“Only two days. I waited so I could tell ye as a Yule gift.”
“I heard ye and Cat laughing in yer solar two days ago. Ye told her?”
“Aye, Annie was there, too. I ken I should have told ye first, but?—”
“Nay, ye did right, Mary my love. I dinna mind ye sharing the news with yer sisters. I do mind them keeping it from me. Ye’d think one of them—or their husbands—would let slip the news.”
“Iain and Kenneth dinna ken. This was a secret between sisters until the time was right to tell ye. Cat has good news, as well.”
He took her hand and kissed it. “I’m glad. When will ye tell the clan?”
“Tonight, at the celebration. The entire clan will be there, including those from the nearby crofts and some from farther away. ’Twill be their lairds’ gift to them, as well. From both of us.”
“I canna think of a better one,” Cam told her and pulled her down onto his chest again.
Mary reveled in his warmth and the feel of his strength under her fingertips. Her husband. The man she loved more than anything in the world.
The rest of the day went smoothly. Mary’s lists had ensured preparations were complete and well done. When all was ready, she opened the buttery and had the men bring out casks of ale and wine. Cook outdid herself with the dinner and the sweets that followed it. Only the prospect of her sisters and their families leaving on the morrow added a dispiriting flavor to Mary’s enjoyment of the evening. But she soon forgot that as everyone pushed back the tables and cleared the floor for dancing. The Yule log fit neatly into the great hall’s hearth by this evening, so no one was going to trip over it, no matter how crowded the dancing became.
She pulled her sisters to her for a hug before releasing them to their husbands and turning to Cameron. “Shall we dance?”
In answer, he took her hand a led her to the floor.
That night, what she had expected to be a celebration with her sisters and their families in the Rose keep became a clan celebration with the keep and crofters. With a glad heart, she vowed it would become the way Rose celebrated Yuletide for years to come.
HEART OF ICE
This story is set nearly a year before the prequel to my Highland Talents series,HEART OF STONE. In this story, at an important event in Clan MacNabb—the birth of the first child to eldest son and heir, Keenan, and his wife—we meet Fenella Leny MacNabb, who has an understanding of a future with Gavan, the laird’s middle son. If you’ve readHEART OF STONE, you know Fenella and Gavan’s relationship stumbles, but at this point, she awaits his return from his wanderings, and she struggles with both joy for and envy of the happy couple and the impending birth.
If you haven’t readHEART OF STONE, I recommend you get it and read it after this story, but before the next one.
SCOTTISH HIGHLANDS, SPRING 1501
Fennella McNabb was visiting with her friend the weaver in the nearby village when a lad ran past, doubled back and cried into the doorway, “Keenan’s wife is laboring. The heir’s bairn is on the way! Pray for them!”
He waved at them and continue on, shouting the good news to alert the entire village. He’d be tired—and hoarse—if he meant to reach some of the outlying crofts, but Fenella doubted he needed to make the effort. In the area around the MacNabb keep, rumors were known to spread quickly. By evening, there would be few associated with the clan who lacked the news. Most would make their way to the great hall or in the clan’s small kirk, heads bent in prayer for the safe delivery of this child.
Everyone would want to know about the heir’s first bairn, be it a lad or a lass. While only a lad could become the next heir in MacNabb after his grandda and da, a lass who took after her beautiful mother and handsome da would make a strong alliance some day for MacNabb with her marriage.
“Well, ’tis about time. By my reckoning, the bairn is a few days late,” the weaver told Fenella.
“Are ye taking over care of the clan from the healer, then?” Fenella teased her with a smile. “Or only the expectant mothers?” The weaver and the healer were the same age and friends of long-standing, but each kept to their own specialty and were masters—or mistresses—of their craft.
“’Tis what she told me,” the weaver admitted with a shrug. “She’s always a wee bit concerned, ye ken, when a bairn takes its time.”
“Many bairns seem to come late—or early. The mother doesna always ken exactly when?—”
“I ken that. As does the healer. But Keenan was away last year, if ye’ll recall. Home a short time and away again,” she added with a wave of her hand. She tilted her head and fixed her gaze on Fenella to emphasize her words. Or was she trying to imply something?
“Aye, I do recall it,” Fenella confirmed, refusing to take her friend’s bait. The laird had sent his heir to negotiate with a distant clan to trade lambs for grain. The travel alone would have taken weeks, much less the time spent in talks with the other laird. Keenan had returned home for a few weeks, then been sent out again to treat with another clan.
Her friend, like most people in the village, not just the women, loved gossip. Most events didn’t have a town crier like the lad spreading the news. The local busybodies took care of that. Her friend was not usually one of them, so Fenella wondered why this interested her so. But if she asked, she’d be here for hours yet, and she couldn’t stay much longer. “Perhaps this bairn is simply waiting for its da to return yet again.”
“How would it ken when its da is due home?”
Fenella chuckled at that. The weaver had a sharp sense of humor, but she was right. “No bairn would, of course,” she demurred. “And for that matter, no one in the clan kens when Keenan and his men will return from his latest journey.”Perhaps it would be today. Perhaps next month. Perhaps, if the worst happened, never.
She shook her head, willing away that thought. Keenan was Gavan’s eldest brother. Her Gavan. The man she expected to marry.
