Chapter 29
The drummer changed rhythm as Ceana crossed the wet festival ground beside Heather and David. A boy collecting wagers raced past them, splashing mud over the hem of his plaid.
“Two to one on the smith! Three to one on the shepherd!”
Smoke blew low from the fire trench and caught in her throat.
She stopped to cough and rested one hand on her waist until the discomfort passed.
Her gown concealed her belly. Heather had loosened the lacing before they left Morrag, giving her room to breathe without showing enough to invite questions.
A MacKane tapestry hung at the field entrance. Fresh stitches closed a tear through the border mark.
“That is the one Bryce’s men cut down,” David commented. “Angus returned it with the stolen stock under the peace treaty.”
Ceana brushed her fingers over it before passing beneath it.
“Lady MacKane!”
The first greeting came from a woman carrying cups of ale.
Others called their welcome as Ceana crossed the field.
Men lifted their cups, and families stepped aside to clear the way.
She accepted each greeting without correcting the title.
After a little over a month at Morrag, the people here still counted her among them.
Elspeth Kerr reached her before she could linger, her face breaking into a broad smile.
“Ye came.”
“I said I would.”
“Aye, but promises become easier to forget when they require a journey.” Elspeth caught both of Ceana’s hands and squeezed them. “It is good to see ye again, me Lady. We wondered whether Morrag meant to keep ye.”
Ceana managed a smile. “Only for a little while.”
“Then they have had their turn.” Elspeth released one hand but kept the other, already drawing her farther onto the field. “Come. Ye have duties here, and I have spent three months tellin’ everyone our new Lady wouldnae abandon us when it came time to judge their foolishness.”
Ceana laughed despite herself. “Then I had better save yer reputation.”
“Precisely.”
As they walked, Ceana spotted the young mother who had spoken so cheerfully of the children she might have one day. The woman smiled in recognition and dipped her head as they passed.
Elspeth led Ceana toward the judges’ ground. “We kept yer place.”
Two older village women waited beside the chief judge’s chair, and Ceana remained standing while the rules were laid out.
“Every jumper starts from that stone,” the first woman said. “The trench remains the same width. An equally sized bundle of heather is added after each round.”
The second judge pointed toward the marked strip beyond the fire. “Touchin’ either fire stone spoils the jump, so does scatterin’ anythin’ aflame or landin’ inside that strip. The highest round cleared cleanly wins.”
“And when Lady MacKane presides,” Elspeth added, “the Laird enters for the closing leap. His jump counts the same as any other.”
Ceana walked the length of the trench before taking her chair. The early morning rain had left the turf slick beside the starting stone. She tested it beneath her shoe, then summoned an attendant.
“Spread grit here before the first man runs. Enough for every contestant to have firm ground.”
The attendants worked while the judges inspected each bundle of heather. Only when the ground was ready did Ceana sit down and look across the field.
Oscar stood beyond the fire with Lennan. Paisley and Tommy were absent. She saw no sign of Mairi or Muriel either. She swept her gaze across the people behind Oscar once before fixing it on him.
He had worn no ceremonial finery. His plaid was fastened at the shoulder, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his forearms. A month apart had sharpened her awareness of his height and the strength of his hands.
Her next breath caught midway into her lungs.
Those hands had hauled her out of the loch. They had held her firmly beside the water while his mouth took hers. They had also closed around her fingers in their bed while the two of them conceived the child in her belly.
Ceana curled her fingers into her skirt.
Oscar caught her looking. His gaze moved over her face, then lowered to the altered waist of her gown and the hand resting near it. He went still as his grip tightened on the edge of his plaid.
The first jumper cleared the trench cleanly, eliciting a roar from the crowd. The wager boy darted between groups, shouting new odds as another bundle was added.
During the next round, a favored contestant rose above the flames and came down beyond the marked strip. His heel struck the right boundary stone before he regained his balance.
“He cleared it!” one supporter shouted.
“The height is what matters!”
Ceana looked toward the two women beside her. “What did ye see?”
“His heel caught on the stone,” the first woman answered.
The second woman pointed to the scrape left on the stone’s wet surface. “There, me Lady.”
“The jump is invalid,” Ceana announced.
A few men protested until Elspeth stepped forward.
“Correct the wagers,” she ordered. “A favorite doesnae get a wider trench than the others.”
The grumbling ended as the attendants carried the final bundle forward. The daylight had begun to fade, and the flames glowed brighter against the darkening field.
The last contestant cleared the stones, but both feet came down inside the marked strip. He stared at the ground, then stepped away before the judges spoke.
Elspeth raised her staff. “Laird MacKane for the closin’ leap.”
Lennan unfastened Oscar’s plaid and took it away. Oscar approached the starting stone without looking at Ceana. He measured the distance, braced his weight on his right foot, then sprang forward.
His pace was steady until the final drive of his legs lifted him above the trench. The flames shone beneath him, and he landed beyond the marked strip with one foot before the other, his weight balanced as he straightened.
Only then did he look toward Ceana.
She left her chair and inspected both fire stones. Neither bore a fresh mark. The landing strip remained undisturbed. When she returned to the judges, both women gave the same ruling.
She faced the crowd. “The highest clean leap belongs to Laird MacKane.”
The cheers followed Oscar to the judges’ ground. Ceana took the winner’s red wool cord from Elspeth and held it out. Oscar’s fingers brushed hers as he accepted it, the brief contact sending heat across her palm.
“Me thanks, Lady MacKane,” he said.
“Ye earned it, me Laird.”
His eyes remained on her face. “When ye finish yer duty, will ye speak with me?”
Ceana considered the request for a moment. “After I hand out the rest of the prizes.”
Oscar stepped away and waited beyond the judges’ ground.
Ceana awarded each remaining cord and confirmed the corrected wagers.
Lennan placed Oscar’s plaid on the low wall before withdrawing to the wager table.
Oscar stood, his hands hanging at his sides. He did not move as Ceana crossed the wet grass toward him. She stopped beside the low wall, beyond his reach.
The drums continued near the fire trench, and voices rose as the wager boy counted out winnings.
Oscar rested one hand on the wall. “How have ye been, Ceana?”
Her fingers tightened around her dress. A month had passed since he had spoken her name, and the quiet familiarity of it hit deeper than she had ever thought it would.
“I have been well enough. The sickness is improvin’.”
His gaze moved over her face. “And the bairn?”
Ceana placed her hand on her belly. She was still too early in her pregnancy to feel anything, but touching it gave her courage.
“Well, they’re growin’.”
Oscar’s eyes closed briefly. His hand dropped from the wall as he let out a slow breath through his nose. When he looked at her again, the strain around his mouth had deepened.
“Thank ye for answerin’.”
He remained where he was while more cheers erupted from the judges’ ground. His relief had earned him no promise, and he seemed to understand that.
“I accused ye of lyin’ when ye brought me the happiest news of yer life,” he rasped.
The memory returned vividly. She could see his hard stare across the study and how his question had stripped the joy from her before she had finished sharing it.
“Aye, ye did.”
Oscar lowered his gaze to the damp grass between them. “I ken what ye believed about bearin’ children,” he continued. “I had watched ye grieve the bairns ye thought ye could never have. Then I asked whether ye had deceived me.”
Ceana brushed her thumb over her skirt. “And what do ye call that now?”
His eyes met hers. “I was wrong.”
The plain answer held her still.
“I answered out of fear,” he said. “And I shouldnae have done that.”
He did not plead for forgiveness. Every fault remained where he had placed it—upon himself.
For the first time, he wasn’t thinking solely about himself.
Ceana glanced toward the fire trench. An attendant was spreading the embers while villagers gathered their children and collected empty cups.
“What do ye see now when ye think of this child?” she asked.
“MacKane already has an heir. This bairn is ours, and wanted because it is ours.” Oscar’s throat bobbed before he continued. “Havin’ a bairn with ye is the best thing that could have happened to me.”
Ceana sucked in a sharp breath. “Are ye still afraid?”
“Aye.” His answer came quietly. “I am afraid for ye. That fear hasnae gone.”
At least he was being honest. His fear would grow tenfold when her body began to change, when the birth drew close, and perhaps whenever she crossed a room too quickly for his liking.
“Do ye truly believe I didnae trick ye?”
“Aye,” Oscar answered before she could draw another breath. “I ken ye believed every word ye told me. Ye would never deceive me in such a way.”
Ceana searched his face. His gaze held hers, and his shoulders remained lowered rather than set for command.
“I kent ye better than the question I asked,” he said.
The drums changed rhythm again.
He gave her time to consider his answer, his open hands, and the space he had maintained between them. Then he took a step forward and asked the question that had been on his mind since the day had begun.
“Will ye come home, Ceana?”
Ceana swallowed thickly.
Home.
Paisley sat within that word, frowning over one of her careful questions.
Tommy’s treasure map lay open beneath his small hands.
Ceana remembered Mairi bent over the household ledgers at her worktable and Ness waiting on the carriage step as though the goat could prevent a departure through sheer stubbornness alone.
The chamber she had shared with Oscar belonged there too. So did the empty hand she had ignored before leaving MacKane Castle, and the accusation that had driven her away.
Her fingers twitched against her belly.
“If I come home, the hurt comes with me,” she warned. “It hasnae disappeared.”
“I understand.”
“If I return, I return with our bairn. I willnae step into that castle and watch our child be received as a disaster.”
“Our bairn is very much wanted at the castle.”
“An apology cannae supply all the proof I need.” Ceana watched his expression as she continued. “What ye do after tonight will tell me whether I can trust ye when fear takes hold again or nae.”
Oscar accepted the condition with a quick nod. “Aye. Ye should judge me by what I do.”
He raised his hand to her face, then stopped halfway.
“May I?”
Ceana looked at the space between them. She had already received the answers she needed before she crossed it. So the only thing to do was to step within his reach.
Oscar’s gaze flicked to her mouth. His jaw tightened, and his breath deepened as his hand dropped back to his side. He leaned toward her, every inch of him aching to touch her. Then his lips pressed against her forehead.
The brief contact caught her breath high in her chest, and her fingers curled as a low pulse began between her thighs. One month without him had sharpened her need, but now wasn’t the time to do anything about it.
Eventually, Oscar stepped back. Then he held out his hand, palm up. Ceana took it, and his fingers closed only after hers had settled in his palm.
“Aye,” she said, her voice low. “I will come home.”