Page 55 of An Allusive Love
Brodie scanned theGreat Hall. Never had he washed and dressed so fast. He had helped his pain-in-the-arse sister deliver the calf, and now he wanted Kirsty, a meal, and some good scotch. In that order. Maybe the scotch first. It was a cèilidh, after all.
The great hall glittered with hundreds of flickering candles. Peigi had ordered the chandeliers lit to fill the center of the room with blazing light for eating and dancing. The wall torches, also ablaze, cast dancing shadows around the perimeter. The banners of allied clans hung from the aged stone walls, along with medieval tapestries bought or made by previous castle residents. To the right, in the far corner, an elevated platform held the musicians. To the left, a dais was set up for the clan chief and his family or honored guests. When his grandmother refurnished this space, she managed to blend the old with the new seamlessly.
Brodie loved events in the ancient hall. He could feel his ancestors in this room, feel their joy and outrage, their hope and despair. It was as if they guided him, along with his grandfather, to honor this clan, these people, and help bring them not only prosperity but contentment. He looked up at the brass chandeliers purchased less than fifty years ago. Aye, Peigi understood the need to maintain tradition yet move forward in an ever-changing world.
He finally spotted Kirsty at a table with Rory MacDunn.
For the love of saints!His blood heated at the sight.
She was stunning in a midnight blue gown, layered with a sheer silvery material that shimmered as she reached for her cup. Her hair was swept back, fiery curls cascading over a slender neck. When had she gone from bonny lass to seductive and enchanting? His gaze lingered on the creamy mounds shown off by the neckline, then moved up to her full lips. His mouth watered. His appetite had changed course. Her dark eyes sparkled in the candlelight and she nodded.
On the dais, Calum stood, a glass held high. To the right of his grandparents were the original guests of honor, his aunt and cousin, and to their left was the newly married couple. Brodie’s chest swelled at the image of that poor girl, not only escaping a cruel father, but finding a loving husband. The good Lord could not keep evil from the world, but he gave people ways to fight against it if they listened and had the courage.
“A toast to family, to beginnings,”—Calum’s eyes looked up—“to endings. May God keep us within his sight. Long live the clan MacNaughton!”
“Long live the clan MacNaughton!” echoed the guests.
Then he passed the two-handled quaich down the table. The young couple filled the ancient vessel with whiskey and moved to the table below. Hamish gave it to his father, who took a drink then offered it to Lissie’s father, who stood in place of Nessie’s father. The couple then drank from the cup, and the hall resounded with loud cheers.
The quaich was a family heirloom. It was used when the bride and groom came from different clans, the double handle representing the joining of the families. A tradition as old dirt, as his grandmother would say. Brodie embraced the old rituals. Such customs bound their people together, gave them a common ground that transcended class or title. It was a comforting thought—that one belonged no matter his birth.
“May I join ye?” he asked after Hamish and Nessie had returned to the dais.
Kirstine grinned. “I’d like that.”
Platters filled with venison and pork, tender from cooking all day, were passed along the trestles. Well-seasoned vegetables, mashed tatties, warm bread, and freshly churned butter were set out in bowls and crockery. The wine and ale flowed. At the dais, Calum again called for their attention as the ceremonial platter of haggis was set before him. He stood, slid a polished blade through the boiled sheep’s stomach, and sliced it open. The skin split, ground offal, oats and grains spilling out in a steaming heap. The spicy aroma filled the air and a round ofhurrahsrang out.
His mother called for him just as the fiddler let out a warning note for the music to begin. “Excuse me,” he said to those seated nearby. He stood and whispered to Kirsty, “Save me a dance?”
She nodded, and he felt her eyes on his back as he walked away. It would be tonight. He would ask her again, and this time, she would say yes. Brigid had finally confessed, desperate for his help with the calving: Kirsty was following Glynnis’s instructions and was anxious to marry him. Much to his surprise, Brodie had not minded his mother’s little plot and understood. He had not appreciated Kirsty before. Loved her, yes, but he’d taken her for granted. Brodie smiled, his determination as strong as the scotch.
But when he returned, the first set had begun, and Kirsty’s seat was empty. He searched the crowd and saw her beginning a set with MacDougal. Jealousy churned in his gut. Unfounded, granted, but the longer he watched the two, the more it roiled. She knew he would be right back. MacDougal would have asked her for another dance.
“Brodie,” said a soft voice at his elbow. “I’ve never thanked ye for helping that day my grandmother was ill.”
“I was happy to do what I could.” He looked down at Mairi, soft green eyes full of admiration, her coppery waves spilling down her back. “Ye look bonny tonight, Mairi.”
“Thank ye.” She blushed, then her gaze fell on Kirsty and MacDougal. “Would ye like to dance the next set? I believe it’s a reel.”
The music had ended. MacDougal bowed to Kirsty and offered his arm. They moved between the dancers, walking back to the table. The older man leaned down and said something in her ear, and she nodded, then laughed. Brodie ground his teeth and took Mairi’s hand, weaving toward the next set of dancers.
As the two couples passed, MacDougal nodded. Brodie glared. Kirsty rolled her eyes.
Mairi planted her feet. “Enough!” She crossed her arms. “Brodie MacNaughton, I’m no’ dancing with a mon so he can send daggers across the room at the woman he loves. Kirstine MacDunn, shame on ye for making this poor mon all Friday-faced over ye.”
MacDougal grinned. “Miss Mairi, would ye care to dance with me?”
“I’d love to, Liam.” She cast a disgusted look at both of them.
Brodie stared at his shoes, then Kirsty. She peeked up at him through her lashes.
“Mairi’s right,” Kirsty murmured as someone jostled her from the back and pushed her against Brodie.
“Aye”. He inhaled the scent of heather floating from her hair. “Shall we join them?”
“I thought ye’d never ask,” she said with the sweetest smile.
“Minx,” he whispered in her ear before he took her hand.
