Fianna Leighton - Tales of Clan Mackay (45 page)
The Drummond chuckled, tightening his grip on Nicholas. “Babies take their own time.”
“But it’s too early,” Nicholas whispered.
“Aye, but not too much. He’ll survive, if he’s anything like his Da.”
Nicholas blinked, shifting a slow moving gaze to William. “He…”
William grinned. “Aye, a boy, she was nearly done when I left. Fiona sent me off.”
“But, I hear nothing.”
“Aye, well there’s a bit to do…” William stopped as another cry rang out, this one different, this one small and angry. The Vikings cheered, lifting their cups as Nicholas staggered back a step. He would have fallen if not for William.
“It’s done then,” William decided, dragging Nicholas past him. “Go and see your wife, if she still wants ye.”
Nicholas ran to the ship, nearly falling over the side. He ducked inside the canopy only to stop suddenly, heart slamming painfully in his chest. Fiona looked up from the bundle in her arms and smiled. “He’s tiny, lad, but strong. He was impatient to see his father.”
Nicholas touched the bundle, but his eyes moved past Fiona to where Mary lay. He could not breathe, she looked so pale.
“Mary?”
Fiona nudged him, handing him the child. “She is fine, just very very tired, Nicholas. See your son.”
Nicholas looked down at the squirming bundle of cloth and then slowly moved aside the covering. Dark eyes stared up at him, a tiny mouth worked to bring forth a cry, hands waving in his hunger.
“Breathe Nicky, he’s a handsome child.” Fiona turned back to Mary, leaning over her.
Nicholas took a small breath, his chest tight, hands shaking under the bundle in his arms. Dear god, he had made this. He blinked, swallowing and then drew the child to his chest, breathing in the scent of him, of Mary. He moved and sat down beside her, holding the baby against him.
“Mary, ach, wee Mary love.”
She smiled, her lashes dark on her cheeks as she sighed. “Nicholas. I feared I’d see you ever again.”
Nicholas fought to control the waves of emotion rolling over him, fought to remember to breathe, to hold back the tears that threatened both his composure and his peace of mind. “I’d have searched the world over for ye, Mary.”
She turned her head, her weariness clear in her gaze, but she smiled and reached out to touch his cheek. “Sutherland?”
Nicholas moved his cheek into her hand. “Do not speak of him, not here.”
“The babe,” Mary brushed her hand over the baby’s head. “I am sorry I did not tell ye.”
He shifted closer. “I don’t care. Only for you, Mary. Bloody hell, I’d die without you.”
Mary blinked back tears, the moisture glinting in her eyes. “Ye’ll be angry with me again, I am sure.”
Nicholas smiled in amusement, and then leaned down to kiss her gently. “Aye, and you with me. But that is love, Mary. Tis not easy, but I’d share it with you.”
Mary brushed her fingers over his lips, eyes wide. “There could be no one else, Nicky. Ye are mine, do ye hear?”
He grinned, kissing the baby’s head and then Mary. And then again, for good measure. “ I am yours, but if ye leave me without telling me where ye go, I’ll turn ye over my knee.”
Mary lifted her gaze to his, eyes sparkling. “Indeed, Highlander?”
Nicholas laughed and kissed his wife. “Aye, and then some.”
Epilogue
They arrived back at Varrich just ahead of a storm that blew in leaving the Drummonds and Mackay ensconced within the warmth of the Mackay stronghold. Three days it blew, drifting snow three feet high against the age old stone of the castle. Inside the cries of a newborn babe were smiled at, toasted and admired.
Mary stayed abed for week more, but regained her strength quickly. Nicholas kept a close vigil on his wife, hardly a step from both lady and son.
Sebastian watched them with a great sense of satisfaction, and a wary eye on the other men who had been forced to stay as well.
Olaf and his men sat near the fire, voices softened to a murmur. It had been only by their swift vessels that Mary and babe, and indeed, Nicholas had been brought back to Varrich before the cold killed one and all. Sebastian had made the arrangements as soon as Mary had started her labor, and Olaf, always the canny businessman, had seen the opportunity, if not the troubles following with the weather. It would be some time before the Vikings would be able to sail.
Hugh had ventured among them, his norse well spoken and approved, his comfort among the fighting warriors surprising. Perhaps, Sebastian thought, his brother saw a new path on which to embark. It was an unsettling thought, faintly sad, to think Hugh might leave Varrich. Yet, Bastian could not fault him either for wanting something different, for memories were wicked things to play on one’s mind.
His own future remained as yet, unfinished, for even with the advent of the child and Nicholas’s current peaceful days, Donald had not as yet agreed on a date for the marriage between Rose and Sebastian.
She had urged him to be patient.
In regards to Rose, he had very little left. Spying his father coming inside, Sebastian rose to his feet, intending on speaking to the Chieftain. Donald, catching his eye, sighed and stopped, pulling off his gloves as Sebastian crossed the room.
“I said not until Spring.” Donald tucked the gloves into his belt, and shook the snow off his cloak.
“I said it’d be at Christmas,” Bastian countered stiffly.
“Perhaps, had we a chance to alert the Macleods, but there’s no traveling in this weather. It will have to wait until spring.” Donald turned away but then paused when Sebastian gripped his father’s arm. The Mackay chieftain looked at his arm, at Sebastian’s fingers encasing his bicep and then slowly, up at his son. Sebastian clenched his teeth, refusing to back down.
Rose stepped up to them and pressed her fingers over Sebastian’s. “I agree with yer father. I must let Torquil know first, Sebastian. I must, to make peace between us. I will not look over my shoulder with fear at every step.”
Sebastian stared at the woman who had taken his heart. He could deny her nothing, yet the thought of waiting, so long, nearly made him weep. “But Rose…”
She smiled at him, tossing a few strands of her hair back behind her shoulder. “Take what is offered Mackay. I’ll not see it any other way.”
He blinked at the command. Donald snorted very faintly and lifted one brow at Sebastian. What was he to do? Should he take the initiative and toss the wench over his shoulder and make her his, no matter her choice? She’d find a Mackay not so easy to push around.
Yet he could not, and slowly he released his father’s arm and then moved the hand to cup Rose’s chin. “Ye think to control me, wench?”
She smiled at Donald when he stepped back and folded his arms over his chest. Returning her gaze to Sebastian, she lifted a slim brow in question. “Do ye want me, Sebastian Mackay?”
He nodded, curtly, for the thought of her enflamed him even then.
“Then, ye’ll wait as I ask. I’ve told ye aye, I’d marry ye. Tis worth the wait,” she added slyly, with a wink as she moved away.
A hand to his shoulder settled the lust rushing through his blood. Nicholas chuckled quietly. “Trust me, it’s better this way. You are connected, Bastian. She’ll be yours before the grass turns green yet again.”
Sebastian sighed and then glanced over Nicholas’s shoulder to the Vikings and Hugh. “He means to leave us.”
Nicholas followed the gaze and frowned. “Aye, he does. He’ll be back though, lass in tow if I miss my guess.”
Sebastian looked quickly over to where Donald had settled near the window to look at his books. “Damn, Nicky, you don’t think…”
Nicholas grinned. “Indeed I do. Olaf is a canny man. A tie to the Mackay leaves him too many opportunities to pass up. I just hope she’s pretty.”
Sebastian laughed, releasing the pent up frustrations with Rose, suddenly filled with a great sense of peace at having his family so close.
They were Mackay and would always be a strongly-willed clan. Hugh might take this path, but it would be on his own terms.
Defy and defend, stand true to the end, he’d honour the name of Mackay.
The End
Then flock to the standard and join the roll call!
Once more the banner's unfurled
The slogan's been sounded, and kinship been claimed
By clansmen all over the world.
Exiled or at home, love of country and clan
Are feelings we'll never let die;
Defy and defend, stand true to the end,
And honour the name of Mackay."
By Elizabeth Mackay Bridge of Allan 1889
Author’s Note:
Thank you one and all who’ve opted to purchase or borrow this book. As both an published author and now self-published, I hope to find Amazon and Kindle a better way to offer my books. You can find my other books by searching for Fianna Leighton, my published name. I do want to thank all those ladies of JFA, my writing group for so many years, that read my stuff and encouraged me to do what keeps me sane. My muse is happy as well to be able to provide more ideas to blossom, hopefully, into many more tales.
The cover page art is mine, a package deal when things enter into my head. I hope your image of Nicholas is enhanced by what I saw in my mind.
Sincerely,
Lynette Flowers, aka Fianna Leighton
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