MacKinnons' Hope: A Highland Christmas Carol Read online

  Glenna would have sworn it must be true.

  His pleasure over the discovery was fully dampened by the simple fact that all these cottages could not have been constructed without a lot of help. Unless every last guest had put aside his uisge and his ale, and then worked all night whilst Malcom snored away, there was simply no way this could have been done.

  He turned to scan the horizon as the mist and smoke gave way to sunshine, and found row upon row of finished houses. Startled by the discovery, his cousin was summarily forgotten. Malcom raced toward the keep to alert his Da.

  * * *

  Chreagach Mhor’s great hall had never seen such an audience—not even during trials. Presiding from his dais, Iain MacKinnon contemplated the faces surrounding him. Quite literally, everyone he knew was present here today, along with the lairds and families of many of the neighboring clans. Some who did not fit inside the hall were listening from the hall. His son straddled the dais steps, suspicion hardening his usually gentle features.

  Iain leveled his question directly at his firstborn. “There is no proof anyone set the fire, son, and if they had, why the devil would they burn the village and then rally to rebuild our homes whilst we slept? It makes no sense, Mal.”

  Malcom gave a half shake of his head, as though he too could scarce fathom the reasons behind such an act. “I dinna ken, Da. All I know is I’ve this feeling in my bones.”

  “I had a feeling in my bone this morning, too,” Angus quipped.

  Laughter erupted throughout the hall.

  Iain shot the old man a quelling glance and Auld Angus had the good sense to look chagrined. “I’m sorry, lad,” he said, casting Malcom a contrite glance.

  Malcom’s jaw set tight, ignoring the old man’s apology. “Ye take me lightly,” he complained. “I have never cried wolf, Da.”

  This much was true.

  His son was not the sort to go running about half-cocked, yelling to anyone who would listen that the sky was falling. But Iain also realized his son distrusted everyone he barely knew. He had little notion how to relax amidst so many guests. He searched the shadows for traitors and watched in vain for betrayals at every turn. This truth had only worsened as he’d aged. Glenna, the old bat, had only encouraged him with her claims that Malcom had the sight—as recompense from the Gods for all the travails he’d endured.

  Broc stepped forward to place a hand on Malcom’s shoulder. He did not have to climb the steps to do so, for at Broc’s height, he could easily peer into Malcom’s face, had the boy merely turned. “Your Da has never taken you lightly, Mal.”

  Malcom shrugged Broc’s hand away. “What do ye know?” he said, without looking back at Broc.

  “Malcom!”

  It wasn’t often Iain raised his voice. The occupants of the hall visibly started, some retracting their necks well into their shoulders.

  Broc stepped back, out of the way, looking pained.

  Iain glowered at his firstborn child. “You’ll not speak to your elders in such a manner. Do I make myself clear, son?”

  Malcom barely nodded. Still, he said, “I’m sorry, Da.” And he cast a short glance over his shoulder at Broc.

  “No offense taken,” Broc allowed.

  Malcom turned once more to address his father, his expression tormented. “I know something is amiss, Da. I sense it in my bones. Dinna ye ken?”

  Iain sighed portentously, weighing the facts. This is what he knew: The village had burned a few days ago. No cause had yet to be found. It appeared to be a random fire that began in precisely the wrong spot. Although, even were it set apurpose, there could be no rational connection to the sudden and immediate completion of their homes.

  “Did anyone spy anything at all?” he asked the crowd at large.

  A sea of faces peered back at him. “Not I,” said a few. “Nor I.”

  “We heard hammers cracking all through the night, but we dinna think to look to see who was still at work.”

  “It’s the bodachan sabhaill!” suggested Glenna, raising her hand. The auld woman was ever inclined to believe in faerie folk and brownies, too.

  Iain furrowed his brow. The last time she’d claimed there was a haunting in their barn, it turned out to be Aidan’s sister Cat, who’d stolen a palette of candles, along with a lot of thatch from Montgomeries farm.

  “Nay,” Iain said. And yet, inasmuch as the two events could not be connected—at least not in his measured opinion—it was nevertheless a mystery as to how so much work could have been completed in so little time. It was true they had a large company of new faces—certainly more than enough to have seen the job done if they so pleased, but no one seemed inclined to take credit for the work. Nor, in truth, did Seana’s uisge ever seem to inspire such acts. “No one?” he asked again.

  “Laird!” someone shouted at the back of the hall.

  Iain turned to spy his man Kerwyn shouldering his way inside. He was dragging in a shamefaced Constance behind him, hair mussed and filled with bits of straw. “Constance, here, has something she would like to say…”

  Iain frowned at the sight of his niece. Dear, God, that’s all he needed now—to hear she’d bedded one of their guests. The chance of it turned his gut.

  Looking entirely too contrite, Constance stumbled forward, and Iain mentally counted all the available lads she might have seduced.

  He cast a glance at Aidan dún Scoti, searching for his son. To Iain’s memory, Kellen was the one his niece seemed most drawn to.

  He didn’t have to look far. Behind Kerwyn and Constance came the dún Scoti lad, pulled into the hall by the scruff of his neck.

  Iain whispered a silent prayer for strength.

  Aidan dún Scoti’s hands fell away from his chest to his sides, his eyes rolling backward, his jaw turning taut.

  “Constance—what in Biera’s name ha’e ye done?”

  The lass had been weeping, Iain could tell. Red-eyed and pink nosed, she swiped away tears from her cheeks with a trembling thumb.

  Kellen dún Scoti had the good sense to remain quiet, despite the manhandling he received, and thankfully, his father remained precisely where he stood, frowning though he was.

  The hall fell silent as both youths were brought before Iain—neither a day past seventeen. When it rained, it did pour, he thought, and cast another wary glance at the boy’s father. To the dún Scoti’s credit, he merely nodded, giving Iain leave to rule as he pleased, but he crossed his arms again, clearly none too pleased.

  “We found ’em sleeping in the stable loft,” Kerwyn announced.

  Iain leveled Kellen a stern look, and another one for Constance. “Is this true?” he asked.

  Constance nodded, swallowing tears. “Aye, though we were merely sleeping,” she said, with a watery hiccup.

  God save them all.

  Even were that true, her reputation would now be ruined. No decent bloke would have the girl if he thought she’d given away her maidenhead so easily. He saw visions of Constance running about as a dirty old maid, lifting up her skirts for all the married men to see—not that she would ever do so, mind you. She had long outgrown the need to show everyone her lily-white arse, and yet the image plagued Iain nonetheless. He turned to address Kellen. “How old are you, lad?”

  To his credit, Kellen’s gaze never faltered. “Sixteen, laird.”

  Iain remained silent, contemplating what best to do. He tapped his fingers angrily on the arm of his chair.

  “But we didn’t do anything,” Constance wailed, shrugging free of Kerwyn’s constraints. “Let me go,” she said defiantly. “Ha’e ye not embarrassed me enough already? I’m going to tell your minny!” she declared.

  A few of the men snickered at her threat, because Kerwyn, the lump of clod, still lived with his mother and some suspected she still took a switch to his bum now and again.

  Iain waited for the hall to quiet, rubbing his brow wearily. The mystery of the huts properly forgotten for the time being, he gave his niece his full regard. Th
ere was only one way to handle this, and he feared it could come to blows.

  If Kellen’s father would not have it—if Aidan rued the thought of losing even one more of his kinswomen to another clan—it would not bode well.

  His voice was deceptively soft when he spoke again. “Get out everyone,” he commanded. “Out,” he said. “All save the boy and his Da.”

  “And you!” he shouted at Constance, when she suddenly made to leave.

  “Och, Da!” Malcom exclaimed, realizing that Iain meant for him to leave as well.

  “Out,” he told his son, a bit more gently. “This does not concern you, Mal.”

  “Only gi’ me two men to search the woodlands,” Malcom begged. “I will not bother you again. And if there is naught to be found I will speak of it no more.”

  “Malcom,” Iain said tightly. “Dinna try me, son. We have no cause to believe there is aught amiss, and the men have worked hard enough. Please go.”

  Malcom stood stubbornly, glaring at him.

  “Now,” he said.

  As the crowd disbursed, Aidan moved forward, and finally, Malcom turned to go, casting Iain a baleful glance as the dún Scoti laird came to stand behind his son. Thankfully, Malcom said naught more. He marched down the steps, his hands forming fists by his sides.

  Iain sighed. His only son and rightful heir was nearly a man now, fueled by the fears of a little boy. He felt far more comfortable with the notion of passing down his legacy to his daughter, Liana. At least he knew Liana had an even temper and a level head. He watched Malcom go, torn between his unwavering love for his firstborn child and fear for the future of his clan. Only once Malcom was out the door did he turn to address the youths presented before him.

  “I stand by whatever judgment you make,” Aidan said and Iain felt a surge of relief.

  Kellen had no need to turn to look at his father to speak. He peered up at Iain and said, “I love her and I will wed her here and now, if you please.”

  Chapter 4

  “Great gods who create and bring forth life, we ask your blessings on this day of celebration.”

  A sea of faces stared up at the wedding couple, but Lìli was not among them to see her firstborn son take his vows. Aidan imagined all the possible ways he could die at his wife’s hands. She was an accomplished alchemist, and with Una’s help, she was bound to know a few ways to make him suffer hideously before he departed this plane.

  For his part, Kellen looked far more pleased than he had a right to. The lad stood next to his bride, grinning broadly. The girl was merely fourteen, Kellen sixteen, and both were little more than babes to Aidan’s eyes.

  He remembered the day Kellen arrived at Dubhtolargg, with those deep-brown eyes. He’d given the lad a safe haven, and as a result Kellen lived a far less guarded life than most. Aidan had to remind himself that his own parents were already wed by this age—the difference being that neither of these two young folk had ever met ere now.

  Alas, mayhap Lìli would see it as a boon; that he was bringing home yet another soul to love.

  It could be worse; he could be leaving Kellen as he had Cat.

  And then he would surely die.

  “You will join hands,” the old woman called Glenna commanded the pair.

  Eager to see the ceremony done, both Kellen and Constance rushed to do the woman’s bidding. Aidan must confess, they looked quite please with the turn of events.

  Glenna held in her hand a number of ribbons and she looped one over their joined wrists, binding them together, as Una had once done for Aidan and for Lìli. Despite the hasty ceremony, the memory brought a wistful smile to his face and he longed to hold his wife, wanting little more than to be with Lìli now.

  “Constance and Kellen, do ye come forward of your own free will to make this union?”

  “I do,” Kellen said quickly, and loudly enough for everyone to hear.

  “And you, Constance,” the auld woman continued.

  “I do!” Constance replied happily. She was a lovely little thing, and the excitement in her voice was genuine. Aidan recognized the look of love—or if not love, precisely, the seeds of love. Nurtured properly, it might grow into something as glorious and extraordinary as a rose.

  Glenna first looked to the boy’s uncles—Broc and Iain both—respectable lairds in their own rights. They could do worse than to be bound by blood to these men.

  Each gave a nod. And then Glenna looked to Aidan; Aidan did the same. Glenna gave a nod in return, acknowledging their grace.

  For better or worse, this union was now blessed. If these two young folk would not deal well with one another, they would discover it soon enough.

  Dressed in a pale blue dress, with goldenrod and sage in her hair, Constance looked radiant and resolved.

  “This hand fasting will bind you together for the period of one year,” Glenna explained. “During this time, Constance and Kellen, will you honor and respect one another?”

  “I will,” said the pair in unison.

  The old woman then wrapped yet another ribbon around their wrists and continued, “Will you forever aid each other in times of pain and sorrow?”

  “I will,” both said once more, and once again, the old woman looped another ribbon about their joined wrists.

  “Will you be true to one another that you may grow strong in this union?”

  “I will,” Kellen said at once.

  “I will,” agreed Constance. She gave Kellen a lover’s glance, albeit one filled with such innocence that Aidan realized his son had spoken truth. Kellen did not bed this girl as yet. The two had simply hied away to do what young folk were wont to do—whisper sweet nothings into each other’s ears and maybe steal a kiss or two.

  “As your hands become withered, will you now reach out only for each other?” the old woman continued, and Aidan wondered if Kellen realized exactly what she’d meant. Not only that he must he confide in his bride, forsaking all others, but he must also never swing his willie near other lassies. Thankfully, Kellen was his mother’s son, kind and respectful of others.

  “We will,” said the two in unison, and for a fourth time, a ribbon was looped about their wrists.

  “Is it your intention to bring peace and harmony to these united clans?”

  “It is.”

  “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 handfast
ing 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.