Hello, there, my fellow Brave fans. This is Angel of Pandemonium again… again… well, I've been doing more research on the next story of this series- which, while I'm sure those of you who are reading this may be a bit exited, will not begin until AFTER this story is finished- though if you ask I might give you a sneak preview in future chapters… give me the word and it will be so. ON with the story !

Chapter 2

Castle Dunbroch

Queen Elinor Dunbroch tugged on a lock of her long, greying chestnut hair in growing aggravation as she paced the room, closely watched by the other ladies in the room; all of whom smiled with amusement at the queen's worries.

It was her daughter, Mirida MacGuffin who spoke first, her smile coming out both on her face and in her voice. "Mamma, they're going to be fine. 'Tain't as if this is their first games. They are eighteen, after all," She leaned back and patted her large belly lovingly.

It was Dougal Makintosh's bride, Rosalyn Brolchain Macintosh who spoke next.

"Merida, it's everyone else that yer mother worries for. I've yet to see anyone best Hubert at brawling- besides his brothers, of course. I've yet to hear of someone who can out do Harris in throwing cabers, and no one, not even my Dougal, can come close to defeating Hamish with a sword." She grinned at her mother in law with no apology. Lady Calleigh Macintosh rolled her eyes and tiny little Bonny Dingwald giggled.

Elinor smiled as well, though her smile was dry.

"Grandmother, my uncles haven't lost at the games since they turned eighteen…" Little Elinor- as she was called by all- said

The queen laughed as her granddaughter said this, and looked at the young girl. She had hair as wild as her mother's- a legacy that would apparently be passed to all of her children and grandchildren.

"Actually, I was thinking of how time flies. My daughter has four going on five bairns of her own, and my sons have grown from the troublemaking little devils that they used to be into three of the finest men in Scotland. The mother in me is screaming in rejection of it all."

"Aye, it seems only yesterday that I turned ye and the boys into bears because I didn't want to marry." Merida drawled her voice as dry as the sands near a lock.

The others, including the queen laughed. "Aye, and now, we go to that witch for all sorts of spells and carvings." Elinor piqued. The women all looked dup as someone- or rather three some ones opened the door and came into the room. Queen Elinor smiled then, as she eyed her sons, suspicion born from years of their tricks sharpening her dark eyes to flint.

All of her boys had inherited their father's sparkling blue eyes, untaimably curly red hair, and- though they did not inherit Fergus's sheer size- they had inherited his height. They were fit as their father, though without his bulging muscle, they were wirier.

Only Hamish- the middle triplet carried a weapon. A sword hung at his side in its scabbard.

All of her boys were handsome, none of them had to go far to find a willing lass- a thought that the queen tried hard to overlook. All three had gotten their father's quick grin and infectious, loud laugh; as well as enough arrogance to fill Scotland to the brim.

Hamish had always been the ringleader of the trio, and the one who had given Elinor a majority of her grey hair- though Merida, Hubert, and Harris had all contributed quite a bit.

As if he had read his mother's mind, a quick smile came to Hamish's face as he looked at his niece, sister and mother. "Hullo, Mom." He murmured, and kissed Elinor's cheek.

"Hamish Jonathan Dunbroch, what mischief have ye gotten yerself into this time, young man?" her voice was a whip, sharp and quick.

His brothers grinned, Harris laughed, and Hubert rolled his vibrant blue eyes. Hamish gasped theatrically, and grasped at his heart.

"Mother, I'm hurt. What would make ye think that I did anything?" he asked, his own blue eyes earnest

"Because ye always get yerself into mischief, Hamish Dunbroch." Elinor drawled her voice dry.

Hamish held his hands up in the universal sign of surrender. "I only came to tell Merida that her laddy- love is being smothered by three red- headed savages."

Merida laughed. "Gregor can handle it." She snickered.

Hamish shrugged as he and the two others left the giggling women.

"Well lads, what now?" Harris wondered idly, examining his hand. The three had already pulverized any and all competition in the games and were now bored out of their minds.

"I'll go tell our brother in law what our sister- and his loving wife said." Hubert smirked

"Eh, I have nothing better to do… I'll go with ye." Harris laughed.

Hamish grinned. "I'm going on a ride, lads, see ye later."

Hubert and Harris shrugged. Hamish had always been the most restless of them; it wasn't really a surprise to them that he wanted to get out of the castle. Harris was convinced that he had a serious case of claustrophobia.

Hamish saddled his stallion, a pitch- black beast who took his name after the dreaded bear that had terrorized the highlands since he was five, and had taken his father's leg.

"C'mon, Mor' Du. Let's go." Hamish murmured, climbing onto the stallion.

It was at the edge of the forest when Hamish saw it. A small blue light had appeared where the trees began.

"Now, that's interesting…" Hamish muttered to himself. "Haven't seen one of those since Merida turned us into bears…"

He dismounted the horse. "I'll see ye later, Mor' Du, I won't be long… I just want to see what the wisps want me to see."

The horse snorted, and Hamish grinned.

"Well," he muttered, walking towards the little glimmer, "they say a wisp leads ye to yer fate…" Shrugging to himself, he walked forward.

"I wonder what my fate is…"

She'd stopped to let Cullum drink from the small stream in the forest.

It had been two days since they had stopped, let alone sat down to eat or drink. And, seeing as the animal was going without, Deirdre had figured that she could bear as well.

It had been two days since either the animal or the girl had rested for any amount of time. She'd done what Rain had told her to do; she hadn't slowed down since she left the castle gates, not until she had reached the highland woods.

She still had another day of riding ahead of her, but she was just so tired.

She'd started a fire the way her mother had shown her- which was by gathering small twigs, and thinking of setting them on fire (apparently, the thoughts of a witch came to be without the use of spells).

She had just started relaxing when she'd seen something in the trees- or rather someone… she'd sat up to get a better look at whatever was lurking in the forest across her little clearing. Not that she could see all that well, it was dark and the only light was from her fire.

The flickering light did not reveal much, and the stranger was covered by the flora of the woods. All she could make out was his face- and only a portion of that with her fire.

His skin was like her father's- weathered, tanned though this man was freckled. She nearly giggled at this. His hair was as red as her fire, and the haphazard curls gave it a perpetually messy look. Then she saw his eyes…

Her heart gave an odd and downright confusing stutter as her violet gaze fell to his eyes.

They were as deep blue as a highland lock; slivers of silver circled the pupils of his eyes. Her breath caught in her throat.

As quickly as he had appeared, he was gone.

'Michey me, his eyes were gorgeous…' she thought, and belatedly realized that she had never before reacted to a man like she had reacted to this man.

She lay a hand on her heart in puzzlement, her lavender eyes wide with confusion.

Her full lips parted slightly, as her hand fell limply to her side.

"Dear Dagda… what was that?" she hissed, angered at her own reaction- to a man that she didn't even know.

She shook her head to clear it. It wasn't like her to be acting this way… toward a man. A man that she would likely never see again, anyway…

…Not that she'd actually seen him all that well in the first place.

She shrugged it off and curled up to sleep.

Hamish made it back to the castle around sunset. He wandered into the kitchen after he had taken the saddle off of Mor' Du and grabbed a pastry (his love of the deserts had never faded, in fact, the opposite had seemed to happen and his love to the little cakes had grown to insatiability.)

As he walked by, he smiled roguishly at the new maid who now helped Maudie in the kitchen- a pretty lass who was within a year of his own age and had pretty blue eyes, and wavy blond hair that fell to her waist. Her skin was as pale as new cream and her cheeks seemed to be stained pink.

Hours before, he would have flirted his way into her pretty little heart… yet, for some reason that remained a mystery to him, he did not feel the urge to do so. In fact he didn't want to.

Hamish frowned as he bit into his pastry. This had never happened- well, hadn't happened since he had turned twelve, anyway. Not ever.

Actually- if he had been completely honest with himself- he would admit that he couldn't because of her- the mysterious girl in the woods.

All he could see were her impossibly wide, oddly colored eyes…

So lost in his own thoughts was the redheaded prince that he didn't notice Dougal Macintosh before he walked headlong into him.

"Oy, Hamish… or Hubert… or whichever one ye are, watch where yer goin'." He grumbled in annoyance.

"Aw, yer jest annoyed that I won again, Dougal." Hamish drawled, a self- satisfied smirk playing on his lips at the harassed look on the older man's face.

"Ah, Hamish, then," Dougal drawled back, a smirk that his wife would've called arrogant playing on his own face. "Ye only won because of that annoying little prank you pulled to get me into it with Rosalyn, for one, and yer mother's looking for ye."

Hamish raised an eyebrow. "Tch, in yer dreams, Dougal," he sneered at the laird, "And if me mam's lookin' fer me, then we'd better get goin'. It wouldn't do for us to make the Queen wait."

Dougal chuckled. "Ye're only saying that because the last time ye were late, she let ye have it."

Hamish rolled his blue eyes and groaned "Aye, she went on fer hours… I felt as if my ears would fall off."

Dougal chuckled at the moaning prince, as the two of them went to go find the Queen.

It had been three days since she'd seen the strange man by the light of her fire.

Three days, and still she could not keep those bright blue eyes out of her mind. She had not even seen the whole of his face, and yet…

And yet.

She sighed as she finished sweeping all of the wood chips out of Miranda's carving shop. She put the broom away and stepped out of the cottage's doorway to snap her fingers.

When she stepped inside the cottage again, it was her aunt's workshop. She gazed in wonder of all of the enchantments and spells that her aunt used.

Miranda- though she was a minor witch, knew many spells that while she herself could not preform, she had written down. Deirdre found that she had no trouble at all conjuring up the seemingly difficult spells and incarnations that Miranda could not.

Miranda's lessons had also taught her a great deal about her own lineage that the violet eyed witch did not know.

Miranda had told her that while she herself was a minor witch- being the first seventh of a seventh, Deirdre, who'd had four generations before her, was not. The old crone had also told her that her sister- whose name was Brenna, had also been one of the gifted. But, while Miranda had an affinity to bears, the first Brenna (as Deirdre referred to her as- her own elder sister had been named after the woman) had a connection to her namesake- Ravens.

As it turned out, though, the first Brenna could only turn into and communicate with the black, winged creature. She couldn't do any more than that.

"All of the gifted have an affinity with something in nature," Miranda had told her, "For example; there is a witch who lives farther north… I believe that her name is Aimsir Tèarmannair, who has a connection to the weather. She apparently was so angered by a member of the Brolchain clan that she set a weather curse on him and his clansmen. Her connection to the weather is so strong that her curse has not yet gone away… even now, the clan Brolchain is cursed."

Deirdre had taken this information with eyes as wide as saucers. "Do… do ye know anyone from the Brolchain clan, aunt Miranda?" she asked, brimming with curiosity.

Miranda chuckled. "Not well, but aye. In fact, yer bother in law, Ian's clan leader's son is married to a lass of the Brolchain lineage. Met the lass once, as well, lovely young lady, she was, and a good friend of princess Merida."

"What's he name, auntie?"

"Rosalyn. Now, enough questions, Deirdre, and pay attention." Miranda sighed, now, thinking that if she was to get back to the lesson at hand, she would have to stop the questions.

"Just one more, Miranda?" the girl begged.

"All right, but be quick about it."

"What weather does Rosalyn's curse bring?" Deirdre asked

Miranda raised an eyebrow, effectively making her wrinkled face look even older. "Blizzards, love, now, back to the point of this; we need to find what ye've got an affinity to. Major witch though ye might be, a witch always works better with the spirit she's most in tune with."

"Like ye with the Queen and Mor' Du?" Deirdre drawled, her own eyebrow raised and her violet eyes sparkled as she tossed the remark at her aunt.

"Disrespectful young kit… Hush now, child." The older woman chastised, though a mischievous sparkle appeared in the old woman's glowing gold eyes.

Deirdre did as she was told and watched the old woman as she leaned over the cauldron in the middle of the room, muttering in the old language.

"Dear, I need blood."

Deirdre nodded and took her dirk from her belt. Holding the edge of the dagger that her brother had sharpened to an impossibly sharp point to her skin, she pricked her finger. Immediately, blood swelled from the small cut.

Miranda grabbed her cut finger and held it over the cauldron. Deirdre watched as the woman let three drops of her life blood trickle into the large pot.

"There, now. Step back, love." Her aunt told her.

"What's going to happen?"

"The spirit of the affinity you hold will appear. The spirits of nature have told me it's to be an animal." Miranda answered her niece with a soft whisper.

"When did they do that?" the girls tone was slightly hysterical.

"Three days ago, ten minutes before ye arrived, lass." Was the calm reply, then, "Hush, now, the spirits speak."

In the dark of the cottage, the vision glowed with a silver- blue hue. Deirdre watched as the apparition took a form, turning into a creature that walked on four legs.

It did not become clear what animal it was until the casting was standing two inches in front of the youngest of the lowland princesses.

It was the Scottish wildcat. Deirdre reached out to touch it in wonder.

The cat turned its head into her hand when she did.

She did not talk, for surely talking would have broken the wonderful spell that her aunt had cast. The normally vicious cat was behaving as if it was a housecat for her… but then, this wasn't the first time that a wild cat had done so.

It apperantly wouldn't be the last, either, if this was any indication. Deirdre smiled, happy for the first time since she had left home.

Sadly, though, the spell broke as a nock sounded at the door.

"Ah, that must be one of the princes to pick up that elixir that Queen Elinor asked for…" Miranda muttered.

"Deirdre, would ye get it for him, Is breá?"

Deirdre grinned. "Where is it?"

The old woman gestured distractedly to a shelf on the other side of the room. "On the shelf over there, sweet. Blue bottle, top shelf."

Deirdre sighed, as she crossed the room and came face to face with not one, but three different blue bottles- all of which had liquid in them.

"Which one, Auntie?" she asked, calmly.

"The middle one, dear. Pyramid shaped."

Deirdre grabbed the bottle in question and went to the door.

"Oh, and Deirdre? I want ye to go with the lad to the castle. Ye should introduce yerself to the king and queen since ye'll be helping me from now on."

It was with a look of absolute horror on her face that Deirdre opened the door.

Only to face a member of the highland's royal family- a young man with violently blue eyes and messy, curly red hair…

Nearly like the one Deirdre had seen by the light of her fire. Nearly, but not completely; the eyes she had seen were blue, that was true, but unlike this man's green flecked orbs, the other man's had silver imbedded in them. His had been a bit more like ice.

It was a difference that no one would really notice (she herself wondered why and how the hell she noticed.) But it was a difference that was there, none the less.

"Hullo," She muttered, trying to sound calm, though the prospect of facing the entire highland court still had her paralyzed with fear.

"Err, who are ye?" the man asked, rudely.

He was tall, she noticed. Like her brother Daniel. Tall, but slim. With obvious muscle definition. More rope- like muscle.

"I'm Miranda's niece and apprentice, Deirdre Campbell. Who are you?" she replied in a rude tone, though, while his rudeness was out of surprise, she was lashing out. She didn't care.

He grinned, oozing arrogance enough to make her want to curse him. "Harris Dunbroch, milady. Prince of the highlands. I've never seen ye before. I've yet to forget a pretty face, and ye're as pretty as they come."

Deirdre resisted the urge to snort. Oh, dear Dagda, she wanted to. He was trying to charm her. She was about as charmed as a person who'd agitated a skunk and had gotten sprayed.

"I just moved from the lowlands, and save yer charm for someone who wants it." She snapped. She was starting to feel ill at the prospect of having to go to Dunbroch castle.

She drew herself up to her full height- which was approximately a foot and an inch shorter than the man in front of her.

He pointedly looked down- which he had to do anyway. But now he did it to be annoying, as he studied her. He was awed, to say the least.

If he were about twelve years younger, he would have said that all witches were old and, well, ugly (little did he know, even now, that Miranda had once been known as the most beautiful woman in all of Scotland in her prime). But as he looked at this tiny little spitfire of a lass, who's deep, dark umber colored hair fell nearly to her knees, and whose face held the youth of someone who was within a year of his own age- or even as he looked at another witch whose name was Agnes Rose- he had started to rethink that.

Deirdre looked calmly at him, or at least outwardly calm… inwardly, she wanted to curse him within an inch of his life. "As Miranda's apprentice, she wants me to accompany ye back to yer castle to inform yer parents about me."

Harris inclined his head. "Well," he drawled, "Do ye have a horse?"

She looked at him as if he were an idiot. 'Well,' she thought, 'stupid questions should receive stupid answers…'

"No, I came to the highlands on foot. I find that it's much faster. Less time consuming, you know." Her voice dripped and oozed as much sarcasm as his did arrogance.

He winced. "Guess I deserved that. Well, then, love, ye need to saddle up so we can go."

She twitched and he snickered… oh, if he was getting this much of a rise out of her, Dagda only knew what Hamish would do… her voice cracked like a whip.

"Do not call me 'love'" she snarled. She then let out a whistle.

Cullum appeared seemingly out of thin air, his saddle strapped on and waiting for a rider. Deirdre looked to see the shock on Harris's face and rolled her eyes.

"I'm a witch, remember? I don't have to put my saddle on by hand. All I have to do is snap my fingers."

Harris shook his red head as he mounted his own horse, and took off after her.

It took nearly an hour to reach Castle Dunbroch for the two of them, even on horseback, from Miranda's cottage. Then it took another ten minutes to reach the throne room. Harris walked past her to stand by his parents and siblings, and the other Scottish nobility.

"Mother, Father, this is Deirdre Campbell, apprentice to the bear witch, Miranda." He announced, then he turned to Deirdre.

"Miss Campbell, these are my parents, and my sister, Merida, her husband, Gregor MacGuffin, and my brothers Hamish and Hubert."

Deirdre rolled her eyes. "I figured, Harris… Majesties, here is the spell ye asked for." She walked up to the royal couple and held out the small blue bottle.

As she did, she calmly assessed the royal family. The princess Merida, with her bulging belly- who looked oddly like Brenna had when she was with child- Supported by her husband, a huge burly man who was nearly as big as the king.

Then, there were the King and Queen themselves- so like her own parents, yet so unlike them… King Fergus sat on Merida's other side, a mountain of a man who was just as tall, just as large as her own father, King Coll, his hair a brilliant red to match his children's own, and just as curly. His beard just as red and wild as the rest… his vibrant, shimmering blue eyes surrounded by what Deirdre was certain were laugh lines.

'Dear Dagda, he's as big as papa is…' She grinned as the thought came unbidden into her mind. She knew that if not anyone else (Mainly the annoyingly arrogant Harris- and more than likely his brothers), she would get along quite well with the huge red- haired Scotsman.

Sitting next to Fergus was the tall, beautiful, and elegant Queen Elinor. Her hair was a rich chesnut that was only enhanced by the silver strands- probably from her unruly children- her brown eyes calm, and alight with polite curiosity. So unlike her own mother… who was tiny and had a certain larger than life personality…

From the two royal couples, she moved on to Harris and his brothers- triplets apparently, all three looked nearly exactly alike- except maybe the looks on their faces. The second- Hubert , she guessed, his blue eyes held flecks of darker blue, and had a rather lazy grin on his face that exuded everything but humility.

She turned slightly to the third brother- Hamish. He was the only one of the three who carried a weapon, the sword hung loosely at his side from his belt; and he, like his brothers, had gotten his father's height but a slimmer build- lanky rather that bulky, but still with obviously used muscle.

Deirdre looked into his eyes and froze. The gasp that came to her lips was so quiet that only she heard, and her lilac eyes widened. Had the queen not taken the bottle from her, Deirdre would have dropped the bottle and broken it as her hands started shaking as if she were cold.

Deirdre stared unblinkingly into a pair of bright blue eyes with silver flecks in them…

… The same eyes that she had seen by the light of her fire that night in the clearing…

Whew, that took a long time… it was fun though… and tiring… oh, uh, Brenna does in fact mean Raven, and In case you didn't already guess, this is a Hamish/O.C story… Harris's story comes next, after this one, and this is about how long I can make chapters… it's difficult to write more than ten pages on Microsoft word…. It really is. Sorry for the cliff hanger (okay, not really…)XD see you lot next time, and PLEASE, PLEASE review…. It sorta helps with the whole writing process… you know, like wanting to write it? Bye bye.