Chapter 10 Lammas Fair
While Ben calmly read a book, occasionally sipping from his whiskey, Brun was pacing impatiently in the parlour. Apparently Lizzie’s father was used to sitting and waiting for hours while the women of his family – and guest – got dressed.
And what could be so difficult about that, he wondered, looking at his watch for the umpteenth time in the past thirty minutes. Just get into your clothes and get down. Nothing could be simpler! It was taking so long that he began to think that one of them was about to be crowned Queen of England.
Most likely Lizzie’s mother…
The match between her parents was one he would not have believed possible had he not seen for himself. They were so different it was a wonder they had been married for a quarter of a century. It was only after paying close attention to the dynamic of the couple that one understood that the love they shared seemed to have overcome each other’s oddities.
Deep down Brun knew that Charlotte loved her daughter too, but she had a strange way to demonstrate her affection. After observing them together for the past couple of days, Brun concluded that Charlotte was constantly trying to find a way to connect to Lizzie. Charlotte had barely made it out of secondary school having to work very early to support herself and her siblings and completely abandoned her career after Lizzie was born. In Brun’s opinion, Charlotte actually felt beneath her daughter’s intelligence, in particular now that Lizzie was an Oxford graduate, and did not realise that her efforts to help damaged Lizzie’s confidence instead.
You got it backwards Brun: my wife and I are blessed to be Lizzie’s parents.
His musings were interrupted when the doorknob finally turned and Brun whirled on his heels, ready to scold the new Viscountess Lochellen for her tardiness, but when Lizzie stepped into the room, using the dress he presented her, the voice died in his throat, while his whole body went wide awake.
The sensations he felt when he first met her in Aberfeldy were nothing compared to the volcanic eruption he was feeling now.
The silky fabric of the dress hugged her form, leaving extraordinarily little to a man’s imagination and the tone of green was a perfect match for her eyes as he had hoped. Forsaking her usual messy braid, she had left her hair loose, and it fell in a cascade of ebony around her naked shoulders. Lizzie was not a tall slender woman like her foremother had been, but even in her petite form there was something powerful about her presence, something that left no doubt she was an Endellys.
“Lizzie!” Ben exclaimed from behind Brun, startling him, “Look at you my darling, you are stunning!”
Stunning does not even begin to cover it…
Brun crossed the room in two large steps nearly knocking Ben to the side and literally grabbed her hand.
“Lady Lochellen,” he greeted gallantly like it was done in his own time, bowing at his waist and kissing her knuckles. She smiled at him – the first spontaneous smile she had given him since her parents arrived and it made Brun’s stomach tighten, while other parts of his body he had considered long dead pulsed with life.
Putting a leash on his emotions took him more effort than he had expected and he clenched his jaws, reminding himself that he could not allow his old feelings for Triarell to confused him.
“Sorry I’m late, mum insisted on putting some make-up on me…” she apologised, gesturing to the general area of her eyes.
Brun studied the result attentively, though he had never before paid attention to the different make-up nuances modern women wore Charlotte had applied a dark eyeshadow over her eyelids, creating a smoky effect that accentuated the green of her irises and then traced an even black line enhancing the shape of her eyes charmingly. A touch of blush made her naturally tanned skin tone more vibrant.
Perhaps Charlotte’s way of dealing with Lizzie was misguided, but one could never doubt she had her daughter’s best interests at heart.
“The wait was completely worth it,” Brun replied, surprised to discover that those were not empty words of praise.
She smiled again, though this time her gaze darkened a little, turning her eyes into a moss tone and Brun’s stomach twisted into knots when he noticed how the dark red lipstick made her lips a little fuller.
He swallowed hard taken by an overwhelming desire to taste those lips but was saved from that awkward moment when Vivian – whose presence he had scarcely noticed in the room – took a step forward from behind Lizzie.
“You have impeccable taste, Brun, it’s like this dress was made for Lizzie!” she declared genially, beaming with pride at her friend.
Lizzie’s head snapped at her, “It reminds me that I forgot to scold you for lying to me yesterday about being sick!”
Vivian blushed and Brun intervened, “Please Lizzie, it was my fault. I wanted to make a surprise to you, but like most men I am clueless about female fashion so I asked Vivian to aid me and swore her to secrecy!”
She glared at him, but before she could say anything else, Charlotte rushed into the room with a green shawl in her hands, closely followed by Sophie, saving him from Lizzie’s wrath.
“My apologies, Mr MacLugh! I went back to get Elizabeth a shawl,” then she gestured to her own shoulders meaningfully alluding to Lizzie’s naked ones, “She might feel cold later in the evening.”
Brun offered Charlotte a feral smile that made her blink, “I can assure you, Mrs Endell, that I shall never allow your daughter to feel any kind of discomfort.”
Despiteher initial misgivings,Lizzie was genuinely enjoying herself as she made her way through Glennloch village hanging from Brun’s arm like the proper – and literal – lady of the manor. To her relief, the people welcomed her warmly as their new neighbour, delighted with the extraordinary story attached to her title. The village did not have a hundred inhabitants (a little over the dozen she had initially estimated) and thus was not even entitled to have its own local authority, but it was a tightly knitted community that felt proud to be connected to the Endells.
Although small, Glennloch’s Lammas Fair had an impressive variety of stalls displaying local produce, crafts, entertainment for the children, food and of course, all types and vast quantities of booze.
Lizzie had never been a strong drinker, but the atmosphere was so friendly and festive, that she found herself unable to refuse the constant flow of alcohol reaching her hands. Everyone wanted to buy a drink for Her Ladyship and she did not want to offend anyone, and even though Brun and her father had helped her finish some of the drinks, when evening fell, she was a little tipsy.
But mostly she felt exhilarated, because as promised, Brun had not left her side all afternoon, attentive to her every need however small, like a real-life knight in shining armour. However it was not his presence per se, that was making her giddy, but the fact that she could sense that he was genuinely enjoying her company.
Almost as much as she was loving his.
And he was so devastatingly handsome that she could barely tear her eyes off him.
When Lizzie walked into the parlour earlier she had had palpitations in finding that he had exchanged his usual suits for a blue and gray great kilt, worn draped over his shoulder, and a white linen shirt partially open on his chest. A navy blue suit jacket completed his attire.
And the way he had stared at her, had set fire to all parts of her body as if he were undressing her with his gaze. Lizzie had doubted Vivian’s assessment of Brun’s interest in her, but even she could see that he had regarded her the way a man looks at a woman he desires.
That thought sent shivers down her spine, because – oh God in Heaven! – she really wanted him.
The afternoon flew by as Lizzie and Brun moved between the stalls and when the sun began to set, a huge bonfire was lit at the centre of the square to the delight of the children who displayed all kinds of glittering paintings on their little faces: butterflies, tigers, ladybirds and fairies. People began to huddle at the sound of the bagpipes and minutes later a display of traditional dances started with local performers from all ages who came to celebrate the beginning of the Harvest Season in a marvellous mixture of pagan and Christian traditions. With Brun by her side, Lizzie clapped in unison with the audience, apparently unable to stop smiling, musing with a bit of melancholy that, had one of her more recent ancestors been a woman, she probably would have been born and raised there as a true daughter of that village.
How different would her life had been had she grown up there? Would Brun be there too? What could have happened had they been raised together?
The dance stopped when it was starting to get dark and the performers made way to a beautiful young woman with pale skin, bearing a line of honey coloured freckles on her high cheeks. A mass of fiery red hair dropped in silky waves down her shoulders, and she could not be more Celtic. Lizzie wondered to which clan did her red and blue tartan dress belong.
The crowd went quiet, watching as she took position behind the bonfire, the light of the flames making the red colour of her tartan brighter and shadowing its blue hues, while throwing an eerie glow over her singular face.
After a deep silence filled with anticipation, the bagpipers started to play. The woman closed her eyes andbegan to sing.
At first Lizzie was astonished by the beauty of the singer’s voice. It was as smooth as honey, each note slipping from her mouth like the twinkling of a crystal, so beautiful that she felt tears well in her eyes.
Mesmerized, she stared at the singer. It was the kind of melody that awakens parts of one’s soul which one did not know existed.
And then, just as that last thought formed in her head, something happened.
She felt a strange sense of clarity as if a bubble had popped inside her head, and suddenly Lizzie became aware of all places in her mind, as if her conscious- and subconscious-self had become one.
I remember this song.
The thought in itself was ludicrous – the woman was singing in Scots Gaelic and Lizzie did not know a single word in that language. She had heard Brun and Mr Clisham occasionally speak in Gaelic at the manor, but she had not been able to learn anything yet beyond Hello and Good morning.
Maybe I know the melody from somewhere else?
She shivered as if cold fingers had touched her neck and sensed Brun’s eyes turning to her. She did not acknowledge him, nor the moment when he wrapped his jacket around her naked shoulders. Lizzie could do no other than stare at the singer, feeling the words of the song take shape inside her head, like a poem she had memorised for a school test.
I remember this song.The thought bounced inside her head again and without making a conscious decision, she began to sing too.
His blood froze in his veins when he heard Lizzie singing. The air instantly got charged as if a lightning were about to strike. It was that sudden quietness, when the weather changes from cold to warm in a heartbeat that announces something is different.
Lizzie had the voice.
Heavens, she had inherited Triarell’s magic voice!
He stared at her in utter disbelief. Her gaze was focussed on the singer, but he could tell that her eyes were seeing something else, that her mind was being pulled away into a magic trance.
Fast, ever so fast.
No, no, no, no!
Nine mothers will be born before the second comes.
The second.
Triarell had been the first – the most powerful Enchanter ever born in the Otherworld – and Lizzie was the second after nine mothers.
Nine mothersmeant nine generations.
What an arrogant fool he had been! He was so certain that Fayla had been wrong in her prophecies…
“Lizzie!” Brun called quietly, hoping he would not attract unwanted attention. Discreetly he scanned their surroundings. Her parents were deep in conversation with the chairwoman of Glennloch’s Historical Society and her grandmother was sitting across from them with other elderly of the village in an animated chat. Vivian was still engaged in conversation with a young man of the village who had been courting her all evening and was not looking their way.
He turned his eyes back to Lizzie, who gave no indication that she had heard him. He called her name a little louder this time, afraid to startle her, but again she did not even flinch, standing stiff as an ice statue. He reached for her hand and recoiled, feeling as if he had touched incandescent iron. Magic emanated from her very skin like heat waves and it was something more powerful than anything he had sensed before in his five hundred years of life.
More powerful even then Triarell.
From a human!
How can this be?
More importantly, if the Dreams Thief was still in the human world, it would not take him long to sense such power being wielded and then she would be in mortal danger.
With his heart thundering in his chest, Brun stood right in front of her, blocking her vision of the singer. He closed his hand into a fist, summoning the magic of his ring.
“Lizzie, hear me now!” his voice was no more than a whisper, but it was imbued with the strongest compulsion he could muster. There was so little magic left in his ring, would it be enough to protect her?
To his surprise, she frowned angrily, though not yet with awareness, and fought him.
Heavens!
Brun grunted at the effort of keeping the spell. Noticing that Vivian was now glancing their way, he snaked an arm around her shoulders as if he were showing her something across the square.
After what if felt like an eternity, Lizzie stopped singing and turned her head slowly towards him, but her eyes were unfocussed and her skin was ashen.
“I don’t feel so well, Brun,” she mumbled slowly, “I think I drank too much…”
He pulled her under the shelter of his arm and steered her away, “Do not worry, Lizzie, I’ll take you home.”
With Lizzie tucked closed to him, he walked away as fast as he could and once they passed behind one of the stalls, he checked around again before casting a cloaking spell over them to make sure they would not be spotted.
“Oh God! Don’t let Mum and Dad see me drunk!” she cried horrified at the idea, and he let out a sigh of relief. If she was thinking about her parents it was a sign that she was regaining control of her mind.
“Do not worry,” he repeated gently, “No one will see us,” she opened her mouth again, but he added, “And I’ll make sure your family have a ride home. Now come with me.”
“What about Vivian?” she glanced over her shoulder towards the Fair.
“I’ll see that the Clishams take care of her as well.”
Apparently satisfied, she meekly allowed herself to be guided away from the crowd. Her body was leaning heavily against his, but she was conscious, so he resisted the urge to lift her in his arms and carry her.
They reached the car he had parked at the south end of the village, and with his arm wrapped around Lizzie’s waist like an iron bar, Brun paused briefly to text Mr Clisham, asking him to take care of their guests, before carefully setting Lizzie on the passenger seat. She was limp as a doll and her head lolled to the side as if she had lost control of her neck, but he was not fooled. That was not drunkenness: she was overwhelmed by the sudden surge of untamed power.
Making sure her seatbelt was fastened, Brun sat behind the wheel and drove back to Glennloch as fast as he dared.
Lizzie’seyes fluttered open when she heard the whining of Glennloch’s gates. She frowned, having no recollection of getting into Brun’s car or even leaving the Fair for that matter. However, the memory of the many drinks she consumed during the afternoon was plenty clear.
She felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. Her first official function as Viscountess Lochellen and she got wasted.
“Oh Brun, I’m so sorry!” she cried, covering her face with her hands as the car sped along the birch-lined driveway.
He was startled by her voice.
“Lizzie! Are you okay?” he reached for her hand, squeezing her fingers and that only made her feel more mortified. She could endure anything except his pity.
She groaned with her face still buried in her hands.
“Oh God! I messed it up pretty bad, didn’t I? Did people see me drunk? Did I say stupid things?”
Brun was silent for so long that she began to think that she had danced naked over the tables and then set the whole Fair on fire.
“No one saw anything, because you are not drunk.”
Brun stated that with such certainty that she lifted her face from her hands and stared at him quizzically, but before she could ask anything, he was parking the car and climbing down, rushing to open the door for her.
Lizzie tried to get out by herself and disappear into the house, but she struggled to unfasten the seatbelt and huffed impatiently, feeling even more humiliated.
“Here, allow me,” he leaned over her to reach the belt lock.
The smell of his aftershave hit her like a punch in the stomach and she closed her eyes inhaling it deeply. Underneath the commercial fragrance, she could discern Brun’s own scent. It was something very masculine, like citrus and sandalwood.
She frowned. When had her sense of smell become so acute?
When you drank yourself stupid perhaps?
She heard the click of the belt unlocking and then felt Brun’s hand on her arm, patiently urging her to climb out of the car. Obediently she stood up, but the world swam in front of her eyes and her legs felt too weak to hold her weight. She looked at the manor fairly sure it was upside down.
“And you are saying that I am not drunk?” she whined feeling more ashamed than she had ever been in her life, “I’m bloody sloshed!”
Brun did not refute her declaration this time, snaking his arm around her waist and helping her inside the house, steadying her as they climbed the stairs towards her bedroom.
Lizzie felt stupider at each step. Brun had been so good to her all this time and today he had been the most perfect gentleman a woman could ask for, but she had ruined everything by behaving like an idiotic teen getting hammered in a rave.
Now he would never see her like anything other than a child. He would never see her like a woman, he would never want her like she wanted him.
By the time they reached her bed, tears were streaming down her face.
“What is wrong?” his voice was laced with concern, urging her to sit down on the mattress, “Are you feeling sick?”
Now he is worried that the silly drunk teen is going to throw up on the expensive rugs.
That thought made her sob aloud. God, she could not remember that last time she had cried like that. Maybe her period was coming? PMS and alcohol were not always best friends.
“Lizzie, please, tell me what is wrong,” Brun asked again, sitting beside her and pulling her into his arms. His tone was nearly desperate.
For a moment she could not reply, weeping uncontrollably on his shoulder.
“I… ruined… everything!” she gasped between sobs, “I am… I am sorry!”
He felt at a loss, holding Lizzie tightly but not knowing what to do. He had never takencare of anyone before and the only woman he had ever wished to care for had been Triarell.
Until Lizzie entered his life that is.
He was startled by how easily that thought had formed in his head and did not know whether that made the situation better or worse.
Worse. Clearly worse.
Yes, there was no doubt in his mind that he cared for Lizzie, but since his trip to Edinburgh he had decided that it could not be more than friendship. He had loved Triarell for four centuries and Lizzie was the spitting image of her ancestor. The only logical explanation for his attraction for her was that he was doing some kind of sick transference of his feelings for Triarell to her.
That was the only logical explanation.
Brun rubbed his face. The whole situation was a mess and never in his life he had been more confused.
Nevertheless, now was not the right time to try and sort out his own feelings.
“What are you speaking of?” he asked, gently brushing her hair with his fingers. The locks were as smooth as silk.
“I… I got pissed drunk… and ruined… and ruined everything!” she bawled, “You gave me… this beautiful dress, you trusted me… to behave like the… like the proper Lady Lochellen you wanted me to be and now… and now you will only see me as a drunken child!”
His shoulders slumped.
The proper Lady Lochellen you wanted me to be.
He had mishandled the whole situation. In his eagerness to be supportive, he had underestimated the damage Lizzie’s mother had done to her confidence. How could he explain that he believed her to be one of the most amazing young women he knew? Intelligent, courageous and… beautiful.
So incredibly beautiful…
With a sigh, Brun gently took off her glasses, setting them on her bedside table and then held her chin, forcing her to look at him.
He thought of telling her exactly that, but when her emerald-green eyes fixed on his, glistening with tears, Brun forgot everything else and all that was left in his head was a burning desire to kiss her.
And four hundred years was a time too long for a man to repress his desires, so he lowered his face to hers and captured her mouth.
Her lips were wet and salty with tears and had the most heavenly taste he had ever savoured She moaned softly, opening her mouth to him and it only made him more aroused.
His hands framed her delicate face and he pulled her closer while his tongue plunged deep into her mouth. Lizzie mimicked his gesture, but her fingers went up his neck, tangling into his hair, and heavens helped him, because Brun had the sensation that he had finally found were he belonged.
He pushed his jacket off her shoulders, bringing down the stripes of her dress with it. He palmed the skin of her collarbone, reckoning it was as smooth as the silky fabric of the dress. Her body felt warm and soft underneath his hands and he could not resist moving his mouth lower until his lips found the delicate line of her neck. His tongue stroked the skin of her collarbone, tasting a hint of perfume, sweat and smoke from the bonfires and beneath it, Brun could detect her natural scent.
Roses.
He inhaled it deeply and decided that hers was the best scent in the world.
All rational thoughts flew right out of Lizzie’s head when Brun began to kiss her, because she had wanted that almost from the first moment she had laid eyes on him. That was not just a silly crush, it was something far deeper, a feeling that resonated with her whole essence.
His mouth was now on her cleavage, while his hands were caressing under the line of her bra and she thought she could die of desire, praying that he would rip the dress off her body so she could feel his skin on hers.
Her hands lowered on his thighs and she gasped, recalling that oh-my-God-he-was-using-a-kilt. Feeling all her female parts in ebullition, she slid her hands under the garment, finding the most glorious erection of her short life.
So the Scots truly wear no underwear beneath their kilts…
Brunnearly exploded when her hands wrapped around him. Breathing hard, his fingers urgently fumbled with the zipper of her dress and he seriously considered ripping the thing right off her body. He had wanted her for so long…
But that thought felt as if a bucket of ice had been dumped over his head.
I desired Triarell, not Lizzie!
He jumped to his feet, scrambling away from her.
This is all wrong!
“I cannot do this to you,” he muttered staggering towards the door, “Forgive me, I do not know what came over me.”
Before she could say anything, he rushed out of her room.