Page 15 of Highland Yule
“Everyone’s been through a lot.” Rona kissed her aunt on the cheek. “Now enjoy yer time in front of a warm fire.” She grinned between Brighid and Aaron. “With good company.”
Rona surprised Colmac and took his hand, her chin once again notched, her determination evident. “I am ready.”
He understood she took his hand to ground herself. This was one of the hardest things she’d ever done, and he was glad he was here for her. He grabbed a fur cloak, a torch from a wall bracket and led her down the narrow hallway that wound its way to the backside of the castle.
“It seems like yesterday the three of us were running down this verra hall,” she said softly. “Playing and laughing without a care in the world.”
He managed a small smile, remembering well. “We had many good times.”
“The best,” she whispered.
She remained silent until they reached the door leading outside. Before opening it, he put the torch in a bracket, shouldered into his fur cloak then made sure hers was securely tucked around her. All the while, her eyes remained misty, and she pressed her lips together tightly. Something she did as a young lass when rallying herself to face difficulty.
“The wind is biting today,” he murmured, trying his best to ignore her proximity. He wanted to pull her into his arms and tell her everything would be all right. That it was hard at first, but in time, it would become easier.
“’Tis always biting is it not?” she whispered, her gaze on his face. But was she really seeing him? He got the sense she might be speaking of something else.
“Are ye well, lass?” Unable to do anything else, he cupped her cheek. “Ye dinnae seem yerself.”
“Because I am not,” she whispered, leaning into his touch, lost for a fleeting moment before she pulled back abruptly and faced the door with her head held high. “Let us do this then.”
He nodded and opened the door to the sunlit woodland beyond. The cold air smelled of spruce and snow covered evergreens blew in the wind, their needles brushing one another high above. Yet all he could see and hear were memories. How many times had they raced after each other out this door into white drifts? How often had they fallen into the snow laughing before patting it into icy balls they lobbed at each other?
“Watch yer step, Rona.” He escorted her out, his words foggy puffs in the chilly air. “’Tis slick.”
“Dinnae worry about me.” She looked up at the mighty pine she had depicted in her weaving then narrowed in on the stone cross beneath it. “Och, that’s his, aye?”
“Aye, lass.” He took her hand and led her to it.
“I am so sorry.” She shook her head. “I had no idea when I wove the tapestry he would be buried beneath the tree...”
“Ye dinnae need to be sorry,” he replied. “He would have liked ye weaving an image of this tree. My brother loved this spot as much as we do. ‘Twas verra special to him because of his many memories of ye beneath it and because of what happened beside it.”
“Where I stood when ye took down the boar,” she murmured.
“Aye,” he said. “He thought it a blessed location because ye survived.”
He was not the only one who felt that way either.
Colmac recalled with vivid clarity the calm focus that fell over him when the boar raced at her. Though fearful for the bonny lass, he released arrow after arrow, well-aimed all, and finally felled the beast moments before it reached her. He would never forget the thankfulness in her gaze when their eyes met for the first time. The way she made him feel
In truth, a part of him might have fallen in love with her that very moment.
“Och,” Rona whispered, wiping away a tear. She crouched in front of the stone and ran her fingers over the engraving. It had Bróccín’s name and their clan's motto beneath it.Fortis Et Fidus, or “strong and faithful.”
“’Tis beautifully engraved.” Her fingers slowed on the words. She glanced up at him over her shoulder. “Ye carved this, did ye not?”
“Aye.” He crouched beside her and gazed at the stone. “’Twas an honor...and it helped me. I thought of him as I made this, reliving our many times together. It helped me through my grief.”
“I ken,” she murmured, brushing her fingers over the words again. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “’Twas the same way for me when weaving the tapestry. It helped...it really did...”
Her lips trembled no matter how hard she pressed them together. He knew she had reached her limit. The time had finally come that she’d long dreaded. The harsh reality of Bróccín’s death. She gripped the stone to keep steady, but the trembling of her lips spread to the rest of her body.
So he did the only thing he could.
He stood, pulled her into his arms, and held her tight.
