Chapter Twelve
Midsummer’s Eve
As the sun rose, Alex paced the floor of his chamber. The bridal offers were laid out on his bed, one beside the other, and all he had to do was reach out and choose one.
But he could smell Cait on his fingers, on his skin, feel her imprinted on his body. He wanted her, loved her.
He couldn’t marry her. It roiled like agony in his belly. He had to choose another lass and take the fortune she’d bring him, the fortune he needed to save his clan. He ran his hand through his hair. “Which one?” he muttered.
He’d lain beside Cait and watched her sleep until the sky began to lighten just before dawn. She snored, and that had made him smile. Was that the flaw he’d sought, the one that was supposed to drive her out of his mind and his heart and kill his desire for her? The soft sound was charming and slight, hardly a flaw at all. There was nothing about Cait he didn’t love.
When dawn crept through the arrow slit, he brushed her hair aside, kissed her temple, and slid out from under her with his plaid. She sighed and slept on, and he climbed down from her unusual bed. He pulled on his shirt, wrapped his plaid around his hips, and began to buckle his belt. He set his hand on the latch and started to open the door, but she made another soft snort at that moment, and he smiled.
He unwound his plaid again. He couldn’t leave her this way, like a thief in the night who’d taken his pleasure, stolen her virginity, and gone away to wed another. She meant more to him than that. She meant everything.
But he had a duty to his clan, and he could not choose Cait. He tried not to think of her in Baird Sutherland’s bed, Baird’s bride, Baird’s wife, and because of that, Alex’s enemy.
He climbed up and wrapped his plaid around her, claimed her as his, for that single night, this one moment. “Mine,” he whispered without waking her. “Mo leannan.”
* * *
Cait was lying on something hard when she woke, but she was used to lumps in her unusual bed. She shifted her hip and tugged the coverlet close to her face. Alex . . . She was surrounded by the scent of him, the memory of making love. She reached for him, but the bed was empty, and she was wrapped in his plaid.
She sat up and stared at the door far below, at her gown, still lying on the floor, and at his plaid, wrapped around her naked body.
She felt glorious—a wee bit sore, but she snuggled deeper into Alex’s plaid . . . and felt the dreadful lump in the bed again. She rolled over, pushed at it with the heel of her hand, but it was too sharp to be a clump of old straw or matted feathers. It felt like a pebble. Or a boulder.
She poked it, shifted it, nudged it. Then she gasped. She lifted the blanket under her, and the quilt under that, and then an eiderdown, a rumpled plaid, and a sheet.
The light caught the huge stone and cast dazzling sparks of color against the walls of her little chamber, red and blue and violet . . .
Cait gasped and picked it up, stared at it. There was no doubt what it was.
She was holding the Culmore Pea.
* * *
“Come in,” Flora said at the sound of the tap on the door. She tossed a sheet over the new section of the seanchas, which would be unveiled at the wedding this evening, and rose to face her visitor.
Cait MacLeod stood before her, and Flora smiled. “Good morning. Coll said Alex found ye in the wood, lost.” Cait was wearing a pretty green gown, trimmed with flowers and vines, that fit her slender figure to perfection. Green for luck, the favorite color of the fairy folk . . .
“I slept hardly at all,” Cait replied, and Flora noted the blush as Cait raised her chin. “There was a lump in the bed, and I found this—” She opened her hand and Flora saw the Culmore Pea glittering in Cait’s palm.
Flora hurried forward with a cry of surprise. “Ye found it! Now let Alex say there’s no such thing as magic and miracles!” Cait smiled, but Flora noted it didn’t meet her eyes.
“What is it, lass?” she asked.
Cait set the ring down on the table. “I must leave Culmore, Flora. I was wondering if you’d help me. I—I need directions to Rosecairn.”
Flora’s joy faded. “Rosecairn? Why ever would ye want to go there?”
Cait gave up any pretense of a smile. “I have decided to wed Baird Sutherland after all. I am hoping that for a wedding present, Baird will agree to stop raiding Culmore, and to return Hector.”
“Do ye love him?” Flora asked, stunned.
“I-I will try to be a good wife to him,” Cait said, her cheeks flushing rose pink.
Flora crossed to take her hands. Cait’s fingers were cold as ice. “You’d sacrifice your own happiness for the Munros, for folk ye hardly know? For Alex?”
Cait shut her eyes. “Aye.”
Flora scanned Cait’s lovely face. She was sorrowful, not joyous, a bride who went to her wedding with regrets. Flora glanced at the Pea, bright and glittering as the dew on this Midsummer’s Eve morn . . .
She squeezed Cait’s hands. “Wait until tomorrow. Everyone’s busy with the wedding preparations today. Janet’s making the feast, Coll’s helping to collect wood for the bonfire, and Airril’s helping his grandfather make ready to recite the legend and marry Alex and . . . his chosen bride. Besides, the brides will want your help to dress for the ceremony. They all want to look their best, just in case. Och, ye helped them sew their wedding finery, and you’ll not miss seeing them wear it, will ye? When the unchosen lasses leave tomorrow, one of them will be able to escort ye to very gates of Rosecairn if ye still wish to go.”
Cait glanced toward the seanchas, but Flora linked her arm through Cait’s, and led her to the door. She kissed Cait’s cheek. “Because of ye, we have the Pea back again, and all will be well. It will be a fine celebration. Now go and help the lasses to make ready. Would ye ask Airril to come and see me? Auld Bryn will want to know the ring has been found.”
Flora shut the door behind Cait and let a sentimental tear fall. She took the cover off the seanchas. In the morning light, the colored threads shone brightly, and the Pea reflected shards of glorious light over the ancient tapestry. She looked at the half-finished scene at the far edge of the tapestry, at Alex’s fine figure in plaid and bonnet, and at the outline of the bride by his side.
She picked up her needle and began to sew. There were only hours left, and it had to be finished and perfect by the time the sun set tonight and Alex slipped the Pea onto the finger of his chosen bride.