Page 5 of Highland Yule
“Och, lass,” Aaron exclaimed. “’Tis meant for healing, not sampling!”
Evidently having faith enough in Mórag, he took it back and carefully tilted it to Rona’s lips. As forewarned, it tasted awful, but she managed several bitter swallows before exhaustion overwhelmed her, and she rested her head back.
“Is my horse all right?” she said. “And the men who were traveling with us?’
“Aye, lassie, everyone is just fine,” Brighid assured. “Now ‘tis time to rest.” She stroked Rona’s hair, soothing her. “I will stay close lest ye need me, aye?”
“Nay, ye should rest,” she murmured before everything faded away once more. When next she awoke, dim daylight filtered through the arrow-slit windows and her kin were gone.
Yet she was not alone.
Arms crossed over his chest, Colmac sat in the corner sound asleep. She had no recollection of him entering. Had he watched her sleep? Embarrassment warmed her cheeks at the thought.
Her gaze drifted to the small tapestry of a mighty pine tree hanging across from him. She’d begun weaving it after Bróccín died as a means to work through her grief. Located behind this very castle, she had sat beneath that tree many times with Bróccín and Colmac. Why was it hanging there, though? Obviously, someone took it out of her satchel and hung it.
Beyond a dull throb in her head, she felt considerably better but still thirsty. Thankfully, a cool glass of water sat on the bedside table...along with something else. Her name was written on a scroll tied with a festive red ribbon accentuated with a sprig of green holly.
Mayhap it was from Brighid telling her all was well and to join them in the great hall to break her fast? Unlikely. Her aunt would insist on walking her down there. She looked at Colmac. Mayhap it was from him then? She shook her head. Why would he leave her a letter when he could speak to her upon waking?
Fortunately, she, Colmac and Bróccín had all learned to read and write at MacLomain Castle in their youth. A privilege that few enjoyed. Done speculating, and beyond curious, she drank the water then carefully unraveled the scroll, shocked by what she discovered.
“Bróccín?” she whispered.
Without question, it was his handwriting.
She glanced at Colmac again. Had he left this for her? He must have. Bróccín had to have asked him to give it to her.
She read, and tears welled.
My Dearest Lass,
I cannae tell ye how much I longed to see yer bonny face again. To watch the sunlight ignite yer locks to pure fire as ye picked thistle. To feel the warmth of yer hand in mine. I dinnae think a lad could be any luckier than I was to have ye...To have known ye. Do ye remember the first time we met? What I showed ye? Might I show ye again?
Yers,
Bróccín
She wiped away a tear. Where was the rest of the message? Why did he leave off like that? She frowned and glanced at Colmac only to find his steady gaze on her.
“I dinnae ken,” she managed, her voice wobbly. “Did ye leave this?”
Surely, he must have. Bróccín certainly had not.
“Nay.” His words chilled her to the bone because he clearly spoke the truth. “And since yer kin left, nobody has been in this chamber but me.”
