The MacTavish Croft
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"She was the love of my life," Duncan said simply. "And she's gone." His cheeks were wet, and the still tender skin felt the track of each tear.
Ellen reached up with the corner of her plaid and wiped away his tears, as a mother would do. "She's not gone, Duncan." She laid her hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "She's here with you, always, carried next to your heart." More tears welled up and spilled over. She did not wipe them with her plaid this time, but kissed them away gently, then pulled back to look at him. "And you'll never forget her."
Duncan looked into her eyes and saw her own tears, and the pain and anguish that slowly darkened into something else. His own eyes were reflected in hers, and they darkened as well. They moved toward each other.
She tasted of honey and herbs, and the coolness of her lips soon warmed under the heat of his own. Duncan's hand reached up to the back of her neck, burying itself under the warmth of her hair, pulling her closer. She came willingly, her hands resting on his shoulders. Then the sadness overcame the sweetness, and Duncan pulled back, shaking his head. "This isn't..."
"Yes," she said, "it is," and kissed him again, softly. Her hands slipped around to his neck, and Duncan wrapped his arm around her. The sweetness was still there.
She pulled back from the kiss, and her fingers twined in the softness of his hair, combing it through her fingers. His eyes were intent upon her, but they were still sad. "Duncan?" she asked hesitantly. "Do you want..."
He could not deny it. Even though he knew it was wrong, even though the Church told him it was a sin. But the Church had had no place for Debra, no place for his love. "Aye, Ellen, I do. But with Debra..." Duncan cleared his throat, "I never..."
"Ah, Duncan," Ellen said softly. "You never shared that with your love?"
He looked away and could not answer.
Ellen rested her hands on his shoulders again as she knelt in front of him. "I am not Debra, Duncan, and I cannot know the love that was between you and her, but this we can share, and tenderness." She brushed away the tear that lingered on his cheek, and followed the line of his jaw down to the pulse that throbbed in his throat.
"Ellen..." he began.
"Hush, Duncan." She laid a finger on his lips. "It will be all right." And it was.
She replaced her finger with her lips and kissed him again, softly, gently. She waited until she felt him kiss her back before she took his hands in hers. She did not just hold his hands; she caressed them, stroked them, felt the strength and the gentleness there, the power and the tenderness.
She pulled her head back and looked at him, then brought his hand to her lips. She closed her eyes and placed kisses on the palm of his hand, on the sensitive spot on the inside of his wrist. She rubbed her cheek against his hand, and was pleased when Duncan caressed her face in return and tilted her face up to him again.
Duncan bent his head to kiss her, banishing all thoughts of sin and Robert and death and the Church from his mind. He did not want to think of Debra either. She was gone forever, and he did not want to remember. He did not want to think. Ellen was here, and he was here, and that was all that mattered. That, and the warmth of her lips beneath his, and the feel and the touch and the scent of her.
He kissed her more urgently, the warmth increasing to heat, and she opened her mouth to him. He put his left arm around her, pulling her closer, and the kiss deepened.
Ellen pulled away shakily and touched his cheek. She didn't fancy lying down on the floor. "Come," she said, standing and taking him by the hand, "come with me."
Duncan stood slowly, suddenly unsure. But Ellen kissed him again with a fierce abandoned joy, and his doubts faded.
Ellen led him to his bed, unwilling to go to the bed which she had shared with William. She stepped into his arms and they kissed by the bedside, while Ellen wondered how best to proceed. She had been virgin when she married William; she had taken no chances of a bastard child. William had been virgin too, or near enough, save for a few brief tumbles some years back. Together they had learned the secrets of each other's bodies; together they had found the way to love.
But Duncan was a stranger to her, and probably a stranger to love as well. She suspected that Duncan had much the same experience as William had had, though he obviously knew how to kiss. And she and Duncan both had a great deal to learn about each other, so perhaps it would not be so different after all. She might guide him at first, just a little.
She pulled back from the kiss and traced the line of his cheek again, then her hand followed his neck down to his right shoulder. "Does your arm still pain you?"
"Aye, a little," Duncan admitted.
"Then let me help." Ellen unbuckled his belt and placed it on the ledge next to the bed. His plaid hung loosely around him now; its folds hanging free. She reached up and unpinned the brooch at his shoulder and took the weight of the heavy wool from him, leaving him clad only in his sark. She folded the cloth neatly and placed it under the bed. When she turned to him again, she paused a moment, enjoying looking at him, enjoying being with him. "Duncan," she said as she looked into his eyes and reached up to caress his face once again, "you are beautiful."
Even in the dim light she could see the pleased if embarrassed look of surprise on his face. She could use words, then, to help them be more comfortable, to help them learn about each other. "Sit you down," she said, knowing him to be still weakened from his illness. She stood before him as he sat on the edge of the bed, holding his hands in her own.
"You are beautiful," she repeated and kissed him again. She kissed his mouth; she kissed the hollows under his cheekbones; she kissed the length of his eyebrows, smoothing down the unruly hairs there with her lips. She kissed his closed eyelids, the tip of his nose, and then she kissed his mouth again. With each kiss she murmured to him, saying his name, telling him of the softness of his skin, of the beauty and strength she saw in him, of the warmth of his lips beneath her own.
Duncan sat quietly, feeling her tender touch and hearing her words, and the cold frozen place in his heart started to thaw.
Ellen let go of his hands then, and did what she had been longing to do. His hair was soft and curled around her fingers as she brushed it away from his face. "Your hair is so soft," she said in wonderment, feeling the smoothness beneath her fingertips, "like combed lamb's wool." She leaned forward to kiss him again, still soft, still sweet.
As they kissed, Duncan reached his hand around to the nape of her neck and started to loosen the braid of her hair. The plaiting was too intricate for him to manage one-handed, and he pulled his head back from hers. "Turn around," he said softly, and she did.
She could feel warmth of his body close behind her as his fingers worked at their task, his right hand still awkward, but managing to untwine the braid. His fingers slowly separated the shining strands and laid them out along her shoulders and back. Her hair hung down almost to her waist, a shimmering curtain in the dim light. He took her by the hand and turned her to face him once again, then drew her closer so that she stood between his legs.
Duncan reached out his hand to lift a lock of her hair from where it curled on her shoulder. "And your hair is smooth, like the ribbons from a fairing." He drew the strand to his lips and then rubbed his cheek along it.
Ellen was pleased to hear him speak. She combed her fingers down through his hair, and spread it out upon his shoulders. Her hands continued, feeling the solid curve of muscle and bone in his shoulders under the rough cloth of his sark, then slowing at the smooth skin of his arms. His right arm was still bandaged, and she placed both hands on his left forearm. She ran the backs of her fingers down from his elbow to his wrist, then turned her hands over and went back up. Her cool fingertips just brushed the subtle curves there, the muscles and tendons of his forearm. "I like to touch you, Duncan," she said softly, then looked at him. His eyes were very dark in the dim light, but she could see the warmth within. "I like to look at you."
Duncan swallowed hard, then caught both her hands in his as they traveled down again. He brought her hands to his lips and kissed them, first the back of one, then the back of the other. "I like to touch you too, Ellen."
She caught her breath at his words and his touch, then said, "And I like it when you touch me." Ellen gently removed her hands from his. Her plaid was not pinned at one shoulder, but gathered at the waist in front and back. She unbuckled her belt and laid it next to his, then stepped close to him again. "I have been wanting you to touch me."
Duncan looked at her, his eyes dark and intent.
She said very softly now, "I have been waiting for you to touch me."
Duncan's hand went to her shoulder, and it was a simple matter to slide the plaid off on one side, then the other, so that she wore only her loose blouse and skirt. He caught the plaid as it fell, and she took it from him and folded it, then laid it over his.
She stood before him and placed both hands on his shoulders. "I have been wanting to touch you too." Her hands slid downward, palms flat against his chest, and then she slid one of her hands under his sark, through the lacing open at the throat. His skin was warm, and she ran her fingers through the softness of the curls on his chest.
Duncan caught his breath as her cool hand grew warmer against his skin. He could feel her thighs pressing lightly on the inside of his own as she stood before him, and he wanted to feel all of her against him. He stood up and pulled her to him, holding her close while his lips sought hers.
Their earlier kisses had been gentle and tentative, sweet and warm, but this kiss was a kiss of hunger and passion. His hand tangled in the warmth of her hair and pulled her head back. He could still taste the faint saltiness of his own tears on her lips.
Ellen opened her mouth to him, surrendering to him, giving to him all that she was. There was no room for anything save the strength of his arms about her and heat from him that warmed her. She had not wanted to rush him, but she did not think either of them could wait much longer. She arched her back, pressing herself hard against him, and felt the answering pressure against her. Definitely not much longer.
She pulled back from the kiss shakily and untied the string of her skirt. She did not think Duncan would mind if she took the lead. Her skirt fell to the ground, and she stepped gracefully from the pool of cloth around her feet. Her blouse was long and covered her to mid-thigh. She gazed at Duncan, watching him, watching his eyes. His gaze flickered down her body and then back up to her face. The hunger in his eyes brought a flush to her cheeks. "I like you to look at me, Duncan," she said. She grasped the hem of her blouse and pulled it over her head in a swift movement, then let the blouse fall to the floor.
Duncan forgot to breathe. He had seen her before when she bathed, but now she stood before him knowingly, naked and proud, clothed only in her glorious hair and the fierce joy and hunger in her eyes. And she had said she liked him to look at her, so he did.
When he looked into her face again, Ellen moved into his arms, grateful for his warmth about her, for the air was chill. They kissed again, and his hands moved unhindered on her body, following the slopes of her shoulders, tracing the curve of her spine, gently cupping the smooth globes of her backside that fit so neatly into his hands.
"Ellen..." he muttered in anguish when she pressed against him.
She smiled into his eyes, and carefully kept her gaze on his face as
her hands went to the hem of his sark and drew the garment over his head and eased his wounded arm out of his sleeve. She did not think he was quite ready for her to look at him that way, though she wanted to. "It's cold," she said as she saw him shiver, though she suspected that was not the only reason.
"Aye," Duncan agreed huskily, and climbed onto the bed, lying on his side and holding the blanket open for her. She joined him, and he tucked the blanket in around her shoulders.
Ellen did not think the blanket would stay there very long, but the warmth of it was welcome now. "Thank you," she said, and moved closer to kiss him lightly. The warmth from his body was even more welcome than the blanket, and she moved closer still. They lay on their sides facing each other. They were not quite touching, but she could feel the heat from him all along the length of her body. She laid her hand upon his chest. There was a tenseness there that spoke of pain, and she realized that he was lying on his wounded side. Stubborn fool, she thought fondly, and pushed him gently so that he lay on his back. She moved with him as he went and lay partially on top of him, her leg bent slightly and lying between his own.
Duncan took a deep breath and lay very still for a moment, getting used to the silken feel of her skin against his own. Her hair felt silken too as it lay over his chest. Then she moved, and her hair caressed him, floating like the touch of a warm summer breeze across the loch, leaving ripples behind that spread to the farthest shore.
Ellen felt his stillness and then his quivering, and she moved quickly to kiss him, her hand moving downward from his chest to the smooth sculpted lines of his belly. Ellen said softly to him, "I like to touch you, Duncan." She kissed him swiftly and repeated what she had first said to him. "You are beautiful." Her hand moved lower.
Duncan groaned as the ripples rebounded from the edges and met again at his center, the ripples increasing to waves as she touched him. "Ellen," he said hoarsely, "I cannot wait ..."
"Aye, Duncan," she agreed breathlessly, moving to kneel above him, "I cannot wait either." The blanket slid from her shoulders.
Duncan felt somewhat surprised at her words; he had not thought women could feel this way too. Then he forgot to be surprised, forgot to think, forgot to breathe. He could feel her warmth directly above him: exquisitely agonizing, deliciously painful. He surged upward, seeking somehow to join with that warmth, to join with her, to not be alone anymore.
Ellen gasped as he moved and she felt him within her. It was different; he was different, and it was good. "Duncan," she said softly, wonderingly, then she kissed him again as she slowly took him inside herself.
Duncan's eyes closed as he felt himself being surrounded by warmth. He was afraid to move and unable not to. He moved slowly at first, cautiously, then Ellen began to move with him.
"Yes," she murmured to him. "Yes, Duncan, yes." Their movements grew faster, and Ellen whispered, "Hold me, please, Duncan."
He put his hands on her hips, and they began to move urgently then, feeling each other's heartbeats and the smooth slide of skin, conscious only of a driving need to join together, to move together, to be together.
"Ellen..." Duncan was breathing in great ragged gasps. "I can't..."
"Now, Duncan," she answered, her own voice hoarse and breathless. "Now!"
He cried out as he pulled her closer to him, pulled her on to him, and she cried out too as she felt him surge upward inside her and felt the heat from him deep within her. They did not feel alone anymore.
~~~~~
Later they lay quietly together, her head pillowed on his shoulder. His left hand stroked her hair idly, feeling its silk between his fingers. They did not look at each other.
Finally she asked, "What thoughts are in your mind?"
His hand stilled, and she could feel the sudden wariness in him. He shook his head. "'Tis nought."
She lifted her head and looked at him. She knew better. "Are you thinking of her?"
"Aye," he said reluctantly. "How did you know?"
She gave a small sigh. "I suppose I know you were thinking of her, because -- I am thinking of him." She looked suddenly lost and uncertain.
Duncan started a little at that, and after a moment, asked "Were you thinking of him -- earlier?"
"No, I confess I was not. And, were you? Thinking of her?"
"Nay." He considered the matter. "I do not think I was thinking much at all."
She gave a small snort of laughter which sounded like a cry and laid her head down on his shoulder.
After a moment Duncan asked, "Do you -- do you think they mind?"
She lifted her head again and looked at him.
"Us being together?" he said.
"No," she said definitely. "I think they even wanted us to find each other." She blinked back sudden tears. "Perhaps they knew how lonely we would be without them, and so they led us to each other."
"Do you truly believe that?"
She lifted her head. "I believe that William loved me, and that he wanted me to be happy. I do not believe he would begrudge me this, now that he is gone and we will never..." She could not finish.
She started again. "We are so alone, Duncan." She shook her head slightly. "It is not right, to be so alone. And when a man and a woman are together this way, 'tis more than just their bodies that can be shared. We can share our thoughts, our feelings, our..."
"Our hearts?" he asked roughly. "I can not share that. I have none left."
Her hand laid gently on his chest. "I feel your heart. It beats still, though she is gone. Just as mine beats, though William is gone."
Duncan looked away uneasily. "I feel guilty for being with you when I'm thinking of her, and I feel guilty for loving her and thinking of you."
Ellen laid a gentle hand on his chin and turned his face to hers. "There is no place for guilt in love, Duncan," she said. "Debra's in your heart, as I said. Nothing and no one will ever replace her." She considered him carefully. "You do not know where life will lead you, Duncan. You may find that you will love another."
He shook his head angrily, but she persisted. "Duncan, there is room for one woman in your life at a time, one woman in your arms. But there is room for more than one in your heart. Do not reject the love that comes to you." It was her turn to look away. "You do not know how long it will last."
This time it was Duncan who turned her to face him, and Duncan who kissed away the tears.
All through that night, they made love and slept and talked and made love again, as Duncan discovered the wonder and the power of love and Ellen learned it anew. They made the love between them, created it, built it with their bodies and their words and their hands in the whispered darkness, until they slept together in each other's arms.
~~~~~
Duncan woke, alone. Except of course for Doreen, who stared at him across the cot, chewing on her hay. He rolled off the sleeping ledge and wrapped his breacan about him. It was cold this morning; his breath showed in white puffs as he moved about the cot.
Ellen came in as he was adding a block of cut peat to the fire. She shook snowflakes from her shawl and went straight to the hearth, holding her hands out for warmth above the flames.
Duncan stood uneasily, not sure what to say or where to put his hands.
Ellen glanced up then and saw the uncertainty on his face. He seemed so young. She knew that Duncan was a man of great strength and also of great feelings, and she knew that what she said and did right now would stay with him all his days. She hesitated, unsure of what to do.
Duncan saw her hesitation, her reluctance to speak, and turned away, his hands hanging loosely at his sides. It had been a mistake then, a night she regretted. He would leave today, and start for his village. He walked over to his bed, the bed they had shared last night, and stared dully at the wall.
Ellen bit her lip and followed him. Even if she wasn't sure what to say, she knew she could not let him walk away. She came to stand behind him, and slipped her arms about his waist. She felt him stiffen in surprise, then relax slowly. After a moment his warm hands covered her cold ones. She knew she would have to speak first. The weather should be a safe enough topic. "'Tis cold outside," she said. "There's snow on the ground."
"Aye," he agreed after a moment, "and your hands are cold as well."
"I'm glad you are here to warm them," she said, pressing close against his back.
He let go of her hands then and turned to face her. "Are you, Ellen?" he asked. "Are you truly?"
"Yes," she said definitely, taking his hands in hers once again, holding them close against her heart. "Truly."
He searched her face, looking for hints of regret. Ellen returned his gaze steadfastly, her dark blue eyes calm and serene, her lips slightly parted, her cheeks flushed with cold. Duncan smiled then, a smile that reached his eyes as well as his mouth, though the traces of sadness remained.
Ellen smiled back, a brave smile, and reached up to trace the line where tears would fall, the line she had kissed last night. "I would have liked to have woken up with you this morning, Duncan, but you slept late, and I needed..."
"Aye, I know," he interrupted, his smile turning into a grin, "you needed to tend to the chickens."
She nodded, and added, "And Doreen," at the same time as Duncan said, "And the sheep," their words running together.
He did laugh then, a hearty chuckle, and Ellen laughed with him, softly. She was glad to have heard him, to have made him laugh. Her smile faded as she reached up to smooth his eyebrows again, and she continued caressing his face. He was still unsure though; the night of passion seemed far off in the light of day. She should have stayed in bed, and tended to the chickens later. But it had snowed last night, and Ellen knew if the chickens were too cold or not fed regularly in this weather, there would be no more eggs, and precious little to eat this winter. Food was more important.
But the day was still young, and the animals had been tended to. She smiled at him again, and laid her palm against his cheek, feeling the rough stubble of his beard. "Are my hands still cold?" She knew they were; he felt very warm indeed.
He nodded, but said nothing.
Ellen realized she would have to be more direct. She tilted her head to one side and said, "Can you think of a place for me to warm them?"
Duncan's mouth opened, then shut, as several possibilities occurred to him. He needed no more encouragement.
~~~~~
They broke their fast late that day, sitting close together and eating porridge by the fire. Ellen finished eating first and started carding wool.
Duncan ate slowly, and pushed the last few bites around the bottom of the bowl. "Ellen..." he began.
"Yes?" she said, her hands not slowing their steady motion as she turned the wool into fleece.
He looked up at her then, the dark shadow of his beard accentuating the darkness of his eyes. "What if...what if there should be a child?"
Her hands paused in mid-stroke, then continued pulling and turning the wool. At least he had asked. But it was a fine time to think of such things. Her mother had warned her of this. 'He'll not think of any thing but one thing on his way into your bed, daughter, but you'd best be. It's a fair bit easier to get a babe into your womb than it is to get one out.'
She had thought of it, before she asked him of Debra last night. She knew she had no claim on Duncan, and she knew that as a widow alone she had no right to the land. The croft had been given to William, and to William's heirs. If she should get with child now, then who was to say that the father was not William? Except herself. And Duncan, but she knew she would probably never see him again. When Duncan left she could stay here, and the land could still be hers, even when William's cousins came next summer.
She looked at him then, wondering what he expected her to say. She did not expect him to say what he said next.
"We've shared a meal and a fire, Ellen." He glanced quickly and furtively across the room. "And...a bed." He looked at her, uncomfortable, yet serious. "We can be considered married, by the common law." It was his duty to provide for his children, to protect his woman.
She said nothing, merely stared at him, and her hands ceased their carding.
Duncan flushed under her shocked gaze, and he looked down at his feet. "If you wish it," he said quietly, "I do not mean to...If you do not want me..." he trailed off miserably.
Ellen set the carders on the table and went to him quickly. "Duncan," she said urgently, taking the bowl of porridge from him and putting it on the table, then holding his hands between her own. "'Tis not that I do not wish to, or that I do not want you, but..."
He was not looking at her, and she knelt before him, looking up into his face. "Duncan," she repeated, and he finally looked at her. She touched his cheek gently. "I do want you, you must know that. Especially after last night, and," she smiled at him, "this morning."
He smiled back then, a little.
"And it's grand of you to ask. I never expected it." She felt his hands stiffen under hers in surprise. An honorable man indeed, this Duncan MacLeod. "But," she shook her head a little and her smile faded, "William's been dead less than a fortnight."
His eyebrows rose and he looked over at the bed pointedly.
It was her turn to be embarrassed. "I know, but marriage is for life, Duncan. We've only known each other a few days. I do not even know your parents' names. And to get married just because of a babe..." She shook her head again. "'Tis not a good reason." She looked at him. "There may not even be a babe."
He nodded, slowly. "And if there is?" he persisted.
"If there is...By then we will know each other better, maybe, and we can talk of it then."
"I want to talk of it now, Ellen." To lie together in lust was a sin. He had enough on his conscience without that as well. Last night he had, and this morning as well, but he could not continue to do so. He held her hands tightly. "And it need not be for life, not yet."
"A year and a day, Duncan?" she asked softly, referring to hand-fasting, the common-law marriage that could either be dissolved after a year and a day, or sanctified by the Church into legal and binding marriage.
"A year and a day, Ellen," he agreed, his voice strong and sure.
She nodded and met his gaze, her eyes bright, then looked down at their hands, still tightly intertwined. She gripped his hands strongly and said, "Then we are hand-fasted." She blinked back sudden tears. "I thank you, Duncan. You did not need to..."
"Aye, Ellen, I did." And he gripped her hands tightly, and kissed her, thoroughly and sweetly. He smiled at her then and said, "Ian and Mary."
"What?"
"My parents' names. Ian and Mary MacLeod."
She smiled back and replied in turn, "Janet and Donald Hawson." This time she was the one to
kiss him.
~~~~~
The day before the winter solstice dawned bright and clear, a welcome time of sunshine on these short winter days. A rare deep snow had fallen, and Ellen and Duncan bundled warm in their sheepskins and went walking. The stream was hidden under snow, a sunken path shadowed blue in the whiteness. They crossed the log bridge and walked into the woods, the branches laden with new snow.
Ellen laid her hand on the trunk of a great oak and closed her eyes, feeling the roughness of the bark and the life asleep within.
Duncan watched her, seeing the strength she drew from the tree, from the land. He waited until she opened her eyes and smiled at him, then they walked on hand in hand. "You love this place, do you not?" he asked.
"Aye, I do," she said. "My land is a part of me, Duncan, it's my home. And it's not just the land. It's a place of my own, a place where I can say, 'This is mine,' and have no man tell me to clear off."
"Clear off?" he asked.
Ellen looked off into the darkness of the snow-covered pines. He had told her that his father was the chieftain of his clan, and she knew that he expected to be chieftain himself some day. He had lived all his life in the same village, the same clan, a life of security and love. She glanced up at him. "My parents were crofters, Duncan," she said in explanation.
He looked at her blankly.
Maybe the clan MacLeod did things differently than the clan Campbell.
Ellen tried again. "I was born a Hawson of the clan Campbell. You were born a MacLeod of the clan MacLeod. Do you ken what that means?" She could see that he did not.
"My parents owned nothing, Duncan. Save the clothes they stood up in, and right rags were they. I was fourteen when my father fell sick and died. The tacksman told us to clear off the next day, my brother and sister and I and my mother, and her with a babe on the way." The clear crisp air was invigorating now, but she remembered a time when the snow and the cold were not at all welcome.
"He cleared you off your land?" Duncan asked, aghast.
"It wasn't our land, Duncan. We were crofters."
"But still, to do such a thing..." His sense of clan responsibility was outraged. "It was not right."
"No, it was not right, but it happened." They walked on for a bit, and she continued, "It was about this time of year, a little later, after Christmas. It was cold that year, and we wandered the lanes, trying to get back to my mother's kin, hoping to find someone to take us in during the winter." No one had, not for long. It had been a poor harvest that year; food was scarce. Her younger sister had died first, then her mother in childbed, and the babe with her. Ellen had tried to keep David with her, but no one was willing to take in two children. At least David was eight and could work for a living. She had left him with a tanner in a village, then found lodging for herself with a seamstress in another village nearby.
Her jaw tightened, and she said with great determination, "I'll not be a tenant again."
They walked on in silence until they reached the stone cairn near the great gray rock. The cairn was covered with a blanket of snow, and Duncan held her in his arms while they looked at the cold pile of stones.
"Where is Debra buried?" she asked, knowing he was thinking of her now.
Duncan was silent for a moment. "On a hillside near my village." His voice was rough. "I marked the site with a headstone before I left this fall. Likely there is snow on her grave as well."
"They're not there, Duncan," she reminded him. "They're with us, always, next to our hearts."
"Aye." He held her tightly against him, and after a long moment he smiled down at her. "I'm glad you're here too, Ellen, next to my heart."
She hugged him back fiercely. "And I am glad of you as well."
They walked back to the cot together, and all the long cold nights of winter they kept each other
warm.
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Lammas, 1619
Oban, Scotland
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In the early spring had Duncan returned to Glenfinnan, but he had returned to Ellen now and again when he could. That summer Ian and Duncan had gone to Dunvegan, for a gathering of the clan. From there they had sailed to Oban for the Lammas-tide fair, a grand event with many clans. Duncan had never seen so many people.
The sun was warm, and the pennants over the trading booths fluttered in the sea breeze. Duncan pushed his way through the crowds, stopping at a booth that sold jewelry and ornaments. He did not look at the bracelets. The trader noted his interest in the hair clasps and came to stand nearby.
"It is excellent work," the trader said, his bright blue eyes not missing the elaborate brooch on Duncan's shoulder and the full sporran at his waist. The young lad had some money then, and a lass he wished to spend it on. Good. "A family of fine jewelers makes it, my own uncle and aunt."
Duncan made a non-committal grunt. He knew better than to trust the word of a peddler touting his own wares, but the work was indeed excellent, the fine wire intricately looped and twisted.
"Perhaps this one," the peddler suggested, holding up a silver butterfly with thin blue stones set in its wings.
Duncan glanced at it, then shook his head. A butterfly would not do.
"This?" A flower this time, green and golden.
No. Then he saw it, near the corner of the board. "That one," he said, pointing. The peddler nodded and handed it to him. The work was delicate, the silver strands outlining the graceful shape of a doe, her legs outstretched in full flight against the filigree background of leaves and trees. The strands were intertwined and overlaid, and he could not always see where the doe stopped and the leaves began.
"You have excellent taste," said the peddler. "My aunt has made no other piece like it." He named a price which made Duncan blink, but there was enough in his sporran to cover the cost, and it was worth it. He placed the hairclasp in his sporran and imagined how it would look shining against the deep auburn of her hair.
He wandered about for a bit more, enjoying watching a wrestling match and a juggler. He started to go look for his father, then turned around again sharply, treading heavily on the foot of a red-haired man of the MacDonald clan.
"Watch yourself, you great git!" the man said angrily, shoving him back with a hand to his chest.
Ordinarily, Duncan would have responded to such provocation, but he had other things on his mind. "Your pardon," he said hurriedly, giving a quick nod of his head, and then moved off through the crowds.
The MacDonald man stared after him, disappointed.
Duncan moved more carefully then, but still quickly, and finally he caught sight of the woman again. She was talking to a dark-haired man in Campbell tartan. She had her back to him, but he could see that she was tall and slender. Her dark green gown followed closely the slim curve of her waist, and her hair was just the color of Ellen's. And it could be, he realized with a thrill of excitement; this was Campbell land. The woman turned slightly, and Duncan felt his heart hammering within his chest. It was indeed Ellen.
He made his way to her, and called out eagerly, "Ellen!"
She lifted her head at the sound of her name and saw him coming, his dark eyes shining and a wide smile lighting up his face. Her eyes widened, and her face flushed. She turned back quickly to her companion and spoke a few words.
By the time Duncan reached her, the man had gone. Duncan's steps slowed, and his smile faded. "Ellen?"
"Duncan!" she said, a little too brightly. "I did not expect to see you here."
"My father and I are visiting," Duncan explained, "trading for kine and sheep." He looked through the crowd, but the man was gone. "Who was that?"
She started walking, and he followed her. "His name is David MacTavish. He's William's cousin. I've known him many years." They were away from the worst part of the crowd now, near a small grove of trees.
Duncan's eyes narrowed; they had been standing closer together than cousins by marriage usually do. "What does he want with you?"
Ellen did not answer, but led him into the dappled shade of the trees. It was cooler there, and quieter. She was silent for a moment, then looked straight at him, her arching brows dark against her milk-white skin. "The laird is here at the gathering, and he has said I cannot stay at the croft on my own for another year."
Duncan said slowly, "So to keep your land, you must marry."
"Yes."
He said nothing for a time, until he finally cleared his throat and said, "Ellen, I..."
When he said nothing more she tilted her head to one side and looked at him with her relentlessly logical gaze, deciding that she would have to be the one to speak of it. "Will you leave your clan, to come to live with me?"
"Leave my clan?" He stared at her, aghast. "I'm the chieftain's son; I'm to be chieftain someday. I can not leave."
"No, you can not leave," she agreed, hiding any trace of disappointment she felt. "Just as I can not leave my home to join you."
"You can," he objected. "You can come, and be with me."
She shook her head. "I will not go into your clan, Duncan, without any of my own kin to turn to."
"Why not?" he asked, bewildered. "If -- if we were to marry, to make the hand-fasting binding, then you will be one of the clan, part of my family."
"Will I?" Her eyes were calm and resigned. "You are a chieftain's son, Duncan. I am the daughter of penniless crofters. Your parents will not wish us to marry."
"They will not stand in our way!"
"No," she admitted, "perhaps they would not." She knew the depth of love between Duncan and his parents. "But they would not be happy about it." He was not willing to admit it, she saw, but he knew it was true. She asked pointedly, "Have you told them about me?"
He flushed and started to speak, then shook his head.
"We have both kept silent about the hand-fasting, Duncan." And for good reasons, but she must convince him further of the rightness of her decision. "And if -- when -- you died, where would I go? We've been together for more than half a year, Duncan, and there's never been a sign of a child. There was no child with William either, and it may be I'm barren." A shadow of sadness passed over her face, but she continued, "I ken well enough what happens to a barren widow with no kin of her own and no land or kine. I'll not live somewhere on sufferance."
"It needn't be like that," Duncan said.
Her jaw tightened. "But it could be like that, and I'll not take the chance." She knew what it could be like. "I need a place of my own, land I can lay claim to and have no one turn me out." Her expression softened, and she stepped closer to him and said gently, "And I'll not be married to you without all of your love."
"Ellen," he protested, "I am willing..."
"Willing to marry me?" she finished. He nodded, and she shook her head slowly. "Nay, Duncan. You should not marry 'til you find a woman who makes you more than just 'willing.' You need to want it, want her, with your whole heart, and I understand that you cannot give me that."
She was right, and he knew it. Duncan turned away, breathing deeply, seeing the wisdom of her decision even as he hated it. "So what will you do?" he asked finally.
"David has asked me to marry him, come Christmas tide."
Duncan felt his breath stop in his throat. His next words were controlled, but they were hardly calm. "And what did you say?"
"I did not answer him yet." She took a step toward him hesitantly. "I needed to talk to you first."
"And you would marry -- him?" Duncan turned back to look at her and put all the scorn he could into the last word.
"David is a good man," she said defiantly, tilting her head to look him in the eye. "He's a brave fighter, a hard worker, and a kind and gentle man to me."
There was an anger and a jealousy deep within him; his voice was quiet yet fiercely intent. "And a good lover?"
She blushed deeply and bit her lip. Her voice was equally quiet and intense. "We have not..." She took a deep breath and looked away. "We are still hand-fasted, Duncan, you and I, for the year and the day. I wanted -- to tell you, before..."
"Before what?" he demanded. "Before you married him?" He stepped closer to her, his arms at his sides and his fists clenched, his face only a handspan away from hers. "Before you bedded him?" She looked up at that, her face white and set, her eyes narrowed, but did not reply.
Duncan turned away from her then, inhaling the damp musty scent of ancient leaves. "Does he know why you are willing to marry him?" Duncan asked.
She glared at his back for a moment, then spoke coldly. "Aye, he knows. And what of it?" Her chin lifted stubbornly. "There's many a marriage made for land, Duncan MacLeod, and well you know it. We at least like each other."
He swung around to face her and said scornfully, "You will sell yourself for a piece of dirt." His gaze swept down her insultingly, then went back to her face. "If that's your price now, I was lucky to meet you earlier."
She slapped him then, hard, and he jerked his head back. Her nostrils were pinched white and her eyes blazed blue fire. She spoke carefully, spacing out each word. "My 'price', MacLeod, was your tears, and mine." She blinked quickly, willing herself not to cry. "I should have thought you'd remember that." She turned her back on him and took deep breaths, trembling.
Duncan breathed deeply as well, feeling the rage and the jealousy boiling within him.
When she turned round she saw that his fists were still clenched. Hers were clenched as well. How dare he tell her she was selling herself for her land? He had no idea what it was to be without a family, without a home. He had never wandered hungry in the snow, turned away from every door.
She tried to swallow her hurt and her anger, tried to keep her voice calm and controlled, but she looked him up and down, just as insultingly as he had done to her. "Do you suppose this is how Robert felt? When he came back, and found that Debra was in love with you?"
He blanched at that, and the red mark of her hand stood out sharply on his cheek.
She continued, "This is for sure the way he acted: blind with rage, selfish, destroying the very thing he said he cared about." She saw how the words tore at him, but she could not stop herself from continuing. "I had thought you a better man than this, Duncan."
It was worse than the slap; her words burned into his soul. The rage and jealousy left him, replaced by shame and loss and bewildered hurt. His hands trembled, and he sat down suddenly on a fallen log, looking at his feet.
She saw the change come over him, and Ellen felt her own anger turn to compassion. He had looked so hopeful when he saw her, so eager and happy, only to find out that she would wed another. Her mother had told her long ago, 'In a fight with your man, daughter, you must leave him his pride. Call him names, smack him in the noggin wi' a poker if you must, but leave him his pride. Else you'll end up wi' a sorry specimen indeed, and you'll both be the worse for it.' Ellen did not want Duncan to be a sorry specimen; he was a magnificent man, as she very well knew. She had not meant to hurt him so.
She knelt by his side. "Duncan," she said softly, "I am sorry. It's my fault. I should have told you before, but I have not seen you all summer. We have spoken of the land, and what it means to me. And neither of us has spoken of the hand-fasting since we agreed to the year and the day." She took his cold hands between her own and let her tears fall. "I did not mean to hurt you so. What was between us was grand, Duncan, but we both knew it could not last. It meant -- you mean -- a great deal to me, Duncan. You always will."
She waited, watching the tenseness slowly leave his broad shoulders as he accepted what could not be.
Finally he turned to her, and gave a rueful grin. "You'll have your land right enough, and it will serve you well." His voice was husky. "I'd like you to have this from me," he said quietly, and took out the deer hairclasp from his sporran. In the dappled sunlight of the wood it gleamed on his palm.
She drew in a soft breath at the sight of it. "It's lovely, Duncan. But -- I cannot, not now..."
"Aye, you can," he said. "I want you to have it. When I saw it I thought of you." He fastened it with trembling fingers in her hair. It looked just as beautiful as he had thought it would.
"But I have nothing for you," she said in dismay.
And no money for anything either, he knew. He smiled, though he could not keep the sadness from it. "I'll have the memories, Ellen." The smile disappeared, and he said seriously, "Always the memories, carried next to my heart."
They moved closer together, remembering long nights of love, of tears and laughter shared, and kissed gently.
"I'll never forget you, Ellen," he said, stroking her shining hair one last time.
She hugged him tightly, then pulled back, her hands sliding down his arms until her fingers intertwined with his. She stepped back slowly, reluctant to let go. "Nor I you, Duncan. You'll always be next to my heart," she said. "God be wi' ye, Duncan MacLeod," she said, eyes shining bright with unshed tears. She squeezed his hands, then let go suddenly and walked away.
Duncan watched as she left the grove, the dark green of her dress swiftly lost to sight. A sudden gust of wind tugged at her skirts and scattered last year's leaves across her path. High up in an ash tree, a linnet sang, its pure clear notes cascading forth into the summer sky. "God be wi' ye, Ellen."
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END
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AUTHOR'S NOTES
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Lammas is August 1. It is a contraction of "Loaf Mass" and is a harvest festival.
All Soul's Day is November 2nd.
St. Martin's Day in November 11th.
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"God be with you" is now contracted to "Good-bye."
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If you're wondering where Duncan MacLeod ate mushrooms before he met Ellen, read my other story "Hope Forgotten." It should be finished by the fall of 1998. (I hope.)
My story "They Bitterly Weep" also mentions Ellen. It should be available in July of 1998.
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Seeing Duncan MacLeod as a sexually inexperienced 26 year old is a bit hard to accept, I agree. However, he was raised a Catholic Highlander in the early 1600's. Both his culture and his religion strongly discouraged sex before marriage. The laws against pre-marital sex were also enforced.
He was in love with Debra Campbell, who was engaged to his cousin Robert. He had known Debra since he was at least 13, and presumably had been in love with her all through his early twenties. He would not dishonor her or his cousin or his clan by engaging in illicit sexual conduct with her. He says as much in the TV episode. "I'll nae dishonor you, Debra."
Before he got serious about Debra he probably met a happy village girl who tumbled with him in the hay a time or two. But that would not have given him much experience. Besides, Duncan being almost celibate before he was 26 explains why he's been so active these last 400 years. He's simply making up for lost time.
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Other Highlander stories I have written are:
FAERY CHILD - Duncan meets a 16 month old immortal
"Quickenings" - Special Watcher Report on the Physics of Quickenings
http://www.sevenpillarsarabians.com/March/quickenings/html
Both are also available on the HL FicList Archives