Page 41 of Savage Kilted Highlander

“I can do better than that,” she replied, undoing his kerchief from his neck and using it to expertly wrap up her hair, hiding her distinctive coloring.

“Ye look like a farmer’s wife,” he teased her, pleased by her initiative and thinking that with her bright eyes and plump cheeks she was just as beautiful without her hair on show.

“Well, if I am then I must be a very naughty one since I am out with the blacksmith. What will people think?” she asked jokingly. They both laughed as they set off down the track towards the village.

It was late afternoon when they finally reached the outskirts of the tiny village, and they were surprised to find it full of people and alive with celebration. There was an open field to one side where people were dancing and drinking, serenaded by a fiddle payer and a drummer. A huge hog was being roasted on a spit in the middle.

“It is a merry scene. It must be some sort of festival they are celebrating,” Constance observed as they left their horses tethered outside an inn and walked with arms linked into the main street. It was crammed with villagers, barking dogs, loose chickens, and children running about laughing and shouting among many colorful market stalls selling all different kinds of wares. “It is the first time I’m seeing something like this.”

“Aye, it would seem so,” Bane replied, drawn by various savory aromas to several stalls serving hot food. “Are ye hungry? Shall we get somethin’ tae eat?” he suggested, following his nose, his mouth watering as he led her to a pie stand.

“I am starving,” she admitted, happily hanging onto his arm. “My stomach has been rumbling for hours. I was almost afraid those men would hear it and discover us.”

“A good meat pie will soon fix that,” he said as they arrived at the stall and entered into a debate about which was best, beef, mutton, chicken or duck. Bane chose beef and Constance chicken, and after he had paid, they went and sat down in the pasture to watch the dancing while they hungrily devoured the tasty pies, laughing as the gravy ran down their chins.

As the evening wore on, an old lady went up to them and welcomed them to the festival of the village’s patron saint, St. Barnabus. She offered them free ale, ladling it out from an oaken bucket into beakers for them and informed them that the hog would be ready soon and would make good eating. Music filled the air, and the enticing pleasant scent of roasted meats and fresh bread drifted toward them.

In spite of his worries, Bane found himself relaxing, enjoying Constance’s cheerful company. Her bright eyes and merry smile when she looked at him lightened his otherwise heavy heart. He could not take his eyes off her, remembering with a thrill how wonderful it had been to lay with her, kiss her, touch her, and give her pleasure. He had hardly dared believe it when she had insisted he “ruin” her, let alone the fact that they actually did it. But how could any man refuse such a woman?

Making love to her, watching her face as she was transported to the heights of passion for the first time, still seemed like a gift more precious than gold. Even in adversity, she had freely given him her trust and her body, more riches than he, a humble blacksmith, could ever have dreamed of. And in turn, this proper little English woman with her funny accent and refined ways had earned his trust, his admiration for her indomitable, shining spirit.

In the past he had always guarded his heart closely, giving his devotion only to Tav and Fia. He had never experienced romantic love. But Constance had changed all that. The way he felt about her was turning his world upside down, making him feel vulnerable, naked even, because he had given her his heart and he didn’t want to part with her. As he sat observing her, he finally admitted to himself that he was in love with Constance Ashbourne, the daughter of the man he thought of as his enemy, Laird Ewan Kerr. Exactly what that meant he had yet to discover. But one thing was certain. He would die to protect her.

Night fell, but the feasting and carousing around the great bonfire only intensified. More people had started to dance, fueled by the strong ale being dispensed for free. The music rang out, the drummer beating out the steps as folk threw themselves enthusiastically into jigs and reels and other country dances to familiar old tunes. After days of hardship and tension, the lively scene was like a breath of fresh air.

After a couple of beakers of ale, Constance began clapping along in time to the music and was pulled into a lively dance by a group of villagers. “Is it not exciting, Bane, with all the colors and decorations?” she asked. “Look at the dancers, are they not wonderful? And how lovely it is to hear music again.”

“Aye, it is colorful, tae be sure,” he admitted.

“So, why are you scowling like that? Can you not find even a small smile of celebration?”

“Maybe I will when they carve the hog,” he said jokingly, unable to stop himself from smiling at her almost childish excitement.

“That’s better. You know, you look so much more handsome when you smile. You should do it more often,” she teased, dancing away from him to join the others. Her comment made his cheeks feel hot. Did she really think him handsome? Her laughter rang out, sweet and carefree as she joined hands and danced with the villagers, learning the steps as she went along. Bane realized he was seeing her for who she truly was, not his captive, but herself, carefree and happy.

Content just to admire her from afar, he sat back with his ale in his hand, watching her from a distance, marveling at her radiance, part of him wondering how he was ever going to say goodbye to her. He found himself captivated by the way she moved with such unrestrained and unguarded joy. It was not long before she danced over to him and held out her hand.

“Come and dance with me, Bane,” she invited him with a smile.

Bane shook his head. “Nay, I’m happy here with me ale. Ye go an enjoy yersel’,” he replied.

Her face fell. “Oh, please come and join in. There is nothing else to do. We cannot find Tav until the morrow. All we can do is wait, so we might as well enjoy a taste of freedom while we can,” she cajoled. Bane hesitated, for he had already lowered his guard enough.

“Please? What harm can it do?” she asked, her big brown eyes pleading, her hand reaching out to him.

“Ach, all right then,” he finally relented, getting up, putting down his ale, and dusting himself off before clasping her hand in his. Constance whooped in excitement as they joined the circle of dancers, and despite his concerns, Bane found himself being immediately swept up in the energy of the celebration and walking toward the people dancing, holding Constance’s hand.

“I’m not the most graceful of dancers, and I don’t know the steps of this one,” she admitted, trying to pick up the steps as she went along, following his lead. “It is a far cry from the formal balls I am used to.”

“Well, I dinnae dance much meself. So, ye need nae be embarrassed. We shall make fools of ourselves together,” he declared, laughing as she made a wrong move and quickly rectified it. Their laughter mingled with the music, and for a brief time, he forgot the burdens they were carrying. When the music changed and he recognized the tune, he taught her the steps of a traditional Scottish reel he had learned as a youngster, spinning her about until she was so dizzy, they had to stop and rest.