Page 66 of Highlanders for the Holidays
“When you falter—and you will—will you have the courage—and loyalty—to remember the promises you have made to one another?”
“I will,” Kellen said, smiling brightly.
“With all my heart,” Constance agreed. She gave Kellen a smile that brought one to Aidan’s face as well. The sight of the two warmed the cockles of his heart.
“Verra well, “ Glenna declared, “Constance and Kellen, now as your hands are bound, so too are you bound to one another. Kellen, you may bestow a kiss of peace upon your bride.”
Timidly at first, looking toward Aidan and then to Broc and then to Iain—as though he were asking for permission—Kellen leaned in with puckered lips. But he’d closed his eyes and when his lips touched upon his bride, they’d missed their mark. He planted a rather chaste kiss upon her eye. To the girl’s credit, she merely smiled.
The gathering laughed quietly.
Red-faced, Kellen reached out to hold his bride’s cheeks, as though to keep her still for his kiss and then, with eyes wide open, he gave the kiss another try. Before he could accomplish his mission, Constance thrust her hands out eagerly, pulling her new husband close—much too quickly and the two knocked chins, moving away from each other with startled yelps of pain.
The gathering laughed once again, a few old men not so politely as before.
Finally, Kellen pulled his bride into his arms, and kissed her sweetly, lips still closed and Aidan thought mayhap it was past time to have a talk with the boy. His shoulders shook gently with mirth.
Now pleased with himself, his son turned to raise their bound arms for everyone to see and a cheer rang throughout the gathered crowd. And that swiftly and thoroughly the handfasting was done. The sound of music lifted at once, and Kellen embraced his bride. The sight of them together once again quickened Aidan’s smile.
“She’s a verra lovely lass,” his sister whispered at his side.
Aidan turned to look at Catrìona, marveling how well the years had treated her. Her hair was full with lively red curls, and her cheeks were blooming still. “That she is,” he agreed, taking Catrìona’s arm into his, and pulling her close so he could whisper in her ear. “Are ye still pleased with your mon?”
She nodded quickly, and Aidan peered over at his brother by law. “’Tis a good thing ye’ve loved my sister well, Mac Brodie.”
Gavin chuckled. “Och, mon, dinna think for one instant she would have it any other way.”
Aidan laughed over that truth. None of his sisters were weak or timid, he acknowledged. Each had her own manner of strengths. As yet, only Caitlin and Sorcha remained unwed, although Caitlin would have it otherwise if Aidan would simply give her leave to wed the man she craved. However, Aidan could not quite bring himself to do so. As yet, she had not actually used that word, and so far as Aidan was concerned, that simple fact left him wondering if she harbored some doubts. But this was a quandary for another day. Today, his youngest son was wed.
With bawdy shouts, the crowd made way for the Kellen and Constance as they moved down the hill, half dancing to the music as they went. All banter was soon swallowed by the uproar. Ribald laughter followed the wedded pair. Little ones tossed late blooming flowers at their feet. Despite the haste, it was a lovely wedding, and as far as Aidan was concerned, this visit far surpassed his last. He found himself clapping his hands as the festivities carried them toward the night’s bonfire—a massive undertaking that had been built to honor the Mother of Winter. Tonight, it would honor the bride and groom as well.
Catrìona fell behind, walking with her husband arm in arm. “He likes ye,” Aidan heard her say. “Dinna fash yersel’, Gavin.”
Aidan smiled, realizing they must be speaking about him. He wanted to laugh, and turn and put the man at ease, but such an act did not come easily to him. It was quite enough that Cat could reassure him, and this much was true: he valued any man who could bring such unrepressed joy to his sister’s heart, whether or not he was an outlander.
* * *
The fire spatglowing cinders against a twilight sky.
‘Twas said the winter solstice was a time for rebirth, a time for growth, a time for atonement. For those who believed in faeries and brownies, it could easily be said that for any who came ill prepared for the long winter, the solstice would be the hour of reckoning. On the other hand, if one did not believe in faeries and brownies, it could also be said the hour had come…
Afric smiled.
The fire had been a ruse, a means to draw his prey out into the open. If, in fact, it had been his intent to devastate the entire clan beyond restitution, he would have killed them all whilst they’d slept in their beds. But nay, he already had a long list of souls he wouldst need make amends for, and he had no desire to add to that list unnecessarily.
Earlier, as he’d stood inside the hall—a stranger in their midst—listening to the laird’s son attempt to convince his father that there must be foul play at hand, Afric worried his opportunities would all be lost. But then the MacKinnon dismissed the lad, and here they were, none the wiser.
Celebrating like filthy Pagans, no one appeared to care that flames destroyed half the village little less than a week before. In his arrogance, the MacKinnon had ordered yet another bonfire, one that was even bigger than the last.
Of course, it was easy enough to believe all was right with the world, when neighboring clans all came together this way.
For an instant, it left Afric with a guilty pang…
For only an instant.
These were not his people. Given the opportunity, they would mete him the same fate. Survival depended upon which side you were on—and Afric was most assuredly not on theirs. Neither was he on Hugh’s—stupid bag of wind.
Did Page truly believe their father’s apathy was reserved only for her?
