Page 59 of Highlanders for the Holidays
Chapter 2
It wasthe eve before the winter solstice, the time of the longest night and the shortest day, when the days descended into darkness and the nights grew cold and long.
Tonight’s bonfire, like the night before, was a tribute to Cailleach Bhuer, the blue-faced mother of winter, who was reborn every All Hallow’s Eve to herald in the winter snows. ’Twas said she was the one who froze the ground with every tap of her ash-wood staff, but she was also the one who guarded the realms of men, protecting them from the winter winds. They honored her in hopes that she would continue to stave away the winter snows until the reconstruction was complete. The huts now had foundations, but they still had a ways to go.
Iain inspected the pit, making certain it was constructed to his specifications. It was a very good pit, he decided, rimmed by hefty boulders. The surrounding grass was already mostly charred. Even so, all debris within a stone’s throw had been removed, so as to lessen any further risk of fire. In spite of recent events, his kinsmen would take comfort in the night’s fire, for even in the darkest heart of winter, it was a keen reminder that, from the darkest womb of night, the light again would be reborn.
Even with a rising chill in the air, and a shortage of cloaks and blankets, there were hugs aplenty, followed by smiles and laughter. It was a heartfelt reunion, despite that the cause for the gathering was hardly a cause for celebration.
With so many folks already in attendance, Iain had considered sending word to the MacLeans and the Montgomeries, asking them to join, but it was hardly appropriate to invite a man to sup and then ask him to bring his own victuals. Fortunately, however, the sentiment was moot, because Gavin Mac Brodie slipped away to raid his pantry—yet again—and to retrieve his brothers.
Until this evening the two absent Brodies had been otherwise occupied, Leith with the labor and birth of his sixth bairn—aye sixth—and Colin with the mending of their storehouse roof. After a previous raid, Colin had discovered a leak in the ceiling that managed to soak and rot a few too many bags of grain. Once the job was complete, he’d sent his wife to rally his sister’s clan and together the Brodies and Montgomeries arrived with a number of arses overladen with supplies.
For clansmen who’d once lived amidst bitter feuding, the neighbors’ unflagging generosity brought a bit of moisture to his eyes. As it was, his voice was thick with emotion as he greeted all his guests with eager claps on the back and fierce embraces. Once hellos were said, they put a hog in the pit and set a table replete with foodstuffs that would put a king’s feast to shame. Then whilst they waited for the hog to cook, the members of all four clans congregated before a raging bonfire.
Iain watched his guests with a genuine affection in his heart. The last time they’d had so many people all together in one place, they were gathered together to raise Dunloppe from the ground—a gift to Broc Ceannfhionn from David of Scotia, in return for his fealty.
Auld Angus, with one black eye delivered by Catrìona’s knee, played his reed—a doleful sound. But the children scurried to and fro, laughter quick to touch their lips.
The sound of a few lone hammers rang in the distance, the tinny sound a strange accompaniment to Angus’ song.
For the fourth or perhaps fifth time—who was counting?—Iain embraced his friend. “Ye canna fathom how pleased I am to see you.”
Broc hugged him back, unashamed to linger in the embrace. “Och, mon, di’ ye believe we would leave ye to fend for yourselves? Nay, my friend, whatever is mine is yours to have,” he said.
Iain feared his eyes would remain hopelessly moist. He swallowed hard as he extracted himself from the massive hug with which Broc had nearly crippled him.
“God’s teeth, ’tis a wonder ye’ve anything left to give with so many bairns to feed,” Iain joked. “Ye’ve been a busy mon since ye left!”
Broc crossed his burly arms and gave him a wink. “Ye must be envious?” he suggested.
“Nay, but ye’re a randy bastard, to be sure.”
Broc chuckled, his gaze drawn toward Aidan dún Scoti, who was now standing on the opposite side of the pit, speaking at length with his bonny sister, Cat. “I see ye’ve luredhis majestyfrom the vale? However di’ ye manage?”
“He came of his own accord, Broc. Ye ken I would never ask.”
“Aye, well, he has yet to meet my gaze even once since I’ve arrived—despite that his sister Lael is pleased enough with her husband. I dinna believe that oaf will ever forgive me for putting Lael in harm’s way.”
Iain crossed his arms. “He will in time. Aidan is a good mon, Broc. In truth, were it my own sister ye put to risk, even with our many years together, I may have had some trouble forgiving ye as well.”
Inadvertently, Broc was the reason Lael dún Scoti and Jaime Steorling were now wed. Had he never asked her to join his fight for Keppenach, his birthplace, they would never have found themselves at King David’s mercy. Broc nodded, if reluctantly.
“Look at it this way. He’s not yet strangled ye, so I’d say ’tis progress, and ye’re both warming your soft arses ’round the same bonny fire.”
Broc grumbled low. “I dinna ken how much progress that is. Ye’ve gone and built the biggest damned fire I ever did see. The man could be warming his arse all night long and never see me once.”
Iain barked with laughter as Page came wending her way through the crowd, swiping her long, lean hands on her stained and dirty skirts. “Broc Ceannfhionn!” she exclaimed. “Welcome! Welcome! ’Tis glad I am tae see ye.”
Broc threw open his arms at once. “Och, lass, is that a bit of a brogue I hear? At long last?”
Page laughed. “After all this time I suppose it is.” Her cheeks filled with rosy color as she reached out to give Broc a long-overdue hug.
Broc drew his former lady into a gentle embrace.
“You’re so verra welcome,” Page said again. “although I do hope ye’ve come without your fleas,” she teased.
“Och, my lady, will ye ne’er let me live that down?”
