“I don’t know, but…” Rhona fingered the ends of her braids. “If you deny him your heart, you will have only carnality. And that, my lady, is what I enjoyed with the garrison men. It brings swift pleasure, but fades as quickly.”
“You keep your heart from James.”
“I do not keep my heart from him, he does,” Rhona said. “He can claim my full affections the day he so chooses, and it is my hope that will be soon.”
Smoothing her skirts, she glanced heavenward and sighed. “We have not yet come fully together, though he knows I am experienced. That part of me, I do keep from him.” She looked back at Caterine, her gaze dreamy. “For now.”
“So you do want to…er, ah… lie with him.”
“Oh, aye.”
“I am ready for that, too,” Caterine admitted. “I am weary of feeling cold and empty. But I want a husband at my side, not just in my bed. I need him to stand for Dunlaidir, to love these walls, this land, and serve our people, to protect them always.”
Rhona’s face lit with a smile. “That’s what champions do, is it not?”
“So legends say.”
“Then you needn’t worry.”
“I hope not, but I shall take further measures.” Caterine stood, clasped her hands before her. “Something I would never have trusted myself to do.”
“What?” Rhona’s smile deepened. “Something wicked?”
“Perhaps, but not in the way you are thinking,” Caterine said. “And I am not sure I even have the nerve. Still…” She paused, her mind racing back years, remembering. “If I hope to fire my champion’s dedication to Dunlaidir, I am willing to seek help from any source imaginable. Even one so unlikely some would say I’m addled.”
Rhona’s smile faded. “No one would ever call you addled.”
“They might if I followed the advice of a half-mythical Highland crone who runs about wearing red plaid shoelaces.”
“Devorgilla of Doon?” Rhona stared at her. “She’s more than a myth. She doesn’t exist.”
“Aye, she does.” Caterine dropped back onto the cushioned window seat. “I met her once or twice many years ago. She’s quite real, and so is her magic.”
“Truly?” Rhona glanced at the door, and then leaned forward. “What was she like?”
“Tiny and black-garbed except for her red plaid laces, and she’s ancient, gnarly and grizzled, though her eyes are bright blue and twinkly,” Caterine remembered. “She visited my home, Dundonnell Keep in the Western Highlands, when one of my sisters was preparing to marry.
“The groom was a Mackintosh of Nought territory in the Glen of Many Legends,” she explained. “Kirsty fretted for months, worrying about living so far from home, loving our part of the Highlands as she did.”
“Did Devorgilla spell the groom to move north, away from Nought?” Rhona guessed.
“Nae,” Caterine said, “but she told Kirsty of a way to secure the old ones’ blessing of a union, and how honoring them would make her feel as one with her husband’s land, so creating a powerful bond.”
Rhona blinked. “A bond with the Glen of Many Legends, or the husband?”
“I was young and don’t recall exactly. It was late and I wasn’t even supposed to be in the hall. I only overheard snatches of Devorgilla telling Kirsty what to do. I believe the bond was between the couple and the land, not just one or the other.”
“I see,” Rhona said, sounding skeptical. “So what is it that must be done? Run around naked beneath a full moon or something?”
“Or something, aye.”
“I thought so.” Rhona stared at her, then shrugged. “The Nought Mackintoshes are known to be wild men. It’s said they’re descended from Viking Beserkers.”
“That’s true,” Caterine said. “But that’s nothing bad. They’re fierce fighters, so are good at protecting their own. Kirsty and Hugh are happy. They’re well settled at Castle Nought. They have four sons, last I heard.”
“So the spell worked?”
“It’s not a spell.” Caterine shifted on the window seat. “It’s a way to give thanks to the ancients, and the land all Scots love to the roots of their souls.”
