A Stockingful of Joy by Susan King Justine Dare Mary Jo Putney Jill Barnett
Book: A Stockingful of Joy by Susan King Justine Dare Mary Jo Putney Jill Barnett
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The old bard played a tune on his wire-strung harp to keep time with the spirited rhythms of the drum and pipe. Clapping and singing began among the MacDonalds who watched, howling with glee as the guisers pranced and chanted, tumbled and cavorted.
Catriona watched, her attention captured by the music and antics. The group of guisers included children, but that was not unusual. The smallest child, robed like the rest, was lifted and passed among the older lads; guisers traditionally celebrated the youngest among them as a symbol of luck.
Any household on New Year's Eve and on Twelfth Night would welcome a group of guisers, both as light-hearted entertainment and as a means of clearing away lingering evil spirits. Catriona sighed, watching the performers, and thought of Kenneth, who had come to her house on New Year's Eve, and had vowed to bring her good luck. But she would not let him attempt it, fearing what her uncle and Parian might do to a Fraser in their midst.
Now the guisers began a mock battle, initiated by one of the smaller lads, who kept tripping on the hem of his voluminous robe, raising hearty laughs from the men watching. He fought a "bull" in the form of the tallest lad, who wore an animal hide that covered his head and torso, with deer antlers fixed to his head. Beneath the hide, Catriona saw a red-and-green MacDonald plaid, and long, muscled legs cased in deerskin boots.
The comical battle continued between the roaring "bull" and the robed little hunter, who bravely climbed on his quarry's back and rode him around the hall. Then Catriona sat up abruptly.
She had seen those deer-skin boots before; just yesterday she had watched a pair of strong, agile hands lace them, hands that later had loved her into ecstasy. Chills cascaded down her spine. She narrowed her eyes and watched more carefully.
Her uncle chuckled beside her, enjoying the simple, amusing battle. "Look at that brave little one! Punching the bull with his tiny fist—and the bull goes down! And again! Ha-ha!"
Catriona did not laugh. Parian guffawed beside her, and choked on his drink, coughing until he was red-faced. Catriona stared at the bull, and at each guiser in turn. She now recognized every one of them, from Kenneth down to little Tomas, carried by his older brothers. And the hunter, quite clearly, was Mairead.
She frowned, wondering why Kenneth had come to Kilernan Castle, and why he had brought the MacGhille children. She twisted her hands in her lap anxiously and watched the antics.
The little hunter won the battle, but the fallen bull sprang to life again. He chased the guisers from the hall—and perhaps to safety if trouble began, Catriona thought—but for one older lad; Patrick, she guessed. The bull ran, roaring, around the hall, with this guiser in pursuit, banging on the drum.
They came to the table where Catriona sat with her uncle and Parian. The white-robed guiser, Patrick, his face painted green and black, bowed low. "Queen of Twelfth Night," he said, "your wish is ours to fulfill. Whatever you want shall be yours. Who shall be your king? Who shall rule your hall?"
Catriona glanced at him and at her kinsmen, and at the bull, whose face and torso were covered in the shapeless animal hide. She straightened.
"What better king for a Twelfth Night Queen than a bull who cannot be defeated, even in death?" she said. "Surely he is an enchanted king from some magical land." She held out her hand to the bull. Beside her, Parian sputtered a protest, and Hugh chortled with laughter, guzzling his drink.
Kenneth bowed low in acceptance, snorting and pawing the ground. He came closer and shifted until he stood between her and Hugh MacDonald. She could smell the stale animal hide, and saw his hand, long-fingered and strong, at his belt. He wore a red plaid, borrowed, she guessed, from the children; his own blue-and-green tartan would be recognized here as a Fraser weave.
"And who shall rule your hall?" Patrick asked.
She
The old bard played a tune on his wire-strung harp to keep time with the spirited rhythms of the drum and pipe. Clapping and singing began among the MacDonalds who watched, howling with glee as the guisers pranced and chanted, tumbled and cavorted.
Catriona watched, her attention captured by the music and antics. The group of guisers included children, but that was not unusual. The smallest child, robed like the rest, was lifted and passed among the older lads; guisers traditionally celebrated the youngest among them as a symbol of luck.
Any household on New Year's Eve and on Twelfth Night would welcome a group of guisers, both as light-hearted entertainment and as a means of clearing away lingering evil spirits. Catriona sighed, watching the performers, and thought of Kenneth, who had come to her house on New Year's Eve, and had vowed to bring her good luck. But she would not let him attempt it, fearing what her uncle and Parian might do to a Fraser in their midst.
Now the guisers began a mock battle, initiated by one of the smaller lads, who kept tripping on the hem of his voluminous robe, raising hearty laughs from the men watching. He fought a "bull" in the form of the tallest lad, who wore an animal hide that covered his head and torso, with deer antlers fixed to his head. Beneath the hide, Catriona saw a red-and-green MacDonald plaid, and long, muscled legs cased in deerskin boots.
The comical battle continued between the roaring "bull" and the robed little hunter, who bravely climbed on his quarry's back and rode him around the hall. Then Catriona sat up abruptly.
She had seen those deer-skin boots before; just yesterday she had watched a pair of strong, agile hands lace them, hands that later had loved her into ecstasy. Chills cascaded down her spine. She narrowed her eyes and watched more carefully.
Her uncle chuckled beside her, enjoying the simple, amusing battle. "Look at that brave little one! Punching the bull with his tiny fist—and the bull goes down! And again! Ha-ha!"
Catriona did not laugh. Parian guffawed beside her, and choked on his drink, coughing until he was red-faced. Catriona stared at the bull, and at each guiser in turn. She now recognized every one of them, from Kenneth down to little Tomas, carried by his older brothers. And the hunter, quite clearly, was Mairead.
She frowned, wondering why Kenneth had come to Kilernan Castle, and why he had brought the MacGhille children. She twisted her hands in her lap anxiously and watched the antics.
The little hunter won the battle, but the fallen bull sprang to life again. He chased the guisers from the hall—and perhaps to safety if trouble began, Catriona thought—but for one older lad; Patrick, she guessed. The bull ran, roaring, around the hall, with this guiser in pursuit, banging on the drum.
They came to the table where Catriona sat with her uncle and Parian. The white-robed guiser, Patrick, his face painted green and black, bowed low. "Queen of Twelfth Night," he said, "your wish is ours to fulfill. Whatever you want shall be yours. Who shall be your king? Who shall rule your hall?"
Catriona glanced at him and at her kinsmen, and at the bull, whose face and torso were covered in the shapeless animal hide. She straightened.
"What better king for a Twelfth Night Queen than a bull who cannot be defeated, even in death?" she said. "Surely he is an enchanted king from some magical land." She held out her hand to the bull. Beside her, Parian sputtered a protest, and Hugh chortled with laughter, guzzling his drink.
Kenneth bowed low in acceptance, snorting and pawing the ground. He came closer and shifted until he stood between her and Hugh MacDonald. She could smell the stale animal hide, and saw his hand, long-fingered and strong, at his belt. He wore a red plaid, borrowed, she guessed, from the children; his own blue-and-green tartan would be recognized here as a Fraser weave.
"And who shall rule your hall?" Patrick asked.
She
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