Page 12 of Highlanders for the Holidays
“’Tis night.” Her brow creased. “‘Tis wintertime.”
“Ye don’t strike me as the kind o’ lass to be put off by a wee bit o’ darkness or snow. And I’ve got a cloak to keep us warm.”
Her eyes sparked as if he’d asked her on a forbidden adventure.
Without waiting for her reply, he took her hand and nodded toward the door. “Let’s go.”
Most of the clan were too distracted to note their departure. Caimbeul, however, had his scowl fixed on them. No?l gave him a nod that acknowledged the man’s disapproval. But that didn’t stop him from taking his bride’s hand and stealing out the door into the night with her anyway.
The air was crisp and cold. The snow had stopped falling. White drifts draped the ground like a linen sheet. No?l swirled his woolen cloak over his bride’s shoulders as they stepped into the courtyard.
She hesitated, glancing down at her feet. He realized she was wearing soft slippers meant only for the great hall.
Without hesitation, he swept her off her feet and into his arms. She gasped, clinging to him as if she feared he’d drop her. But she was no heavier a burden than his chain mail. He sauntered easily across the courtyard, past the outbuildings nestled against the bailey wall. His boots squeaked in the newly fallen snow.
“I suppose ‘tis hard to think o’ leavin’ the place o’ your birth,” he said. “But I think ye’ll grow to like France. And we can return here now and then if it pleases ye.”
“That’s very kind.”
He smiled. “So tell me, what should I know about this land we’re to inherit?”
No?l knew the Highlanders followed curious customs. One was that the oldest daughter could inherit the land and become laird in her own right. His brothers had shuddered at the notion. They’d warned him that ere long, his wife would be wearing trews and he’d be forced to don a kilt.
But the idea didn’t trouble him. He’d always admired capable women. In fact, he was looking forward to sharing the responsibilities of the holding, particularly since he knew so little about clan life.
“The land?” She wrinkled her brow in thought. “Well…centuries ago, ‘twas settled by Vikings.”
“Vikings? Invaders?”
“Nae. They were peaceful enough. They came mostly to build homes. Indeed, many o’ my ancestors came from Viking stock.”
“I see.”
“There’s little left o’ their settlement now, just a few stones here and there.”
“What about the land? Does it provide well for ye?”
“Aye. There are fish in the loch and game in the forest—enough to keep the clan fed all winter. We keep sheep, cattle, and chickens. And we sow oats and barley. When summer comes, there are wild berries everywhere.” She thawed just a little when she mentioned summer, relaxing against him.
“I’d like to see it in summer.”
“’Tis a bonnie time. The braes are cloaked in green grass and wildflowers.” Then a crease touched her brow. “Though they’re also full o’ ankle-bitin’ midges.”
He chuckled. “What’s your favorite place?”
“My favorite?” She mused for a moment. “The Viking well, I suppose.”
“The well?”
“‘Tis an old stone ruin. But some say ‘tis enchanted.”
No?l felt enchanted himself. His bride fit into his arms as if she were made just for him. Her voice was soft and compelling. Her body felt warm and yielding against his. “Enchanted? And why is that?”
“Accordin’ to ancient legend, two lovers hid in the well from those who would prevent their marriage. A storm arose, and the lovers drowned. They were cursed to live apart in the afterlife. But ‘tis said that at Yuletide, if two lovers tie together locks o’ their hair, weight them, and toss them into the well, the spirits o’ the ones who drowned will bless them with magic, bindin’ their souls together for eternity.”
“Is that so?” No?l didn’t believe in magic. Everything he’d won, he’d earned—not by magic, but by the sweat of his brow. Still, he didn’t want to dampen her spirits. “And is the legend true?”
She shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”
