Chapter Twenty-Four
Rachel
I awaken in the morning feeling so contented that I dinnae want to get out of bed. Joey lies beside me, his arm draped over my belly, his breaths whispering over my skin. For a moment, I simply lie here enjoying the serenity and the quiet joy of sharing a bed with the man I love. My father hasn't even threatened to murder Joey in at least...two days. I call that progress. But then I remember what we must endure today and that a disaster will most certainly occur.
The gathering of the clans begins today.
I sigh, reluctantly stirring from my cozy nest. Joey's arm tightens around me, and I feel his lips graze my shoulder.
"Mornin', gorgeous," he slurs in his New York accent. He's only half awake---until he yawns and stretches, aiming a sweet smile at me. "Why the heavy sigh, Rach? Regretting your life choices already?"
"Not completely." I turn to face him and find myself smiling too, even as anxiety gnaws at my insides. "My only regret is that I must get out of bed."
"Then stay right here with me under the covers." He pulls me closer. "To hell with the clans."
Briefly, I'm tempted to agree with him. But the weight of responsibility settles over me like a cloak, and I moan pitifully. "We can't, Joey. As much as I'd love to, I have duties to attend to."
Joey groans, burying his face in my hair. "Can't we just pretend the whole world doesn't exist for one more hour?"
I laugh softly, running my fingers through his tousled locks. "I wish we could, mo chridhe . But if we don't show up, my father will likely burst in here with his claymore drawn."
"Point taken," Joey reluctantly releases me. "I'd rather not start the day with a sword at my throat. Kieran loves to sneak up behind me and threaten to behead me."
"Aye, but he likes you."
Joey snorts, trying not to laugh. "He has a funny way of showing it."
"Do ye think Father would let me sleep with you if he didn't have a soft spot for ye?"
"Maybe he's just waiting for a good time to toss me down the garderobe channel."
As we rise and begin to dress, I'm amazed at how seamlessly Joey has adapted to life in medieval Scotland. His leather jacket hangs beside my tartan, a strange but oddly fitting juxtaposition.
"So, what should I expect from this clan gathering?" Joey asks, pulling on his boots. "Lots of kilts, bagpipes, and haggis, I'm guessing?"
I roll my eyes but cannae stop myself from smiling at his cheeky grin. "Aye, and don't forget the caber tossing and sheep shearing contests."
"Wait, really?" His eyes widen comically. "Dear God, I'd better polish up on my Catholic schoolboy manners or else I'll be burned at the stake."
"No, ye daft man," I laugh, swatting his arm playfully. "Though there will be some traditional games. But mostly, it's a time for the clans to come together, discuss alliances, settle disputes, and...well, drink a fair bit of whisky."
Joey's expression turns thoughtful. "Sounds like a powder keg waiting to explode. Rival clans, alcohol, and sharp objects. What could possibly go wrong?"
I can't help but grimace at Joey's astute observation. "Aye, that's why I'm a wee bit anxious. These gatherings can turn volatile faster than ye can say ' slàinte mhath '."
Joey raises an eyebrow. "Slawn-ge what now?"
"It means 'good health' in Gaelic," I explain, fastening my cloak. "Ye'll be hearing it a lot today, so ye might want to practice."
"Slan-ge va," Joey attempts, his accent mangling the words. "Close enough?"
I try not to laugh, but I fail miserably. "We'll work on it, mo chridhe ."
Joey has just finished dressing, but now he gazes at me with his brows wrinkled. "You've said those words before, but I have no idea what they mean."
Should I tell him the truth? I hadn't intentionally called him mo chridhe ---my heart---but I realize that is what he's become to me.
Joey rushes toward me, grasping my arms. "What's wrong, Rachel? Your eyes have teared up."
"I know. It's just that I suddenly understood how much I feel those words."
"What do they mean?"
I gnaw on my lip for a moment, then I tell him. "The phrase mo chridhe means 'my heart.' And that is precisely what you've become for me. I love you, Joey."
He brushes hair away from my face and smiles in the sweetest manner. "I love you too, Rachel. And if I could pronounce that Gaelic phrase without mangling it, I'd say it right now."
I touch his cheek. "After the gathering, I'll teach it to you."
As we amble into the great hall hand in hand, the castle is already buzzing with activity. The aunts are scurrying about, trying to decide what to wear. My mother does the same and keeps asking me if her outfit is good enough for a clan gathering or if she should "fix up" her hair differently. Dale and Norma will be attending the event along with our little group of MacTaggarts---and Joey, naturally. My grandparents have lived in the medieval world for almost as long as Mother has.
We must bring gifts, of course, to show the other clans how civilized we've become despite the fact we live in a castle in the middle of nowhere. The clan gathering provides an opportunity to reconnect with friends and to meet new ones. By the time we leave Dùndubhan, I've become genuinely excited about this event. The journey to the gathering takes time since Dùndubhan is situated deep in the wilderness. The sun has just begun to rise, and we carry lanterns to guide our way.
As we hike through the misty forest, the lantern light casting eerie shadows among the ancient trees, I can feel Joey's tension radiating off him in waves. He's trying to hide it, but his grip on my hand is a bit too tight, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow.
"Relax, mo chridhe ," I whisper, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. "The forest won't bite."
"Easy for you to say," he mutters back. "You didn't grow up watching horror movies where the creepy forest is always full of ax murderers and werewolves."
I can't help but giggle. "Werewolves? Really, Joey?"
"Hey, after being thrown back in time and living in a castle with honest-to-God witches, I'm not ruling anything out."
As if on cue, a twig snaps in the darkness, and Joey nearly jumps out of his skin. I stifle a laugh as he whirls around, eyes wide and fists raised.
"Easy there, warrior," I tease gently. "It's probably just a deer."
Joey relaxes slightly, but I can see he's still on edge. "Right. A deer. Not a kilt-wearing psychopath with an ax."
"I thought ye were worried about werewolves?"
"And wolves of all kinds. My range of potential forest-dwelling murderers keeps expanding."
I'm about to reassure him again when I catch sight of my father's face. Kieran MacTaggart's golden eyes are narrowed, his jaw set in a grim line as he scans the tree line. A chill runs down my spine. If my father is worried, mayhap Joey's paranoia isn't entirely unfounded.
"Father?" I whisper, moving closer to him. "Is everything alright?"
His eyes flick to mine, then back to the shadows between the trees. "Aye, lass. Ahm simply keeping watch. These woods can be treacherous, especially with so many clans converging."
Joey sidles up beside me, his earlier bravado replaced by genuine concern. "Treacherous how, exactly?"
My father's lip curls in a humorless smile. "Rival clans, old grudges, new alliances...It's not unheard of for some to take advantage of the chaos to settle scores."
I feel Joey tense beside me. "And here I thought the werewolves were the biggest threat."
"Werewolves?" Father's brows lift. "No, I'd assume your worst enemy will be Alisdair MacLeod."
Joey has his dirk on his lip, sheathed in a scabbard, and he gives it a pat. "I'll be ready for that dirtbag this time."
As we continue our trek through the misty forest, Joey's hand remains firmly clasped in mine. His fingers twitch toward the dirk at his hip at every rustle of leaves. It's amazing how quickly he has adapted to our ways, even as worry gnaws at my insides.
"Alisdair MacLeod," I say with a grumbling sigh. The name tastes bitter on my tongue. "I'd hoped we'd seen the last of him."
"No such luck, I'm afraid," Father growls, while still scanning the tree line. "I'm certain that snake's been whispering in the ears of the other clan chieftains, stirring up old resentments."
Joey shakes his head. "What's that jerk's endgame? Besides being a general pain in the ass, I mean."
I can't help but snort at Joey's colorful description, even as Father shoots him a disapproving look.
"Alisdair's always had his eye on power," I explain, keeping my voice low. "He believes the MacLeods should rule over all the clans, and he'll do whatever it takes to make that happen."
Joey grunts. "Including trying to murder us."
Father nods grimly. "Aye, and worse. The man's as cunning as he is cruel. We'll need to watch our backs at this gathering."
As if summoned by our hushed conversation, a chill wind whips through the trees, causing the lantern flames to flicker ominously. I shiver, drawing my cloak tighter around me.
"Rachel, look." Joey points at my face. "Your eyes..."
I blink, realizing with a start that my vision has gone hazy around the edges, a telltale sign of my second sight kicking in. Lachina has been teaching me how to invoke my powers. The world around me blurs and shifts, ghostly images overlaying the misty forest.
"What do ye see, lass?" Father asks urgently, his hand on my shoulder.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to make sense of the visions that swirl behind my lids. "I see...flames. A great bonfire, but it's not celebratory. There's shouting, the clash of steel..." My breath catches in my throat. "Blood on the ground, mingling with spilled whisky."
Joey's grip on my hand tightens. "That doesn't sound good. Any chance your magical powers can tell us how to avoid that specific future?"
I shake my head. "It doesn't work like that. The visions are...fragments, possibilities. Nothing's set in stone."
As my sight clears, I notice the worried looks on Joey and Father's faces. Mother and the aunts rush forward to fuss over me, but I dinnae need to be fussed about. I'm not ill. But still, I give them a reassuring smile.
"We'll be all right," I say, trying to convince myself as much as them. "We just need to stay alert and stick together."
"Absolutely," Joey agrees. "No wandering off alone, no accepting food from strangers, and definitely no getting into drinking contests with rival clansmen."
Father grunts in approval. "Aye, that's sound advice. And keep yer wits about ye. There'll be more than swords and dirks to watch out for at this gathering."
As we continue our journey, the forest gradually thins, giving way to rolling hills dotted with heather. A wee bit further away, the dark waters of Loch Fairbairn spread far and wide. In the distance, I can see smoke rising from multiple campfires, and the faint sound of bagpipes drifts on the breeze. The clan gathering is nearly upon us.
Joey whistles softly. "Wow, this is quite the turnout. How many clans do you think are here? It reminds me of an outdoor rock festival I went to back in high school."
"At least a dozen clans have gathered here," I reply, scanning the colorful array of tartans in the distance. "Mayhap more. It's been years since we've had a gathering this large."
"Aye, and that's what worries me," the laird says. "The more clans, the more potential for conflict." Father gives Joey a baffled look. " Pit air iteig! What is an outdoor rock festival?"
"Explain pit air iteig to me, and I'll explain rock festivals to you."
"'Tis a fair exchange. The Gaelic phrase means 'flying vagina,' a common, if not polite, oath." Father tilts his head to the side. "A rock festival involves men hurling boulders, I presume."
Joey tries not to laugh but winds up snorting loudly. "Uh, not quite, Kieran. A rock festival is a gathering where people sit or stand outdoors and listen to music. Loud music. And the instruments are electric guitars, electric keyboards, and other stuff like that."
Father's expression has gone blank. "I...see."
But clearly, he doesn't. I do, but only because Joey described such things to me. None of that matters now, though. We have a horde of clans from all round the Highlands who might not take kindly to us if they realize we are witches.