Page 80 of Fallen
Craeg ignored them all. His attention never shifted from Coira, not for a moment. Dressed in a charcoal pair of braies and a snowy-white léine, with a sash of pine green and red across his chest, he’d never looked more handsome. His hair, although long still, had been trimmed. The striking green of his eyes stood out against his lightly-tanned skin.
Coira couldn’t stop smiling. With every passing day, she loved this man more—his strength, warmth, kindness, and courage. He was constantly surprising her. Since taking control of Dunan, Craeg had swung into action, clearing up the mess created by the plague and his half-brother’s poor management. Crops had been tended, and the broch’s stores of grain were now being used to bake bread for the locals. Folk were returning to ‘The Warren’ in a steady trickle now word had spread that Craeg MacKinnon was clan-chief.
Looking at him, it dawned on Coira that this had always been Craeg’s destiny. Mother Shona had told her once that the Lord had a plan for everyone, and although he’d spent many years as an outcast, Coira now believed that Craeg was always meant to end up here.
Which meant that she was also destined to be his wife.
Coira’s throat constricted. The joy within her brimmed so full it risked spilling over. She didn’t know it was possible to feel this happy, to shine like the sun. She’d heard folk say that there were few as radiant as a woman on her wedding day, but she hadn’t believed the tales till today. Now, she understood—if the match was between two people who loved each other, there was no happier moment.
Coira’s step slowed as she approached the altar. She wanted to draw this moment out, wanted to imprint it forever upon her mind.
Smiling, Craeg held out a hand to her, his gaze shining.
And reaching out, Coira entwined her fingers through his and squeezed tight.
Epilogue
Belonging
Dunan broch
MacKinnon Territory
Yuletide
Four months later …
“THE DRUIDS OF old used to swear by mistletoe, ye know?” Coira said as she hung the garland above a doorway. “It was seen as sacred … a symbol of life in the dark winter months.”
“I’ve always thought mistletoe a dull-looking plant,” Leanna answered from across the room. “I prefer holly—the red berries are so cheerful.”
Coira frowned, examining the sprig with dark green leaves and tiny white berries she’d just hung up. She disagreed. There was something timeless and wise about mistletoe—maybe it was the fact she was a healer, but she loved the plant.
“It’s the scent of pine I look forward to every year,” Ella spoke up then. “The Great Hall at Scorrybreac resembles a forest glade this time of year.”
“Duncan never liked me to make a fuss over Yuletide decorations,” Drew said, her voice oddly subdued. “It feels strange to see this broch so … festive.”
Coira turned then, her gaze traveling to where the three women sat near the fire in the chieftain’s solar. Together, they’d decorated this chamber with all three of the seasonal plants. The only thing missing was the Yule log—the massive oaken log that they would try to keep burning for all twelve days of Yuletide—that burned downstairs in the hearth of the Great Hall.
A warm aura of contentment spread over Coira as she looked upon Drew and her two friends. Drew had recovered swiftly over the past months. She now had a bloom in her cheeks and a gleam in her eye as she peeked under the lid of the pot of mulled wine that sat keeping warm by the edge of the hearth.
A few feet from Drew, Ella looked well, although a little tired, for she held a swaddled infant in her arms. Wee Anice was three months old and had arrived just as the plague swept through the north of the isle. Fortunately, Scorrybreac had been only lightly touched by the sickness.
Coira’s belly tensed as her attention shifted to the bairn’s thatch of thick copper-blonde hair and rosy cheeks. They were so lucky that the illness had spared her and Ella.
All of us here today are fortunate.
Indeed, they were, for many upon the isle had died. Word had reached Dunan that whole villages had perished. Those who survived emerged into a much more subdued world. Whenever she went into ‘The Warren’, Coira was struck by just how quiet it was these days.
The Goat and Goosehad shut its doors permanently. It appeared the sickness had torn through the brothel, and once Old Maude succumbed to it, the few whores still alive fled Dunan.
Coira’s thoughts returned to the present, and she glanced over to where Leanna sat making a large holly wreath. It would be the center-piece on the table for tonight’s Yuletide feast. Coira noted how well Leanna looked. Her eyes were bright, her smooth cheeks pink with excitement.
Leanna had always loved Yule, even at Kilbride, where the celebrations had been considerably limited. Coira was glad she and Ross had made the trip from Barra to spend Yule with them.
After word of Duncan MacKinnon’s death spread, a missive had arrived in Dunan around a month later. Coira had been sharing her morning bannocks with Craeg in this solar when Carr Broderick brought up a message.
It was from Leanna.
