Page 64 of The Groom Wore Plaid
“Impractical? Ye’re a little cold-blooded, aren’t ye?” Hugh shook his head and took another drink.
Owen snatched the cup away and took his own. “I’m hardly cold-blooded.”Ask your sister.“I’m being practical. Unrealistic expectations set a bad precedent.”
“Ye’re a walking university, aren’t ye? No wonder my sister isn’t happy.”
Owen didn’t take offense. “Then you see it, too.”
Hugh released his breath and gave a nod.
“Any idea what I can do about it? I’m already showing her I’m not cold-blooded,” he added wryly.
Hugh grimaced. “I don’t want to hear about that. Maggie . . . she’s always been a little withdrawn, a little different. Maybe it does come from having a father like ours. Maybe it comes from the dreams she used to have. If ye’re patient, and show her ye can be trusted, things might change.”
Owen glanced at Hugh, who was watching the dancers, but in an unfocused, sober way. Did Hugh actually believe in those dreams? Hugh had been an MP in London, had seen more of the world than the ghillies who lived in their timeworn cottages. Yet did he cling to the old ways and believe in seers and dreams? If the McCallums took such things seriously and raised their children that way, no wonder Maggie believed.
Owen looked down at the whisky that no longer appealed to him. “She told me once that she helped save a little boy everyone believed had drowned.”
Hugh nodded. “I wasn’t there, but I heard what happened.”
Owen released a frustrated breath. So Hugh only had secondhand stories to back up Maggie’s claims.
“They gave up searching the loch for him after a long day,” Hugh said. “That night, Maggie dreamed he was alive, and she led his parents right to him, where he huddled beneath a rocky ledge beside the loch. They were still talking about how she’d saved the boy days later when I arrived.”
Owen frowned, but said nothing.
Hugh arched a brow. “She says ye’re a man of science, and I guess that means ye’ve had a hard time believing her.”
Owen nodded.
Quietly, Hugh said, “She was only fourteen when she dreamed about a girl in her death clothes. She didn’t understand what she was seeing—she was so young—and the girl was a stranger. They found her hanged the next morning. Maggie blamed herself, as if she’d put the rope around the girl’s neck. Instead, it was our father abusing her that caused her death.”
Owen had thought his father cruel, but compared to the torment inflicted by Maggie’s father . . .
Hugh’s words had cast a melancholy spell, and the two of them remained silent for a long moment.
Hugh gave a great sigh. “I can’t tell ye what to believe, but my sister has always been trustworthy.”
If only I could trust thatyouwere telling me the truth, Owen thought.
Owen looked out to his people and saw that the musicians and dancers were beginning to tire. The torches had slowly begun to fade, making the mood of the great hall grow more somber and reflective. It was time. He found the healer Euphemia by the hearth. Her eyes twinkled as if she’d been waiting for him. He led her forth by the hand, and everyone hushed on cue.
And then Euphemia began to speak. He remembered this part of the Lughnasadh festival well, because as a young child, he’d been a little bit afraid of her. She’d seemed ancient even then, but didn’t seem all that different twenty years later.
In a mesmerizing voice that all quieted to hear, Euphemia spoke of the festival that celebrated the beginning of harvest, where the grains were almost ripe enough, and the first fruits of the season, bilberries and wild strawberries, were ready to be picked on the morrow. It was a time of joy, but also a time of tension, because winter was ever nearer, and the harvest had not yet been reaped. They would cut the first oats and make a bread from them as a ritual offering for a successful harvest. She even referred to the days before Christianity, where Lugh was a sky god worshipped by the people. He was the patron of both scholars and warriors—and Euphemia smiled at Owen as she said this.
He, too, was under her spell, as she began to speak in a singsong voice a poem about their ancestors and their worship of Lugh. Owen was glad Father Sinclair wasn’t in attendance.
At last her voice melted away. Euphemia took one of the last torches and led the villagers out through the courtyard. Those that were staying in the castle either rolled into their plaids or followed servants up to their assigned quarters.
Owen looked for Maggie and saw her with their mothers, and her eyes shone with wonder as she watched Euphemia and her followers leave. Then she realized Owen was studying her, and for the briefest moment, he felt a connection she’d been taking obvious pains to deny. Lughnasadh was a time to begin anew, begin new employment, anticipate the harvest—start trial marriages. He let his eyes show her all the passion she inspired in him.
She turned away.
CHAPTER14
Maggie was still buried beneath her pillows when she heard the knock on her door. Groaning, she lifted her head and blearily looked around. Through the diamond windowpanes she could see the first gray light of dawn. Even Kathleen never tried to awaken her this early. And Owen wouldn’t dare.
Someone knocked again.
