Ronan and Abigail emerged to spend the new year with their family and clan. Abigail toiled beside Maude and the servants as the ashes were collected from every hearth and the Great Hall and chambers were scoured in preparation for the coming year.
While locked away in their love nest, if they weren’t filling their time making love, the couple sat playing chess, Nine Men’s Morris, backgammon, and cards. Both discovered that they had keen minds for strategy, and both had a competitive steak that led to cheerful ribbing and the loser divesting their clothing.
Abigail defeated Ronan at a particularly challenging game of chess, and the boon she requested before they began was that Ronan would strip naked and run into the sea if she won. Despite trying to distract her with tasks and an afternoon tryst, Abigail insisted that he take his arctic plunge before the bells tolled at midnight to ensure he cleared his debt to her. Their tryst happened afterward while Abigail helped take the chill from Ronan’s bones.
After celebrating for several hours around bonfires, the clan gathered in the Great Hall for the “first stepping” tradition while a clan elder banged on the doors to the keep. The dark-haired older man entered to cheers celebrating the first minutes of the new year. The “first stepper” moved toward a table and set down his sack. He pretended to rummage within before he pulled out the expected lump of coal, piece of shortbread, jug of whisky, a jar with a few granules of salt, and a black bun. Kieran toasted to his clan’s health and prosperity in the coming year.
“What do you think the coming year will hold, Abby?” Ronan asked before handing Abby her own dram of whisky.
“I don’t know. I pray for acceptance among my new clan, grace and humility as I become Lady MacKinnon in practice. Mayhap a growing family,” Abigail shrugged at the end.
“Do you ken something that I don’t?” Ronan held his breath. He realized he liked the thought of having a baby with Abigail. He recognized many of the same qualities in Abigail as he’d seen in his own mother. He’d watched Abigail with her nieces and nephew, and she had a natural way with children. Stern but always kind and patient, Ronan looked forward to building a family with his bride.
“Nay. It’s too soon to ken aught, and I don’t think I am. But I would very much like to see you as a father. I’ve seen how you are with the wee ones here and how they cling to you for stories and games. Mayhap you won’t have time for such jocularity once we arrive at Dun Ringill, but I’ve enjoyed it.”
“Abby, I will always have time for you and our bairns. It might not be at the very moment I wish, but I had two loving parents who raised me, and I intend to see our children have the same.” Ronan wrapped his arm around Abigail as she stepped into his embrace. “I swear to put you and our family ahead of all else whenever I can. Know that when I can’t, it’s not because I don’t want to. Know that it’s only duty that prevents it.”
“I ken, Ronan. Is it wrong of me, though, to hope it takes a little while before I get with child? I’ll already have to share you with the clan, and my time will be shared with them as well. I’d like to spend what time I do have with just you for a while. Weans will undoubtedly pull me away even more. I would never begrudge our children that, but I confess to being greedy and wanting you to monopolize my attention as much as can be.”
Ronan swept Abigail into his arms, leaving the Hogmanay celebration behind as they made their way to their chamber. “I shall monopolize your time, your attention, andallof your energy,” Ronan promised. They entered their chamber and didn’t leave until Maude discreetly reminded Abigail that she’d promised to watch the children while Kieran and Maude visited the older and poorer members of the clan.
* * *
The feast of Epiphany signaled the end of the twelve days of Christmas. It also signaled their last day at Stornoway, and Ronan promised Abigail that they would celebrate with such merriment that she would sleep the entire boat ride to Skye. While some clans celebrated Epiphany for eight days, duties at Stornoway and Dun Ringill made it impossible for the MacLeods of Lewis or the MacKinnons to prolong the festivities.
“I’m looking forward to more than one chaliceful ofla mas ubal,” Abigail confessed as they left their seats in the laird’s pew after the Mass. Lambswool was a hot apple punch often served alongside Wassail. The clan gathered in the orchard to hang toasted pieces of bread soaked in cider from the branches. When Ronan looked dubiously at the trees’ decorations, Abigail asked, “Do the MacKinnons not do this?”
“Nay. And I’m not sure what it is we’re doing. Why hang bread?” Ronan’s voice held all the skepticism and some of the disbelief he felt.
“I don’t know why the tradition started, but we shall sing to wish everyone good health in the new year,” Abigail explained. “And it’s an excuse for more cider.” Abigail winked as a servant brought around trays of the warmed drink. The kirk had been freezing despite the people packed inside. A heavy snowstorm the day earlier dumped several inches on the isle, and the wind remained blustery.
Much like Christmas Day, a feast awaited everyone when they entered the Great Hall. Abigail heaped food on Ronan’s side of their trencher, always astonished at how much her husband ate while remaining svelte. But she would remind herself of what she saw when she caught glimpses of him training in the lists. Her husband was never idle, and every muscle she reveled in touching and watching while they made love was hewn from his training.
Ronan kept his promise, and the couple ate, drank, danced, and made merry until a couple of hours before dawn. It was with bleary eyes that they joined the villagers by the fields for the sunrise plough races. A riotous way to return to the routine laboring in the fields, the plough races signaled the end of the three most festive holidays of the year. Abigail and Ronan returned to the keep to break their fast with Kieran and Maude, their children still sound asleep. As they finished their meal, Ronan’s men checked their horses’ saddles and prepared the birlinns for their departure. Maude and Abigail clung to one another as Kieran and Ronan clapped one another on their backs.
“I dinna suspect ye shall ever want to leave Ronan’s side, but if aught should ever happen, come here,” Maude whispered. “Kieran told me he taught ye how to sail as a lass. A birlinn isnae easy in foul weather, but ye can manage it with a steady breeze. Ye have a home here nay matter what, always. Abigail, I wish ye happy, and I believe ye will be.”
“Thank you, Maude. You have been so good to me, and I appreciate your faith in me, even when I haven’t earned it,” Abigail kissed her sister-by-marriage on the cheek.
“Abigail, we’re family,” Maude said it as though it explained everything. And Abigail realized that to Maude, it did.
“Take care of Kieran and the weans,” Abigail whispered as she hugged Maude one last time before Kieran tugged her away for his own embrace. Abigail nodded as Kieran whispered nearly the same thing to Abigail as Maude had. She squeezed her older brother before turning to take Ronan’s hand. They walked to the dock where four boats waited to ferry them from the Isle of Lewis to the Isle of Skye. With sails raised and oars in the water, Ronan and Abigail drifted into the current. As Stornoway faded into the distance, its disappearance signaled the end of Abigail’s life as a MacLeod but marked the beginning of their lives together as Laird and Lady MacKinnon.
“I love you, Lady Abigail MacKinnon,” Ronan murmured against her hair before kissing her temple.
“And I love you, Laird Ronan MacKinnon.” Abigail turned her face toward Ronan’s before adding, “You can kiss me better than that.” Always willing to accept Abigail’s challenges, Ronan did just that until they were both breathless and smiling. They stood together as they sailed toward Skye, the water calm and the sky a shade that matched Abigail’s eyes. Abigail thought for a moment how the time between meeting Ronan and their boarding the boat was like a fairy tale. Her stomach clenched for a moment, recalling that most fairy tales had a monster before the characters found their happily ever after. With another kiss from Ronan, she reminded herself monsters weren’t real, but her happily ever after with Ronan was. She sighed as she leaned against him.
“To our future, Abby,” Ronan whispered as they gazed at one another, joy evident in both of their smiles.
“To our future.”
Nineteen
Abigail huddled beneath her own plaid, as well as the extra ones Ronan wrapped around her. Only twenty minutes into their voyage the wind shifted drastically, blowing against the MacKinnon birlinns as they attempted to cut through the icy water that sprayed over the side. The wind whipped around Abigail as she sat in the stern and prayed that they didn’t capsize. The waves had grown rough, the sea seeming angry that they left the Isle of Lewis. Since Stornoway sat on the northeastern coast of the isle—which comprised two parts: Lewis to the north and Harris to the south—they would sail south and around the western tip of Skye to reach Dun Ringill. It was only meant to be a six or seven-hour sail, but with the weather against them, Ronan feared it would be well after sunset before they arrived home. The dropping temperature concerned Ronan; he was freezing, so he could only imagine how miserable his wife was.
Ronan glanced back at Abigail from where he stood at the bow. He’d moved to the front of the sailboat to survey the open water of the Minch. They would enter the Little Minch as they neared MacLeod fishing territory. Clouds hung low over the water, making it difficult to see the coast to their right or what lay ahead of them. An aggressive swell, intent upon overturning them, nearly knocked Ronan off his feet. He clutched the rail of the boat and looked at the three other birlinns bobbing alongside him. The horses on all four boats grew more agitated; his men struggled to control the animals while trying to brace themselves against the gale. Ronan could only be grateful that there was no precipitation. While the cloud cover nearly touched the water, none looked pregnant with rain or snow. Ronan stumbled his way back to Abigail and eased to the deck, pulling her into his embrace.
“We can put ashore on Harris and wait this out,” Ronan offered.
