Page 8 of An Allusive Love
Chapter Three
Fire, Ire, and Passion
The pounding ofa hundred hooves sounded against the earth. The crowd parted and the Highland cattle thundered past them. Brodie loved tradition. Tomorrow was Beltane. The celebration of the coming of summer. Tonight, May Eve, was his favorite of the activities. The Craiggs drove their fold past the bonfire, a blur of red and dun shaggy hides with pointed horns. Everyone cheered as the beasties settled into their summer pasture.
Next, those who fancied themselves brave enough or drunk enough would leap over the flames of the bonfires before they grew too high. A rainbow of orange, red, and yellow melted together as the sun set. Smaller fires were lit, and smoke curled upwards with the aroma of roasted meat. The clank of wooden and tin mugs blended with raucous laughter, the giggles of children, and their mothers’ reprimands. Several men from smaller clans hurdled the growing blaze. One boy singed his backside, and his mother chased him around with a poultice. Brodie figured the lad’s face was redder than his bum.
“Ye ken ye have to jump for our family with both Ian and Lachlan gone.” Brigid poked him in the side, dark cherry waves brushing her waist. The MacNaughton blue eyes flashed with challenge. “I’d do it for ye, but I promised Ma to behave like aladytonight.”
“Hmmph!And perhaps Bossie the cow will fly over the moon.” Brodie spotted Kirstine by the food table. Mairi was nearby, making eyes at him and smiling. His gaze drifted back to Kirstine, and suddenly Mairi lost some of her shine. Her hair was too frizzy, her freckles too numerous, her body too full. Where Kirstine seemed to be…
“Are ye all right? Ye have a queer look on yer face.” Brigid popped the last bite of a tart into her mouth and sucked the crumbs off her thumb and forefinger. She followed his eyes. “Kirstine gets bonnier every year. It’s a wonder she’s no’ married.”
“It’s no’ my fault,” he groused.
Brigid’s eyebrows shot up. “No one said it was. Perhaps I’ll introduce her to the widower, MacDougal, since ye’re no’ interested. He’s got a young son, and they just came back from the coast.”
He ignored her attempt to make him jealous. “Tried his hand at crofting?”
“Aye, but he couldna make a living at it. Worked in a fishery and hated it. Grandda hired him to help with the animal husbandry.” Brigid wiped her fingers on her plaid and put her hands on her hips. “He’s in charge of breeding an English stock with our sheep. MacDunn attempted it, but disease took the lambies.”
“So I heard.” His eyes remained on Kirstine.
“He’s a handsome mon.”
“MacDunn?”
Brigid elbowed him in the side. “Liam MacDougal, the widower. Do ye listen to anything I say? The tall one over there with the dark red hair, holding the lad’s hand.”
Brodie grinned. “May the heavens fall upon us. Brigid MacNaughton finds a mon attractive. Where is our mother? She’ll fall on her knees in thanks.”
“No’ for me, ye eejit. For Kirstine. She’s nigh on one and twenty. He’s a wee old, in my opinion, but ye canna tell by his face.” She pursed her lips. “And the child looks no more than five. Ye ken how Kirsty likes to cluck over the bairns.”
He grunted. WhydidBrigid playing matchmaker put a knot in his stomach? “Weel, I’m off to warm my backside. Wish me luck.”
“Ye’ll need it after waiting so long. The fire’s building,” she called after him.
“My grandson, Brodie, will be next to jump.” Calum held up a hand. “I dinna ken if he waited for the fire to grow because he’s so verra brave or if his arse is just cold.”
As the crowd chuckled, Brodie sprinted and leapt over the fire, the spindly flames licking at the hairs on the back of his thighs. He landed in a crouch on the other side, stood, and raised his arms in victory.
“May the sun shine bright, our pastures remain green, our livestock healthy, and our children’s children be raised upon this land.” Calum held up a cup, met with shouts of approval.
The night sky turned a deep purple as the last of the daylight sank behind the mountains. The keening wail of a bagpipe took precedence, and the clan members bowed their heads for the first song of the evening. It was a Gaelic ballad of warriors and blood and courage. When the final notes faded, someone yelled, “Something a wee more jovial, if ye please!”
A fiddler dragged a bow across his strings, and several pipers joined to fill the night air with the twang and whistle of ancient musical instruments. Several men formed a line, the traditional dance steps light and quick as fine wool kilts rose and fell to the rhythm of the tune. Applause echoed as the song finished, and the men took a bow. A Scottish reel began. The dancers circled around the fire with their arms entwined. Onlookers clapped to the quick, boisterous beat as their clansmen completed the centuries-old ritual.
Brodie looked up at the stars, brilliant against the black sky. The first couples weaved past him, and he scanned the faces for Kirstine. His grandparents joined the dance, and he saw his mother lift her skirt as she caught a neighbor’s hand to be pulled into the fray.
Fingers covered his eyes from behind, and he smiled. “I was looking for ye. Would ye to care dance the next reel?”
“I’ve been looking for ye too,” whispered a voice in his ear. “I’d love to be yer partner.”
Shite!It wasn’t Kirstine. With reluctance, he turned to acknowledge Mairi’s beaming face.Come, ye dunderhead, he scolded himself,ye counted on this lass to distract ye.
“Good evening, Mairi,” he said with a bow. “Are ye enjoying yerself?”
“Aye, and more so now.” Her green doe-eyes searched his face. “Ye were looking for me?” She took his hand and pulled him into the group of dancers lined up for the next set. “It must be yer lucky day, then.”
