the women’s faces.

“Your name!” Cree demanded his voice full of annoyance.

Without pause, the stranger offered his name, slipping off his cloak a he did. “Alexander.”

Gasps stung the air again, though Cree was not sure if it was because his name matched one that had been called out or it was the lean, hard, stranger’s confident stance that caused the startled responses.

Alexander ran his fingers through his dark hair, pulling the damp strands away from his face to tuck behind his ears and fall to rest at his wide shoulders. The casual movement brought sighs from some of the women.

Cree looked to his wife again and he was pleased she did not appear affected by it.

“May I trouble you for shelter and food until this storm passes?” Alexander asked.

One of the women stood, a goblet in her hand, ready to take it too him when she caught sight of Cree. The scowl he settled on her had her sitting down abruptly and pushing the goblet away.

Cree turned to Sloan and whispered, “See that she is reprimanded for her actions.” Cree returned his attention to Alexander. “You are welcome to seek shelter here.”

“I am most appreciative of your generosity,” Alexander said with a graceful bow of his head.

Cree had many questions for the stranger, but he would not ask them in front of everyone, for he was not sure if the answers would unsettle many. He would wait and speak to the man alone. For now, he said, “Take a seat by the fire and share in our food.”

Alexander bowed his head once more before going to a table where women scurried to make room for him and the men refused to budge. The three women at the table fussed over the man as did a couple of servant lasses.

As soon as Cree sat, Sloan whispered to him, “Old or young alike, he has them mesmerized. We should keep a sharp eye on him.”

Cree nodded and kept his voice low. “At all times.”

Sloan understood and would assign warriors to follow the warrior while he was here.

Cree turned to his wife, raising their joined hands to give hers a kiss. She smiled at him and it warmed his heart, or was it relief to see the love she had for him shining so bright in her dark eyes?

He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I cannot wait to get you into bed tonight.”

Her smile grew and she tapped her chest, letting him know she was just as eager.

While Cree refilled her goblet with wine, he saw that she glanced over at the stranger. He wondered what she thought of him. Did she find him as attractive as the other women did?

Dawn looked to her husband, then to the stranger, then back at her husband and scrunched her brow and shrugged.

“You wonder about him?”

She nodded.

“Aye, I do as well. How did he make his way here in an intense snowstorm in the middle of the night?”

Dawn nodded, agreeing with him.

“I will speak with him privately before we retire.”

Dawn frowned and gestured that that would bring him late to their bed.

“Eager to bed me?’ he said with a gentle laugh.

She smiled and nodded vigorously.

Cree leaned in close to whisper, “As hungry as I am for you, I need to make certain he poses no threat to our clan.”

Her eyes widened with worry and she pressed her hand to his chest.

He rested his hand over hers. “There is no reason for you to worry.” She went to gesture and he caught her hands in his. “Please do not even suggest that he may be the warrior of the tale Old Mary spun.”

Dawn turned her head to look out over everyone gathered in the Great Hall, then glanced back at her husband and once again over the room.

Cree followed where his wife had glanced to see heads huddled in conversation while stealing looks at the stranger. Tongues were busy wagging. “Now I will have to prove the stranger is no more than a man seeking shelter from the storm before gossiping tongues create another tale.”

After Old Mary finished speaking with a few of the women who had hurried to speak with her, she walked over to the dais. “These old bones are tired. Will you walk with me to my room, Dawn?”

Dawn smiled and nodded only too pleased to help her. Cree went to stand when she did, but she placed a firm hand on his shoulder and shook her head. She tilted her head toward the stranger, tapped her lips, then her husband’s and tapped her own chest, as her smile turned inviting.

“I will keep my conversation with the stranger brief since you will be eagerly waiting in our bedchamber for me.”

Dawn leaned down and gave him a loving kiss on the cheek. What no one saw was how her hand slipped under his plaid and stroked him teasingly, arousing him.

“That hungry for me?”

She casually placed the tip of her finger in her mouth and sucked on it innocently, nipping at the tip as she withdrew it and Cree turned hard.

“
Enough
!” Cree snapped. “Take Old Mary and settle her in, then wait for me in our bedchamber. I will not be long.”

Sloan chuckled as she walked past him smiling and she gave him a nod good-night.

Cree watched his wife take hold of Old Mary’s arm and leave the Great Hall, keeping a firm hold on the woman. Then he turned his attention to Alexander and saw how easily he seemed to engage those around him, even the men who at first ignored him. The whole table appeared to be livelier since the stranger had joined them. Smiles and frequent laughter circled the table and those who looked on did so with envy.

Seeing enough, Cree stood, looked at Sloan and ordered, “Bring the stranger to my solar.”

Sloan nodded and after downing the last of his ale, walked over to Alexander. “Cree wishes to speak with you.”

“As you wish,” Alexander said with a pleasant smile and followed Sloan. As soon as he entered the solar he once again thanked Cree for his generosity. “Again, my lord, I am most grateful for your kindness.”

“Kind, I am not,” Cree said not a hint of a smile breaking his scowl, “though I am curious.” He pointed to a chair not far from where he stood by the fireplace. “Sit and tell me where you are from and how you managed to make it here in this blinding snowstorm.”

Alexander took the offered seat and had to tilt his head back slightly to look up at Cree. “I call no particular place home and I feel fortunate to have stumbled upon your home in this awful snowstorm that came on so suddenly.”

“Family?”

“They all left me too soon.”

Cree heard no sorrow in his voice.

“I hope one day to have a home again and a wife to love.”

“You had a wife?” Cree asked.

Alexander bobbed his head. “I did and I loved her dearly.”

“What happened to her?”

“She took ill.”

With Alexander’s brief responses, Cree was learning nothing about the man and he got the distinct feeling it was on purpose. “Where were you going when you got caught in the storm?”

“I go where the wind takes me and it seems to have delivered me to your door.”

“You wish to remain here?” Cree asked, knowing that was not going to happen.

“Until the snow—”

“Stops,” Cree finished for him.

“Could I impose on you at least until the roads are somewhat passable?”

“As long as you present no problem,” Cree warned.

Alexander stretched his arms out to the sides. “I carry no weapons and mean harm to none.”

Cree stared at him a moment. How had he not seen that? That should have been the first thing he looked for and yet he had not taken notice. He shot Sloan a quick glance and he shook his head, letting Cree know that he had failed to notice himself.

“What kind of man carries no weapon?” Cree challenged.

Alexander’s smile grew wider. “A confident one.”

“Confidence is nothing without courage. Do you have courage, Alexander?”

His smile faded for the first time since he stepped into the keep. “Courage is discovered when the time comes that one must be courageous.”

“When your time came were you courageous?” Cree asked.

Alexander’s silence answered for him, though after the awkward pause, he did speak. “There was a time...” He could not finish. He shook his head as he said, “It haunts me to this day.” His smile returned suddenly. “But I hope to rectify that one day. Who knows, perhaps I will find a strong, loving woman here among your clan who will look upon me kindly.”

“And see you for who you truly are?”

Alexander laughed. “That would take more courage than most women have.”

Dawn.
He thought of his wife immediately. How could he not? She was the most courageous woman he had ever met. When he had been taken prisoner and locked in the dungeon of someone seeking revenge against him, she had not hesitated to rescue him. She had succeeded when others could not, though at great cost to herself, and she bore a scar to prove it. He did not believe there was any woman as courageous as Dawn, and she belonged to him.

“I protect what is mine,” Cree warned.

“As you should, but as I said, I mean harm to none.”

“Make sure of it,” Cree ordered, “for if you stir any trouble here, I will see you suffer for it.”

~~~

Old Mary sat in the lone chair by the hearth in the small bedchamber to chase the chill from her tired bones. “Sit and talk with me, Dawn.”

She grabbed a soft wool shawl hanging on one of three pegs near the door and draped it around Old Mary’s shoulder before taking the small footstool from under the chair where Old Mary sat and placed it in front of her, always eager to talk with the woman who was much more than a friend. The old woman had been a good friend to her mum and her when others scorned them because Dawn had no voice, and her way of knowing things had helped Dawn through some troubling times.

“My age is beginning to wear on me,” Old Mary said.

Dawn shook her head and gripped her arms and pretended to shiver.

“It is not only the cold. My age has—”

Dawn took her gnarled hands in hers, shaking her head forcefully, refusing to let her finish. She could not bear to think of life without Old Mary.

Old Mary chuckled. “I am not going anywhere just yet, my dear. These old bones of mine may protest, but they still have life in them. It is my knowing that I fear my age is intruding upon.”

Dawn smiled, relieved to hear it and shrugged, asking what troubled her.

“It is this stranger who suddenly appeared tonight. I usually get a sense of a person when I first see them. Kind. Strong. Untrustworthy. It helped when Cree took over the village. I knew he was an honorable man and would be a great clan leader and keep everyone safe. I also could see how much he cared for you and how those feelings grew so rapidly into love. You two were fated to be together.” She rested her head back against the chair and sighed.

Dawn waited, anxious to hear what Old Mary had to say about the stranger, since she wondered about him herself.

Old Mary glanced down at Dawn. “I felt nothing.”

Dawn was quick to respond with a gesture.

“You are right. I am tired and I suppose that might have had something to do with it.”

Dawn pointed to her face, produced a lovely smile and fluttered her lashes.

Old Mary laughed. “You think his handsome features got in the way of me sensing something?”

Dawn nodded and smiled as if she was laughing.

“I am too old to respond foolishly to such fine features. What of you? Did you find him appealing?”

Dawn appeared to laugh as she shook her head. She tapped her chest and raised her hand high and looked up with loved-filled eyes.

“You care only for Cree.”

She threw her arms wide.

“More and more,” Old Mary said and smiled along with her, so happy Dawn had found a good, strong man to love her.

Dawn’s smile faded and she gestured again.

Having helped Dawn’s mum teach her how to speak with her hands, Old Mary understood Dawn well. “You want to know if the Winter Tale is true, so do many. Some refuse to tell the tale, fearing it will release the undead upon them. Others think it is nothing more than nonsense contrived by a storyteller to capture his audience.” She shrugged. “Who is to say whether it be truth or tale? It could be either, though I have always found that there is some truth to any tale.”

A shiver settled over Dawn and she held her hands out to the fire to warm them.

“Perhaps the tale did not happen as told. Sometimes when a tale is repeated often, the story grows and grows until it no longer is anything like the original tale.”

Dawn frowned.

“Aye, it is a sad tale either way for someone had treated love badly.”

Dawn held two crossed fingers in front of her face.

“The curse,” Old Mary said, nodding. “It takes power to curse someone and there are only two things powerful enough to produce a curse...hate and love. Who knows which one it could be or if there was a curse at all?” Old Mary shivered.