TEN YEARS LATER

“Och, mamma, can I have it, please, say I can!”

The excited high voice of Isabella cried as she clutched the long, taffeta frock. Edme smiled at her daughter, as she played in the McKinley keep bedroom. It was the end of a cold, dark day in late December. A chilly wind raced around the keep. Even after all this time, it was impossible to keep the draughts out.

“Well, wait an’ see what yer father thinks, but…,” started Edme, the beginnings of a smile playing on her lips. Her daughter loved nothing better than to dress up and while playing in the bedroom, had unearthed a dress that used to be hers.

Edme picked up the flame tinted gown, complete with a little sash of McKinley tartan, and held it close. She wondered if there was any way she could still get it on. Then she put it down, embarrassed at the thought.

“Was this yers, mamma?” asked Isabella, her voice high and enquiring. Edme sighed. She was such a bright child, but sometimes her questions seemed never-ending. She looked down at the pretty ten-year-old, her green eyes sparkling intently. “Aye,” she said. “I wore it, just a wee bit older than ye when I was a lassie,” she paused for a moment. “I wore it when I first kissed yer father, but I dinnae suppose he remembers that!”

Then she smiled, folding it away. “It’s probably a wee bit large for ye,” she said dubiously. Then she thought back to how small she was as a teen – she still was – and how much her daughter had grown over the last few months and wondered. “It might fit, but,” her voice trailed off, but the words had barely left her mouth before Isabella snatched the dress, eagerly.

“I’ll look after it an’ be really careful, I swear! I want to look my best for the festivities!” Isabella said, joyfully.

“Aye, an’ try an’ get the attention of that wee Jock McTavish, I shouldnae wonder!” said another voice.

Isabella turned around; “Grandma Freya!” she bounded towards the door of the bedroom. “When did ye get here?” she asked her.

“Just now. We’ve been knocking and knocking!” said Wallace, his eyes twinkling on the threshold.

Edme jumped up, shooing away her daughter, who scampered off with the dress.  “Wallace! Please come inside. Come, we’ll go into the main hall!”

“I’m sorry we’re late,” apologized Wallace, his ginger hair was gray these days, but otherwise, he looked the same as Edme remembered. “It took us so long to travel through the Highlands in the snow. But then, it’s always like this at Hogmanay!” he smiled merrily, proffering forth a bottle of whiskey. “A drop of the good stuff for the celebrations tonight!”

Edme took the bottle from him, pretending not to notice that half of it was already drunk, and from the broad grin on her father in law’s face, and the deep red in his cheeks, it was clear to see where it had gone!

“Where’s Beathan? He’s nae left ye alone, has he?” asked Freya, as a silent servant took her cloak. Walking about the room, she took a look around.

“Well, it’s different here since last time!” she said. Edme nodded.

“We thought we’d do Hogmanay here, this time,” she said. Looking about her old family home was still full of memories, some good, many bad, but all burned deeply within her heart, especially at this time of year.

“Since joining the clans together, we have been thinking of spending more time here, an’ really getting to ken the people again…,” Edme said. “We used to have a feast here every year when my father was..,”

Edme’s eyes misted with sadness. She had loved the parties at the McKinley keep, and this was the first year that they had decided to come back to host another one. Edme chewed her lip, suddenly unsure.

“I do hope this isn’t going to be a mistake,” she said, more to herself than anyone else.

Then she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Nae, it isnae, lass! It’s about time we laid the ghosts to rest,” Edme looked around, and there was Beathan, his green eyes twinkling in the candlelight.

He embraced his parents quickly before going back and giving her arm a little squeeze. Then he looked around the room.

“It’s looking good in here, Edme,” he said. The room was festooned with greens, holly, and mistletoe brought in from the woods. In the center, a huge fire burned, and a splendid table set for a banquet.

Later, they would go back out, but first, they would give thanks for what they had.

And what they had was plenty, Edme had never been happier.  And today, she was just as in love with Beathan as she ever had been.

Beathan went over to her, giving her a little kiss, before filling a glass for them all to share.

“There’s so much to remember, at this time of year,” said Freya suddenly. Her eyes drifted, heavy with tears.

Isabella, who had been hovering in the doorway, stopped a moment, watching as her grandmother grew wistful. Wallace placed his arm around Freya. “Aye, I ken, the first Yule without yer mammy!” he said.

Beathan also grew quiet, as Edme rubbed his arm supportively. “Aye, she passed almost about this time last year, I dinnae think she ever got over my father’s death…”

Finlay’s death had left a big absence in the lives of all of them, especially Freya. Beathan had also mourned his loss.

The three of them had spent the day tending to the graves, before riding over to the McKinley castle for the family feast.

“Tell me about great-grandpa,” said Isabella, enthusiastically, her eyes flashing. She was always so interested in history, especially family stories.

Edme watched her as she moved across the room, touching Grandma Freya lightly as she went, and smiling. The flame tinted taffeta suited her, offsetting her jet-black hair to perfection.

“Och, Isabella, yer the picture of yer great grandmamma!” murmured Beathan, as if he had just noticed the uncanny similarity between Sine and his daughter, even though they were not blood.

Beathan stroked his daughter’s black hair gently. But Isabella pouted at him.

“Ye were going to tell me about Grandpa Finlay,” she demanded. “An’ his two different colored eyes!”

All four grown-ups laughed at her fierceness.

“She’s her mother’s daughter, for sure,” chuckled Wallace, approvingly, “An’ her grandmamma’s too!”

“Och, aye, Grandpa Finlay,” began Beathan. “Well, ye ken, he had quite a tale of his own, being a foundling, of sorts,” said Beathan, as Edme took his hand. “An’ he hid who he was for a long time!”

But Edme was not listening. She was staring at the dress Isabella was wearing. It all came flooding back. That first Yule at McKinley, and the kissing game she had played with Beathan. But he had always said that he didn’t remember. She didn’t know why, but this made her sad.

“What’s a foundling?” said Isabella, as sharp as ever, as she sat down next to her father.

“Och, he wasnae exactly a foundling! He was about ten when they found him wandering,” cut in Wallace. And then, of course, this started a good-natured argument about what a foundling was and the exact nature of Finlay’s birth.

As the family argued, Edme refilled the glasses silently; she was secretly pleased with everything. The table looked splendid, and the smells coming from the kitchen promised the best hog roast in all of Scotland! Later, they would eat like kings, before toasting Finlay and Sine.

Edme listened, as the four of them shouted and argued. It was times like this that sometimes she felt sad that her side of the family was so empty.

Seeing her thoughtful face, Beathan came over to her, giving her a little squeeze.

“Hoo, what is it now?” he asked softly, nuzzling her cheek tenderly.

Edme looked into his eyes. “Nae, nothing, I am just happy, that’s all…” she smiled.

Beathan led her over to the mistletoe hanging over the doorway to the main hall.

“Och, Edme, this takes me back, to the feast all those years ago,” he said, bringing Edme close. Edme could feel her cheeks tingling and beginning to heat up.

Even after all this time, Beathan still had the power to make her feel like an excited teenager. She looked over at Isabella, in the flowing gown. She was listening intently, as Wallace recounted the story of Finlay and his rise from outsider to the laird of the clan.

Beathan paused and then whispered in her ear. “Isn’t that the frock ye had on when ye first kissed me, all those years back, Edme?” he grinned at her.

“What?” she almost shouted. Raw emotion ripped through Edme, instantly. “Ye remember it; ye remember us kissing at Yule?”

She couldn’t believe it. For years, Beathan had claimed he could not remember. She looked at him in surprise.

“Is it the whiskey? Are ye drunk?” she asked him, but Beathan smiled.

Behind them, Wallace continued his tale to a captivated Isabella. “An’ he returned to his family home, to be laird, knowing it was his rightful place!”

At those words, Beathan stroked Edme’s hair tenderly. “Just like ye!” he said. “Some things are meant to be…”

She looked at him closely, reaching for the dint in his chin, which was still there after all these years. Suddenly, it felt like everything in her life had fallen into place.

Then Beathan pulled her closer and laughing, said. “Aye, of course, I remember ye kissing me! How could I ever forget?”

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