Ewen gave a quick nod in assent, and turned to Magda. “Do you ken theCailleachlog, lass?” His deep voice was kind, and she thought how Mairi didn’t seem to deserve him, no matter how gorgeous she was.
“I . . . no . . .” Magda hedged, and the studious-seeming teen she’d heard referred to as Robert chimed in.
“It’s a Highland tradition, dating possibly from pagan times. A face is carved into theCailleachand then burned.” He used his finger to outline the crude features of an old woman etched in the wood. “It is the burning of the Spirit of Winter. As theCailleachlog burns to ash, so too does the bad luck and enmity of the past year.”
Magda wondered at this strange boy. He seemed as different as night and day from the laird, and yet they couldn’t have been separated by more than a few years.
James surreptitiously took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers, and his smile warmed her more than any hearth fire could.
“Aye,” Ewen chimed in, “they claim she lives at the top of Ben Nevis itself. So old is theCailleach, her plaid is faded to white. And at the start of each winter she scrubs this great plaid of hers, and so too is Scotland washed white for the season.”
“You best not have burnt the log without me.”
Everyone had been listening in rapt silence, and Magda gave a start at the sound of the old man’s voice booming through the room.
Ewen’s grandfather walked in, gait and grimace betraying the stiffness of his limbs. Ewen rose from his seat by the fire to offer it to his elder. “We’d not dare,” he said, and took the log from Robert to place on the fire. While most watched the flames lick and snap at the dry wood, Magda caught a furtive look shared between Mairi and Ewen’s grandfather that turned her stomach. Mairi’s chin tucked low, her mouth a teasing pout and the devil in her eyes. The old man’s tongue flicked out to wet the thin skin of his wrinkled lips. Surely, Magda thought, she didn’t just see what she thought she saw.
James’s whisper in her ear interrupted her thoughts. “The little chit thinks to butter her bread on both sides, I see.”
Amused, Magda bit her cheek to school her face into an impassive mask, all the while thinking that if she could kiss James full on the mouth without causing a scandal she would.
“But why aren’t you . . . merrier?” Magda asked James as they lay in bed. He looked at her quizzically, so she elaborated. “Well, it’s a happy holiday after all, right? I mean, in modern times, we say ‘Merry Christmas’ to celebrate, and we exchange presents.”
“The good cheer begins come Hogmanay,” James said. “The days before New Year’s, aye?” he added, seeing her confusion. “You think you’ve a full belly now. You’ll have black buns and sun cakes and mincemeats aplenty come New Year’s. I imagine you’ll see Ewen’s clansmen become quite boisterous, the lot of them.
“And”—he grabbed Magda and pinned her beneath him—“as for presents, who’s to say you don’t have a gift, hen?”
“A . . . really?” Her expression quickly crumpled, and she said, “But I have nothing for you, James.”
“Are you in my bed?”
Magda nodded.
“Have you a stitch of clothing on you?”
Smiling, she shook her head slowly.
“Then you have given me my gift. And, before you fash yourself”—James put his hand to her mouth to stop her interruption—“’tis nothing I bought, aye? I’ve not exactly had the opportunity to take in the shops of the Royal Mile, eh?”
“Not exactly, no.”
“So then.” He leaned over to scoop his sporran from off the floor at their bedside. He pulled out a small sheet of paper folded in a neat square.
“What’s this?”
He raised his brows in answer, indicating that she should see for herself.
It was a poem, a handful of stanzas long, written in an elaborate, sloping script. It took her a moment to get the hang of the old-fashioned handwriting, but by the end, she was reading fluidly, gripping James’s hand in hers.
“I’d leave you with a token.” He gently guided her chin until his eyes met hers. “I need you to know, Magda. To know how I love you. But to know too how I’m driven to what I’m about to do.”
“But . . .” Tears flowed hot down her cheeks as she remembered the words she’d heard what felt like a lifetime ago.Captured and hanged.
“Hush.” He stroked her brow, thumbing the tears from her face. “You and my country may both be twined in my heart, but it’s your love that girds me in my fight. And Iwillreturn to you.”
Magda slept fitfully that night, knowing that she’d wake and be one day closer to their parting. His last stanza had run her through, filling her with love and fear in equal parts.
I’ll make thee glorious by my pen And famous by my sword: I’ll serve thee in such noble ways Was never heard before; I’ll crown and deck thee all with bays, And love thee evermore.
