Highland Courage(57)

Panting, she lay her head back against the pillows, pulled the covers back from their heads, and said, “Oh, Tadhg, ye don’t know what ye do to me.”

Moving beside her and capturing her in his arms, he answered, “My sweet lass, it is no more than ye do to me.”

As she lay there, she remembered the profound sense of being loved that she experienced the previous evening. She would give him the gift of the words. “Tadhg?”

“Mmm.”

“I love ye.”

“Oh, Mairead, I love ye too. More than I ever thought possible.”

~ * ~

The feast of Epiphany was, if possible, more sumptuous than the Christmas feast. The great hall was crowded and the atmosphere joyous. To commemorate the visit of the Magi to the Christ child, Tadhg gave gifts of coin to his clansmen. The music and laughter became livelier and more raucous as the hour grew later. Exhausted from dancing, Mairead stood with Tadhg near one of the hearths, taking it all in.

She was genuinely pleased as Jock approached with one hand held behind his back. “Jock, I am so happy ye were able to come for the feast tonight.”

The old man smiled broadly, his eyes twinkling merrily, and he gave a little bow. “Good evening, my lady, Laird. Aye, ‘tis a wonderful feast, to be sure.”

“I’m glad ye are enjoying yourself, Jock,” Tadhg answered.

“Oh I am, I am,” He nodded his head but kept his hand behind him.

A hint of a smile hovered around Tadhg’s lips. “What’s that ye have there, behind your back, Jock?”

“Ah, Laird, ‘tis nothing but a bit of kindling that I thought Lady Matheson might want back.”

Mairead was confused for a moment until the kind old man pulled his hand from behind his back, handing her a recorder. “Ye fixed it?”

“Lass, it was nearly beyond fixing, but I was able to save the mouth piece and the piece on the end. See, there is the wee wren. The bit in the middle is new. I also took the liberty of adding something to your grand-da’s design. If ye look among the vines near the wren, ye will see I added a sword. It is to remind ye that ye may be a little bird, but now ye are now under the protection of the Mathesons.”

Mairead lovingly turned the instrument over in her hands, both touched and amazed. She had never expected to see it again. She lifted it to her lips and began to play. The timbre of the instrument had changed, but the sound was still beautiful. As she played the people near her grew silent, turning to listen. The silence spread out from her like a wave, replaced by the tune she played. Even the minstrels stilled their instruments as the melody washed across the room. Lost in the music, she was completely unaware of the hush that fell. When she finished playing the air, the hall resounded with the sounds of the clan’s approval.

Mairead blushed but smiled in appreciation. “Thank ye, Jock.” She leaned forward to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Ye have no idea how much this means to me.”

“Lass, it can’t mean more to ye than ye mean to us.”

It became evident to Mairead that she had experienced her own personal epiphany during the Christmas season. After living with shame and doubting herself for years, rather suddenly she finally believed she was worthy of love and respect.





Sixteen





Mairead’s newfound self-confidence may not have been immediately evident to everyone, but the changes were very clear to Tadhg. She seemed embarrassed less often, and she offered her opinion more readily. However, what pleased him most was her laughter. It dawned on him that he had heard far too little of it until then.

One afternoon he climbed the steps to the keep. The sounds of his very angry steward met him before he reached the doors to the great hall. Quickening his step, he rushed in to find Oren, purple with rage. The focus of his ire was Ian’s youngest son, Duff. In the middle of the uproar, his sweet, demure Mairead sat on the floor, laughing hysterically, covered with mud and puppies. He stopped inside the door for a moment to watch.

“Duff, what in the name of all that’s holy do ye mean bringing that lot of mongrels in here?” demanded Oren. “Look at what they’ve done. There is mud everywhere. My lady, here, let me help ye. God’s teeth, lad, get those mangy beasts off her.”

Duff, bless him, was trying but every time he pulled one off, another took its place. “My lady, I’m sorry. I thought ye might like them. I didn’t think about them being a bit muddy. My lady, if ye stop laughing, maybe they will stop licking ye.” In his effort to corral the puppies, Duff slipped on the muddy rushes and fell on top of Mairead and the puppies.

Mairead laughed even harder at this. Oren grabbed Duff by the neck of his léine and pulled him off. “I ought to—”