“I ken what he eats.” Aunt Nettie frowned at Gubbie. “Between what you give him and Cook slips to him in the kitchens, he eats better than most of us.
“For sure, it shows.” She looked back to Alanna. “He’s fat.”
“He was a thread-thin and hungry kitten when I found him.” Alanna shifted Gubbie in her arms, used to his size and weight. “He deserves to eat well.”
“You’re trailing fast in your mother’s footsteps, lassie.” Aunt Nettie leaned forward, wagged a finger. “Pampering raggedy old cats and trusting in a bards’ song all in Scotland know is nothing but romantic twaddle. What’s true is that a mumbled blessing for lovers that ne’er existed is the last thing you should be doing about now, the King with his eye on this holding.”
“King Robert hasn’t said he wants Seacliffe,” Alanna said, now stroking the back of Gubbie’s neck. “He wishes this stretch of coast secure.”
Aunt Nettie snorted. “Same thing.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Humph.” Her aunt studied her, considering. “We’ll have to arrange a husband for you. If not a laird, Boyd can ride to Aberdeen, find a deep-pursed merchant eager for a castle and title.”
“Boyd won’t be riding anywhere.” Alanna shook her head, her own cares forgotten. Her cousin was huge. All brawn and muscle, he surely weighed three times more than any horse in Seacliffe’s stables. She’d sooner walk the many miles to Aberdeen naked and barefoot than suffer a single one of her late father’s precious and regrettably aged horses to carry such a load.
“I will think of something,” she said, sure she didn’t have any notion what to do.
All she did know was that this Yule she meant to find theLovers.
She’d recently recalled a line from one of the bards’ songs about the pair – a long ago passing-through minstrel told of ‘frozen waves that hid the access to their resting place.’
To her, the memory was a sign.
Better yet, she had a guess where the ‘frozen waves’ might be.
A line of tumbled stones far up on the high moors behind Seacliffe, the stones appearing furled like rolling waves when viewed at a distance. Rare white heather topped them, gleaming like sea foam in certain light, such as deepest winter.
Could the fabled spot be so close? Here, on her very own doorstep? Dare she hope?
Gubbie mewled then, as if encouraging her.
Aunt Nettie left the room, muttering as she closed the door.
Alanna didn’t care.
Only one thought whirled in her mind as she lowered Gubbie to the floor and began pacing…
She wanted a piece of the enchanted trees so badly.
In a day or so, Seacliffe’s fisher folk, farmers, and crofters would arrive for a night of feasting and receiving of gifts. They’d take home Yule bread, mead, and sacks of oats so they could make their own Yule brose throughout the festive days. Barrels of salt herring wouldn’t fail, likewise rounds of cheese. New shoes, plaids, and bolts of cloth would also be distributed, a tradition since the first stone of Seacliffe was laid, the work done by the forebears of many of the recipients of such gifts. And once the gifting ended and merrymaking resumed, she’d slip away to seek the furled stones.
With luck, they’d again resemble a frozen, white-capped sea.
And if so…
The gods just might be with her.
Chapter 4
Seacliffe Castle
The small hours of the same night…
Something woke her.
Turning over, Alanna blinked into the darkness of her bedchamber and waited for the expected tap-tap-tap of Gubbie’s paw against her shoulder. When none came, she peered across the room to where a faint glow of peat embers revealed her cat curled on his rug before the smoldering hearth fire.
