“Nae, who she is,” Ula said, making no sense. “She is the maid with a heart of stone.”
“A maid with a stony heart doesn’t sound all that appealing.” Callum adjusted his plaid against the cold night wind – hopefully the reason a chill just sped down his spine. “I’ve no time for women, besides. For sure, no’ to whirl them about, as well you know. Draugar Hall-”
“… has stood for centuries.” She leaned in then, her tone sending another shiver through him. “It’ll not mind waiting a wee bit longer. Its stones will glow on its cliff again soon enough. Indeed…” She straightened, picked up her basket. “Could be candles already light the windows? Yuletide candles, perhaps?
“Even better, a Yule log.” She paused, a faraway look in her eyes. “Cheery red flames curling round a nice, fat log, a burst of sparks now and then? Coziness to turn back years, giving hope and joy to old, weather-worn walls, warmth to stir ancient longings so powerful the need stops your heart.”
“Ancient longings? When did you become a talespinner, my lady?” Callum glanced at the sea where a high tide frothed the night-blackened waves. Wind did the rest, sending moon-kissed sea spray pluming in the air. “Any fire lit in Draugar’s poor shell of a tower would be snuffed before a fish could sneeze.”
Ula laughed, her usual merry self again. “Since when do fish sneeze?”
“They don’t. That’s the point.”
“Perhaps we just don’t hear them?” She hooked her arm through his, drew him away from the darkened cottages. “Now stop being so thrawn and come with me to the revels. We have guests and one of them wishes to speak with you.”
“Your stone-hearted maid?”
“Nae, a man.” Ula quickened her steps, pulling him ever closer to the blazing fire at the sea’s edge. “A great, big-bearded Highlander, a seasoned warrior by the look of him. Strong, hard face and piercing gaze. I’d have brought him with me to find you, but some of Blackie’s hounds ran over to him and he dropped to his knees and-”
“He’s feeding them twists of dried beef from a pouch at his sword belt?” Callum finished for her, his heart sinking for the visitor could only be his distant cousin Grim Mackintosh of Nought territory in the Western Highlands. Nae, not quite correct, for in recent years Grim served as captain of the guards at a neighboring stronghold, Duncreag Castle, where he aided Archie MacNab, a cantankerous old laird who now looked on Grim as a son.
Unfortunately, Grim had other duties as well.
Ones Callum preferred to ignore.
And as they rarely met, save when those other obligations raised a demanding head, he could only hope he erred and the guest sought him for a different reason. Perhaps someone needing an extra crewman or sword arm, tasks he’d engage in gladly, always eager to earn a bit of extra coin.
Too bad his gut said otherwise.
Grim was here in the Skerries and not to drink mead and make merry.
Callum’s cousin only went where the tip of his well-sharpened sword led him – or, better said, the even deadlier edge of his huge Viking war ax.
He also loved animals.
And so Callum stood in the middle of the empty, winter-hardened road and lifted a hand to grip the Thor’s hammer amulet at his neck. He also sent a quick prayer to the gods. He wasn’t of a mind to join Grim on some wild and bothersome adventure.
“Ula…” He drew a long breath, expelled it quickly. “The man with Blackie’s dogs - is he a big, ugly brute? A Highland warrior in mail, a Thor’s hammer at his neck, a Viking war ax strapped across his back? Does he…” – he paused, clenched his fists before voicing the telling words – “Are his eyes the gray of smoke? Do silver rings glint in his beard?”
“Aye, that’s him!” Ula nodded, beaming. “The Aberdeen lassies are falling over themselves, each one trying to land him first.”
“They’ll no’ have any luck,” Callum told her. “He ne’er even looks at any woman save his Irish wife, Breena.”
“Then you do know him?”
“Aye.”
“Well?” Ula poked him. “Who is he?”
“My cousin.”
“Ah, I should have known.” Ula stepped back, let her gaze flicker over him. “Now I see it.”
Callum raised his brows. “If you do, you’re looking back o’er centuries. We are cousins many times removed. My g-g-g-great aunt married a Nought Mackintosh. Her name was Astrid, which I suspect drew my g-g-g-great uncle’s attention. Mackintoshes cling to their Norse ancestry.”
Ula laughed. “And you don’t?”
“Aye, well…” Callum kicked a pebble in the road. “There’s less than a fine line between a Highlander and a Viking. All know it.”
