“Mayhap ye got more of a chill than ye thought?” Morag smiled at her, although it didn’t reach her eyes. “It might be better if ye took to your bed for a day or two.”
Shealmostsounded concerned. Juliana stifled a smile at the obvious ploy to get her out of the way for the holiday festivities, so Morag would have Rory all to herself. Juliana probably should just tell the girl that she didn’t need to worry about her posing a threat. Not after what happened yesterday. But a part of her didn’t want to admit that she’d botched things up so badly. Besides, she wasn’t feeling very charitable toward Morag at the moment, even though it was Christmas.
“I am quite rested, thank you for your concern,” she replied, knowing she didn’t sound any more sincere than Morag had. She did need to come up with some excuse why she was so gloomy, though. “I…just will miss not being with my sisters for Christmas.”
“Of course you do,” Aileen said. “I would hate to be away from home for the holidays, too.”
“But ye can pretend we are your family for now,” Greer said seriously. “I ken it isna the same, but—”
“But it is nae too late if Juliana wants to go back,” Morag broke in. “The roads are clearing, so Father can send an escort with ye to Strae Castle, if ye wish. Ye could be home tomorrow.”
Juliana thought that might be how she went back, given the circumstances. It would be Rory’s decision to make if he wanted to turn her over to an escort. Would he consider he was still honor-bound to take her to Strae Castle himself? He might want to spend more time here now. She didn’t want to dwell on that possibility, and she certainly wasn’t about to admit such to Morag.
“We”—she put some emphasis on the word, hoping that she and Rory were still awe—“decided it would be more prudent not to return the way we came. Rory mentioned going east toward Blair Castle and then over to Strae, so it would be impossible to be home by tomorrow.”
She saw anger flash across Morag’s face before it was replaced with a calculated look. She was probably thinking taking the longer route would mean several nights on the road with Rory. Juliana allowed herself a small moment of triumph. Let the girl think they might be sharing a room somewhere along the way. Not that it would happen. Rory would probably sooner sleep with his horse than be anywhere near her again.
“’Tis Christmas Eve day.” Greer looked at Morag. “Your father wouldna want anyone to miss the festivities by being on the road anyway.”
“I suppose waiting until the day after Christmas will not make that much of a difference,” Juliana admitted. At least, she hoped it wouldn’t.
“Aye. Besides, if ye are going that way, we canna be sure Drumochter Pass will be completely open,” Aileen said. “Best to give the snow another day or two to melt.”
Morag gave them all a predator smile. “Well, I would nae want Rory to leave before then, either.”
Juliana just prayed it wouldn’t snow again before they were ready to leave. She really didn’t want to spend more time here, and Rory probably didn’t want to spend more time withher, even though he had kissed her in the woods. Therehadbeen mistletoe, after all. The sooner Rory got her home, the better it would be for both of them.
…
Rory stopped for a moment after he entered the great hall that evening. Although the voluminous room had always retained a feel of times long past, with its trestle tables and dais, along with the tapestries and weapons lining the walls, tonight it felt as though he had walked into a medieval world.
A harpist, accompanied by a man with a lute, sat near the dais in the front of the hall, strumming a carol. The huge tree they’d brought in was decorated, too. The scent of pine filled the air from the many boughs that served as centerpiece runners on the long tables. Branches of holly adorned the mantelpieces of the two unlit hearths on either of the side walls, and ivy vines ran along the dais, looped and draping down over the edge. Although the large iron chandeliers were not burning, there were candles on all the tables, the smell of beeswax mingling with the pine.
Sima and the household had been busy while he had been gone. Had Juliana enjoyed helping them? He’d spent most of the day vacillating between whether he should apologize for his churlish behavior of walking away from her or giving her a wide berth this evening, since she’d made clear her own feelings. He wasn’t even sure which would be harder to do. In the end—really, only minutes ago—he’d decided on the neutral path of being polite but distant.
He looked around the room that was quickly filling up and spotted her with Aileen and Greer taking their places on the dais. As a guest of the MacDonnells, he had a seat there, too. Luckily, at least for tonight, it was on the other side of the laird’s place in the middle. He managed a smile and nod as he passed in front of Juliana, who gave him a rather constrained nod back. At least he wouldn’t be forced to keep up a conversation.
Unfortunately, he would have to keep up a conversation with Morag. She had managed to secure the spot next to him.
“Do ye keep the Yule log tradition at Strae Castle?” she asked as he sat down.
“We havena.” Did she not remember the MacGregors had not been able to holdanytraditions for decades, since their clan had been banned? “I am nae sure Ian even thought about it with his recent wedding.”
Morag gave him a sideways glance. “Are ye the next brother in line?”
It took a moment for the unspoken part of that question to register, but he wasn’t going to discussmarriage. “If ye are asking who is the second oldest, that would be Devon.”
“Oh.” She looked disappointed, then she brightened. “But I forgot. Men doona have to marry in age order like girls, do they?”
He didn’t like where her not-so-subtle hints were heading. He could put an end to the conversation by telling Morag he was handfasted to Juliana, but after yesterday, that would be the worst thing he could do. Nor could he take the opposite tact and say he didn’t intend to marry for years. Not when, in fact, he was sworn for a year and a day. Before he could think of a suitable answer, a bell tinkled at the far end of the hall, and everyone grew silent.
“What is happening?”
Morag looked annoyed. “They are starting the procession.”
It needed no further explanation. Bagpipes sounded at the entrance. In a moment, the piper—dressed in banned Scottish regalia—moved toward the dais, followed by a single candle bearer. Two elderly white-haired men, also dressed in the forbidden tartans, bore a ram’s horn, and the other held what looked like a charred stick. They were, in turn, followed by six strapping lads, who carried the big Yule log on their shoulders. Halfway down the hall, the piper turned abruptly to his right, and Rory noticed there was a path between the tables that led to a hearth on that side. The lads put the log down on the kindling that had been laid and stepped away while the piper and the candle bearer took their places on either side.
Laird MacDonnell stepped down from the dais. Rory wouldn’t have been surprised, at this point, to see him in full clan colors as well, but the law did not allow recognition of a laird—at least to Englishmen—so he supposed MacDonnell didn’t want to tempt fate.
