Page 24 of The Rogue's Bride
“Come on.” Alasdair jabbed Boyd in the ribs with his elbow. “Make yerself useful and help MacNichol carry the deer.”
Boyd muttered something rude under his breath, but did as bid, stepping forward and taking hold of one end of the pole. He and Darron heaved it into the air, resting it on their shoulders. Then, the party turned and traveled north back through the pine woods, toward where they’d tethered their horses.
Unlike the journey south, the men talked and laughed as they walked, their voices drifting through the trees. The hunting was done. They no longer needed to keep silent.
Alasdair followed at the rear, deliberately slowing his pace so that Caitrin drew up alongside him.
He cast her a smile, admiring her in the pale winter light. She was still clad in black, although he liked her attire, and how she’d donned leather leggings and long hunting boots under her kirtle. He caught a glimpse of her shapely legs with each stride. Her long pale hair hung between her shoulder blades in a thick braid.
“Did ye enjoy that?” he asked.
Caitrin met his gaze, her mouth curving. “Aye … ye look like ye were born knowing how to wield a bow and arrow?”
His smile widened. “Da used to take me out hunting with him before I could walk. I could fire a long-bow before my fourth winter.”
Caitrin arched her finely drawn eyebrows. “Now ye are exaggerating.”
“No … although I’ll admit he had a special bow made for me, to fit my size.”
Caitrin laughed, a soft melodious sound that made Alasdair’s breathing quicken. “I remember seeing ye compete at archery once at the summer games at Dunvegan,” she replied. “Ye even bested yer brother.”
“Aye.” Alasdair’s smile turned rueful. “Baltair wasn’t pleased about that. He waited till he got me alone, before he punched me in the belly.”
Chapter Eleven
Before the Beltane Fire
Four months later …
CAITRIN WALKED DOWN the hill, following the line of revelers. Pulling her woolen shawl closer, she glanced up at the sky. It was clear, although the air held a bite as if the ghost of winter still lingered. It had been a cold, wet last few months.
She, like most folk, had been looking forward to Beltane—the night that symbolized the transition from spring to summer. No more huddling around hearths. No more chilled fingers and toes, and having to wear layers of woolen clothing to keep warm.
Halfway down the hill, the Beltane Fire blazed, a beacon that illuminated the night. The heat kissed Caitrin’s face as she stopped around ten yards back from it.
“Would ye like me to get ye some ale, milady?”
Caitrin glanced over her shoulder at where Darron stood. She’d almost forgotten he was there, that he’d followed her down from the keep. The man had mastered the art of becoming invisible it seemed.
Caitrin’s mouth curved. “Aye, thank ye, Darron.”
With a nod, he went off to fetch her a drink. Folk had dragged down barrels of ale and wine from Duntulm’s cellar. Cook had spent the last week preparing for this night. Huge rounds of ‘Beltane Bannock’ sat upon a table and were being sliced up and handed out. Nearby, a row of lamb carcasses finished roasting over a spit.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Caitrin’s attention shifted to where two young men sat beating calf-skin drums. The sound, slow and steady like the beating of a heart, called folk from miles around to join the revelry.
“Here ye are, milady.” Darron had returned. He held out a wooden cup of ale to her and a wedge of cake. “I got ye some bannock too.”
Caitrin took the bannock in one hand and the cup of ale in the other. Then, with a smile, she bit into the cake. Crumbly and enriched with milk and honey, it was delicious.
Taking a sip of ale to wash down her mouthful of cake, Caitrin’s gaze traveled across the milling crowd. She watched as folk from the village approached the fire with unlit torches. They had doused their hearths at home and would light them afresh with the Beltane fire. Folk believed that the fire had protective qualities.
Bleating drifted across the hillside. A woman had brought up two goats to be blessed by the fire. The woman, who wore a harassed expression, led the skittish beasts around the fire, letting the smoke drift over them, before she dragged them off home.
Darron had taken his place next to Caitrin, his fingers curled around a cup of ale. Caitrin studied his profile in the firelight. He wore a pensive expression this evening, and when Caitrin followed the direction of his gaze, she saw it was focused upon Sorcha MacQueen.
Caitrin had given her hand-maid the evening off and left one of the older servants with Eoghan. Sorcha stood at the edge of a group of servants from the keep. She was nibbling at a piece of bannock.
