“Keep us safe from…”
“Take these gifts…”
“Till the light returns…”
“Protect us from those who would…”
“Evil spirits.”
“The souls o’ the dead.”
But Carenza knew what they were.
They were her treasured secret.Her favorite part of Samhain.
And for some curious reason, she felt compelled to share that secret with Hew.She clasped him by the forearm and nodded toward the top of the fire.
He followed her gaze in silence and then narrowed his eyes as he saw the dark forms.
She grinned.“Bats.”
He furrowed his brows.
“The firelight draws insects,” she explained in a whisper.“And the bats feast on them.”
“I won’t tell,” he promised.“Though how can you be certain they aren’t the evil souls of dead bats?”
That made her laugh, which immediately earned her a scowl from her father, standing near the bonfire.
Ashamed, she sobered at once.
Carenza only half-believed the story of Samhain.But for her father, of all the rites celebrated at Dunlop, this was the most significant.A time when the veil between the worlds was nearly transparent.A time for somber reflection.For regret and remembrance.For mourning and forgiveness.The time when he felt closest to Carenza’s departed mother.
Clasping her hands and lowering her head, she ignored the bats and peered guiltily into the flames, which danced manically now, as if to leap free of the confines of the bonfire.
Nothing was going to bring her mother back.Why did her father foolishly insist on tormenting himself with renewed grief and false hope?
Still, it had been rude of her to find levity in a moment when he was suffering in despair.
Burdened by remorse, she murmured to Hew, “I must see to my father.”
She left Hew’s side and came up behind the laird.She slipped his hand into hers and gave it a squeeze.
He closed his eyes.By the orange light of the roaring bonfire, she saw a tear seep out, rolling down his cheek and into his beard.
They stood there in silence a long while as the wild wind urged the fire higher.
Eventually, he sniffed back his anguish and gave her hand a pat.
“So what do ye think o’ this knight o’ Rivenloch?”he murmured.
She spoke cautiously.“He’s…a good man.”
“I think your mother would have liked him.”
She tensed, but managed to reply, “My mother would have said no one was as good as my father.”
He smiled, but was not deterred.“Ye could do worse.Rivenloch is one o’ the oldest and most respected clans in Scotland.Sir Hew is wealthy and powerful.Strong o’ body and clever o’ mind.Marryin’ him, ye would want for naught.”
