Chapter Eight
The wedding was lovely. Priests were hard to come by on the Highlands, especially since the Reformation, but Eilean Donan was a place where men of the cloth knew they would be safe and could perform the duties of their station.
Freya was glowing, her gorgeous blue velvet dress floating about her like a cloud and her face alight with such pleasure, it was a joy to behold. Conall said his vows earnestly and with a look of love that warmed all who witnessed the exchange. When Freya repeated hers, they each lifted a hand, palms together, and Conall wrapped a piece of fabric around their wrists three times. The priest blessed their union, and a cheer went up from the crowd. This was truly a love match. Harper had no doubt they would be happy and produce many children.
After the ceremony, the feast was laid out in the main hall: rabbit, fish, pheasant, stews, vegetables, tarts and pies. In the center of the main table was a magnificent cake. Harper had no idea how Skye had managed it, but it could compete with any bakeries in the future. Decorated with bits of heather, which was not so easy to come by in winter, it was magnificent. The casks of ale and wine flowed and the musicians played both rousing tunes and sweet romantic airs.
Harper found her way through the crowded hall to where Daimh stood. His smile more than suggested he had been waiting for her and it grew ever brighter when she sidled up next to him.
“Ye look bonny,” he said.
She nodded her thanks, wanting to return the compliment. He was so handsome, so masculine, so desirable.
The tables were pushed to the walls to make room for dancing. The men lined up facing the women and soon the music began, the tune jaunty and melodic. In a series of turns and crosses, couples linked arms following the rhythm of the music.
Harper watched in fascination. It wasn’t long before the steps began to make sense to her. “You said you were light on your feet,” she said to Daimh. “Will you show me how it’s done?”
“Aye. With pleasure.” Taking her hand, he led her out onto the floor. They joined the others and soon Harper was dancing and laughing with abandon. This was so much fun, and the feeling of freedom was exhilarating. Daimh was grinning at her and all she could think was that she wanted to fling herself into his arms and have him hold her.
Finally, completely winded, they separated from the group to rest. Daimh angled his way over to a cask of ale to fetch two mugs, twice looking over his shoulder at her. Never in her life had she felt so appreciated, so beautiful.
Skye had appeared at her side and Harper realized she hadn’t heard what her friend was saying.
“What? I’m sorry. What did you say?”
Skye laughed out loud. “If you could take your eyes off Daimh for a moment, perhaps you might have heard me,” she teased.
“I can’t stay here.” Knowing there was so much less conviction in her statement had Harper chewing on her lower lip.
“So you keep saying, Harper. But you never seem to have a valid reason why.”
Harper sighed. “I could so fall in love with that man.”
“And?”
“And then I suppose I couldn’t go back. But—what would I do here? I don’t belong.”
“Where your heart is, that’s where you make your home.”
An ache spread across Harper’s chest, like bands tightening. Home. Looking around, Harper saw family, loyalty, love, companionship. Harper had never known any of these things, except for Skye, who was here and happy. And then there was Daimh. So strong, so kind, so—okay, admit it… delicious. But seriously, this was the 1500s in a foreign country. Most of the people spoke Gaelic, the most confusing tongue she could ever imagine. Or with a brogue so heavy she had to strain to understand the words.
Some languages had always come easy. Any with a base in Latin were merely logical extensions and easy to understand. But Gaelic? No way. Of course, she knew if she applied herself she could manage, but—but why was she trying to talk herself into remaining here? She was so confused.
***
The older woman slowly opened the door of the wee cottage and gave Daimh a crooked smile, stepping aside to allow him to enter. He scanned the small room and braced himself as the boy threw himself into Daimh’s waiting arms. Thomas was no longer a wee lad and Daimh had feared he would never make it beyond a few years. Even though he was switched by the fairies when he was born, he was turning into the sweetest and most loving of children. The bairn’s almond shaped eyes and small hands and feet distinguished him from other lads his age. But Daimh could not have loved Thomas more. Sometimes, he did wonder what the fairies did with his real brother; he hoped the lad was happy wherever he was.
When Thomas was born, Daimh’s mother was convinced the bairn was a changeling and that the fairies switched the boy with her own as a punishment for she knew not what, or mayhap it was one of their tricks for their amusement. But his mother nurtured him, hoping if she kept him well and safe, the fairies might relent and return her true son. His da just up and left, disgusted with the changeling child, and after two years, when the bairn was weaned, his mother just gave up hope and took to her bed, never to rise again.
Caring for the babe fell to Daimh, who was nearly seventeen. He could not let the fragile little one waste away. He found Eilidh who agreed, for the right amount of coin, to care for Thomas, and the widow woman had minded his brother ever since. And kept the secret of his existence.
Eilidh did not fear the wrath of the fairies; her cottage was filled with charms and herbs. And Daimh was certain she had grown to love his younger brother as much as he did. Eilidh’s own daughter, Iona, had also been widowed a few years ago and eventually returned to live with her mother and she seemed willing to care for Thomas as well. Neither shared the secret. Together, the women were able to carefully hide the bairn and since their cottage was at the edge of the wood in Dornie, they managed to keep to themselves.
Daimh hoped Iona would be blessed with another husband and children one day, since she was still young, but she rarely left the cottage unless she was working at the castle. When he had told her she needed to spend more time among the clan in order to find her future, she would just smile at him and say she was both patient and content. She had told Daimh on many occasions that no other women would be as happy to accept Thomas as she was.
Knowing that many might wish the bairn harm and almost all would reject him, Daimh, a warrior, had sworn to protect this child, and other than the two women, he intended to make certain no one else ever discovered the truth. With one exception. He had decided to tell Ian in case something was to happen to him because he knew Ian would protect the child. But other than that, he told no one. He had never even told his sister. He did not wish her to bear the burden of the secret or have to worry about her own family.
If that meant he would never marry, so be it.
Perhaps his real brother would be returned to him one day, but after so many years, he doubted it. And if that were to happen, he knew he would miss sweet Thomas.
Thoughts of Harper swirled in his mind, and he fervently wished he could hope for a future with her.
The idea of keeping Thomas a secret for the rest of his life preyed on him. If something were to befall him, Eilidh or Iona would continue to care for him, or Ian would step in. He ached to be able to confide in someone like Harper. But what lass in her right mind would willingly tie herself to a man whose mother and da had been cursed? It was possible the fae did not intend for him to be punished, but one never knew with them. Since he and his sister were not changelings, it was possible the sprites were satisfied. Was it a chance a baineann would take?
The image of Harper’s lovely face, her brilliant green eyes and her lush curves permeated his imagination. Heading to the training field, he knew his only hope was to pound out his frustrations in practice.
***
“How does anyone possibly learn Gaelic?” Harper spoke out loud to herself as she watched some of the women putting food on the trestle tables for the mid-day meal and speaking the odd language among themselves.
“Ye start with the simple phrases.”
Quickly turning, she found herself nearly pressed against Daimh’s muscled chest. She hadn’t realized he had come up behind her. Her heart skipped a beat before pounding against her ribs.
Protectively, his arms had wrapped about her, making her feel safe and warm and incredibly excited, all at the same time. Snickers from some of the other women made Harper take a step back, her embarrassment obvious.
Clearing her throat, she smiled. “There are no simple phrases in Gaelic,” she responded.
“Tha mi gad larraidh,” he whispered, leaning so close she could feel his warm breath on the shell of her ear. I want you.
“Which means?”
He shook his head. “Another time and place,” he answered.
“It means another time and place?” She was confused, more so when he laughed out loud.
“Nay. It means I will tell ye what it means another day.”
“That’s not fair. How can I learn if you don’t tell me? I could be saying anything when I speak it and never know until… well, who knows what could happen.”
“Aye. How about mas e ur toil e,” he said. “It means please.”
“Masher toilda?”
Laughing again, the sound warming her to her inner core, he nodded. “Close enough.”
“Teach me another.”
“Tapadh leibh.”
“Tapa leeb?” she repeated.
“Aye. It means thank ye.”
“I shall practice, but I fear it is a long way to being fluent.”
“That ye wish to try is enough.” The look he gave her was scorching. It was clear he had other things on his mind beside linguistics. Her breasts tightened at the thought of his touch, and she pressed her lips together to control the urge to stand on her toes and kiss his mouth. But, of course, only loose women did that, and she was supposed to be a lady.
“Will ye take another walk with me this afternoon?” The look in his eyes was so full of hope she nearly laughed out loud.
“I would be honored.”
A grin split his face and she marveled at his straight white teeth. Definitely something she wouldn’t have expected, but then so much about him was a surprise. Noticing a scar along his jawline on the left side, she couldn’t resist boldly reaching up and touching it. He reacted as if he’d been struck by lightning.
Quickly pulling her hand back, she pressed her fingers into her lips. “Forgive me. I just wondered how you got that scar?”
Gently grasping her wrist, he placed a kiss on the soft underside, and she suddenly understood his reaction. She felt it, too.
Taking a moment and inhaling, he finally answered her. “It was at Inverness. Just a scratch.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Nay. It was… yer touch.”
It was not a scratch that left such a mark, but then this was not a man who gave into injuries or pain easily. Harper imagined he must be magnificent in a fight, just like in the movies. But here, it would not be play-acting, and the cost would be in real flesh and blood. The thought made her shiver. And so had his proclamation her touch affected him.
Harper had never experienced anything like this before. She’s read about it, heard stories from newlyweds in the blush of new love, but she never believed it was possible. And yet, when this man was near her and she could feel the heat of him, all she could think was she wanted to have him, wanted him to make love to her, wanted to claim him and have him claim her.
“Until later then.” He left her and she felt the loss of him. What was she going to do? She was falling hard for a warrior in the sixteenth century. Ridiculous. She couldn’t stay here. Could she?
The mid-day meal was served, and Harper was again amazed at how delicious the fare was. She had imagined cheese and bread, but the savory stews and fruit tarts were incredibly delicious. She had better find some activity to burn calories before she gained huge amounts of weight. Skye on the other hand… Her friend was eating as if she thought someone would pull the food out of her mouth and Ian was laughing at her. But she had a valid excuse, which made Harper fill with joy for her friend.
“Are ye eating for two or ten,” he teased her.
“You will regret that remark when your son appears. I need to see to his nourishment.”
“Are you planning for him to spring full grown then from the womb?”
When Skye looked as if her feelings were truly hurt, he reached over and hugged her. “I but joke with ye, mo ghradh. You have ne’er been more bonny and it makes me happy to see ye eat when so many wumman can keep nothing down the first months.”
“I’m fat,” she complained.
Harper burst out laughing. “We should all be so fat. Ian’s right, you are glowing.”
“Truly?” she asked around her pout.
Ian and Harper exchanged a look, and he gave her a slight nod. “I shall ne’er again make such unthinking comments.”
Harper was certain he would spend a great deal of time making up to her for the thoughtless remarks. How wonderful. When Richard, Harper’s ex, insulted her, he never apologized. He always thought it was his place to correct her and dominate. This was a different world in so many ways.
Harper glanced over at Daimh who sat at a table against the wall. Wishing he could sit beside her, she knew there were specific rules as to who sat where. Unless you were directly related to the laird, ye did not sit at his table. But she missed Daimh’s nearness. This meal could not end soon enough for her, for she was anxious to go on that walk with him. Lots of walks. A good way to maintain her weight. But she imagined other forms of exercise she might like to try as well.
The thought was new. She had never desired a man as she did Daimh. She would have to control herself.
***
Watching her eat was pure torture. Those full lips, rosy and aching to be kissed. The way she ran her tongue along the bottom. His imagination took flight. His gaze drifting down, he took in her full breasts peeking out from the neckline of her shirt. Her breasts were full and so nicely filled out the top, playing a peeking game above the fabric. Imagining how her ivory skin would feel under his fingers made all the blood flow downward and he shifted in his seat.
Wishing he could inhale her scent and savor her nearness wasn’t helping. He dare not stand lest he embarrass himself. Harper was so desirable he wondered why he hadn’t already had to fight for her. It had not escaped his attention that others in the hall noticed her, but happily, she seemed to be looking his way when she smiled.
Think of other things, he silently admonished himself. Like sharpening his sword. By the faeries, that only made it worse. Trying to direct his thoughts was futile. He could only think of her and possessing her, claiming her as his own.
Pondering what the Lady Skye would think of a match between her friend and himself filled him with dread. What if Skye didnae approve? What if Ian told her his secret? Nay, the laird would never do that. He had sworn to never reveal what he knew, and Ian was an honorable man. But that didnae mean he would be happy about Daimh claiming his wife’s closest friend.
Knowing Ian loved him as a brother and trusted him helped some of his concern. But he had to think of his brother. If the secret were to get out, the lad would certainly be banished or worse. It was the way of things. Most bairns who had been switched did not survive, the fear of the fae so great. But Daimh could not accept that fate for Thomas. And was it so much to ask that he protect his brother?
Conflict swirling in his brain made him dizzy. He would fight three men at a time or storm a castle without a second thought. But thinking of bedding or wedding this amazing lass had him at a loss.
The only consolation was the plan to spend time with her this afternoon. At the very least, he could be in her company for a time. Would this meal ne’er end?