Darach looked down at his mother, his eyes suddenly touched with anguish and confusion. "I don't know if I dare," he said, his voice gruff.
"Ye mean for the sake o' your heart?" asked Mairi, her bright eyes growing tender at the sight of her son's pain. "Or for her sake?"
"For her sake, o' course." He shook his head. "Nay, I tell a lie. I'm that afraid of her, Mother. I'm afraid she'll see I'm not much of a catch. I'm afraid she'll vanish into the air wi'out me." He looked away to the hills. "But I'm afraid for her, too. If anything were to happen"
Mairi nodded. "I know. I know it's hard not to think o' Isobel. But that's past, son. Take heart for the future! Get ye wed, before she decides for auld Bruce, ye daft thing. Get some bairns! Or get some bairns and then get wed, it makes no matter t'meas lang as ye do it soon."
"Ye're a wicked auld woman," Darach said tenderly, gathering her up into his embrace.
"Aye. And your wee Julia's a young one. Make her wicked happy, son. Ye've put the light in her eyes alreadynow put one in her heart and in her belly."
"Och, what would I do wi'out so many o' my kin to advise me at every turn?" Darach asked the skies. "Just once I'd like to try."
Mairi pushed him away and gave him a swat on the shoulder. "Get out of here. Find that foolish brothair of yours. Then see ye stay home long enough to kindle the common fire."
"So says the witch of the MacStruans," Darach said with a grin, swinging up on his horse.
"And well ye know it," Mairi said, grinning back.
Niall soon came to stand before her, his mouth twisted in a wry smile of apology. "We need to ride out, Julia," he said. "The light willna hold."
"I told Darach that I intend to stay here with the women and children."
He nodded. "I heard. But he gave orders. I'm to take ye home, on my horse or across it."
"Just try it, buster."
"Julia." He squatted down until he was eye to eye with her. "He's the chief. If I didna obey, he'd have every right to send me packin' from the clan. Or worse. Ye wouldna wish that to happen, would ye?"
"Niall, don't try to guilt-trip me. It won't work. I was raised by the queen of guilt. You're his closest friend. He loves you and he needs you. He'd never toss you out of the clan."
He made a harumphing noise in his throat and stroked his chin, considering. She stared at him squarely, waiting to see what he'd try next. She knew that if he wanted, he could indeed haul her up out of here and toss her, bound and gagged, over his horse's back. But she was willing to bet that Niall would only do that as his last resort. In the meantime, perhaps there would be a chance to sway him. She didn't think she could stand to go back to the village while she was still angry at Darach.
"Julia, lass," he began in a wheedling tone.
"What's this?" Mairi came shuffling along the corridor, Jeannie going along before her with a torch. "Julia? Why aren't ye makin' ready to gang wi' the others to the village?"
Julia clambered to her feet. "Mairi, I want to stay here."
"Don't be daft, lass," Mairi said, giving her staff an emphatic thump. "Why ever would ye want to stay here wi' a bunch of auld women and squalling bairns? Your place is down below."
"My place?" Julia bristled. Who did the woman think she was? The Queen of Everything?
"Aye. Ye came to Darach. Ye came to his village. Ye didn't come to us up here in the hills. My son needs ye."
"He needs me! What about me?"
Mairi started at her incredulously. "Did ye no' hear me? Ye came to Darach. What ye need is there wi' him."
"That's the most sexist, ridiculous, high-handed"
"Whisht!" Mairi thumped her staff once more. Julia had the brief thought that the woman had no real need of its assistance, she only used the big oaken branch to scare people into doing her bidding. She tried staring back in defiance.
"Ye needn't take up yer chin so wi' me, lass. I learned such tricks at my mother's knee. I'm no' sayin' ye're to gang down and be his slave. Ye're a woman and in these hills that counts for more than all that tender English lady pap ye probably learnt as a bairn." Her imperial manner softened. "Are ye willin' to concede ye love my son?"
Julia wanted to deny it. She hadn't said as much to Darach, but if not love, what had the past day and night been all about? She gave a nod.
"Good. I didna ken ye were a fool. And will ye also concede that ye would turn to ravin' if ye were to be shut up in these caves for weeks on end?"
"Yes." Grudgingly.
"And will ye also concede that ye have more that ye need to learn? Things that canna be learnt hidin' in the hills?"
Julia stared at her. "How do you"
"I'm no' sae foolish as ye might think, clumpin' about here among the rocks as I do. But I know the look of a seeker when I see her. Ye've become part of a mystery and it fair drives ye wild that ye canna solve it. So I say stop tryin' to summon up pity for yourself. It doesna suit ye. Gang ye down wi' the lads. Find the secret yer heart longs to learn."
Julia's shoulders slumped in resignation. "You are too much," she said, smiling. "I wish you were coming with me."
"A wicked auld woman, my son called me." Mairi chuckled and motioned for them all to move back up the passage. "And ye'd best take it to heart, lass."
On impulse, Julia reached up and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you soon," she said. "Just try and stop me."
Mairi's laughter rang around the stone walls. "Ye may see me sooner than ye think," she said, shaking her finger. "So see that ye have your house in order."
Niall took Julia's arm and hurried her out to where the rest of the men waited, packed and ready to travel. Julia swung into the saddle as Rose rushed up with a small cloth bundle.
"Some of ma cakes," she said breathlessly. "Ye said ye liked 'em so."
"Thank you, Rose." She leaned down and gave her a hug. "Take care of yourself. And the wee one. I'll see you soon."
"May it be so."
Rose and the others waved until they passed beyond the trees. Julia rode home in silence, Big Dog at her side, thinking about all the events of the past two days. She dismounted and went into the house. She was too weary to do anything more than collapse into bed, with BD snoring on the hearth, LC curled up by his wooly flank.
Edana was humming again.
Craigen Moreston left off listening at her chamber door and moved down the hall, frowning. He went to his own chamber and shut the door.
The witch was getting to be more trouble than she was worth, he thought as he poured himself some wine. She'd been useful to him in the beginning, when they'd both come back from Edinburgh and he'd taken on the position of clan chief. Her spells had sickened or driven off all his opponents within the clan. She'd managed to scare the MacStruans into silence, for the most part, by foretellingand forestallingtheir chief's wedding.
He made a sour face at the memory of that time. Edana had been working an enchantment on the girl, Isobel, when one of his own men had stumbled, drunk, into the girl's room and killed her when she began to scream. Edana had been beside herself. She had wanted to turn the girl to the dark before they sent her back to Darach. The drunken man had died a hideous death by the of her charms.
And he, the Moreston, had to give up hope of getting more of the MacStruan lands in ransom for the lass. The outcome had not been all bad, he mused, going to the window, which looked out toward the woods between his land and the MacStruan's. That overproud pup Darach had been taught a lesson and been hurt where Craigen himself had been hurt years ago in his foster father's home in Edinburgh. Darach had stolen the only woman Craigen had ever loved. She'd taken one look at that tall, glowering oaf and left Craigen before he could blink. And the hell of it was, Darach couldn't have cared less about his lovely Caroline. He'd dallied with her for a short time, then sent her off while he pursued another lass at the court.
Caroline had left and gone home to Glasgow, shattered and unwilling to accept Craigen, even as second-best. Craigen took the blow full in hi
s heart. He had vowed then that the whole of Clan MacStruan would pay for his loss.
His cause hadn't been hurt when he found out, through Edana, that there was rich ore in the hills owned by the MacStruans. It was only meet that he get Darach's treasure, since the MacStruan had stolen Craigen's. And Darach and his ragtag little clan would be poorer by more than half.
He looked about the chamber that he'd furnished with everything he could find that filled his fancies and catered to his love of luxury. Recalling Caroline always made the opulent room seem more empty than a cell.
He picked up a crystal bowl and smashed it on the hearth, putting all his frustrations into the action. Damn Darach MacStruan! He could have had all he wanted, if not for that wretched bastard. If only Edana would tell him the time had come.
He needed a wife, he thought, pacing to the window and back. He needed a woman of his own. And if he couldn't have the one he loved, he'd have the most beautiful young treasure he could lay hands on. She was here, in his own house, and as yet he hadn't been permitted more than a chaste kiss. Edana had forbidden it, and he feared the witch too much to cross her. And as it was Edana who had brought Celandine to him, he couldn't be so ungratefulor foolhardyas to offend her.
But the time was drawing near, he hoped.
Was that what Edana was humming about? Was she consulting her mirror-basin to see if all the signs were right for his marriage to beautiful Celandine?
He hoped so. He didn't like to think what else the witch might be planning.
Chapter Twenty-One
Edana flicked at the old clothes she'd donned. Rusty with old dirt and damp, tattered and patched, they looked as if they'd been dragged through three wars and a flood. Perfect for her needs.
She lifted the pouch of trinkets to her shoulder and smiled. She didn't need a mirror to tell her she looked the image of an old peddler woman. Celandine's wondering eyes told her all.
"Well," Edana said briskly, her own lovely voice betraying her true age. "I'm off."
"Where?" Celandine rose from the cushions where she was seated, cross-legged, watching her companion change from a beautiful young woman to a stooped old hag.
Edana merely laughed. "Never you mind. You don't need to worry about a thing, my little one. Leave all to me. You concentrate on being as lovely and as innocent as you are."
"So I can't go along." Celandine sat back down, her slender shoulders sagging. "I'm so tired of being a prisoner in this house!"
"A prisoner? Tut, lass. You're the Moreston's betrothed. You're not a prisoner. You're the most honored person here, save Craigen himself. And when the time comes and he takes you to wife, you'll have the world at your feet."
"And then can I go outside when I please?" The younger woman flounced impatiently on the cushions.
"You'll not want to," Edana said brightly. "You'll be so happy in your husband's bed and getting his children that you'll never long for anything else in the world. I'll make sure of it."
Celandine's delicate nose wrinkled. "His breath is of onions," she whispered. "And he's always looking at me like I'm a piece of honey cake." She shuddered.
Edana went and put a finger under the girl's chin. "So you are made of honey," she said, smiling. "And together you and I shall catch ourselves a kingdom with that honey." She straightened up and shifted her pouch once more. "I shan't be too long. Watch for me at sunset. And mind you go and play your harp for Craigen. He loves your music so and he's feeling as restless as you today. Mayhap the pair of you can find solace in your music."
Edana exited the room by the special door that led down the east side of the castle. It was less watched, and most of the guards were susceptible to the simplest charms, so she used this route when she needed secrecy.
She hummed on her way to the woods. With each step she took inside the sheltering trees, her body bent even more. Her red hair first looked like fire, then slowly faded to the color of old, white ashes. She could feel her skin sagging, her lips pulling dryly over her teeth. By the time she crested the last rise above the MacStruan's village, she was completely transformed. No one would recognize her in this guise. As for that, of all the MacStruans, only Darach had ever laid eyes on her. And he hadn't cared who she was at the time.
She smiled, feeling with her tongue her crooked and chipped teeth. He'd know her soon, though, she thought. And he would be so happy.
Julia was baking bread. She had the dough spread out on a slab of smooth rock and was kneading the springy ball with extra energy. Good therapy, she told herself. Better to take out all those aggressions and anxieties on the dough than to act them out on the people around her.
In reality, her fingers itched to wrap themselves around Darach's neck and shake him till his teeth played like castanets. She knew she'd be more likely to shake herself silly before she so much as moved Darach, but she didn't care. He was such a royal pain in the ton.
She grinned as she thought of the word. Alasdair had taught her that word, so she knew how that Gaelic word, at least, got into her head. And he'd had every right to use the phrase in reference to Darach last night.
Darach and the others had given up looking for Alasdair and returned to the village, grimfaced but not hopeless. Everyone in the clan knew that Alasdair was a wanderer, possessed of restless feet. He'd most likely show up sooner than later, they all said.
And so he had. He rolled into the house shortly after nightfall, looking especially pleased and cheery, if not a little dazed.
But Darach had risen from his place at the table, where they'd been finishing off a late meal, and read his brother the riot act. Julia had never seen Darach so fierce in his criticism of Alasdair. Yet as she watched him, the idea came to her that some of what he was feeling was guilt. Darach believed that Alasdair was in love with her. But it was Darach who had won her heart. Now he was fearful that he had hurt his brother and he'd been fearful that Alasdair had gone off in anger. If anything had happened to Alasdair, he would never have forgiven himself.
She could understand his feelings, but she couldn't for the life of her figure out why he'd chosen such a ferocious means of expressing them. He and Alasdair had come to the point of drawing their swords, when the Bruce had intervened by what was an obviously fake attack of coughing and choking. Later, when she and Darach were alone in the kitchen, she had challenged his treatment of his brother.
''Why did you light into him like that?" she demanded. "You were that far from getting into a sword fight with your only brother!"
"It's none o' your affair," he began.
"The hell it isn't!" she snapped. "I'm not putting up with any of that outlander crap anymore! I live with this clan, I feed this clan. I cook for you, play with you, nurse you, sing with you, eat and drink with you, and, in case you've forgotten, I've slept with the chief of Clan MacStruan!"
"He's got to learn sometime!" Darach retorted. "He canna go off and scare the whole of the clan like that."
"Why didn't you tell him that?"
"I did."
"No, you didn't, you big beastie! You ragged on him about his wandering and about his responsibilities. You got up in his face and told him he was a disgrace and a slacker. You told him you'd toss him out on his rear if he disappeared again without telling you where he was going."
He glowered at her. She nodded. "You know I'm right. I was there. You didn't say you'd missed him or that you were worried about him or any of that. Just a swift right hook to the jaw."
"Hook?"
"Never mind the linguistics! You treated him shabbily and you know it."
"Alasdair knows what I meant."
"Does he? Is that why he was ready to pull out his claymore and hack right back at you?" She put her hands on her hips. "You're not the easiest man in the world to get to know or to understand. Yes, everyone knows you're a good man and a good leader. All of us are loyal to youincluding Alasdair and me, the outlander. But sometimes you have to find ways of telling people what you mean and what you want wi
thout worrying about your image as the rough, tough, shoot-'em-up sheriff of Dodge City!"
"Ye're meddlin' again, Julia."
"You bet I am."
"Ye're tryin' to change me into somethin' else but what I am."
"Not true. I'm trying to make you see that you have a couple more choices when you deal with other people."
"I am how I am."
"Really? Then what you are is a major lunkhead, which is what I thought the first time I laid eyes on you."
"Fine. I'm a lunkhead. And I dunna need a lass tellin' me how to manage my ain folk."
"That's right, you don't. You need a good swift kick in the kilt!"
"Fine!"
"Fine!"
And out he'd stormed, leaving her to kick at the stove in frustration and then dance about the room, holding on to the injured foot. Alasdair had come into the kitchen. That was when she had learned her new word.
"He does love you, you know," she'd said, handing him a plate of steamed vegetables.
"Aye. And I love him. But I'm startin' to wonder if we can live in the same house any longer. Or in the same village, for that matter."
"Don't you dare run off. Don't let him get away with treating you like that."
Alasdair cocked a brow. "Interestin' talk from Darach's ain true love."
She felt herself color. "No, it's not. It's because I love him that I want him to see that he can't treat everyone as if they're children or cows or something that he has to keep in line or they'll go off and do something daft." She dished up some of the venison she'd grilled. "I do love Darach. And I love you, too. I never had a brother but I couldn't imagine a better one than you."
He accepted the plate with a wry smile. "I'm glad Darach's taken ye into his heart," he said. "I could no' imagine anyone better for the big lunkhead."
"Oh-ho! So you were listening at the keyhole, eh, Mr. MacStruan?"
"Well . . . it wasna so difficult to hear the pair of ye."
"In other words, we were yelling like a couple of . . ."
"Lovers?"
She'd shaken her head and started to clean up. "I don't know, Alasdair. We love each other, but is that enough?"
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