Chapter Sixteen
Rachel
Ever since the beithir incident a few days ago, we have been searching for more information, scouring old books we have ne'er read before, poring over texts and studying drawings. Thus far, we have not found anything that might explain the appearance of the beithir . It had revealed itself at the precise moment when Joey and I were in the throes. But that cannae be what triggered the creature's appearance.
Yesterday, all of us gathered in the solar to discuss the problem, though none of us wished to talk about the dire consequences Joey might suffer if either his former associates or shadowy dark forces attempt to infiltrate the castle. We have all been going about our business as usual---if the term "usual" even applies. We have all experienced magics at one time or another. Mayhap it's time for Joey to explain about his past. But that is not my decision to make.
While my parents engage in a hushed conversation, sitting side by side in a most romantic manner, the great-aunts are busy preparing spiced wine for us. Joey and I take two chairs near the windows and await whatever news they wish to impart to us.
My father smiles at Great-Aunt Efrica, his eyes glimmering with mischief. "What have you brought us this eve, gràidh ? A keg of whisky, perhaps?"
My mother elbows him in the side. "Behave, Kieran."
Efrica carefully carries a mug toward the laird, as if she worries she might spill the contents. When she hands the mug to my father, he accepts it---and sniffs the liquid. His brows rise. "Spiced wine? I havenae drunk this in years." He takes a sip and smiles. " Iontach , Efrica. You lasses are gifted at more than magics. You also excel at blending spirits and, of course, baking."
Once Mother and the aunts have taken their seats---and their cups---Joey and I finally indulge in our spiced wine treat.
"This is damn good," he declares. "Mind if I ask what's in it?"
Lachina smiles. "Not at all, dearie. We included ginger, pepper, cloves, galangal, and black peppercorn. Do ye like it?"
"I love it. But what does iontach mean? I feel like I need a Gaelic dictionary so I won't need to ask you guys for translations all the time."
" Iontach means 'wonderful.'"
The next morning, we all rise early. Father ensures we will awaken at the same time by bellowing, "Rise and shine, women! We have guests today! Dress appropriately, please!"
He then clangs a cow bell. We have no cow, so I cannae imagine from whence he got that thing.
Today, we have other things to concern ourselves with, namely, the arrival of the MacLeod clan. The beithir hovers in the back of my mind. Yet I am currently more worried about the MacLeods. Alisdair wants to marry me, and he has made that clear on many occasions. Bod an Donais , I'd rather marry the beithir .
The arrival of the MacLeod clan triggers a flurry of activity throughout our already bustling castle. I can't help but feel a twinge of anxiety as I watch the procession of kilted warriors and their families file through the gates. My gaze darts nervously to Joey, who stands tall beside me, his jaw clenched, demeanor resolute.
"Breathe, Rach," he whispers, his warm breath tickling my ear. "Considering our magical problems, a rival clan seems like a piece of cake."
"Aye, that's true." I wince. "Now I'm craving cake."
Joey chuckles. "Sorry, I shouldn't have mentioned desserts. Promise I'll bake a cake for you later."
"You bake?"
He shrugs. "My last foster mom forced me to cook, bake, and do all the cleaning."
I snuggle up to him. "Poor Joey. I'll gladly cook for ye."
Try as I might, I cannae suppress the butterflies in my stomach. It's not just the MacLeods that worry me, but the growing tension concerning Alisdair. As if summoned by my thoughts, the warrior himself materializes from the crowd, his dark eyes fixed on me.
A shiver slides down my spine, and I instinctively lean closer to Joey. The air crackles with an unseen energy, and I can't help but wonder if it's the result of the mounting tension or something more...magical.
Joey's hand finds mine, his fingers intertwining with my own. The simple gesture grounds me, a reminder that I'm not alone in this increasingly complex web of clan politics and supernatural forces.
"Rachel," Alisdair's voice cuts through the din of the arriving clan. He approaches us, his eyes never leaving mine. "Your father requests your presence in the great hall. The MacLeod chieftain wishes to greet you."
Och, must I endure more MacLeod nonsense? But I must do what Father wants. He is not the clan chieftain or even the clan chief---except in my eyes. The laird of Dùndubhan presides over our wee corner of the MacTaggart world. "Of course, Alisdair. I'll be there shortly."
As Alisdair turns to leave, his gaze flicks to Joey, a flash of barely concealed hostility passing between them. The moment feels taut as a bowstring, until Alisdair strides away.
"I don't like this," Joey snarls, his grip on my hand tightening. "Something feels off."
I've felt a similar sensation, unable to shake the feeling that we're walking into a trap. But what choice do we have? To refuse would be an insult to both clans.
"Come with me," I say, tugging Joey towards the great hall. "I'd rather face whatever awaits us with you by my side."
"This is a friendly gathering, not a battleground. Right?"
I am less than convinced that it won't become just that.
As we make our way through the throng of MacLeods and MacTaggarts, I catch glimpses of unfamiliar faces. One in particular stands out---a tall, imposing figure shrouded in shadows. I take half a step toward him. But then he vanishes, and I'm left to ponder whether I'd seen the figure at all or simply imagined it.
As we enter the great hall, the space is a cacophony of voices and laughter when we enter. My father stands at far end of the room, deep in conversation with a man I assume to be the MacLeod chieftain. I had only seen the MacLeod twice in my life before this moment. As we approach, I feel Joey tense beside me.
"Ah, Rachel, mo nighean, " my father says, his voice carrying over the din. "Come, greet Chieftain MacLeod."
I paste on my most diplomatic smile, squeezing Joey's hand before releasing it to step forward. The MacLeod is a bear of a man, his wild red beard streaked with gray, his eyes sharp and calculating beneath bushy brows.
"So, this is the famous Rachel MacTaggart," he rumbles, his gaze sweeping over me in a way that makes my skin crawl. "I've heard tales of your beauty, lass, but they dinnae do you justice."
I force a laugh, falling back on years of training in clan etiquette. "You're too kind, Chieftain MacLeod. Welcome to Dùndubhan Castle. We're honored by your presence."
"Aye, I'm sure you are." The chieftain squints at Joey. "And who might this strapping lad be?"
He jerks his chin towards Joey, who stands rigid at my side.
Before I can think of anything to say, Joey steps forward, extending his hand to the chieftain. "Joey Finnegan, sir. I'm...a guest of the MacTaggarts."
MacLeod's bushy eyebrows shoot up, his gaze darting between Joey and me. "A guest, ye say? Interesting. I wasn't aware the MacTaggarts were in the habit of entertaining outsiders at Dùndubhan."
My father steps in, pushing between me and Joey to face the MacLeod chieftain. "You are in the MacTaggarts' domain, Chieftain MacLeod. As laird of Dùndubhan, I may invite whomever I choose to visit our family."
"The lad speaks strangely."
"He is English," Father tells the chieftain smoothly. "How many Sassenachs have you encountered? I encountered many of them during my travels, before I took over as laird of the castle."
"I reckon I'll accept that explanation---for now." MacLeod's lips curl into a smirk. "But we have come for a specific reason, namely my son's desire to wed Rachel. We have brought a dowry to seal the arrangement."
Joey glowers at MacLeod, his jaw set and his hands fisted. "Rachel will decide for herself who she marries, and I guarantee it won't be your son."
MacLeod's voice is dangerously soft. "And what authority does an English guest have to make guarantees about a Highland lass's future?"
Before I can speak up for myself, a commotion near the entrance draws everyone's attention. The crowd parts, revealing a familiar face. I'm shocked to see him here, but we MacTaggarts will all be delighted.
Guarin Abadie is sauntering toward us.
"Forgive my late arrival," he says, his lush French accent a welcome sound we've not heard for some time. "I'm afraid I got a bit lost in your lovely Highlands. It has been a long while since I visited Dùndubhan."
Guarin's arrival is like a breath of fresh air, momentarily dispelling the tension. His charming smile and easy manner work their magic on everyone in the room, even the gruff Chieftain MacLeod.
"Ah, Monsieur Abadie!" my father exclaims, clearly relieved by the distraction. "We weren't expecting you, but what a pleasant surprise you've given us."
I seize the opportunity to step away from the MacLeod chieftain, tugging Joey along with me. We make our way to Guarin, who greets us both with warm embraces despite the fact he has never met Joey before.
"Rachel, ma chérie ," he says, kissing both my cheeks. "And who might you be, jeune homme ?"
Joey proffers his hand to the Frenchman. "Joey Finnegan, sir."
Guarin chuckles. "Never call me 'sir.' I am no knight, and I never stand on ceremony. It is a pleasure to meet you, Joey. You are indeed a young man, as I said a moment ago in my native tongue."
As Guarin and Joey exchange pleasantries, I can't help but notice the subtle shift in the room's atmosphere. The MacLeod chieftain's piercing gaze flits between us, his brow furrowed in what I can only assume is suspicion or curiosity. I silently thank the heavens for Guarin's timely arrival, providing a much-needed buffer against the mounting tension.
"Monsieur Abadie," the MacLeod chieftain's gruff voice cuts through the chatter. "I wasn't aware the MacTaggarts were expecting French visitors. What brings you to our wild Highlands?"
Guarin turns to face the chieftain, his easy smile never faltering. "Ah, mon ami , I am here on matters of commerce and friendship. The MacTaggarts and I have long been allies."
I watch as Guarin works his charm on everyone in the room, defusing the tension with his easy manner and lilting accent. Even the MacLeod chieftain seems momentarily disarmed by Guarin's infectious humor.
Eventually, Guarin reveals his true motive for this visit. "I wouldn't dream of coming to the grand castle of Dùndubhan empty-handed." He slaps my father's arm and grins. "In fact, I've brought a special vintage from the vineyards of Bordeaux that I believe everyone will find quite intriguing. Naturally, I have brought a dozen bottles, enough for all to taste."
Our moment of respite is short-lived, however, as Alisdair barges through the crowd to install himself at my side. Joey takes umbrage at Alisdair's hubris, and I sense trouble coming.
The increasing tension of this situation has me biting my lip.
Alisdair's hand settles on my shoulder, heavy and possessive. "Rachel, my father wishes to discuss the arrangements for our wedding."
Joey sidles closer to me, his shoulder pressing against mine in a protective stance. "Funny, I don't recall Rachel agreeing to any wedding."
Alisdair's feral smile gives me a shiver. "This is clan business, Sassenach. It doesn't concern you."
Joey pulls his arm back and punches Alisdair squarely in the face. While my would-be suitor bleeds from the nose and stumbles backward a step, Joey slams his knee into Alisdair's groin, making the cacan shout and stagger backward even further. He bumps into a small table and loses his balance, plummeting to the floor.
Chieftain MacLeod stomps up to Joey, jabbing an accusing finger at him. Spittle sprays from his lips as declares, "Ye'll pay for what ye did to my son, ye English bastard!"
Father and Guarin come up beside me and Joey. But the Laird of Dùndubhan takes the lead. He stabs a finger at the MacLeod chieftain. "You came to our home to stabilize our alliance. But instead, ye've used this day as an opportunity to insult and harass us." Father thrusts an arm out, pointing one finger. "Get out of my house, MacLeod. Do it now, or we will do it for you."
The MacLeod chieftain's face darkens to a shade of crimson that rivals his beard. For a moment, I fear he might explode right there in our great hall, scattering bits of angry Highlander across our tapestries.
"Ye dare order me about, Kieran MacTaggart?" The MacLeod chieftain plants his feet wide, his hand moving to the dirk at his belt. "After yer English pet assaults my son?"
The hall falls silent save for Alisdair's pained groaning as he struggles to rise from the floor. I can feel the tension in Joey, his body coiled like a spring ready to unleash. A mhic an damnaidh , I how did this day devolve into anger and recriminations.
"I dare," Father replies, his voice dangerously quiet, "because this is my home, and my daughter is not chattel to be bartered for."
Chieftain MacLeod pivots on his heels and barks orders to his fellow clansmen, ordering them to vacate the premises. My family, and Joey, all march outside to make certain the MacLeods have truly gone. Once they've traveled beyond our sight, Father shuts the gates. Have we just earned an enemy in the MacLeod clan? And will they seek vengeance? Alisdair still wants me as his wife, and I cannae help wondering what he might do next, especially after Joey shamed him.
A Dhia , save us from the wrath of the MacLeods.