“We owe her a great debt.” Catherine pretended to grimace. “And we paid it by giving her Óg.”
“I dinna think she minds.” Rab jutted his chin toward the dais, where Catriona and Andrew were locked in a passionate kiss that soon led to them fleeing the raised table and flying up the stairs to their chamber.
“Let us enjoy this peace. We’re finally where we belong, and our clans arenae at each other’s throats. Mòr and Caelan look as if they’ve been friends since the cradle.” Catherine pointed to where the two lairds challenged each other to one dram of whisky after another. “They look like they could be brothers, dinna ye think? Dark hair. Same build. They both remind me of a bodach.”
“I dare ye to tell either of them that they remind ye of a cantankerous auld mon.”
“Mayhap another time.” Catherine twirled in Rab’s arms before they settled back into the steps that kept them together. “I think they are far more alike than they wanted to admit. But I hope that means they’ll also find it easier to be allies than enemies.”
“I think so. I think they could have been friends if there hadnae been tension between our clans since they were lads.”
“I hope they can be. I dinna think the MacGregors will take well to learning our clans are now allies. Caelan might even come around to getting along with Brodie.”
“Kitty, I wouldnae be so quick to believe that. I dinna ken that we’ll ever call the Campbells allies if they expect us to accept the MacGregors onto our land. Brodie suggested ma father pay fealty to him as an overlord for them supporting us against the MacGregors. I dinna ken if Father will ever accept that, and after what we justly owe yer uncle, we canna afford to pay them aught.”
Catherine sighed, but nodded. “If nae friends and allies, then at least nae enemies. Naught’s resolved with the Buchanans and leaving half a score of them dead isnae likely to endear either clan to the Buchanans.”
“I havenae even had time to tell Father aboot that.”
“I dinna think Óg’s told Mòr yet either.”
“I dinna ken if I should do that now while they’re three sheets in the wind or wait until tomorrow.”
“When they have sore heads?” Catherine giggled. “Mayhap now and pray they forget.”
“Or mayhap yer cousins had the right idea.” Rab swooped Catherine into his arms to the cheers of those around them. Since they arrived married, no one suggested a bedding ceremony the previous day or as part of the feast. The couple made their escape as they had the evening before, retiring to their chamber where they made love throughout the night.
* * *
“I wish ye didna have to go so soon, Uncle,” Catherine said as Andrew Mòr nearly swallowed her whole in his embrace.
“Lass, we’ve been here nigh on a fortnight. We canna overstay our welcome.”
“Nay such thing, Mòr,” Rab said as he and Andrew shook forearms. “I ken I can speak for ma father when I say ye and yers are always welcome here.”
During the past ten days, there was much healing between the two lairds and their people. The MacLarens accepted the MacFarlane warriors in the lists, training alongside the MacLarens after the first few days of wariness. Caelan and Andrew discussed clan politics across Scotland, the ongoing troubles along the border, and how they should handle the inevitable summons back to court after their offspring left without permission. They reminisced over several tots of whisky, recalling fighting alongside the Bruce and Brodie’s father. Caelan explained to Andrew why the MacLarens and Campbells might not become allies, hoping it kept Andrew from feeling caught in the middle.
Nessa’s hospitality, ensuring everyone had their fill of food and ale, helped the MacFarlanes feel accepted outside the training field. She encouraged the musicians to tune their instruments early and to begin the dancing as soon as the servants cleared the last course. The MacFarlanes watched how she doted on both Catherine and Catriona, her sincerity obvious. It even surprised the MacFarlanes to witness how paternal Caelan was to both ladies. He was no longer the ogre they had painted him for so many years.
Andrew Óg and Rab admitted they liked one another now that they were no longer representing feuding clans, and Rab was no longer a clandestine suitor, while Andrew was an overprotective relative. They accepted Douglan into their midst, and it appeared as though nothing was ever amiss between the brothers. The transition wasn’t so smooth for Catherine and Kate. They skirted around one another until the day Kate tripped going down the keep steps. Catherine was approaching from a storage building where she’d gathered a basket full of turnips. The root vegetables went flying as she dashed to catch Kate as she pitched forward. They barely kept their footing, but Catherine kept Kate from taking a nasty fall. With hearts pounding and relief coursing through them, the women embraced. Stunned, they backed away and stared at one another. Something passed between them that neither could describe, but it put the tension between them to rest. Catherine wasn’t certain they could become fast friends, but neither felt uncomfortable after that.
“If the weather holds, I invite ye and yer parents to Inveruglas during Christmastide,” Andrew Mòr offered.
“Aye!” Catriona chirped. “I shall challenge ye to see which one of us can still eat the most sweet chestnuts.”
“Nay,” Rab snorted. “I ken ye can eat more, and I’ll end up ill. Ma mother still reminds me of that bet when we were weans whenever she warns me aboot overindulging.”
“I shall take up that challenge,” Catherine chimed in.
“Nay competitions between ye two,” Andrew Óg shook his head. “I willna feel right rallying behind one of ye and nae the other.”
“Vera well,” both women said. Catriona wrinkled her nose at her husband. “We challenge ye.”
“Bluidy hell,” Andrew grumbled.
“Dinna fash, Cousin. I’ll let ye win like I did when we were weans,” Catherine said with a wink.
“I think it’s time we’re on our way. I dinna need ma wife and ma cousin conspiring against me anymore.”
