The Chieftain's Yule Bride - a Highland Christmas novella (Clan MacKrannan's Secret Traditions #10) Read Online Free
Author: Jonnet Carmichael
of windblown commercial farming gunge on her acres of wholly organic herbs and flowers. A report on new Events bookings from Robbie that omitted the name of Freya Harper because she'd waited until the afternoon to walk in and blow his life apart.
Meetings like this one in the Turret of the East began with a song that Callum was no' expected to join in with. More of a singsong chanting, really, with words in a language so old that none but the few remaining Elders like themselves still knew. It chilled him to his bones to hear it, firing his blood in a fall through the centuries to ancient times and fetching up the spirits of his ancestors and theirs.
"The wisdom of those gone before us be with us now," chanted Robbie and the ladies, suddenly reverting to plain Scots.
"The wisdom of those gone before us be with us now," Callum mumbled. Silence descended as he leaned his hands flat on the table like the others and felt the power of its oak surging through him. A Druid thing, the wood of the Bard. It was at times like this that being a MacKrannan took on new meaning... or reverted to a very old one, truth be told, for every Chief and chieftain in his long line had partaken of this and felt what he did now.
The responsibility was given him at birth. The knowledge of what his clan used to get up to was trained into him. As a newborn he'd been ritually blessed in every water on MacKrannan lands – sea, waterfall and streams – ending up in a bucketload from the well in the castle's courtyard. His learning had been constant as a youth, from a tour of the paintings and the stories that went with them to a tour of the Vault and other numerous chambers deep under the castle, plus a tour of upper rooms and secret passageways he'd never known were there. Come the age of twenty-one he'd been summoned to partake in a few Traditions, and had his eyes opened to some things that would never be in any clan history printed for the public.
Times changed. Even in his own lifetime, the castle had turned from being his family's private home into an upmarket hotel overrun with strangers. The guests would freak out if they knew what pagan rituals had once gone on in the very rooms they slept in.
"Right, folks," Robbie said cheerily, getting down to business. "I'm convinced that the Fair Lass of Monlachan has come to us. The signs were there. Tara was told by her bees of it and Kenzie foresaw her during meditation, all independently confirmed by Gillian with her cloud-divination. Chieftain, you recognized the Fair Lass?"
"I did, from the old portrait done by the Orkney minstrel, though the name you've just called her is unknown to me. Monlachan, you say? Up past Inverness? Can't think of any clan connection to us in that area."
Robbie shook his head. "It's one of those oral legends passed down Bard to Bard, Wisewoman to Wisewoman. The Elders of each generation must look out for her and be sure the painting remains with the clan – or so it is written somewhere in our Books of Tradition, but you'll appreciate I've no' had the chance to go searching in the Vault yet."
"Get on with the history lesson and how it involves me."
It was Tara who spoke next to answer him. The Beekeeper and manager of the Brewery had a quirky smile on as she faced him across the table.
"The Fair Lass of Monlachan is a gift for the Chieftain of MacKrannan. All these generations have passed and you're the chosen one!"
Callum snorted in amazement. "Aye right... with a fiancé in tow and booking for her wedding here in a few weeks?"
The three ladies took a giggling fit like daft wee lassies, and every one of them the wrong side of thirty.
"See now, Chieftain," said Kenzie, struggling to sober up, "why would that matter? She could be intended as a bringer of a prize at the Highland Show for you, or fair weather all next summer, or new double-glazing for the entire castle."
These ladies were better at their jobs than
Meetings like this one in the Turret of the East began with a song that Callum was no' expected to join in with. More of a singsong chanting, really, with words in a language so old that none but the few remaining Elders like themselves still knew. It chilled him to his bones to hear it, firing his blood in a fall through the centuries to ancient times and fetching up the spirits of his ancestors and theirs.
"The wisdom of those gone before us be with us now," chanted Robbie and the ladies, suddenly reverting to plain Scots.
"The wisdom of those gone before us be with us now," Callum mumbled. Silence descended as he leaned his hands flat on the table like the others and felt the power of its oak surging through him. A Druid thing, the wood of the Bard. It was at times like this that being a MacKrannan took on new meaning... or reverted to a very old one, truth be told, for every Chief and chieftain in his long line had partaken of this and felt what he did now.
The responsibility was given him at birth. The knowledge of what his clan used to get up to was trained into him. As a newborn he'd been ritually blessed in every water on MacKrannan lands – sea, waterfall and streams – ending up in a bucketload from the well in the castle's courtyard. His learning had been constant as a youth, from a tour of the paintings and the stories that went with them to a tour of the Vault and other numerous chambers deep under the castle, plus a tour of upper rooms and secret passageways he'd never known were there. Come the age of twenty-one he'd been summoned to partake in a few Traditions, and had his eyes opened to some things that would never be in any clan history printed for the public.
Times changed. Even in his own lifetime, the castle had turned from being his family's private home into an upmarket hotel overrun with strangers. The guests would freak out if they knew what pagan rituals had once gone on in the very rooms they slept in.
"Right, folks," Robbie said cheerily, getting down to business. "I'm convinced that the Fair Lass of Monlachan has come to us. The signs were there. Tara was told by her bees of it and Kenzie foresaw her during meditation, all independently confirmed by Gillian with her cloud-divination. Chieftain, you recognized the Fair Lass?"
"I did, from the old portrait done by the Orkney minstrel, though the name you've just called her is unknown to me. Monlachan, you say? Up past Inverness? Can't think of any clan connection to us in that area."
Robbie shook his head. "It's one of those oral legends passed down Bard to Bard, Wisewoman to Wisewoman. The Elders of each generation must look out for her and be sure the painting remains with the clan – or so it is written somewhere in our Books of Tradition, but you'll appreciate I've no' had the chance to go searching in the Vault yet."
"Get on with the history lesson and how it involves me."
It was Tara who spoke next to answer him. The Beekeeper and manager of the Brewery had a quirky smile on as she faced him across the table.
"The Fair Lass of Monlachan is a gift for the Chieftain of MacKrannan. All these generations have passed and you're the chosen one!"
Callum snorted in amazement. "Aye right... with a fiancé in tow and booking for her wedding here in a few weeks?"
The three ladies took a giggling fit like daft wee lassies, and every one of them the wrong side of thirty.
"See now, Chieftain," said Kenzie, struggling to sober up, "why would that matter? She could be intended as a bringer of a prize at the Highland Show for you, or fair weather all next summer, or new double-glazing for the entire castle."
These ladies were better at their jobs than
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