Page 13 of An Allusive Love
“Do ye think Craigg will let it lie?”
“He was too foxed to question it last night, but he’ll figure it out, eventually. No’ that anyone will admit to seeing MacDunn hit him.”
“Ma’s afraid he took his anger out on the poor girl after they left. She wants to check on her but is afraid she’ll make it worse with a visit.” Kirstine sighed. “The mon has a vicious temper.”
“I doubt he lets her out of the house for weeks.”
“My cousin fancies himself in love with her. He’s stubborn. I dinna suppose he’ll give up.”
Brodie chuckled. “What does a tender young lad ken of love?”
“And what does the wise old Brodie ken of it?” She peeked at him from beneath her lashes. His linen shirt stretched across his chest, and the muscles of his arm bunched and tensed with each step. Everything about the man was so… masculine.
“No’ a blasted thing, to be truthful.”
“Ye’ve considered yerself in love enough times,” she reminded him with a smirk.
“My point, exactly.” They came to the edge of her property. “Ye’re the one constant woman in my life that’s no’ a relation.”
And I’ve been waiting forever and a day, that little voice taunted.
“I’ll see ye later, then?” he asked at her door.
“I’ve no’ missed a May Day celebration that I can remember.”
*
“It’s a brawday for a celebration,” declared her father. He helped his wife and daughter from the wagon. “I dinna believe there’s a lovelier lass here than my wife.”
Kirstine grinned when her mother’s cheeks stained a pretty pink. She wanted this in her marriage. The lasting affection, a man who would still make her blush after twenty years. Yet, she couldn’t see herself finding that with anyone but Brodie.
She wore the deep champagne gown with the apricot embellishments again. Her hair was swept up and twisted with ringlets that tickled the back of her neck. Her mother had threaded more apricot ribbon through the loose chignon and added small white buds around the crown like a halo. She wiggled her toes in soft leather shoes, remembering her bare feet—and Brodie—earlier that morning.
Liam MacDougal appeared, a smaller version of himself holding his hand. The boy’s riot of red curls bounced against his round freckled face.
“May I say how bonny ye look today, Miss MacDunn?”
The boy pulled on his father’s hand. “She’s beeootiful, Da.”
Kirstine smiled and squatted down, holding her hand out to the child. “Hello, I’m Kirstine. It’s nice to meet ye.”
He placed a hand at his stomach and gave her a choppy bow, his cap falling off in the process. “I’m Liam MacDougal, just like my da.”
“Ye certainly are.” Kirstine picked up the cap and dusted it off for him before greeting his father. “How are ye, Liam? Did ye meet my da last night?”
“I’ve no’ had the pleasure.” Her father shook hands with the widower. “I imagine the younger ones are already gathered at the May pole.”
Kirstine found Brigid waiting for her. A long, spindly pine trunk lay on the ground, long colorful strips of material tied to the top. A dozen girls scooped up the ends as Brodie and Calum lifted the pole and carried it to the pre-destined hole, sinking it into the ground.
The unmarried women, dressed in their Sunday finest and flowers in their hair, arranged the strips around the pole and stood in a circle. The young bachelors stood between them in their tartan kilts, silk hose, and best sporrans slung over their hips. Each grasped a ribbon as the drums pounded a slow ancient beat upon the stretched leathers.
Calum approached with a female child, entered the circle, and lifted her high. She placed a wreath of flowers on top of the May pole, and the crowd cheered. The dancers moved in two concentric circles, the women ducking under the men to weave the multi-colored strips in a plait around the pole.
The shorter the ribbons, the lower the participants had to bend to avoid the oncoming dancers. Kirstine passed Brodie, ducked low beneath him, and felt his hand brush her backside. When she looked over her shoulder, he winked. When the strips were too short to continue, the drums increased the beat and a frenzy of twirling bodies finished wrapping the bottom of the pole.
Silence fell, except for the huff of the participants catching their breath. Then the MacNaughton let out a bellow, followed by shouts and screams of delight. Kirstine searched the throng for Brodie. He spotted her at the same time, waved, and made his way toward her. She saw Mairi block his path, then MacDougal stepped in her line of vision.
“Would ye care for some refreshment?” he asked, his green eyes narrowed against the sun. “And perhaps a dance later?”
