Chapter Fifteen
“The maiden held the candle of hope within the darkness. Yet, she was blinded to the truth contained within her heart.”
With the approaching of Midwinter, Urquhart Castle was thrown into a frenzied state of preparations. The MacKay women took over and gave out orders on a daily basis. Fresh rushes had been laid down, along with rosemary sprigs. Tables were arranged carefully in the Great Hall, and greenery adorned every nook—from the Great Hall, corridors, entry, and even the chambers. The intoxicating aromas from the kitchens made every man stop and beg any of the women for a morsel. Although they refused, Finn was the lone one to coax Nell into bringing out some samplings of the tasty dishes.
Grateful for the busywork, Desmond rarely saw Ailsa for several days after their lovemaking. Upon his awakening the next morn, her scent lingered, but the woman had vanished before dawn.
When he first saw her later that evening, she was strolling aimlessly along the corridor. Reaching for her hand, he shoved her into an alcove and kissed her passionately. Only when they heard voices, did they pull apart and hasten their separate ways.
Meal times were agonizing, since most of the time they were light fare taken anywhere. Since the Great Hall had been properly prepared for the celebration they were not allowed to enter. Desmond took to eating his meals in the stables with Finn. The other men retreated to their chambers, and Ailsa took her meals with her father in his room.
Desmond foolishly thought Ailsa would seek him out in his chamber afterward, but the lass never came. Believing it to be for the best, he slept naught that first evening. He longed for her body again, and sleeping in a bed that contained their lovemaking, did naught to control his burning desire for her. Therefore, he found the hearth had become his new bed.
“Enough,” he muttered and brushed the dirt from the stables off his trews.
“Here you are,” chided Fiona, entering the stables with a basket.
Desmond gave a pat to his horse and walked out of the stall. “Aye, do ye have another chore?”
“No. I’ve brought you some food and drink. Alastair wishes you to be the first to taste his mead.”
Curious, he pulled out the bench and gestured for her to sit beside him. “Why the honor?”
Fiona rolled her eyes and pulled forth a small jug, handing it to him. “He wants your opinion, since he trusts your valued input.”
“Truly?” Taking the offered item, he pulled the stopper free and sniffed the contents.
“Why is it so difficult to believe?”
Desmond stared with intent at her. “Was it not ye who proclaimed Alastair and I cannae come to terms on the proportions of honey in the mead?”
She averted his gaze and dug into the basket, producing forth a food item. “Yes, but trust me, he has never asked his brothers for their opinions.”
“Never?” he echoed in a stunned voice.
“Nope.” Unwrapping the cloth from the food, she handed it to him. “Eat.”
“Hmm…nae.” He held up the jug. “I must first savor this fine liquid without tainting the mead with other flavors.”
“Gosh, you sound like Alastair.”
Chuckling softly, he took a sip, letting the sweetness linger on his tongue and mouth before swallowing. Smiling, Desmond took another. “He listened to me.”
“I take it you like the mead?”
“Aye! Most definitely. He added more honey.” Placing the jug between them, he picked up the bread. “What have ye stuffed it with today?”
Leaning closer, she whispered, “I snatched a few pieces of boar and onions from the kitchens.”
His eyes widened in surprise. “Is it not for the Midwinter feast tonight?”
Fiona tapped a finger over her lips. “It will be our secret.”
Cupping her chin tenderly, he brushed a kiss on her cheek. “I will miss ye, Fee.”
Sighing, Fiona grasped his hand and squeezed it tightly. “And I you, dear brother.” Standing, she bent and kissed him on the forehead. “I’ve sent a tub to your chamber and having it filled as we speak.”
Choking on his food, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What for?”
“Seriously? Take a look at yourself. The feast begins at sundown and you are still in the stables. You smell of animals, leather, and male. Would you not like to look your best when you dance with Ailsa?”
Before he had a chance to utter one word, she walked out of the stables, leaving him in a state of baffled shock. He never considered this was his last night with Ailsa. But come the next evening, Fenian Warrior, Ronan MacGuinnes, would come to return him back to Eire.
Suddenly, the food made him queasy, and he shoved it back inside the basket. Rising slowly, he opened the stable doors and cast his gaze to the sky. “Hear my plea, Gods and Goddesses. On our last night together, grant me this one request to have her as my own this eve. Let naught come between us. I will cherish and love her always, but give me this one last time with her, and then I shall willingly let her go.”
Rubbing the ache within his heart with the heel of his palm, he went and retrieved the basket of food and mead. Securing the stable doors, Desmond left to prepare for the last feast he would ever fully celebrate.
****
“Are ye sure?” asked Ailsa, fingering the soft material of the gown. “’Tis so fine, and I have nae wish to ruin it at the feast.”
“Nonsense. I want you to wear it. The pale blue color and silver trim will highlight your eyes and hair,” assured Aileen as she moved a chair closer to the hearth. “Come and sit. I’ll brush out your damp locks.”
Nodding, she moved toward the woman and sat down. “I shall miss everyone here. Ye have all been like family with your welcoming of us.” She gave out a nervous laugh. “’Tis strange to learn Brigid and I are kin. My mother must have been a seer to insist we venture to the Great Glen.”
“It was your destiny, Ailsa. We have all walked the path here at Urquhart.”
Ailsa reached for her mother’s dragon comb from the side table. Swiping her thumb over the emerald, she bit her lower lip. If only the woman understood how her destiny was tied to another. Desmond O’Quinlan. Even whispering his name within her mind caused her to shiver.
She had fallen in love with him. He was her champion. Her lover. The one man she wanted by her side. Strong, smart, and an able warrior. She longed to speak with her father. But fear kept her words locked inside her heart, because of one fault. Desmond was an outsider. Her father had reminded her constantly to pick from the many clans and families on their island. He insisted there were no others and urged her to seek them out, or he would choose for her. Even her mother urged her to consider one of the men.
Nevertheless, her heart belonged to another.
Tonight was her last night here at Urquhart. Come dawn, Ailsa and her father would scatter her mother’s ashes in the loch and make the journey back to their home.
Tears smarted her eyes as she gazed into the flames. Determined not to waste one precious moment of what time she had left, Ailsa would seek out Desmond. Lifting her chin, she dabbed at her eyes, refusing to let the tears fall. I shall show ye all my love, Desmond and take what ye have to offer. Destiny can be cruel, but I will not waste a second.
“May I put the comb in your hair?”
Aileen’s soft voice startled Ailsa out of her thoughts. “Aye.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said, taking the item. “How fitting it’s a dragon, too. It will look lovely on you.”
“Thank ye,” she murmured softly.
Aileen spoke no more words. She braided a portion of Ailsa's hair and secured it with the comb, letting the rest of her hair fall gently past her waist. After helping her into her gown, she squeezed her hands and stood back. “You are stunning, Ailsa. All eyes will be on you this night.”
“Ye are too kind. There is beauty everywhere at Urquhart.” She wrapped an arm around the woman’s waist. “Let us go welcome the light of Midwinter.”
Aileen smiled and gestured her forward.
Anticipation danced like butterflies within her at the thought of seeing Desmond. When they approached the steps leading downward, her father stood off to the side speaking with Stephen. As he glanced up, his face broke into a wide grin.
Stepping away from the wall, he held his hand out for her. “Ye remind me so of your mother.”
Embracing him, Ailsa placed a kiss on his cheek. “Although, I have the eyes of a MacDuff, as she often used to say.”
“Aye, most assuredly.” Placing her hand in the crook of his arm, he leaned near. “We have been honored with another this night.”
“King William has arrived?” Ailsa peered around her father, trying to get a glimpse of the great man. The hall was teeming with many people and though the thought of seeing the king appealed to Ailsa, she was searching for another.
“Nae,” he replied. “’Tis the great druid Cathal. He is speaking with Tam. Both will give the blessings this eve.”
“This is wondrous, Father! If only he had arrived earlier for Tam to learn more from the elder.”
He nodded in agreement. “As I was saying the same to Stephen.”
“Let us proceed into the hall,” suggested Aileen, taking her husband’s arm.
As they entered the massive room, candlelight flickered against the stones, many adorned with greenery and tapestries. Several minstrels were playing a lively tune, and her feet tapped to the familiar melody.
Tables were laden with a variety of dishes—wild boar stuffed with mushrooms and onions, haddock in a dill sauce, quail filled with a savory chestnut and bread mixture, chickens crowned with eggs, a salad of dandelion and wild garlic, and an assortment of breads and tarts. Other dishes flowing with honeyed custards and sweets were set out on separate tables. Many of these tempting fares were ones she helped to prepare, and she could not help but feel a sense of pride in being a part of this celebration.
These were her people, too. Family. Though she ached for the people of Ailsa Creag, this was now her home as well.
Nell dashed over to her, holding a small kitten bundled in cloth within her arms. The young lass was forever finding animals in need of her tender care.
Slipping her hand free from her father, Ailsa bent down. “Ye have found a new friend? Was it lost?”
“Forsaken by her mother and left near the banks of the loch.”
Ailsa gently touched the soft fur. “Or the mother did not make it in this harsh weather.”
Nell frowned in concentration. “Nae. She left to forage for food. Left the others behind. Sadly, I could not find them.”
“This knowledge came from this wee one?”
Nell blinked. “Of course.”
“Ye are a gifted lass and healer. Ye are welcome anytime on our island.”
The girl looked away. “I thank ye, but I cannae leave my home here. Yet.”
Ailsa placed a hand on the girl’s cheek. “Nor would I want ye to venture out of this beautiful place. Only remember, ye have another place to call home, if ye so wish to visit.”
“May I call ye Aunt Ailsa?”
“Aye, my lovely girl.” Ailsa embraced Nell and then stood. Watching as the girl made her way to Brigid, she marveled at both.
Fiona and Deirdre waved to her, and she smiled in greeting. But her gaze continued to follow the flow of the hall in search of one man. She moved along the tables, nodding to several women or stopping to embrace the children as they scampered toward her in welcome. Her eyes darted everywhere for him, but Desmond remained elusive.
What if he wasn’t coming tonight? The thought left her without breath, and she wanted to flee the festivities in search of him. Her nerves skittered as she steadily made her way past the crowd of people and out of the hall. The doors of the keep had been left open. Though the night was brisk, no threat of rain or snow threatened to invade. Her stomach roiled with uncertainty as she searched in vain.
A prickle of awareness skimmed across her skin. There in the shadows by the stairs, stood Desmond. Had he been watching her all this time? Her heart pounded as he emerged. Freshly shaven, he wore a dark blue tunic edged in the same silver pattern as her dress. The light from the torches danced off his eyes, illuminating the green within. The man drew her to him with his sweeping gaze, and her knees became weak.
“Desmond,” she uttered his name in the hushed entrance.
Her hand sought his, and he brought her to his chest. “Ailsa, ghrá. Ye are a vision. A beauty which surpasses all others.” Quickly glancing over her head, he pulled her back within the darkness of the alcove. Moonlight from the waxing moon spilled near the entrance by the doors, but they were safe from the light and prying eyes.
“I thought ye were not coming,” she whispered.
“And miss the chance to be with ye on this last night?” Desmond lowered his head, and his lips sought hers.
It was a kiss for her tired soul, and she melted within his arms, surrendering to his touch. Soft bells echoed in the distance, and Desmond broke free.
“They are coming,” he whispered against her ear.
“Who?” she asked, not caring if the entire world saw them.
“The druids. They herald the start of Midwinter. Will ye sit with me at the feasting table, Ailsa?”
She reached up and nibbled on his bottom lip. “Aye, and the night as well.”
Letting out a groan, his mouth swooped down to capture hers again. The kiss left Ailsa with promises of more to follow. She intended on treasuring each moment with him.
Desmond stepped away from her. As he held out his hand his smile was inviting. “May I escort ye inside the hall, my lady?”
Lifting her chin, she complied. As he placed her hand in the crook of his arm, she looked up at his face. “Before we enter, I want to tell ye how fine ye look, Desmond.”
His eyes darkened with emotion. She sensed he wanted to say something, but the arrival of the druids at the entrance halted any further conversation. Steering her quickly inside the Great Hall, he led her to the table where her father sat along with the other MacKays and their families.
Silence descended inside the place, and Angus stood. As the oldest Dragon Knight and Laird of Urquhart, it was his duty to welcome in the druids.
He spread his arms wide. “’Tis an honor to greet the druids who will give their blessing on this feast of light.” While glancing around the room, his voice rang loud. “Urquhart has been blessed with abundance this year—in family, health, and crops. May we ask the Gods and Goddesses to continue to favor us with their love and protection.” Turning his attention back toward the druids, Cathal and Tam, he added, “Greetings, wise ones. Ye are most welcome.”
“’Tis an honor to be among the Dragon Knights and their friends and families,” proclaimed Cathal. He motioned for Tam to move ahead of him.
Tam strode forward, holding a large log adorned with greenery. He bowed to everyone. “I bring the new to light with the old.”
They both wandered slowly, chanting words in a musical lilt, their robes flowing softly.
When they reached the empty hearth, Cathal produced a small piece of kindling and held it up high. “Let us spark the light of Midwinter with the remains of the last Yule log.” He waved it in the air and the bit of wood sparked into flames. The children gasped in awe and delight.
Tam set the new log on top of the other giant pieces of wood, and Cathal tossed the burning stick onto the log.
Both druids lifted their hands upward and raised their joined voices as one. “Let the lights from the stars cast their glow down upon the longest night which greets us once again. The land slumbers, and the battle between the Oak King and aging Holly King begins anew. Though the skies are cold and dreary, we rejoice in song and feasting as this night encloses us in her embrace. For we fear naught, since the moon and stars will light our path. Blessings of Mother Danu to all!”
Cathal scooped out a mixture of herbs from the leather pouch, belted at his side, and then tossed them into the flames. Sparks danced upward, and cries of approval echoed throughout the hall. Cheers resounded and many lifted their cups in salute to the blaze and each other.
Angus brought over two cups for the druids. “I thank ye both. Come and join us in feasting this night.”
Taking the offered mug, Tam went and took a seat beside Bran. Lifting it toward Ailsa, he said, “Blessing to ye, lady.”
Smiling, she bowed her head slightly to the druid. Taking a sip of her own mead, she savored the honeyed sweetness.
Cathal took a place next to Angus. “’Tis good to see ye once again, Desmond. Ye did not return with your brothers after Samhain?”
“’Tis good to see ye, as well.” His mouth twitched in humor. “My sister considered it wise I should stay on until after Midwinter.”
The druid cast a quick glance at Fiona. “A wise woman indeed.” He turned toward Ailsa. “I am happy to meet ye, lady. I have heard your journey has been fraught with troubles. Thank the Gods ye came across the Dragon Knight and Desmond.”
She bowed her head. “A great honor for us, Cathal that ye are here. And aye, we were fortunate to have the assistance of both men.”
“How did ye manage to make the journey from Castle Creag? I thought ye were spending it with Cormac Murray and his wife,” asked Desmond, reaching for a trencher of breads.
Cathal swirled the contents of his cup, before glancing at Duncan. “The weather was fine—no sign of rain or snow, so I left them in the care of another druid and sought the path to Urquhart.” He tapped a finger to his head. “My sight told me I might be needed here.”
“I am confused, MacKay,” interrupted Muir, taking a seat near Finn.
Alastair leaned forward in his chair. “Which MacKay are ye referring to?”
“The Laird? Why would I speak of another?”
Angus arched a brow. “What has caused this bewilderment?”
Muir extended his arms outward. “Where is King William? Did ye not speak of him joining us for Midwinter? Was it merely to impress us? Or did ye not deem us worthy to meet the man?”
Ailsa gasped and looked at her father.
Bran narrowed his eyes. “Why are ye showing disrespect to our hosts?”
“I merely asked a question,” replied the man.
“I have already shared the knowledge with your chieftain as to why the king is not present,” interjected Angus. “But since ye have not had a chance to speak with him, I will tell ye. The king is traveling onward to Arbroath Abbey to oversee the continuation of the building. We sent a messenger to tell him of the troubles with King John’s men. We thought it best if he did not venture to Urquhart.”
Filling his mug, Muir lifted it high. “I thank ye for sharing the knowledge.” Draining the contents, he placed it on the table. Removing his dirk, he skewered a piece of meat from the boar.
Though the fire blazed hot, a cold tendril of uneasiness slipped within Ailsa at the silence around the table. Muir’s behavior made no sense, and she could see anger in her father’s eyes. Each day, the man attempted to battle the MacKays with words or blades. However, his manner with Desmond was far worse.
Angus waved a hand toward the minstrels, and they picked up their instruments. They filled the hall with a lively tune, breaking the tension at the table. He then took his wife’s hand and led her away to start dancing. Smiling at the two, Ailsa filled her trencher with some of the tempting dishes in front of her.
“Did ye try the spiced apples?” murmured Desmond, placing several on her plate. “I am tempted to lap the juices from my fingers.”
Her mouth went dry as she gazed into the man’s eyes. Desire teased her within his emerald depths.
Ailsa finished her mead and attempted to eat some of her meal. He was correct. The apples were highly pleasing. Though the chicken and quail had become her favorite, it was the man next to her who she craved. Desmond’s hand brushed against her fingers, and she stole a glance at him.
“Would ye care to honor me with a dance?” His smile was a moonbeam of promises yet to come.
“Aye, Desmond.” Slipping her fingers into his, he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her to where others were dancing.
They entered the circle and bowed to the dancers. The circle then expanded to include Desmond and Ailsa. Tapping her feet, she twirled and moved to the center with the other women. Grasping hands, they flowed with the melody, slowly and effortlessly until she broke free, and her steps led her back to Desmond. His hand brushed hers and they met in the middle, bowed, and circled the other. His eyes never left hers, drawing her into his web of only them. She danced around him, aching to touch him. The heat of his gaze stole her breath.
Onward they danced, twirling and swaying around the hall. Laughter filled Ailsa, along with Desmond’s touch. As the minstrels ended their song, she dipped a curtsy to all.
Fiona handed her a cup of ale. “You were wonderful out there. I’ve never witnessed my brother dancing. He’s good.”
“Thank ye.” Ailsa drained the cup, relishing the cool liquid.
Desmond returned holding two plum tarts in his hand. “By the Gods, these are delicious. Who made them?”
Fiona tried to snatch one from his hand. “Brigid. They’re a favorite of Duncan’s.”
He shook his finger at her. “Nae. I brought one for Ailsa.”
Fisting her hands on her hips, Fiona pouted. “But none for your beloved sister?”
“Ye wound me.” Handing her one, he added, “Ailsa and I will just have to share this one.”
Pleased with his gesture, Fiona kissed him on the cheek. Taking the offering, she was about to take a bite, when Alastair approached from behind her.
“’Tis good to see ye are eating.” He placed his hands around her waist.
She laughed when he nibbled on her neck.
“Come, Desmond. Let us eat our fare away from the lovers,” suggested Ailsa, tugging at his arm.
Snorting, he complied and followed her out of the hall and near the entrance. When he held the treat out to her, Ailsa took a bite.
Closing her eyes, she savored the sweet fruit and pastry. “Mmm…”
“’Tis good.” He whispered softly.
Desmond’s tongue teased the edges of her mouth, and snapping her eyes open, Ailsa yearned to have him kiss her.
“Go and announce to your father that ye are retiring for the night.”
“’Tis too early,” she argued in a low voice.
“Nae. He is most likely deep in his cups and enjoying himself.”
She nodded and started to move forward when he grasped her hand. “I will follow ye within the hour.” Kissing her wrist, he released her and leaned against the door, devouring the rest of the tart.
Licking her lips, Ailsa started forward and paused. She glanced over her shoulder. “And where am I to go?”
His smile became seductive. “To my chamber and into my bed.”