He shook his head. He could not do that. First, he could not do that to Alina. He did not want to condemn her, or himself, to a life of hiding, moving from place to place, pursued and living like ghosts, without a home, unwanted. He had not wished that for them. He could not do that to his brother. He would destroy the alliance that Broderick had maintained. Though he loved his wife, Amabel, Alina's sister, Broderick had married for the advantages the allegiance brought. The fact that they loved each other more than life had come second. He sighed.
“I cannot run. I have to do these tasks, or die in the attempt.”
He felt miserable. He found his head was filled with images of himself dying in creative ways. He shook his head. It was not like him to dwell on darkness and despair. Broderick always teased him about being infernally cheerful about everything. Which he was. Usually.
“Evenin', his grace the thane o' something.”
Duncan looked back from where he had gazed at the dark skies. He found himself looking into a young, impish face, framed with dark-brown hair.
“Oh. Evening, Blaine.”
Blaine was the chief of the guard at Lochlann castle. It was uncanny, since the youth was only nineteen years old. However, Broderick, with whom he had campaigned a few months ago, insisted that the young man had a profound talent. Duncan knew Broderick, sober and grounded, was not given to exaggerations. The boy must be as skilled as he reported.
“You lookin' at the sky, sir?” the youth asked impudently. “Lost summat up there?”
Duncan sighed and ran a hand through his pale hair, distractedly. “I'll skelp ye and send ye up to find out, so I will.”
Blaine giggled. A cheeky, disrespectful young man, he liked nothing better than to be bested in a battle of tongues. Broderick had gained his respect. Duncan was starting to do the same.
“Well, then, thane something,” he smiled. “You joining us for practice tomorrow?”
“I'll do so tomorrow,” Duncan agreed readily. “I was just thinking.”
“What's the problem?” Blaine asked. He sat on the ground before the bench, long legs bent and resting his arms casually on them.
“It's not something I can burden you with,” Duncan said primly.
“Summat wrong with your lady? Or...summat else?” he asked, eyes straying to Duncan's nether regions.
Duncan stared at him. Then he burst out laughing. “Blaine! Heaven help me but you are a scoundrel. No, that's functioning well. Was last time I looked, anyways.”
Blaine giggled at Duncan's casual attitude and then stopped laughing. “It must be summat serious.”
“It is,” Duncan agreed. He sighed. He needed help. If the strange mystery made sense, perhaps Blaine, who lived here since birth for all he knew, would know the meanings.
“What is it?”
Duncan sighed again. “It's Lord Brien. I...wish to wed Lady Alina. As you know.”
“As half the castle knows,” Blaine agreed. “The half that's not so barmy they think rats fly.”
Duncan chuckled wearily. “Quite, Blaine. Though I don't think we have any of those...”
“We do!” Blaine insisted. “They do swear it. Witches, apparently. Flyin' about in odd disguises. So they tell me in the fields, anyways.” he shook his head, chuckling tiredly.
“Well, dispensing with the problem of flying rats,” Duncan said, smilingly, “I have a problem which may seem bizarre.”
“Bizarre?”
“Odd. Like rats flying.”
“Oh! Not you, too...”
“No.” Duncan smiled. “I promise I'm not going to tell you about flying rats. But I was speaking to the thane earlier, and he insisted he would not let me wed Alina.”
“What?” Blaine was outraged. “But...my lord! She loves you an' you, her!”
Duncan smiled. “Yes, quite so. But Lord Brien did not refuse me outright. He laid three tasks out.”
“Three tasks? What?” Blaine blinked. “Who does he think you are?”
“I know,” Duncan said wearily. “I'm not some hero or saint. I can't do it.”
“Mayhap you can,” Blaine said firmly. “Don't give up now.”
Duncan grinned at him. “You are right, Blaine. I am cowardly.”
Blaine gave him a stiff glance. “No, lord. You're not. We all saw your wounding from Lord Thomas. You're no' cowardly. But these tasks?”
“They make no sense, Blaine.”
“Mayhap they do,” Blaine shrugged. “I've seen lots a' things as makes no sense, but in the end they turn out to be clear’s river water. What'd he say?”
“He said this.” Duncan frowned, trying to remember. “He said: find the sword that was stolen and return it. Find the pearl that was lost. Ask the question unsaid. That was it,” he added, thinking back over the list.
Blaine was looking blank. “No, no idea.” he said at length. “All nonsense tae me.”
“Well, I think so, too,” Duncan agreed.
“Alina might know,” Blaine suggested after a moment. “She's wise. Chrissie says she's the cleverest person she ever did see,” Blaine said, impressed. “And Chrissie's clever. She can read.”
Duncan sighed. Blaine had his own woes – chief of which was his undying affection for Chrissie Connolly, Alina's youngest cousin. The girl was beyond him in status, anyone could see that. He was a soldier, a man-at-arms, captain of the guardsmen. Brien's ambition was boundless. He would never let his niece wed a mere guard. If Duncan was irredeemable, Blaine was twice so.
“That is a good idea,” Duncan agreed softly. “Except for one thing.”
“Oh?” Blaine was round eyed. “What is it?”
“Alina asked me not to ask him. On pain of risking death.”
Blaine chuckled. “She said that?” He looked at him. “I'd listen if I was you. She might be reed thin but the lady's got a tongue that could curse you to eternal fire, so I heard.”
“Oh?” Duncan was surprised. People believed she could curse? He hoped they chose to keep that belief quiet. Some whispers of Alina being a witch would not help anyone. “Well, I don't think she intended to kill me.”
“No?” Blaine sounded disappointed. “Who, then?”
“I think she was warning me,” Duncan explained. “I should have listened.”
“She thinks you'll die? If you follow her uncle's quest?”
“Yes,” Duncan sighed. “No. I don't know.” He clenched his hands, feeling wretched. He didn't know. All he knew was that he had been given three tasks, all of which were meaningless and so impossible to accomplish.
“Well,” Blaine said somberly. “If there's a sword, there's fighting. And if there's fighting, I can help. So, I can.”
Duncan looked up. He felt deeply touched. He reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “Thank you, Blaine. I might need to ask you to do just that.”
Blaine bowed his head. “Yes.”
“Yes?”
“I'm comin' with you,” Blaine explained. “Any barmy venture you're making, I'm along.”
Duncan breathed out. “Thank you, Blaine,” he said again. “I value that.”
“Pah,” Blaine made a dismissive chuckle. “I'm there fer the fun of it...need tae get outta these walls.” He inclined his head towards the castle walls, looking like an eaglet stretching its wings.
“No, Blaine.” Duncan smiled gently. “You're helping me out of the goodness of your heart.”
Blaine snorted. “I ain't got none o' goodness in me, sir. Grandfather allus said I was a divil.”
Duncan laughed. “Well, if your grandfather was right, then I rather hope I am destined for hell. An army of people like you would be eternal company I'd like.”
Blaine flushed red. He looked up at Duncan, head skew. “Thank 'ee, milord. Same tae you.”
Duncan felt his heart contract. Blaine was an imp, but in many ways he was like a young brother. He reached out and clasped his shoulder once again.
“Well, then, Blaine. To arms,” he agreed. “We will set out
in the week.”
“Grand,” Blaine agreed.
Duncan grinned at him and Blaine grinned fiercely back, dark eyes hopeful. Duncan bit his lip. We will set out, he thought, soon. As soon as I understand what it is being asked of me to do.
He sat for a few minutes, listening to the night, smelling the dew and the air. He shook himself, shivering as the night settled. He had left his cloak indoors and, though it was summer, it grew quickly chilly.
“I'll go inside,” he said to Blaine.
“Very well, sir,” Blaine nodded. “I'll go to the armory. Me sword's blunting. See ye tomorrer,”
“Tomorrow,” Duncan nodded.
He strode off into the castle.
He paused at the foot of the steps then, sighing, headed upstairs. He would fetch his cloak and perhaps spend some time in the courtyard. He should exercise. Perhaps that would help him to relax. As he crossed the hallway, heading from his chambers in the west wing towards the courtyard, he heard a soft footfall on the flagstones.
“Duncan?”
He sighed. He knew that silvery soft voice. Alina.
“Yes, dearest?”
His heart ached. He could not tell her. He would not...not yet.
“You went, did you not?” Her voice was level. Unforgiving, flat, expressionless. “You asked him.”
Duncan closed his eyes. He did not know what to say, how to tell her. “Yes,” he said.
He heard her stop walking. Stand where she was. Knew she was looking at him with sadness and despair.
He did not turn round. Hating himself for his inability to face her, to tell her, he turned and walked quickly down the stairs into the gathering dark outside.
CHAPTER THREE
CONFRONTATION WITH THE EARL
CONFRONTATION WITH THE EARL
The castle was quiet. The wind had dropped, leaving in its place a silence. Alina paused, listening to the silence in the hallway around her. The pale sun filtered through the clerestory windows in the hallway, patterning the flagstones with sunshine. Even so, the place was cool and sinister; a part of the castle that always seemed empty of life. Alina walked quietly ahead, feet soundless in her velvety shoes.
He asked. I need to know what was said. Perhaps I can stop this.
Alina walked purposefully down the hall. She was going to see her uncle.
She listened to the almost silence of the castle, letting it calm her restless self. Outside, somewhere, she could hear the clash and shouting of the men training, quiet with distance. She could hear someone washing something in the yard beyond the kitchens, water poured out on stone drains. She could hear the shriek of a child as their servants' girls and boys played by the stables. Closer, she heard the slow thump of her heart.
I need to see him. To do this.
Uncle Brien did not scare her. She disliked him, treated him with the cool aloofness with which she treated most people besides those she trusted and loved. Duncan, Amabel, Chrissie. Aunt Aili. Broderick. All those who were affected in her dream. That was why she must confront him.
She reached the stairs leading to the tower. The wind always seemed to drift down these stairs, no matter how still it was outside. Something about the west turret and the orientation of the windows. She brushed the tapestry aside where it obscured the entry to the stairs, and headed up the steps. She reached the arched doorway. She knocked.
“Uncle?”
“I am here. Alina? Enter.”
Alina straightened her back and floated in, slippers soundless beneath the blue velvet train of her gown. She stood before the desk. A beam of sunlight fell through the one slotted window, spilling in chiseled sharpness on the stone. She stood in the beam, letting it make her brighter, taller, her shadow stretching to touch the desk.
Her black hair hung straight and loose down her back, her kirtle of silver, her hands at her sides, long velvet sleeves covering their slim form.
“I have a request.”
“Oh?” Lord Brien looked up from his book, brow raised. If Alina was coldly impassive, she had somehow inherited it from Brien or from her own father. Like her, these two men were the master of battles of wits. “Ask then, my niece.”
“Duncan MacConnoway requested to wed me,” she stated. “I wish to know what you told him.”
Brien looked at her. His face was carefully neutral, hands clasped before it. He raised a brow.
“Why, niece. You are correct in your assumption...he did, indeed, ask. And yes, I did tell him something. That is what you wish to know, is it not?”
“Yes.” Alina's voice was quiet, but it cracked like a whip in the silence.
“I told him what I would tell anyone,” he said mildly. “Find the sword that was stolen. Return it. Find the pearl that was lost and ask the question that was unsaid.”
Alina blinked. “You set him tasks?” She was astounded. Who did her uncle think he was – some ancient monarch, and Duncan some vassal nobleman? She could not believe it.
“Yes, I set him tasks,” Brien said and he, sensing the crack in her defense, seized at it. “And if he does not complete them? Well,” he shrugged. “You'll be free for another suitor. More suitable.”
Alina twisted her fingers in her sleeves, but she did not move anything else. She maintained her level gaze, posture straight.
“If he does not complete these tasks,” she said, very quietly, “all of us are in peril. You will die, uncle. And me. And Duncan too. And all of us. This castle will be a ruin and the winds will sing in it.”
Brien raised a brow. “I am unconvinced.”
Alina drew in a breath. She was mild again, unmoved. “Well, then. As you will, uncle. I do not need to convince you. I am right, but I do not rejoice in it. And nor will you.”
Brien stared at her. She said nothing more. She turned and walked out of the room.
When she reached the hallway, Alina headed down it, and down the stairs. She stopped when she reached the hallway that led towards her own chamber. She was shaking.
“The fool,” she whispered under her breath. “He should not have done this. If he does, there will be war.”
She sighed. Smoothed her dress. Let her heartbeat slowly return to its natural state. By the time she started walking again, she had already started unraveling the mysteries.
Her uncle had given matters away when he had mentioned other suitors, the “more suitable” suitors. She knew he had wished her to marry Fraser Gleeson, son of the thane of Conwray. He would not have done that had he not known that Conwray was at fierce war with his latest foe: the Blackwood's.
He means me to be the tool he uses to finish that war. Or, failing that, he will use Duncan.
She began to see where he was leading. If Brien set Duncan tasks, it was to accomplish things he would not be able to accomplish were Duncan her partner. If Duncan survived the tasks, and wed her, then all Brien's intentions would still have been realized. If he died, then she would be free to wed someone who suited his ends.
Fraser, soon-to-be thane of Conwray, mayhap.
That gave her an idea. Wherever the sword was, achieving its return would make a convenient excuse for war with the Blackwood's. That must mean they had possession of it.
The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. If Duncan stole some precious article, the Blackwood's would challenge him. The MacConnaway's would spring to the defense of Duncan, and battle the Blackwood's for him. That would leave Brien with the chance to rid himself of enemies without expending troops. If Duncan failed, well, he would have lost nothing.
The more sense it made, the more Alina became convinced she was right. She closed the bedroom door behind her and sank down on the fireside stool, looking into flame.
There was only one person who would know if she was right. That was her mentor, Aunt Aili.
Straightening her back, Alina stood and checked her gown, smoothing the places where her fingers had twisted it. She glided out of the room towards the stairs. She was going to see Aili.
If anyone would know the answer to her question, it was her.
CHAPTER FOUR
ADVICE AND MYSTERY
ADVICE AND MYSTERY
The east wing of the castle was dark. It always was. Alina, walking in it, shivered. Of all the places on Earth, the darkness that hung in this part of the castle was closest to her dream. It was damp and cool and smelled dusty. Like an opened tomb. Alina shuddered.
Why Aili chose to live here, I cannot fathom.
Aunt Aili was the middle sister of the daughters of Lochlann, the only surviving offspring of Brien's older brother Fergal. He had died with no sons, leaving his little brother to become lord. And left us to live with the consequences of that, Alina thought wryly. The family tale distracted her from the eerie, cold surroundings and so she chose to focus on it instead, drowning out the darkness.
Alina and her sister were the daughters of the eldest Lochlann lady. Lady Joanna. She had died when Alina was a year old. That left Aili, and the youngest daughter of Fergal, Lady Frances. When Frances died six years later, Aili had been deeply affected. She had retired from public life, moving to the east wing where she had lived ever since. That was well over a decade ago.
Aili has never returned to the castle, Alina mused. I think I understand why.
Aili was known for uncanny powers. It was why she had become Alina's mentor, following the incident of Alina's capture. Aili had helped her heal and, during that time, had become more aware of Alina's gifts.
She chose to stay here to avoid distraction. And to be safe.
There were many in the castle who believed Aili in league with demonic powers. It was safer for her to be away from others. Alina, as a possessor of similar powers, understood the need for quiet and time to reflect.
“Nevertheless,” she said aloud, “I do wish the place was less daunting. And warm.” She had reached the top of the cobwebbed staircase. She faced a dark, arched door. She tapped on it.
The Highlander’s Challenge (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 3
